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If there was one thing Eivor knew it was war.
Violent, bloody. Not the kind that the sagas sung of or the ones which forged heroes in blood and glory.
It wasn’t the kind, warm touch of another or the laughter among those you would see again in Valhalla.
This is not to say that Eivor did not lay with other people or laugh with his raiders, this was to say that if they could be summed up in in simple descriptions, as if the complexities of man could be reduced to such a single word that could do them no true justice Eivor knew which word would suit them.
He had been born to the gentle love of their parents, growing up they had been taught to believe in love so true that even the Nornirs had no say in their fate. But that had changed when his parents died.
Any belief of love had died with them that day.
So, he were rather surprised when shortly after establishing Ravensthorpe in England they found their eyes following Hytham a little too closely to be considered friendly or mere concern. The young acolyte had settled rather swiftly into their bureau, which Eivor was beginning to associate with comfort, safety.
When had Eivor last felt truly safe around anyone other than Sigurd and Randvi?
He did not know, only that he did.
Hytham was a marvel in his own right, although Eivor did not know much of his clan they knew that Hytham seemed to embody it as much as possible, perhaps more so than his mentor – though the young assassin would fervently deny that, citing he still had “much to learn.”
Silent and deadly, preferring the shadows. More literally than anything else. Hytham did not quite seem to master the “hiding in plain sight” aspect of his training which was revealed to Eivor by Basim.
“He does not know how to be anything but himself,” Basim had said, “It’s rather sweet, I should think.”
And Eivor had agreed.
Hytham rarely – if ever – drank any mead either, upon wondering why Hytham had revealed his faith to them. About how they perhaps take it a bit more seriously than others.
“Forgive me, I do not mean to sour the mood.” Hytham said with a sad smile, “After the brotherhood took me in, all I had left of my life before was my faith.”
“This is not something that needs nor requires forgiveness, my friend.” Eivor put his hand to Hytham’s shoulder.
“I— perhaps not, but I fear insult to your customs for denying a drink.”
Eivor had let out a laugh, “For denying yourself loosened lips? A one night stand better forgotten? Drunken singing? Throwing up until your throat only remembers the taste of mead coming up?”
Hytham had smiled, gentle but no less warm.
“Perhaps it is more noble of you to follow your faith so closely, perhaps by doing so you have denied yourself pleasures, but Hytham—” they make eye contact with him as they continue, “the choice is ultimately yours to make. I cannot pretend I have such devotion to my own, but yours is— inspiring.”
“It’s not— truly, though I thank you for your kind words.”
Hytham had been a little more forgiving of himself afterwards, he had indulged in mead but said that during a certain period of his faith he would not, he had said that this time was called Ramadan. Eivor had questioned it and Hytham had told them, very happily, how he and his family had partook in this time when they were young.
Fasting during the daylight did not sound fun to Eivor, denying yourself food or water as well as other activities for anywhere from ten to twelve hours – fourteen in some places! – but they listened, intent on learning and keen to see the light in Hytham’s eyes and the smile on his face.
“I remember my siblings and I arguing over who would break our parents’ fast,” he said, his happiness seeping out from within, “My parents eventually decided that we would take turns which resulted in us seeing who could make the best meal for them. Ramadan to me felt like… coming home, love in all its truest forms.”
Eivor did not respond for a moment, to properly consider his own words. “I… do not mean to sound disrespectful but, perhaps this year I could partake with you?”
The young assassin had turned then towards them, blinking in confusion. “Disrespectful? How?”
“I am not Muslim,” Eivor said, matter of fact, “Would this not be an insult to your god?”
Hytham lets out a small laugh, which Eivor finds their heart speeding up in response to, though not in fear of mockery. “No, it would not. If you partook as one of the Five Pillars of Islam, to improve yourself during this time it would not be. Regardless of your faith.”
“And what should I do if I were too break my fast?”
“Usually a day of generosity and service is required and the sin is forgiven. Though it varies from region to region.”
“Perhaps if I partake this year and break it I could repent this sin by servicing you.”
Hytham had chosen then to choke on his drink, a blush to his cheeks and it was not until much later that Eivor realised how their words could have been taken.
