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

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."

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?

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.

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.

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…

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.