sword ◦ larry stylinson

XVI

sixteenth chapter

"Alright." Louis' breathing was quite messy, little puffs of air escaping his mouth and he had his fists clenched by his side. He's positively nervous, everyone could see that, but now everyone had gone off to their rooms and beds and off to sleep, leaving an exception for the patrols that had to watch over the castle every two hours when the second batch would wake up.

He was standing at the very end of the stone path leading to the sword smith's hut. It was small for twelve swordsmiths, but that wasn't his business right now. His business was to have a talk with Harry; he didn't come out yet to stare at the stars, so he still must be awake. Or not.

Knocking on the wooden door, he was met with silence. He knocked again, his fist hesitant and shaking. "Bloody hell." He heard a groan from the inside. He instantly felt nervous.

The door swung open, creaking at the hinges and there was a scruffy man at the opposite side of the door, looking tired and Louis felt guilt overpowering him. However, the man's eyes widened and he stepped back and bowed to greet politely, "Y-Your Highness, good evening. May I-I help you?" He stuttered out, which the king would find rude, but Louis thought it's the thought that counted.

"Good evening to you, too, kind sir. I apologize for disturbing your slumber." Louis straightened out his back.

"Oh, it is completely alright, your Highness. What is your will?"

"May you seek if Harry is awake? I have been meaning to talk to him. I know it is a bad time, but please, yes?" Louis asked, and his palms were unnoticeably sweating.

"Of course, sir. Would you like to come in for a little while? It doesn't smell like sweat, I promise."

Louis let out a cheerful laugh at the man's words, and he had a hand on his stomach. As he calmed himself, he cleared his throat, his laugh still bubbling in his throat, "No, thank you, but I appreciate your hospitality. I must wait for Harry here."

"Of course." The man nodded before he turned around to go through a hall and into Harry's room. Louis stayed out side, his hands folded behind his back as he looked around. There were sacks of coals behind their hut and Louis remembers how dirtied up Harry's arms were by them the first time they met.

His ears picked up some mumbles through the door, and he almost peeked through the crack. He almost did, but the door was pulled open more and Harry walked out, shutting the door behind him. Harry looked beautiful as ever; his eyes quite bright and wide as he locked them with his battered boots, his lips pink and pursed out, his curls long until his neck unlike his usual bun. He was wearing a long-sleeved white flowy shirt, some breeches and his leather boots, and he had black ink marks on some of his fingers.

"Hi." Louis gulped, "You have ink on your hands."

Harry lifted them up to examine them, and his face stayed deadpanned, "Oops."

"You are writing?" Louis tried to keep the conversation light, but Harry's face showed no emotion, unlike his usual blushes when the prince was around and even the slow blinks when he was dazed.