He had cursed under his breath at the thought of making themselves a fool in front of Hytham, but around him they could not help it. It was never intentional, Eivor could destroy anyone in flyting, but around Hytham they had found themselves not as quick, because they didn’t feel the need to be. Hytham was no threat to them, they had no need to be on guard, literally or figuratively.
Eivor introduced Hytham to flyting shortly after their conversation of faith. He had taken to it rather well which made Eivor soar with pride.
They’re in the bureau as they usually are when Eivor needs an escape. Hytham leans against his desk with Eivor in front of him.
“Very good!” They praised, “Now usually your opponent—”
“Is it usually insults?”
The question caught Eivor off-guard. “I.. I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“Flyting. Is it usually insults?” Hytham asked again, “Could this not also be a method of flattery or flirting?”
“Not usually, no, is there someone you wish to court like this?”
That all too familiar blush returned to Hytham’s cheeks and Eivor found themselves wanting to see how far that blush went. “Well— no, just a mere curiosity is all.”
“From the way you say ‘no’, my friend, I am inclined to believe you are a liar.”
Hytham makes a noise like a scoff, but he must have realised how it sounds before letting out a small whine and holding his face in his hands.
“Mentor was right, I am not as skilled with my tongue when it comes to deception.”
“Hytham.”
“There… is someone, but if they feel the same is anyone’s guess.” Hytham lets out a sigh.
“Who are they?” Eivor asks stepping closer, ignoring the gentle crushing of his heart, but they do not understand why it hurts so.
“I would… rather not say. Forgive me—”
“You have a habit of asking for forgiveness when none is needed. Tell me about them. As little or as much as you wish.”
Hytham seems to consider this for a moment, before speaking. “They’re incredible. A fierce warrior and a kind heart, stubborn but it’s incredibly sweet and charming.”
“They sound wonderful, I’m happy for you.”
“You say that as if we were already together.”
“They would be a fool to reject you.” And that causes Hytham to blush, for his to tighten his hands into balls by his side.
“I’m not suitable for them. They deserve someone better than—”
“Perish that thought,” Eivor interrupts. “Now. Purge it from your mind.”
“Eivor—”
“Hytham—”
“What good am I? An injured assassin who can hardly fight without strain?”
“A friend.” Eivor begins without really thinking of it, “A warrior of the mind, a damn good flyter, a man of his word. You are so much more than just your hidden blade, Hytham.”
“I should’ve let you kill Kjotve, I should have respected your right to—”
“Had you not interfered I would have not managed to kill him. It was only because of you I was able to deliver the final blow. And might I add that injury is merely a sign of your bravery, of your loyalty to your creed and to Basim, anyone who dares to think otherwise I would like to have a very long talk with.”
There’s silence for a moment, Eivor fears that they said too much perhaps overwhelmed the acolyte with the truth of their words, but then—
“Thank you, Eivor. For defending my honour, to myself and others.”
“Hytham, you are one of the most honourable men I know,” Eivor says, moving closer so that they are in front of the assassin. “You have a lot to learn from Basim, this is true. But I still have so much to learn from you.”
They reach out, cupping Hytham’s jaw, stroking along his cheek maybe it’s the conversation or the darkness of the night but Hytham lets them touch him. He leans into the touch, submitting, eyes fluttering close as he does so.
Eivor cannot help the glance at his lips, and it’s then that they realise how handsome Hytham looks in the light of the fire, how very kissable Hytham looks, unguarded and safe.
The realisation startles them and they freeze, unable to stay where they are but equally unable to move. They cannot stay like this, with Hytham so trusting and gentle for fear of doing something so stupid such as kissing him, hearing him make gentle noises under their touch, but they also cannot move for fear of breaking the moment.
Luckily they do not have to.
“Hytham, how goes your—” the voice causes Eivor’s hand to drop and Hytham to startle by opening his eyes, Eivor takes a few steps away as though it will give them plausible deniability and they both turn towards the voice.
It’s Basim. The master assassin stands in the doorway looking between Hytham and Eivor, he doesn’t say anything but Eivor doesn’t want him to.
It’s Hytham who speaks.
