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.
With the sunlight basking the room in a gentle golden glow, Eurion stirred awake. Slowly, and displeased about having to wake, his eyes opened. The groggy morning had him groaning, forgetting for a moment where he was and who he was with as he shit his eyes to help adjust to the newfound light.
It took him a moment before he realised what, and who was lying next to him, still sound asleep, and Eurion's eyes widened a fraction. He didn't dare move, not yet, and as much as he hated to admit it, it was comfortable having Sláine lying there next to him. Anyone who may have seemed them would probably call it cuddling, but the assassin would not entertain that thought as he became fully aware of his surroundings. Lying on the prince's shoulder, their legs grazing each other under the blanket of soft sheets that Sláine must have wrapped around them in the night. Had anyone been looking closely, they may have seen he slight red tint to his cheeks, if only at how absurd the situation was.
The memories from last night came flooding back to him. The dream, the Gods, how Sláine had comforted him and helped him and how he must have fallen asleep on the prince before he knew what he was doing or had any chance to protest and move away. But… the warmth and the feel of another body next to Eurion was too good to pass up, despite who it was lying next to him. He didn't want to move, or wake, the prince, not yet.
Sláine's mind drifted in and out of thought, not quite delving into dream but refusing to wake him now that he succumbed to sleep. It latched onto the comfort of another next to him, the way Eurion had looked dead asleep instead of terrified, or pissed off. The way his eternal scowl had softened a fraction. How quickly the lines between assassin and target had blurred in the face of a shared fear and the need for another. It swam in and out of thoughts about the Gods, as if they tried to invade his mind too, but they were quickly swept up and pushed away by others. Images of the past mingling with the present. The near future.
In his sleep, he twitched occasionally, nose scrunching up or muscles spasming. From his small movements, he got his curls all mussed up and in a mess, twisted around his horns and spread across his body. Images he wouldn't remember when woken darkened his mind to memories past, ones that would haunt him forever. This. This is why he didn't sleep. Sooner or later, he would be chased down by the hungry dog that was his life before now, and it would eat him alive in a heartbeat. It didn't take long for him to react in the waking world to the turn. The prince let out a sleepy little grunt and curled an arm tighter around Eurion, as if unconsciously seeking out the warmth of the assassin.
But with that move, Eurion was on his mind again, and Sláine settled. Even if drifting thoughts of what would happen once they left, what they would find, it was something else to think about. Slowly, consciousness crept up on him, but still taunted him, just out of reach.
How long had it been since Sláine had last slept? Eurion watched him and wondered. As much as last night the prince had teased him about 'taking care of him' he had looked tired. If he was awake all through the night, every night, how was he not a complete mess? Maybe he was just nocturnal and Eurion was thinking too far into it considering their lack of connection and that he didn't know the man, but it still left him wondering why he had been opposed. The obvious was that there was an assassin in his bed, which was partly the reason Eurion hadn't pushed- and for the fact that he didn't care, as he told himself- and someone had to watch him, but the way the prince moved in his sleep, twitched and hugging him closer, Eurion wondered whether the prince was also subject to nightmares, too.
With a very slow hand, and a very long inhale, Eurion moved one of his hands from where it lay between them, the only preventing thing between the two of them at this point, and placed it delicately on Sláine's chest. Partly to feel his heart beat, to subconsciously make sure he was okay even in sleep, the other, well, he didn't know why. A silent thank you for last night. The prince had been there for him, and maybe something subtle would be enough to show that he was grateful for him being there, however strange it may have been and how terribly the lines had blurred.
Eurion wouldn't bring it up, too ashamed of his fear and guilt to do so, but also because it was already going to be awkward between them when Sláine finally woke, and they were going to have to spend weeks, he guess, in the presence of one another and it would be very uncomfortable for them both if it was mentioned and things became difficult. This trip was going to be difficult enough, they didn't need whatever this thing was to make it harder.
The prince's heart was steady but rapid beneath Eurion's hand. The comfort his presence provided only did so much, but Sláine was no longer moving so much in his sleep as his mind latched onto other things to agonize over into oblivion. As it was, the assassin had yet to really witness the average night Sláine had, let alone the worst of it. And hopefully would never do so, but with them traveling together for however long they'd be traveling, it was bound to happen at some point. Either he would notice that the prince would doze off here and there during the day whenever he could, or Sláine would succumb to exhaustion and be on survival mode until he crashed, and ultimately got punished for it sometime during the night. There was no winning, and the prince was admittedly ashamed of it.
