forum Opportunistic Omnivore: Scavenging the Remains of the Divine || OxO || Closed || 18+

Started March 15, 2023 by @ElderGod-kirky group

tune

During the minutes of the Fae's internal struggle, the only sound between them was the steady slicing of wood as Sláine cut out rough chunks into the basic shape that he wanted. It was a soothing process for him, the satisfaction of long slices and less precise handling. But getting into the nitty-gritty details, when he inevitably folded himself practically in half while falling into the focus, was also another type of soothing to him, so really, the entire process was a comfort. But despite that focus, he still glanced up and over to the assassin when he finally heard him talk on his own accord.

The prince blinked and stared off to the side, thinking. "Not long. Maybe… twenty years? Almost thirty?" He thought back to when he first picked up the hobby, retracing his timeline. "It was when I met that woodworker in… I think it was another world? Possibly, I've been to so many…" Sláine shook his head and went back to carving, albeit slower. He didn't finish his thoughts for a while, going silent, until he looked up again and squinted at the air in front of him. "Seymour. Met him while on that fucking suicide mission. Yeah, a little over 20 years." Now that he had his answer, he shook his head and went back to the wood with more speed. "I wonder if that bugger is still conning people with his bets."

Funny thing was, it wasn't a hobby that many people knew about. His rooms were generally off-limits; if the twins wanted to hang out they did so elsewhere so they could be a bother to others, he never brought over lovers or one-night stands, Aideen has only been in there a few times for her job's sake, and the servants knew the princes well enough to be friendly but also had all learned over time to not pay attention to anything that wasn't their job. And the whittling only ever happened at night when he couldn't sleep, along with his tea obsession. Of course the first person to really ask about it would be a would-be assassin essentially trapped in Sláine's room for the night. That reminded him—"Do you per chance have a name?"

Eurion, although confused about the so-called suicide mission Sláine had been on over twenty years ago, didn't question it. There was no need to get too personal when the assassin was going to crash the second he decided to lie down. The lack of sleep was catching up to him now that there was an offer of a bed softer than any he had ever seen or even dreamed of. If they ever decided to get closer to each other - highly unlikely in his mind - then they had the entire trek to the Old Gods to do so.

He tried not to think about the impossible mission that he'd agreed to. He didn't even know how many of the Gods were actually still alive. Two, from the difference in writing style that he had seen in the letters he'd been sent and the voices he heard in dreams. But any more than that and he was at a loss. If he couldn't even tell the witch how many were even alive, how would she take it when she found out he didn't know where they were? Eurion could only drag them around in circles for so long. It wasn't like he didn't know where to start, however. He had kept every letter, written down every dream and detail through the years and stashed them in a small safe house. If there were any clues, they would be in his trunk of letters.

The assassin changed as the prince spoke, not daring a glance as he did so. He wasn't used to the lack of privacy. But, as he was grabbing the shirt Sláine had laid out for him, the prince asked his name, and he paused. Did he use his real name? If things went terribly wrong then they would know his identity, but they'd already seen his face, so he guessed it didn't matter, "Eurion," He pulled the shirt over his head, "It's Eurion, Your Highness."

Aideen's insistence on going on this trip didn't sit right with Sláine, but not because of her motives. He was worried about her safety. Well, all of them and their safety, really. According to Kaine, there's been incidents of High Witches being attacked and killed. It could be a direct correlation to the assassin currently in his room, but something didn't add up right in his mind, and the prince wanted to be overly cautious than under prepared. If this Fae was the only cause for concern, then this trip would be less than entertaining. But if there were others out there… supposedly there weren't many messengers left, but what if there were? Sláine ran through every possibility, and they all got worse than the next to the point that he leaned against the window, horns creating a soft thunk, and sighed heavily to expel all of the mounting worries. Aideen wouldn't take no for an answer now that she had her way. The only way forward was to keep their guard up, not only around the assassin, but the world around them.

A voice cut through his thoughts, and he startled only enough to stay leaning and curl up more to begin the process of whittling the wood down into an actual figurine. Eurion. The prince smiled to himself at the tacked on title. For someone sent to kill him, and now forced into this situation, that was the last thing he expected to hear from this man.