“Mentor! How can I help?”
“I wanted to check upon your work in the codex and the scrolls we had brought back from Cent.” Basim speaks to him, but his eyes are fixed are Eivor, “Should I come back later?”
“No, no,” Hytham says getting off his desk, hands searching for something to do, “I can show you the progress I have made with them now.”
Basim looks at him then, “Very well. Eivor, forgive us, but I’m afraid I must ask you to leave as this is a private matter for our creed.”
And Eivor knows an escape when they are offered one, they take it.
“Of course, I shall leave you both to it then,” and they give a small nod to Hytham, bidding them goodnight.
“I trust I will see you tomorrow?” Hytham asks them and fuck, Eivor wants to say yes, but with Basim’s eyes practically searing into their skull they feel awkward.
But he have never been able to deny Hytham anything when he looks at them like that, “Most likely. Only the morning shall tell.”
“Good night, Eivor,” the acolyte says with a smile, before grabbing a scroll and unfurling it, Basim comes closer to his apprentice, but not before giving Eivor a look and the Norse takes his leave.
They see Hytham the next day, and the day after. It’s only until the third day that Basim talks to him.
Eivor is alone, in their room, reading the recent letters from Erke about his concerns of the Order of the Ancients attempting to take Lunden again. The report from Randvi has been untouched for now but after the letters they will look and see what she advises. Now that Sigurd is back, the work of Jarl falls to him, settling disputes, permission for raids as well as festivities, while Eivor asked for permission to continue to build Ravensthorpe.
Sigurd had agreed, but truthfully Eivor had a feeling he was barely paying attention, Randvi had advised them to run it through her before doing anything so that they could face Sigurd’s wrath together should it come to it.
“Your work never ceases it would seem,” Basim says from the doorway, the curtain drawn behind him.
“One could argue that about your work and Hytham’s,” they respond, eyes focused on the letter.
“This is true,” Basim concedes, “The order is a poison to the world but it’s harder to convince people to stop drinking it when they don’t believe it will kill them.”
“People are strange.”
A hum is the only response they get from Basim.
They know what Basim wants, what they’re here for, the air feels pregnant with the tension until one of the breaks and asks it, but Eivor knows it will not be Basim, the man is good at holding out, at silence, prolonged eye contact and waiting until people break.
Eivor is glad he belongs to the Hidden Ones and not the Order. He would make a terrifying opponent, both on the battlefield and in a conversation.
“What do you want, Basim?”
“I should be asking that of you,” the retort is quick and clearly one he has thought about. It doesn’t surprise Eivor that Basim has prepared for this.
“In what regard?” They ask, but they know the answer already.
“Hytham.”
Eivor lets out a noise, their hand going up to pinch the bridge of their nose in frustration. It’s no surprise that the master assassin cares for his apprentice, though Basim would never say that it’s clear in his words, how proud he seems of Hytham when he speaks of his work.
“I don’t have any ill-intentions, if that’s what you mean,” they say.
“Forgive me for needing more assurance than that,” Basim speaks, “Eivor, Hytham is not like you and I, he would not survive heartbreak if he believed if this was a one-time occurrence. If you are going to break his heart, I suggest you do so now. Gently.”
Eivor remembers the night they spent with Basim in Cent, an intimacy between two people who needed it, Basim had allowed himself to be vulnerable – a state in which Eivor suspects he hasn’t been in for a while – while Eivor had let the night be something to take their mind off Sigurd’s torture.
The night had been fun, Eivor remembers how they had held the hand in which concealed his hidden blade against their neck, where their namesake had been bestowed. “You said a man who you trust with everything could take everything.”
“I did.”
“I trust you not to take everything from me. Without Sigurd all I have is my life, but I’m afraid that may even be worth that much.”
“You trust me not to take it?”
“I do.”
“You trust too easily, Wolf-Kissed.”
“Is that not what your creed fights for? So that people do not have to fear the shadows or misplacing their trust?”
“It is not the shadows people should fear,” Basim had responded, looking towards Eivor’s lips, “it’s what lurks within them.”
“You lurk within them. I trust you, Basim, truly.”