His twin knew about it to an extent, but didn't push him to do anything about it bavause he didn't think it was serious enough to do so. Aideen chalked it up to his travels, either when he visited old friends again under different contexts or went off on a mission with a small group of soldiers. It also wasn't an unfair assumption, because time zones were a bitch. But beyond their basic worries, they knew nothing. Caoimhe had his own problems to deal with, undoubtedly helped by Aideen, so Sláine didn't want to burden him any more than he needed to be. He was so happy now, even if still volatile at times. Aideen made him happy, helped him from the shadows of what came before everything they knew now. It was all so recent that everything changed, and everyone expected the twins to just… be okay. Act like the years before never had an effect on them. Act like there was never a time before the reign of their cousin. That's not how it worked.
Just as he was close to sinking back into sleep, a particular memory jolted him awake. His eyes stayed glued shut, but his body flinched and flew him into awakeness with a sharp inhale. Something felt off, and as he collected himself, he registered the body against his, the hand on his chest and head on his shoulder. The fact that he was actively holding this person. Fuck. He remembered last night. Sláine cracked open an eye to look at Eurion.
Eurion twisted his head, inclining it up when he felt the change in breathing. So the prince had finally woken and whether or not they were going to address their current situation had finally came. He swallowed, finally making eye contact with Sláine. He didn’t move, afraid that if he did the warmth of the prince wild fade far too quickly, “Good morning.”
His voice was quiet in the stillness of the early morning, only accompanied by the sounds of birds twittering away in the distance. He was at a loss on what else to say. Did they talk about last night? What had finally woken Sláine with a jolt? Talking was not his strong suit, but Eurion was going to have to get used to the idea and the practise of making active conversation, and not just talking about the Gods. He might go nuts if they spent the whole time simply deciphering what their messages meant and how to find them. Talking was hard enough, one topic for the entirety of the time they had together was even harder.
They should move, he should move. Being held and cuddled- the now no space between them wasn’t supposed to happen. Yet here they were, the assassin and the prince cuddled in bed together we if they’d spent a sweet night with one another and Eurion hadn’t been planning on killing him. But Eurion was still apart from his hand rising and falling with the rhythm of Sláine’s breathing and his head resting far too comfortable on his shoulder. Getting up now meant giving up the warmth and presence the prince had
provided. Getting up now meant facing what had occurred last night. It meant a lot of things, and, as much as he hated it, Eurion wasn’t ready to move yet.
Their eyes met, and neither of them moved. Eurion was peering up at Sláine from his spot on his shoulder, still pressed into the prince's side and still with his hand on his chest. And Sláine, in all shameful honesty, didn't dislike the view of immediately want for them to separate. This wasn't something they should've been doing, or encouraging. They were supposed to wake up, pretend nothing had happened between them at all, and go about their day as nothing more than strangers in a complicated moment of partnership that wouldn't last longer than a few weeks. The reluctancy on both of their ends to move was not supposed to happen. But Sláine's conflicted self only knew that he was comfortable, unopposed to the moment, and wanted to hold on for as long as possible.
As if reminded by the thought of holding, his fingers twitched where they rested around Eurion's side, but otherwise didn't move. Sláine nuzzled further into the pillow for something to distract him from the man looking up at him, but even losing half his vision to fluffy comfort did nothing to draw his attention from the cuddled up assassin. "Mornin'," he drawled, voice rough from not talking most of the night. He looked about ready to drop back into sleep, but he stayed awake, gaze not leaving Eurion's.
It was some sort of mental tango with himself and the assassin: would they, wouldn't they? The prince was comfortable and tired, and Eurion looked—he refused to think about how the assassin looked while against Sláine. But something kept him from rolling away and demanding they get up to go about their day. Maybe it was the urge to roll towards the assassin to hide away from the day and get some more sleep. Maybe it was the high comfort levels. Maybe it was the lingering memories of last night and the feeling that the bubble hadn't quite popped just yet. Either way, he didn't move at all, and knew that something had to be said before it got awkward. But he couldn't do anything but scan Eurion's face from below heavy lids and notice how dark the other's eyes were.
One thing did come to mind, though. Shamefully. Selfishly. "They won't be awake for a while." An invitation to keep being lazy.