Sláine looked up at the man from the corner of his eye. "Get some rest, Eurion. You'll need it." Gods help this poor soul. He lost count of the number of times his own cousin had to leave the room after dealing with the twins, let alone with Aideen in the mix as a purposeful thorn in the side, jabbing at Caoimhe and anyone that made themselves a target.

Hearing his own name back at him was strange. It had been years since someone had spoken it apart from himself, and even then it was usually just in his head. It took him back a little hearing it from the princes mouth. Eurion smoothed down the bed sheets as if there was a wrinkle. Silk, from the feel of it, and the softest type he’d ever felt. Strange was the world of the royals.

Awkwardly, Eurion slid onto the bed, “You need sleep, too.” He wasn’t going to stay up all night, was he? He wasn’t a stranger to a shit sleep schedule due to busy days and busy nights, it came with the job description, but if Sláine was going to be accompanying him with the witch and his older brother, he needed rest just as much as he did. But, he supposed when there was an assassin in the room - especially one that was going to kill him less than half an hour ago, Eurion wouldn’t sleep, either, and would keep a watchful eye just as Sláine was doing now.

The mattress was indeed as comfortable as if clouds had been taken from the sky and placed inside the room. It beat the floor, and the inn, and he was glad he got over his pride, at least for the evening. The pillows felt like sinking into a bed of feathers rather than the hard rocks he was used to. It was a strange and uncomfortable sensation, especially with the prince in the room.

As weird as it was for Eurion to be taking over the prince's bed, knowing that someone else was going to sleep there was just as weird for Sláine. It was probably for the best that the rest of the family didn't know about this. Why yes, Mother, we made a deal with an assassin charged by the Old Gods, and then housed, clothed, and offered my bed to him. What seems to be the problem? Gods, if his ancestors saw him now… They'd actually probably grab snacks and want to see how everything plays out in the long run. The Mac Arthfaels were nothing if not outrageously unorthodox yet astoundingly determined to get what they want. Making stupid decisions was just as part of his name as was his magic. Aideen wouldn't be there if it wasn't.

The response he got from the Fae wasn't one Sláine was expecting. This time he let the amusement show, a grin spreading over his lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it almost sounds like you're taking care of me." An assassin trying to get him to sleep. Ridiculousness just poured over every crack in this situation. No, he wouldn't sleep for some time. Someone had to keep an eye on Eurion, and he hadn't been planning on getting a full-night's rest anyway. If he got tired, he could brew himself some tea. If he found himself sluggish while traveling, he knew how to put himself into autopilot and keep going. Caoimhe, too, though Sláine suspected that his brother ran on pure adrenaline alone than anything else.

Getting tired of holding his head at the hunched-over angle, he found the loop built into the thin inner-frame of the window and hooked a section of his horn through it. Sufficiently lazy, he twirled the chunk of wood around, searching the increasingly smaller and more shape-like lump for any imperfections or sections to hack off.

Eurion frowned, opened his mouth to argue, and then decided against it, "Whatever. Night then." He grumbled, turning over to face away from where Sláine sat on his little nook and closed his eyes. He wasn't trying to take care of him, it was just a comment considering they would be travelling in the morning. The prince could believe what he wanted and Eurion couldn't care less, even if it might not seem that way. Sleep came to him easily enough, drifting off into the realm of unconsciousness in the most wonderful bed. Maybe in the morning, his back wouldn't be sore.

But, even with the obscene beauty that was Sláine's bed, his sleep wasn't restful, at least for the first few hours. Eurion tossed and turned. From the outside, it looked like he was having a nightmare but he wasn't, and he wouldn't be woken until his dream - well, meeting - with the Old Gods let him.

The world he found himself in was desolate, white and clean and pristine as if no one had ever stepped foot on the ground where he now stood. It felt like floating in midair but his feet were situated on an invisible platform that shimmered whenever he moved. Pockets of memories circled gently above and below, some he remembered and others of people and places he didn't recognise, and then there was the giant shadow, a blurred face that, even without eyes, Eurion knew was staring at him. The faceless one, the one he had communicated with the most and was involved in pretty much every mission he was given, only this time, they didn't speak. Their figure shifted and one of those pockets of memories - or realities - was pushed forward. Eurion couldn't make out what exactly it was, but from what he could make out, it was some ancient statue, broken and worn and hidden away. Did that mean they knew Eurion hadn't killed the princes? Were they trying to show him the way? Or was it some big coincidence it was completely unrelated? He tried to talk but his voice failed him.