“That may be your downfall one day.”
“Then let me fall.”
Basim had kissed them then, first a gentle meeting of lips before quickly devolving into something more heated and frantic, Eivor’s hands had grabbed his tunic, needing more contact.
That morning Eivor was surprised to find Basim still asleep in their makeshift bed, they did not know why but they expected that the master assassin would be gone before dawn.
“I have no intention of breaking his heart.”
“Perhaps, but intentions and what occurs are unfortunately two different things.” Basim says, and Eivor hates how they know he’s right, “You may not intend to hurt him, but whether or not this happens is a separate matter.”
“Do you want me to stop?” They ask with more heat than they mean to.
“No,” is the gentle response, “Hytham would grow concerned if you stopped seeing him all I ask is… is that you figure out your own emotions before doing anything else, and once they are clear you will make it clear your intent.”
“I… this is reasonable, however, I have never been known for being in touch with my emotions other than anger,” Eivor forces their eyes closed, “I don’t want to hurt him, Basim, please believe that. The very idea makes me sick, but I am terrified of just how much I feel for them.”
“I know what I ask of you is difficult, nigh on impossible,” Basim speaks, gently, “But I would ask that you try and keep me in the know so I may help. Hytham cares for you greatly, you are perhaps closer to him than even I or Sigurd.
I could not bear to see him with a broken heart, Wolf-Kissed. It would kill me. He’s like a son to me.”
“Does he know that?” Eivor asks it without thinking and he sees how Basim flinches at it, “You tell me to make my intentions clear to Hytham, but yours are clouded. Do you not know how eager he is for your approval? For your praise? You say that you do not want me to string him along like a lost puppy, but is that not precisely what you have done?”
“Hytham should not seek the approval of others.”
“He does not want the approval of others, he wants yours. His mentor, his friend,” they look Basim in the eyes, “His father. There is a difference between changing yourself completely to fit in and needing assurance from someone you trust.”
Basim doesn’t speak, eyes breaking from Eivor’s. Clearly processing the drengr’s words.
“Tell him,” Eivor says without speaking, “Tell him so he does not have to worry about whether or not he makes you proud, do so and you have my word I will make my intentions with Hytham as clear as daylight when I have figured them out. And if I break my word you may do what you like with me.”
“And if I wish to take your life?”
“You may do that, and deny me Valhalla if that is what you wish.”
Basim looks up at them at those words, “You would deny yourself Valhalla for Hytham?”
The questions shouldn’t be a strange one, Eivor had always dreamt of Valhalla, of dying in glory so that they could make their parents proud, but at the prospect of dying, of being denied something they have so long sought after for Hytham, it should fill them with doubt, with something that makes them want to take back their words, but no feeling like that comes to them.
“I would.”
The words are as true as the sun rising.
“Very well,” Basim says, “I will tell him. Thank you, Wolf-Kissed.”
“I will see you around Basim.”
And just like that Eivor is alone.
The raid they had led on a monastery in Northumbria did not go according to plan.
For one they had underestimated the number of guards that would be at it and two they had been surprise attacked by a member of the Order, posing as a monk.
“Chin up, Sunbeam!” Birna had said with a hard slap to their shoulder, “You’re not going to Valhalla just yet.”
The ship back had been almost nauseating. Eivor had found the world gently spinning which caused Birna to insist on leaning on her, he took it and before long they were inside Valka’s hut. Eivor remembers some talking between Valka and Birna and then nothing.
It’s only when he awakes, sore and tired that they realise they must have passed out, Eivor is on Valka’s floor furs. Head still hammering, he groans as he sits up, only to feel a hand on their shoulder.
“Eivor,” it’s Hytham’s voice, and it causes their heart to swell. “Are you well?”
They let out a groan of pain, “Everything— hurts. Do you have— any water?”
They feel the hand disappear, some shuffling before Hytham is back beside them. They gently push Eivor back.
“Please, do not strain yourself.” Hytham speaks, and Eivor finds they do not have the strength to argue nor the will to. “Birna told us what happened. It would seem that the Order Member you killed had coated his blade with poison. However it was rather weak and Valka was quick to work.” He puts the bowl of water to Eivor’s lips. “Drink.”
