[ it plays through his head, unwanted. gruesome. death is no stranger to him, and still he's unprepared for the sudden rush of grief he feels, always waiting just beneath the surface. it's harrowing. when it's over laurent feels as though he's come up from underwater, struggling to breathe though nothing has changed — not their surroundings, not his position. they're still on the tumultuous waves, still in the dank belly of the ship, still seated on the wooden floors in the cold.

the scarf hangs haphazardly along his shoulders, returned once more. death rings in his head, his chest aching at the sight of tears clinging to aspen's cheeks. ]

I'll accompany you. [ he makes the promise before thinking, an uncharacteristic moment of rashness. he has his own tethers to see to, yet it feels... important, that he does this. ] To your home. In case — there is more danger than anticipated.

[ or in case aspen's shadow takes hold and he needs to conveniently relieve him of his staff. laurent does not ask about the two men, one's death clear in his memory, and the other very neatly implied. but something the slaver had said sticks in his mind. ]

That man protecting you. [ he treads carefully, suppressing a shiver while unwilling to shift the scarf. ] A king knows better than to jump into the fray so quickly.

[ the accusation goes unsaid, but it's clear. there was a king in this memory, and he doesn't think it was the men cut down. ]