A moment later it was fading - the world faded, and Eurion jolted awake, sweating. He couldn't tell in the near darkness of the room if Sláine was still there - he prayed he wasn't.

The prince snickered to himself at Eurion's grumbling. Old habits die hard, and being an assassin didn't escape him from the inevitable teasing. If anything, it opened him up to even more poking and prodding just for the thrill of seeing what the Fae's limits were. And—it meant that Sláine had effectively deflected the subject. He didn't need his killer interrogating him about his sleeping habits.

It was a rather boring night, as they always were. The time allowed him to make quick progress of the chicken figurine he steadily chipped away at. He sometimes stood to stretch his legs or get some water and snacks. At some point, though, he dozed off while laying on the window bench. Sláine had no idea how long he had slept, but it wasn't nearly long enough to make a difference, and when he startled awake, he instinctively knew that it was an outside force pulling at his attention. Magic. Glancing around proved useless, but then his gaze settled on the restless assassin and… there. A haze. Sláine slowly sat up and assessed. Around Eurion's head was a hazy cloud of magic, shimmering and warping his sight like gas would. He looked up—and pursed his lips. Ah. A small opening cracked open the ceiling, surprisingly quiet given that it led to another world. The assassin wasn't dreaming; his consciousness was pulled into another world somehow. Anyone else would've thought nightmare, but they didn't hold the magic that his family owned.

For the hours that Sláine remained aware of it, he kept an eye on Eurion and the portal, checking in to make sure nothing nefarious slipped through and that the man didn't suffer any ill effects of the invasion. He didn't know what to do besides sit and watch, concern lacing every inch of his body and tensed muscles. The only thought he had was to busy himself with something, anything besides staring, so he eventually stood to make some tea. He had a special type of blend he once liked using when first learning to travel between worlds and realities. It soothed the aftereffects, calmed the body and mind, so that they didn't hit so hard when returning home. He didn't use it much now that he had gotten used to it, but he made the brew anyway, then poured it into a mug.

Eurion woke just as the prince finished. Sláine slowly moved to the side the man was facing, then carefully set the mug down onto the small bedside table next to him. Chewing on what he should say or do, and glancing up at the ceiling to make sure the opening was gone, he settled on a whispered, "This should help," and moved away to get some tea of his own.

Eurion swallowed. The dizziness and exhaustion that followed the encounters with the Gods had never dulled with time, not for him, probably due to the infrequencies of the dreams. Usually, it was just the physical messages that they sent, written and golden. He'd kept all of them over the years, marking every connection but also every kill he had successfully completed. Maybe not a good idea to show the princes that stash of letters.

The assassin was grateful for the tea even if he didn't know that it would help with the recovery period. He took the mug in both hands, making sure he was sitting up and wasn't going to fall back into the mattress before he took a sip. The warmth spread through him. He could feel his heart rate ease softly and his head start to clear from the cloudiness that it was currently swimming in. He took another sip.

Eurion's gaze was fixed on the door to the prince's chambers as if something were to burst through at any moment. Nothing would, of course, it was just the assassin recovering and unable to avert his fixed gaze to anything else, but it was clear he was startled. The magical energy it took him was something Eurion had never become used to. Usually, he just had to wait it out, whether that was under a tree in the woods or a bed in an inn. There had never been anyone else around when these dreams occurred before.

In his dazed state, he muttered a soft, "Thank you." He didn't know if Sláine had heard or not considering how quiet it was, but it was all he could manage as he recalled what the Gods had shown him.

Sláine paused just as he was about to pour his own tea, faintly hearing the assassin's voice in the silence of the room. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel in the moment. All the emotions and rational thoughts clashed into one another, but his mounting anger towards the Gods for violating one of their loyal followers in such a manner, to forcefully subject their mind to another world, was winning the race. The prince licked the tips of his sharpened teeth, holding everything in check, and poured tea into one of his favorite mugs. "Tha mo thiodhlac saor," he said back, voice low in the silence.