Something about how they were laying like this, with Eurion pressed against Sláine, the prince's arm around him, how their bodies fit together… the thoughts had Eurion's cheeks turning slightly pinker, and at this distance? Probably noticeable, but Eurion hoped that as the prince had just woken up it would go unchecked. It was entirely insane what they were doing and how they were, but the way Slàine's fingers twitched around Eurion had him shifting ever so slightly into his hand, if only out of reflex to the movement.
At his quiet invitation to stay in bed, Eurion hummed, "That's… good." He mumbled. The comfort and the warmth, the gentleness of the prince's arms around him, how the prince looked at him? If anyone were to burst into the room and see them like this it would look entirely too much like lovers lounging around in the early morning, basking in each other's presence after a night well spent with each other.
The lines and waters between them both were getting blurrier the longer they stayed. They knew nothing of one another, strangers. But here they were wrapped in each other as if they had been long-time lovers, both of them refusing to move from their position either because they were both too scared to make a move, but from the looks, they both seemed to be giving each other, Eurion guessed it was because they liked it to some degree. The hand on Slàine's chest shifted a little, testing the waters to see whether or not he should remove his hand away, or wrap it further around for comfort.
Fuck me. So many bad choices were floating around Sláine's head that he didn't want to voice. This was his assassin. Would-be, anyway. He shouldn't be enamored by the way the man was looking up at him, or the slightest tinge of red in his cheeks, or even the small shift into his touch. He shouldn't be thinking about how they could lay like that for a little while longer because Caoimhe and Aideen had a horrible habit of distracting each other in the mornings, on top of his twin being a chronic over-sleeper. He shouldn't be, but he was. Eurion wasn't some stranger in a bar that he took home during the night for some fun. This was many lines being blurred for the sake of their mutual comfort.
And how long would it last? Would one of them come to their senses and declare to never mention it again? Did it begin and end at the prince's bed, a place they'd never meet again the moment they left to find the Old Gods? Sláine selfishly wanted to keep this little bubble of something for as long as possible, no matter how confusing. So when Eurion moving his hand over his chest some, he decided fuck it and took what he could get away with. If it ended this blip in what should be reality, so be it—even if he doubted it some by the face the assassin was making.
Shifting further into the other's space, the prince silently encouraged whatever it was that Eurion had in mind, and lifted his free hand from where it laid on the bed. He reached up for Eurion's face with a mixed look of several emotions, none of which he could pin down. His knuckles brushed the man's cheek as he ran a gentle thumb over the underside of the assassin's eye. "You look better." Rested. Soft. Not full of terror and hauntingly blank. The skin against his fingers was endearingly warm, but hesitation had him pulling away a fraction.
The touch had Eurion's heart leaping. He nearly laughed at himself at how ridiculous it was that he was nervous over this, but sneaking into the most heavily guarded palace on this side of the world, getting into the prince's chambers and killing them without being found out had not phased him at all. No, it was the softness, the gentleness and the intimacy of how close they were that had him nervous. His inexperience when it came to being physically close to someone had him nervous, because what did he do, what did he say? And this wasn't just a random man, this was the prince of all people. But here they were, sharing each other's air, leaning into each other and sharing their space with nothing but the covers and their clothes between them.
But the touch on his cheek had Eurion's cheeks warming some more, had the assassin leaning into Slàine's touch as if they had done this a thousand times over and this was their normal, and his own hand relaxing further around the prince's chest, not quite pulling him in further, but close enough - if it was mentioned he'd brush it off as simply wanting to be in a more comfortable position and not have a sore arm when they eventually got up even if that wasn't the case.
His eyes involuntarily fluttered shut - half to hide the look in his eyes, the other because he was scared of Sláine's reaction. He exhaled, "I have you to thank for that."
Had Sláine not been there with him last night, Eurion knew what would have happened instead. The night would have repeated like any other - the assassin staring blankly at the walls around him, afraid to move or talk or sleep. Flinching at any noise that was too loud or too close until he finally passed out from exhaustion and woke feeling less than well rested, if more terrified than he would have been the night before.
Sláine nearly pulled away completely, unsure why he even thought it was a good idea to touch Eurion's face like that. The position they were in was one thing, easily explained as being how they fell asleep and just haven't moved from it, but the touch to his face? Purposeful and blurring even more lines. But Eurion blushed some more and leaned in, and Sláine nearly wrapped the man into a full-body embrace. He restrained himself, though, and settled for cupping the man's cheek to properly hold his face. How long had it been since Eurion had been exposed to physical comfort, or any at all? The way he reacted to the little things, the look in his eyes, it was almost as if the prince was the only one to not treat him horribly.