Eivor obeys, the water feels refreshing, as if it were breathing new life into them.
Hytham removes the bowl, “How do you feel?”
“Mind’s becoming clearer.” Eivor says, “How is everyone else? Was I the only one effected?”
“Yes,” Hytham reassures, “You killed the Order Member before they could do any more harm.”
“Good.” Eivor lets their head fall against the pillows of furs, “that reminds me.” They speak and reach into their pocket, Hytham’s eyes following and they pull out an Order of the Ancients Medallion. “I grabbed this for you.”
Hytham stares at the medallion in the drengr’s hand, before reaching out and covering the medallion with his own. He does not take it, simply lets their hands touch with the medallion between them.
“You… did not have to do that. Least of all for me,” Hytham says and his voice sounds soft.
Eivor lets out a small laugh, “I did. Your work is important to you. Therefore it is important to me.”
“That maybe so, but Eivor,” the assassin speaks, “You’re important to me as well.”
All Eivor can do is swallow at that and look at where their hands touch. Hytham’s hand is the one with the hidden blade, his ring finger cut off to accommodate the weapon. Eivor wonders how much it hurt, if Hytham was ready for that pain and had been preparing for it, if the taking of his finger was sudden so as to not cause mental distress.
“Eivor…” Hytham says their name like a whispered prayer, they look up and see those blue eyes on them and Eivor doesn’t know what to do, they feel as though they are hypnotised by those eyes, as if they could drown in them and have no complaints, no regrets. Hytham moves his other hand to Eivor’s forehead, and it’s only then Eivor realises how badly they are sweating, how much heat they feel. “You’re burning up. Stay here, I will get Valka and get you a wet cloth, we should also get you out of some more of your clothes.”
The idea of Hytham undressing them is enough to make them groan, but they realise that Hytham must interpret it as a noise of pain if his quickened actions are anything to go by.
It’s nearly five days before Valka allows them to leave her hut. She had worried about the wound opening up again and causing an infection, as well as any other poisons that may have been coated on the blade.
Eivor goes to speak to Randvi about the supplies they had gathered at the last raid and is surprised when upon entering the room with the Alliance Map Hytham and Randvi seem to be talking.
“—I do not force them to take upon this work,” Hytham speaks, sounding agitated, but attempting to hide it.
“I know you do not, but we cannot risk Eivor dying because of your battles.” Randvi’s tongue is sharp, her tone unrelenting.
“Our causes intersect—”
“They do, but you know as well as I that Eivor tries to help everyone, succeeds more often than not, but this is your battle, Hytham. For you, Basim and the rest of your clan to deal with – not us, certainly not Eivor.”
“Do I get a say in this?” The drengr asks, causing Randvi and Hytham to look at them.
They hear it come from Hytham, a gentle ‘Eivor’ which sounds almost breathless and so full of hope.
“How much did you hear?” Randvi asks.
“Depends. How much would you be comfortable with me knowing?”
Randvi scoffs, but there’s a smile on her face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was stabbed and poisoned. Naturally.”
They hear the gentle laugh it earns from Hytham, and Eivor cannot help the smile that appears on their face.
“What are you two doing then?” Eivor asks, “Other than arguing about myself, of course.”
Eivor walks closer to the Alliance Map as they speak, shoulders gently bumping with Hytham, they ignore how the touch makes them tingle, despite their layers of clothing.
“I believe there are more Order Members up north, Jorvik seems like a good place to start, being the capital closest to us, however, Randvi—” Hytham gestures to her, “believes you should stay here for awhile longer, to regain your strength and to inspire hope among the people. While I don’t entirely disagree with her I told her it wasn’t your place. It’s Sigurd’s.”
“How is my brother?”
“Volatile, extremely so.” Randvi says, “which is why you are needed here—”
“If Eivor stays here keeping up morale Sigurd could take it as them pining for power, which he already fears. If you stay here and keep on eye on Sigurd and everything it won’t fall apart,” Hytham speaks, strangely sure of himself, “Eivor acted as the head of the clan in Sigurd’s absense, now he is back the duties fall to him as the jarl.”