Leaning his back against the counter, Sláine drank his tea in contemplative silence, still watching the walls for any hints of shifty portals—or doors, as his family also called them. None jumped out at him, even the ones that reached out to his magic and made themselves known to him, just not the rest of the world. Growing up, it had been terrifying, seeing all sorts of things that no one else seemingly could. Not even his family saw exactly what each other saw, different doors responding to different people. Azriel attracted those housing great beasts, for example, but the twins never had that problem. His thoughts traveled back to Eurion, how he wasn't meant to be part of that magic, and yet there he sat, dazed and slowly sipping at his drink.

A noise caught the prince's attention, like that of a whooshing. The wall next to him warped and shimmered, a rippling effect distorting the paint as if it was really a pond disturbed by a pebble. Sláine made a slight hum of surprise just as he held out his arm, and a fluttery mass of feathers tumbled through the wall. The chicken landed on his outstretched forearm, with a piece of paper tied to a leg. Sláine took the paper, then tossed the protesting chicken back through the wall with his own magic, sending it over to Azriel's chambers with just the slightest twist of reality. It would seem he wasn't the only one awake so late.

The note, as he unrolled it, was written in the king's scratchy and uncertain handwriting. I know & you have my blessing. Don't worry about us. Be safe. - Azi

If Eurion heard the noise of the chicken being tossed through the walls of the palace he didn't show it. He didn't look or move apart from the rising of the mug to his lips here and there, but his eyes did not move. They remained, unblinking at the chamber door for what seemed like an eternity to the assassin. Softly, the shadows around him twirled across his arms and hands, as if he were trying to soothe himself with his own magic - like a blanket of familiar shadows, something he'd done as a kid and the habit had never seemed to leave. Usually, he didn't have much control over it, but his magic always seemed to know when he needed it.

Slowly, Eurion turned his head to glance at Sláine. His moved as if he were scared that, if he turned too fast, he might be thrust back into whatever reality he had just come from, and for someone who didn't give an outward appearance of fear, even when he was faced with three magic users stronger than he was, something about the magic the Gods used petrified him, even now.

"Do you have a book on ancient landmarks?" His quiet voice lifted through the room. While they were awake, Eurion supposed they may as well try and find what it was that he'd been shown. He wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, not for a while, at least, and definitely not in the state he was in.

Sláine had abandoned the note in favor of checking in with Eurion, and his expression was furrowed but otherwise blank when the assassin turned his way. "Yes." The prince set down his mug and crossed the room to his stacks of books on the floor by his desk. As far as he remembered, there was at least one that he had used a while ago, but he wasn't entirely sure if he kept it or remembered to bring it back to the palace library. He crouched down and scanned the spines for the title, and came across an old dark green book tucked between other ancient history books.

He wasn't sure how he should act around Eurion, but overly cautious would likely get him some sort of dagger to the spine or a tongue lashing at best, so he kept that worry to himself. Instead, he handed Eurion the book, then sat on the far corner of the bed to be a little more comfortable, and to look out the window. Maybe silence was the best option. Maybe leaving Eurion to his own devices to handle the situation was the smart choice. Maybe.

"Travel between realms… it's not something I'd wish on anyone." Sláine looked to his hands, to the lack of radiating manifestation giving away his witch magic. In his palms was a blooming flower thick with arching petals, not from their world. It glowed from a natural purple bioluminescence and cast a soft light from where it sat, roots slowly reaching out to twist around his fingers and wrist as if looking for life to leech off of. He studied the plant, intrigued like a little kid. "It's unfortunate your patrons think otherwise."

Eurion didn’t look to the prince as he spoke. Using his own magic, the tendrils of shadow extended out from where they laced around his hands and arms, flipping through the pages of the old book. They were delicate with the pages, surprisingly, considering their dark nature, but they treated the pages as gently, and slowly, taking into account Eurion’s less than present state.

