#im very convinced titus would have been soft if circumstances were different

[onceuponaprime]

Prompt: Drautos and Cor at guard duty during a nocturnal event at the citadel (inside or outside).

I won’t lie writing this super fluff made me more sad than writing my usual angst. They deserve a little happiness somewhere. And I maybe definitely used this prompt as an excuse to write a dance, because damn ballroom dancing I’m weak. 

So a while back I mentioned a “what if Titus hadn’t joined the Empire AU” and uh yeah I’m finally writing something for that. So Titus joined the Lucian Army after he lost his home at fifteen and joined with the Accordo group soon after. They took his grumpy ass back to Insomnia with them and the rest is history that I definitely need to write at some point. Hope you feel better soon friend!

If there was one thing Titus hated more than Niflheim it was these damn political functions and all the grandstanding that came with them. He stands stiffly at his post, watching over the room at perfect attention while nobles dressed in gaudy clothes dance and drift across the room. Almost twenty years in Insomnia had done nothing to acclimate him to such customs as this, and even after all this time Titus found it overwhelming. It didn’t help that his new armor was just that and he hadn’t quite broken it in, the leather was stiff and stifling and he was quite sure it creaked whenever he moved his arms. There was no way he could be more uncomfortable in such heavy formal garb unless they added lace to the high collar and he had to fight the urge to fidget. How Regis managed to stand holding these functions year after year was beyond him, but it didn’t seem like the king had any intention of stopping soon, much to his dismay. Speaking of Regis, Titus couldn’t see his head in the crowd even when he leaned on his toes to get a somewhat taller view. Just as he’s about to go looking Clarus breaks through the throngs of people and heads straight for him.

“Is everything alright, Clarus?”

“What? Of course! Regis wanted to speak with you, it’s nothing serious.” Titus falls into step with the man easily, lets him guide them through the crowds with the sort of awkward grace of someone well practiced in balance but not so much in the more frivolous entertainments of the upper class.

“You’re sure everything’s alright?” He nearly collides with a nearby couple spinning across the dance floor and the man carrying a large tray of champagne across the room while he follows Clarus and the Shield’s miraculously easy strides.

“Calm down, Titus, if there were any sort of emergency you’d be the first to know.” Clarus almost has to shout to be heard above the music and conversation, but Titus catches the exasperation in his voice and decides to let his baseless concerns fizzle to little more than an itch at the back of his mind.

“Are you at least going to tell me why Regis sent you to drag me across the ballroom to speak?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Clarus leads him to a set of the large double doors leading out to one of the ballrooms private balconies, and he hardly has a moment to enjoy the fresh air before he notices his king.

“Your Majesty,” he says with a quick bow, though the man has his back to them.

“Ah, there you are, what took you so long?” Regis turns to greet them with a warm smile, pushing away from the balcony rail to lean on his cane. The movement gives Titus a clear view of the figure beside him and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

“It is a rather crowded ballroom, Regis, that was the point of getting fresh air.” Clarus rolls his eyes and closes the balcony door behind them, blocking most of the clamour save the now faint music, ushering Titus forward though his feet feel suddenly leaden.

“I suppose that’s true,” Regis chuckles. “And how are you enjoying the festivities, Titus? I know you hate these things.”

“It’s,” he trails off, unable to form much of a cohesive thought when Cor looks so stunning in his new regal finery. “It’s… breathtaking, Your Majesty,” he finally gets out. Cor meets his eyes over the king’s shoulder, almost shy, and Titus feels struck dumb for a moment. Clarus clears his throat, and he drags his eyes away, face heating slightly as he turns his attention to the man beside him.

“I’m sure you will be missed at the festivities if you’re gone for much longer, Regis.”

“I suppose you’re right, Clarus, best not keep them waiting. Would hate to repeat the New Years celebration we had two years ago.” The king takes a few steps forward, gait surprisingly steady. He and Cor make to follow in unison but Regis raises a hand before either of them can get very far and shoots them both a stern look over his shoulder. “You two stay here, enjoy the night air,.”

“But-” Before Cor can protest further Regis stops him and Titus dutifully closes his mouth.

“I am quite well protected with or without the two of you in the room. It won’t be all night, please just enjoy yourselves, at least for a few minutes.” It is hard to argue with Regis once he’s set his mind on something, be it as friend or king, and Titus chooses not to argue.

“As you wish,” he bows, somewhat mocking, and Regis makes a pleased hum in his throat.

“Don’t have too much fun without us,” Clarus teases at the open doors, winking at them without subtlety.

“Enjoy the nobility,” Titus replies, the heat in his cheeks forgotten as Clarus’s expression falls into an irritated scowl before he slams the door, shutting them off from the world once again.

“I don’t know if I’ve already said it but you look good in your new armor, Captain, the red suits you.” Titus turns around to look at Cor as he speaks, suddenly closer, close enough to reach out and brush the edge of the weighty cape.

When he finds his voice he says, “It’s been an adjustment. I’m used to more mobility.”

“You’ll break it in with time.” Cor smooths out the length of black beneath his fingers, eyes downcast, something Titus can hardly bear when they’re alone. He reaches out and tilts Cor’s chin up gently, until those blue eyes meet his own.

“You didn’t tell me they’d fitted you with formal Council garb.”

“Figured you would think it’d look ridiculous. No reason for the Marshal of the Crownsguard to be all dressed up.”

“You’re more than that, Cor, and you look…” Once again he loses his words, unable to think of any that would do the man any justice. “Breathtaking,” he settles on after a moment. A flush rises to Cor’s cheeks, and he pulls a hand away to smack his arm lightly.

“Shut up, you sap,” he scolds without heat, and they stand in the relative quiet of the balcony for a long moment laughing softly before Titus composes himself. The muted band from within the ballroom rising into a grand waltz whose beat could almost be felt through the marble beneath his feet.

“Well Regis and Clarus have given us quite the opportunity, I’d be loathe to waste it.” Titus takes a step back and gives a little bow and extends his hand. Cor looks back and forth between his face and his hand rather comically.

“Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.” There was that delightful flush again and Titus felt like they were mere teenagers, awkwardly prancing around each other once more.

“If you step on my feet there will be hell to pay,” Cor mumbles, but takes his extended hand and lets himself be drawn closer. His other hand settles on Cor’s waist and Cor’s lands on his shoulder and he wishes their formal garb didn’t have so many damn layers, but the light pressure is enough.

“Shall we, my Lord Leonis?” Cor gives him a look but says nothing and they fall into the slow movements of the simple dance. One, two, three. One, two, three. A steady rhythm for even he to follow and together they dance, some moonlit waltz beneath the stars. One neither of them would forget.