The very thought had him swallowing it back. It wasn't something he was permitted to ask, especially not after last night. He could hold the assassin close and provide comfort, but he wouldn't pry into matters that weren't his to know. He huffed a small breath at the arm extending over his chest, and the thanks he was given, but otherwise didn't react. They were both toeing lines.
"Tha mo thiodhlac saor," Sláine said. His head dipped down until his nose brushed over strands of hair, closer than he should've dared—could've, when Eurion's eyes had been locked onto him—and he translated the phrase, the same one he had used last night. "'My gift is free.' Thanking me means you owe me, and you don't." He had done the bare minimum last night, but it was still something he would do a thousand times if he knew it would help and that the assassin would be okay. Really, last night had probably softened his heart to the man lying next to him—the one he was holding and not letting go of, the one that had admitted to trying to kill him and his brother. He now knew enough about why he did it to not be angry at him, not that he was before. Irritated? Maybe. But assassins weren't anything new, and the moment Eurion had realized his defeat, he didn't try anything. Sláine still wouldn't blame him if he did, not when the Gods were breathing down his neck so fiercely.
Eurion could feel the urge to argue- to push and say how, no matter what Sláine said about Eurion not owing him, the assassin felt like he did, he would always feel like the owed the prince for the display of kindness and generosity he had shown to him last night when others would have turned away. Whether that was because it would be a silent punishment for trying to attempt to kill him, or because they didn't care enough, usually it was the latter. For Eurion, everything came with a price. Everything good always had an underlying motive, something he had to do in return even if he didn't ask or want it. It was how the world around him operated.
But here with Sláine? With the prince telling him that Eurion owed nothing? He loosed a long breath, and any tension that he may still have been holding from the night before left his body. Maybe it was the final confirmation he needed to feel, not safe, no, but whole comfortable in his presence.
It had been too long since he had been held like this. He was tempted just ask Sláine to hold him tightly, even for a moment, just to feel it. To remember what it was like to be held by someone. The prince's hand was warm, and when his face was cupped he leaned further in before he could stop himself or tell himself this was a stupid idea. The line in the sands was no longer there. They had blurred last night but whatever may have been left between them had gone. If they chose to speak about this later, then they would, but if it was just this moment? Eurion was okay with that. Attachments weren't something that was common in his line of work, and after all, Sláine was a prince, they should have no connection at all. The twinge of disappointment he could address later if he so needed to.
"Not everyone would have done what you did," Eurion mumbled, "I'm thanking you regardless." He left it at that.
Before he could stop himself, Sláine let out an amused huff and muttered, "Stubborn." No matter the dynamic between the two and how it had obviously changed through the course of the night, Eruion was still reluctant to budge on certain things. Lying in the bed rather than the floor, taking a change of clothes, accepting that he didn't need to thank the prince for a simple act of kindness. He wondered what it would take to wear him down on this, just like how silence had worn him down on the others.
And as though he could read the assassin's thoughts—he could not—Sláine shifted them both a little by pulling Eurion closer, holding tighter to keep him secure, and adjusted himself so that they fit a little more comfortably with him facing the other a little better without dislodging him. At this point, the prince was warm and buzzing on a mystery high from being in such a way with the assassin, and he stopped thinking about the implications. They'd figure it out later, if ever. So he closed his eyes and gave in to the relaxation that washed over him, not realizing just how tense Eurion had been still until the man seemed to fully loosen up. A fantasy for just now. Real life could come later, when they'd have to reestablish their dynamic and tricky relationship.
Eurion's words still stuck with the prince, though. Not everyone would have done what you did. "Maybe not," he allowed, after a short stretch of silence. "But it… Neglect of visible cruelty is still cruelty, in my mind. I could see what they did." Both with the magic and with Eurion's fearful stare. The anger reared its head again, and he pushed it back once more with a few self-soothing taps to Eurion's side. Secret for a secret seemed fair, and he didn't want to bring up what happened last night for fear of Eurion withdrawing so soon. "I know the feeling."
Eurion sighed softly. At the shift in their position, it allowed him to bury himself in the prince's arms without thinking, his face now leaning against the other's chest and tucked away under in the mess of blankets and limbs that they were now wrapped up in. Tight, strong arms around him, legs together and his face pressed into Sláine's chest. Hiding away from the world, from the Gods, mainly. He knew that if the Gods so wished, Sláine wouldn't be able to stop them if they so wished to invade his mind again, but right now, he didn't care. The prince was a solid wall between him and the rest of the world, holding on to him tightly as if they had all the time in the world to cuddle and take in each other's presence and warmth.