The assassin sipped on his tea, scanning the pictures to see if anything was recognisable from the dream. He made no comment to Sláine. The prince wasn’t wrong. The travelling or dreams, whatever they were, were exhausting. It took everything to keep going some days after they came, and more often than not left him confused, too. But the Gods didn’t care, and they knew Eurion wouldn’t complain, he wasn’t the person to do so. They’d push him until he broke.

Finally, his shadows stopped, and almost pointed to the picture, “What’s this?” The shadow arms extended the book to Sláine, carrying it across the bed like a gust of wind before placing it gently on the covers. Eurion let his gaze follow, although he didn’t make eye contact with the prince as of afraid of what he might say.

Sláine continued to study the plant, even as it tried wiggling its way to his veins with its roots. They seemed to have sharp points on the ends, and he concluded that this was some sort of carnivorous flora with the way it sought out the life to steal. He let it have its fun, thick, bone-white roots growing and networking over his hand and forearm, because it couldn't break through his skin. It was also better than wasting his breath on empty comforts when the receiver didn't seem to be receiving anything for the time being.

Then he was addressed, and the prince raised his hand to allow room for the magically transferred book. Ah, so that was how the assassin got so close to their rooms. A useful gift, especially for one in such a lifestyle as Eurion. Sláine cocked his head and examined the drawing, eyes squinting when it marked itself as familiar. He sat silent for a minute trying to recall why it was familiar, until it clicked. "Markerstones," he said. "They were once used to point the way to important sites, like the graves of ancient kings said to rise again, or old temples. Buried treasure. The like." Holding the glowing flower close to shed some light on the picture, Sláine tried remembering all that he knew about the statues. "Supposedly they bear the likeness of a God, like one big giant magical preservation and protection charm. They haven't been in active use since forever ago, though. Most are bound to be gone from time alone, not to mention wars, revolts, vandalism, and petty grudges."

Sláine shifted his stare to Eurion, confused but intrigued. If the assassin's shadows had picked this picture in particular while he was in this much of a daze, then they had to be important somehow. Was it related to whatever had happened while Eurion slept? Unrelated?

Eurion tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes moving from the prince to the book and the picture. The exact details of what the God had shown him were lost in his current state. The details would return with time, as they always did, but for now, it was all a foggy mess in his brain that he couldn't decipher. The shadow blanket warped tighter around his shoulders.

"Do you know where the nearest one might be?" His gaze never left the picture, as if he were trying to burn the book with his mind and disintegrate it into a thousand pieces of ash. The stare was the same as the one he had previously held on the door - unmoving, unblinking, a statue himself despite the wriggling of the shadows on his body and the slight tremor in his hands that held the mug. This was always the worst part. Figuring out the clues and signs the Gods left. Why they never told or showed him directly what they were needing of him, he didn't know.

Thoughts and ideas blended together - concerns, more than anything. It had always known, in the back of his mind, the Gods had some big elaborate plan they were using him for. Killing off any and all High Witches was part of whatever master plan they had going on. Maybe this was a part of it. If they presumed Eurion had killed the princes, knowing that there were two less of them around, directing him to the markerstones made sense. If they allegedly bore resemblance to Gods then it fit with the hazy theory he was creating. Eurion added, softer than his previous question, "Could they become active again?"

Sláine sighed and flicked his flower-covered hand, sending it back to the world he took it from. "It's… complicated. Yes and no, to both. There's a burial site of an ancient king that is likely to have markerstones, due to him employing witches in secret, but it's not exactly close, and I'm not entirely sure if it does or not. It's as near as it's going to get, though." The prince's gaze snagged on Eurion's distant stare, and the tremble in his hands. It wasn't as if he cared at all that the assassin was possibly having an internal breakdown, but he was quite fond of keeping his covers spill-free. And it wouldn't be great to have a broken guide.

The prince slowly moved closer, bringing the book with him, and reached over to settle a steady hand over Eurion's. "If we do manage to find ones not completely turned to rubble, they might be coaxed back into use with the right magic. Not a guarantee, because I don't know. Eurion, we have all day tomorrow to figure this out." They didn't need to be discussing this when the man looked about a thousand miles away and not taking in anything. They weren't on a time crunch; Aideen could be patient if made to be. Forcing whatever this was, was not the most helpful thing in the world at the moment in his mind.