“Sigurd may be back, but he is still unwell,” she speaks, “Eivor should continue his duty as the de facto leader until Sigurd is better, he was tortured—”
“You’re his wife, Randvi,” Eivor speaks, “Hytham is right, if I continue to lead Sigurd may do Odin knows what. You can keep an eye on Sigurd until he gets better, quell any unrest that arises.” They look towards Hytham, “Besides, a trip up north for some small vengeance doesn’t sound too bad at the moment.”
Hytham smiles at them, before turning to Randvi, “So, is this settled then?”
Randvi leans forward so her hands are on the Alliance Map, her eyes darting between Jorvik and Ravensthorpe. Eivor knows that look well enough, she’s weighing what they could gain, what they could lose.
“Yes. Merely because I have a feeling no matter what I say, it won’t sway you,” Randvi speaks, “But should I summon you back for any reason I expect you both to adhere.”
“Understood.” Hytham replies, he turns to Eivor, “I can get the horses ready, we can leave at first light in a few days—”
“We can leave now.”
They see how the acolytes’ eyes widen at that, “So soon? Eivor, are you sure you can handle that?”
“I’ve been doing nothing but resting for the past few days,” the drengr informs, “I’m ready to get back into it. You can speak to Valka if you have your doubts, but I’m eager to go out again.”
Hytham considers this for a moment, “Very well, I trust you. I’ll go and speak with Rowan and inform you when we leave.” He stops and then— “I should also inform Mentor Basim.”
“No need,” the drengr says, seeing the look in Hytham’s eyes. “I’ll do that, you talk to Rowan.”
“Are you sure—?”
“Go.” Hytham looks adorable like this, wide eyed and unsure. Is there an emotion he has in which he doesn’t look attractive? Eivor doesn’t think so, but he thinks he prefers the look of the assassin when he's confident, blade at the ready, “I will talk to Basim.”
The young assassin seems to want to argue, but for some reason relents, they nod, say goodbye to Randvi and Eivor. The drengr watches until he has left the longhouse, walking with purpose. The talk with Basim will certainly be interesting, of that Eivor is sure. However they feel as though Basim will be more allowing of Hytham to come along if Eivor is the one asking – truthfully, he doesn’t know how to feel about that, or what to think.
Hytham may be injured but he is no less of a warrior than before. Eivor knows although Hytham does love his books and his scrolls, he longs to go out and see the rest of England for himself. The Norse is only far too happy to help him.
“What was that?” Randvi asks.
Eivor blinks, bringing them back to the present. They hadn’t even realised they had began daydreaming. “What was what?”
“You and Hytham,” she says again, only with a small smile and Eivor knows.
“No— ah, we’re close, yes, but we’re not— nothing’s happening between us.”
“You want something to be happening between you though, don’t you?” Eivor groans in response.
“I didn’t think I was that obvious,” he confesses, “First Basim and now you? Soon all of Ravensthorpe will know.”
Randvi laughs, “I won’t tell a soul. As for Basim, I cannot say. But I am happy for you, Eivor, truly. Though I must confess I now understand why you said no when I— never mind, it is in the past and I wish you all the best when you tell him.”
“The rejection you mean?” Eivor replies, voice toned with some sarcasm.
“‘Rejection?’ Eivor, did you now see how Hytham looked at you when you spoke just now?” Randvi speaks like they’re an idiot, they are but it still feels a bit condescending. “He look as though you had just hung the stars in the sky and said its for him and no one else. I don’t believe Sigurd and I have ever looked at each other like that.”
“There’s no point in arguing about it, is there?”
“No. Go get your man,” Randvi says with a wink and dear Odin kill them now—
The talk with Basim is not how every conversation with the master assassin is – words edged in double-meaning, waiting to see who will strike first, at how Basim will try to contort and twist their meaning. He does not do that like they did with the Christian in Cent who spoke of Judas.
Eivor says that they and Hytham will be going up to Jorvik, to search for any indication of other Order members or activity, Basim only asks that they look after Hytham.
“I know he is capable,” Basim speaks, voice quiet, “but I must confess I worry about him more often than not nowadays.”