For now, Eurion didn't care what happened after they finally got out of bed. If they would ever return to this state of quiet, soft comfort with no fear, or if they would never speak of it again. Realistically, they shouldn't. They shouldn't have even been in this spot with the assassin in the prince's arms like this. He shouldn't have been comfortable enough to even allow himself to be in this position. But that deep, hidden away want- need for someone, for something when the Gods violated his mind, and even in the moments when he didn't, flared up before Eurion could stop them.
He wanted to question as to why the prince knew the feeling, but speaking of sensitive topics so early in the morning, especially when they were comfortable like this, was bound to make this take five steps backwards. It shouldn't have been a bother to him if they did, but that feeling in his stomach told Eurion otherwise, despite trying to ignore it. His own arm settled a little more around Sláine, a silent plea to stay, even for another moment, for however long they could get away with before Caoimhe and Aideen eventually woke, "That wasn't even the half of it," The Gods could be harsher, he'd experienced it time and time again, "I-" Å pause, as if he was contemplating what he was about to say, "I appreciate you being there."
In all his life, Sláine never expected to think that a man taller than him, that had introduced himself with a solid scowl and an attitude, would be so cute when tucked up into his arms. He didn't even need to look to know that the sight of Eurion buried into his chest would make him melt and want to never give this up, if only to keep the man in this mood. Maybe they wouldn't be able to continue this particular activity when on the move, but the prince decided that he'd be more tactile with Eurion than he otherwise would've been, because a warmth bloomed in his chest and cheeks when the assassin held him back and used him to hide away from the world. If he could provide a sliver of the comfort they had now during their future time together, he'd make it count.
"Now you're learning," he said, a rumble of amusement in the words. Sláine curled around Eurion, sleep tugging at him once more now that he allowed himself to fully accept that he was cuddling with another person, and that it was soothing in a way. But he didn't want to fall back asleep, mostly because he didn't want to leave Eurion without him present, or because he was afraid of waking up once more without the assassin tucked away into his chest.
He idly stroked a thumb over Eurion's cheekbone, humming to himself as he tried to think of something. It wasn't working, though. He wanted to ask about Eurion, but that was too close to sensitive topics because he didn't know where things would land. Talking about himself was tricky too. Disgruntled, the prince got a little huffy and buried his face into Eurion's hair. "Talk to me. An dèan thu? Please? About anything." He wanted to keep listening to Eurion's voice. He wanted to know more about him, to properly know the man in his bed, and to be known by him, even if it was stupid little things. It was unfair to them both for him to know something so personal about Eurion, but virtually nothing about the prince was on the table besides his status and reluctance to part with the assassin in his arms.
Eurion breathed the prince in, humming quietly at his words as he spoke. He’d never thought he would ever have the opportunity to experience something so sweet and intimate with another person, not in adulthood. Any chance he had when it came to finding a connection with someone vanished the night he was Chosen. There may be some messengers out there who were lucky enough to find their person, but when your life was spent constantly on the move, never staying in one place longer than a week, a month if you were lucky, when death latched onto your soul and wrapped around you with no signs of letting go, it was difficult.
Difficult to find people if Eurion had truly wanted or tried to seek out connection. Difficult to stay knowing that every time he would have to leave, he’d return covered in blood and grime. Messenger of the Old Gods seemed to no longer ring true to him, he was Deaths messenger these days. He had prayed for a long while that the Gods had some other use for him bar simply being their weapon, but nothing ever changed, and so neither did Eurion. Desires were forgotten, and it wasn’t until Sláine - to feel the princes fingers over his cheek knowing his skin was warming at the touch, to how he was tucked into his body so nicely, had he remembered them. A century was a long time to go without touch such as this, he hoped it was the reason as to why his heart fluttered, and simply not because of who was doing so.
He didn’t quite know what to say when Sláine asked him to speak. He didn’t really have any talents apart from killing because he had never found time to do so. He had interests, sure, but he wondered if they would even be interesting to the prince, “There’s going to be an eclipse soon,” He eventually settled upon. Stars well, stars and planets, he knew, “The Fae are supposed to have a big festival to celebrate, to signal the new beginnings it brings. Starlight Celebration.”