He didn't dare get closer, though, or make another move. Or even attempt eye contact. The prince felt as though that the wrong move would be worse for one of them, and he wasn't too keen on making something worse than it already was.

Sláine's hand on his had Eurion's gaze shifting to the mug. He was silently grateful, if he didn't register it, for the steady hand over his own. The shadows reached out as if trying to steady the assassin more even if the princes help, a couple reaching for Sláine, then retracting, and repeating the movements as Eurion thought about what the other had said.

So strange it was to be in the situation they were in now. What would he have done if he hadn't been in the prince's chambers? Probably spend the night muttering to himself in his room at the inn, quite frankly, until he wore himself down enough to sleep without fear. Something about the way the God had looked - even without having a face - scared him. How they moved this time around, the suffocating presence it held over him, as if Eurion had been prey ensnared in a trap. It's certainly how he felt now.

"There's never enough time." He whispered. Finally, his gaze moved to meet Sláine's. The look in the assassin's eyes showed he was scared, with something else hidden behind it, unreadable. The Gods weren't patient, they never had been, at least not with him.

He could feel the ghostly chill of the shadows as they repeatedly reached for him before ultimately pulling away. Sláine refused to react. Magic was an extension of the user, just another part of the body connected to the mind. That motion reflected the state of Eurion's mind well enough that the prince knew not to move too quickly, or forcefully. But that look—that haunted stare full of fear—he knew it well enough that he couldn't just sit there and do nothing, enemy be damned.

Sláine tightened his grip on reflex as his anger towards the Gods heightened, and he forced himself to relax for both their sakes. With his free hand, he hooked a gentle finger underneath Eurion's chin to keep the man's eyes on him as he spoke. "There is now," he said. Though his voice was low in the night, it carried the firmness of certainty. "This is on our terms, and on my turf. And here, you are safe, okay?" That was what this place was for, and what his family stood for. Safety. Safety from humans during the witch trials. Safety from angry religions. Safety from heavy-handed parents or spouses. Gods were just another thing to be angry at.

"You're going to be okay," Sláine whispered, then dropped his hand from the man's chin to give Eurion back his freedom. The other, the one steadying the assassin's hands, stayed where it was but kept his grip loose enough to be dislodged if wanted.

Safe. Eurion hadn't been safe since he'd been a child. Sláine was powerful, Eurion didn't doubt that, but the Old Gods? Their power was unmeasurable. They created the witches. On home turf or not, the Gods didn't care. Whatever was stopping them from passing through into this realm was the only barrier between him and them, and… what if they used him to break that barrier? What would become of them?

He didn't speak. He didn't know what to say. That they were far from safe? That he was grateful for Sláine's words but he didn't believe him? He chose to say nothing, either because he couldn't decide on what to say, because his brain was too jumbled and hazy, or because he simply had no words anymore.

Eurion let his gaze drop to their hands once more. He knew the prince had already seen how terrified he was of his patrons, but if he could stop him from seeing the full extent, then he would. He was an assassin. He wasn't supposed to get scared, to need comfort. He had no one, and he should need no one, but time wore him down.

The shadows gently closed the book, lifting it and placing it with Eurion's clothes, intent on taking it with them to try and study the book when he wasn't so out of it. They gave one final twirl around their hands, settling on the prince's skin for a brief moment before they retracted, slinking back into the darkness they had come from and leaving a cold absence around the assassin. The prince's hands were warm compared to his, and he didn't want him to let go but, that was just the fogginess, he presumed, "Okay." His voice was so quiet, almost inaudible.

Fear was something Sláine knew all too well. It had become as familiar to him as his parents faces, a second skin that settled over his being for decades on end. He knew just how it felt to be disbelieving of the word "safe" after a time. His own home hadn't felt safe his entire life, and only recently did he start to believe in its legacy. Seeing that very feeling on another's face made him remember his own fears and memories, so he made a decision.

The prince stared at Eurion for a while, debating and rethinking and ultimately coming up with the same solution despite how likely it was he'd find a blade between his ribs. Then he had to steel his nerves. This could go one of two ways; nothing happens, or he provokes the wrath of an assassin. Eventually, Sláine sucked in a long breath and let go of Eurion's hand to shift around. The loss of contact didn't last long, but even during those few moments, his palm tingled from the loss. Not necessarily from warmth, because the still Fae was as cold as ice, but from the contact. Moving as slow as possible, Sláine took the mug of tea, set it onto the bedside stand, then moved to sit next to Eurion. He slid an arm around the man's back, finding his hand once more to hold onto, and held him into the prince's side with the slightest pull around the assassin's waist.

It was odd, and Sláine furtively glanced between Eurion and an empty space on the wall as his body warmed from a mixture of uncertainty and embarrassment. This wasn't his normal. Comforting others physically wasn't his normal, but Eruion looked like he needed it. He was so cold, even when the room wasn't. So the prince did his best to do what words couldn't, even if he fully expected to be punched or made fun of. Gods, if my brother saw me now…

Eurion tensed for a brief moment. Physical comfort… He'd almost forgotten what it felt like to be held. But Sláine was so warm. He hadn't realised how cold he was until he felt the prince sit beside him, tugging him softly against him. If it had been any other situation, a regular, situation, he probably would have snapped, told Sláine to fuck off and leave him be rather than offering comfort out of pity.

But this wasn't a regular situation - a typical night where Eurion was on his own trying to comfort himself with his own hands. The man he had come to kill was hugging him, of all things. He would have laughed if he was in the right mind. It was ridiculous, but any thoughts of how strange it may be left him as the prince was a wall that he could lean on right now, despite his best efforts not to. Before he knew what he was doing, Eurion's head dropped, resting softly against Sláine's shoulder and leaning against him with a long, slightly shaky, breath.

Thanking him could wait if he ever found the words in the morning to do so. Or maybe it would be best to not mention this at all, for both their sakes and saving them from embarrassment. But in the cloudy, foggy mess that was the assassin's brain, all he could do was let himself slump against the prince and let his warmth try and diminish at least some of the fear, and physical iciness of his skin, wash away.

When Eurion tensed, Sláine was fully prepared to let go and pretend he hadn't done such a thing. It was a stupid idea, really, to submit them both to a piss-poor attempt at comfort when neither one seemed to be really well-versed in physical contact or comfort. Assassins tended to not be very people-oriented people, and the prince was better with talking than… this.

But then he felt Eurion relax and slump into his side, and Sláine rested his chin on the man's head on instinct, tightening his hold a fraction to squeeze more warmth into the man. He looked to the shadows as his mind drifted around in circles. Words slipped from his tongue then—old ones he had heard a thousand times. His accent lazily rolled over them, thickening from it being his native tongue but making them drift smoother through the night even in his whisper. "Leig le teagamh faighinn air ais an làn, agus nighidh eagal air falbh. Bidh itean an t-seabhag gad chumail àrd agus saor; na dìochuimhnich thu fhèin a-riamh mu fhaireachdainn uamhasach na mara."

His mother's old mantra, which had likely been passed to her from her parents, and so on—everything in their family was an heirloom. She told it to him every time he had panic attacks from travel, or any time he was paralyzed by fear. She'd whisper it in his ear to remind him of them. Logically, he knew they did nothing. But they seemed fitting for the moment, even if Eurion wouldn't know what they meant, and probably wouldn't ask.

Even if Eurion didn't understand what Sláine was saying, the words were still comforting. The way he spoke, the feel of his chin on his head, it was all comforting, the warmth of the prince spreading through his body and dulling just how cold he was. How long had it really been since he'd been held this way? Probably by his mother. It was sad, honestly, that Eurion had gone so long without physical comfort, even in its most basic form. It was a reminder of just how lonely the life he lived was despite telling himself he didn't need anyone. The Fae lived long lives, they weren't immortal, but Eurion had already passed over a century, and the only sort of touch he had from another person up until now was if his victims decided to try and fight back, but that was never pleasant, not like this was.

His breath steadied and his eyes closed. Draining was fear, made worse by the lack of sleep from previous nights. Trying to rest after an event such as the dreams was difficult when you were scared you were going to be sent back to those places, to see the Gods peering at you like ants in a glass jar.

But with Sláine holding him up, knowing there was another person there with him this time, it made it easy to slip back into sleep. The Gods, so far, had never visited twice in one evening. It took too much energy for Eurion and he wouldn't remember anything they showed or said so they didn't bother. Having the prince there was an extra comfort, especially considering his abilities. He knew what it was like, and it made it easy for the assassin to relax even when his instincts screamed at him not to.

Slowly, the weight pressing into Sláine increased, as if Eruion was steadily letting go of his stress and putting himself into the prince's hands for the night. He made little adjustments here and there when he needed to, holding more firmly to keep the Fae from moving too much and shifting to be able to take on the extra weight with ease. Nothing more. Eurion letting him do this wasn't a sign of anything other than pure exhaustion, and the need for an extra touch of comfort after an encounter with the Gods. Sláine wouldn't take advantage of anything, never take more than given, because that's not who he was or who he wanted to be. Some may have manipulated the assassin into compliance. Revenge for having their heads marked for death. But Eurion didn't deserve anything besides a place to rest.

"Rest easy, Eurion," he whispered, the words hardly more than a breath. The Fae will likely regret it in the morning, especially when he seemed to be slipping into sleep. Sláine grabbed for the blankets around them to try and cover Eurion with them the best he could without moving around too much. Once he was done, he closed his eyes and took a breath.

He had never had strong feelings on the Old Gods. He knew of them in passing and their general legends, but was otherwise neutral about them and their existence. But seeing how they treated their own messenger, someone who risked his life to kill off the beings they deemed too powerful to live, tipped the scales out of their favor. That shouldn't be how someone reacted to being contacted by them. If he wasn't already toeing the line, the prince would gladly shield Eurion and his mind from that sort of magic to save him the trauma. But he didn't want to push his luck, and didn't want to subject the assassin to any more magic without his permission, so he didn't. But he did give a hearty glare to the ceiling.

The assassin was still the rest of the evening apart from the rise and fall of his quiet breathing. A dead sleep, showing just how tired Eurion was. When was the last time he had actually had a break? Even just a day to simply sleep. The answer was lost even to him. Ever since the Gods had come into his life there seemed to have been no end to the work. He hated the thought, mainly because of the guilt that came with them. He should be grateful. The Gods didn't just visit anyone, in fact, only the very rare few were called on by them to complete their work here on the ground. The work was consistent, the rewards decent enough, and so, in his mind, he should have no reason as to why he craved a break every now and then.

Others weren't as lucky as Eurion was when it came to having a steady job. Sure, the assassin didn't necessarily have a roof over his head all the time - most of the time - but at least he had work and enough money to pay for a hot meal or a room in a hostel if he so desperately needed it.

But, all those thoughts and feelings were to be buried deep down, far enough that they only surfaced when these dreams occurred. By morning, they were gone. At least hidden away enough for Eurion to forget about them and focus on more important matters, such as guiding the royals and their annoying witch of a guard to find the Old Gods.

During the night, Sláine made the executive decision to lay them both down. Eurion would no doubt wake with a massive crick in his neck if they stayed where they were, and the prince wanted to avoid that outcome for the sake of his ears and sanity. So he gently settled them down, until his head hit the pillows and Eurion was still resting his head on his shoulder and leaning into his side. He kept his arm around Eurion, though, not willing to change too much of their situation for fear of breaking the assassin out of his slumber.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night. And at some point, the prince fell asleep as well, no matter how hard he forced himself to not give in, to keep an eye on the sleeping assassin and stay on guard for the Gods' influence. He just couldn't keep his eyes open, not between the rhythmic breathing across his shoulder and the steadying warmth of another. He didn't fall deep enough into sleep to dream, but got enough surface level sleep that he would have an extra boost in the morning when it came to it.

Dawn crested over the valley, brightening the kingdom with a steady stream of sunlight. The drapes blocked most of the offensiveness, but let in enough to cast the room in a warm and low light. Sláine had yet to rouse, and the two next door weren't awake yet either.