Eivor knows why, and he gives them his word, that should one of them not return, it will be them – Hytham will live to see another day even if the drengr doesn’t.
The Norse feels as though Hytham knows them – intimately, knows every crack and bruise. Has seen all the sides of him and accepted them. He remembers when Hytham had shared them with them the sacred Leap of faith, how he had feigned an injury to jump out from the haystack at Hytham, taking him to the ground.
The look on Hytham’s face as it changed from shock, to realisation and then indignant amusement. His laugh was sweet, and Eivor found themselves wanting to hear it again, wanting to get drunk on the noise and the effect it had on them, sweeter than any mead they had tasted.
Hytham had seen him upset after Dag, he felt lost and before he had known he was outside the bureau. Had welcomed him with open arms after everyone else had shunned him, remembers how he had pulled him close, had let him cry into his shoulder and not thought less of his for it.
He knows his heart speeds up every time he sees the assassin, how more often than not lately he’s been wondering what it would be like to pull him close. Wake up with him in the mornings, with Hytham in his arms. He wants to make him laugh as if he was never taught what hatred was.
‘Is this love?’ the question that has been on Eivor’s mind since his talk with Basim, but he has no idea. No one had taught him what it was like to fall in love let alone be in it.
He thinks it might be. He hopes it is.
It’s another hour until Hytham comes and finds them, they’re at the docks, talking to Birna and Torvald. They see Hytham approaching and start to stand, Birna looks confused until they see the assassin draw near.
“Off again so soon, Sunbeam?”
“Glory waits for no one,” he replies with a smile, and they down the rest of the mead.
“What’s goin’ on ‘tween you and him anyways?” Torvald asks.
“Nothing.” Eivor says, a bit too quick.
“Nothing, eh? That’s not what this one says,” Torvald points to Birna as they talk, “Says you two been doing more than just ‘working’.” Torvald drunkenly laughs as he finishes his sentence, clearly amused by his own joke, “I—I reckon he’s been giving you a different type of hidden blade!”
Birna throws her head back in laughter while Eivor can just yell at them to shut up, they ignore the heat that goes to their cheeks. They throw their horn at Torvald, which results in a loud smack to his face, they groan, rubbing where it hit him. They stand up, Birna still laughing, and pull Eivor close by coming up behind and holding them in a headlock.
“Don’t be so serious, little drengr!” Torvald laughs, scratching Eivor’s head. “Perhaps Hytham can help you relax, hmm?” There’s another outburst of laughter.
“Oh, piss off!” Eivor says, but they cannot help but laugh along. Torvald never takes things seriously, its something Eivor loves and hates about the man. They wrestle out of Torvald’s grip, like two siblings tormenting each other – how Sigurd and Eivor used to be – and then someone speaks.
“Ready to leave?”
The drengr turns and sees Hytham standing there, hands behind his back, face a little unsure but hiding it quite well.
“Hytham!” The Norse exclaims, happy to see him, “is everything ready?”
“Yes, we can leave now if you’d like.”
The drengr nods, “let’s go, we should be able to make some decent progress before nightfall.”
They begin walking together, the laughter from Birna and Torvald fading until—
“Wolf-Kissed!” Torvald’s voice, “Maybe you can give him your hidden blade!”
Birna howls and Eivor curses. He doesn’t need to look behind him to know that Torvald has likely fallen over.
He hopes it hurt.
"Do I wish to know?" Hytham asks.
"You do not."
"Hmm, a pity."
They make good time, the horses seem eager for a run through England’s vast open spaces. Hytham is drinking it all in, admiring the beauty, the wildlife. They’re able to avoid any zealots and bandits, Eivor using their knowledge for the safest route, even if it means they take longer to reach their destination.
When they make camp on the borders of Northumbria, Hytham barely speaks unless prompted and even then doesn’t say much. Eivor had thought that he had been taking in the sites of the country, but now he isn’t so sure.
Something seems to be bothering him.
The fire gets going, and the dusk settling. Eivor finishes up tying up the horses before joining Hytham.
“England is rather magnificent in it’s own right,” the Norse says, “Though the weather is certainly downright dreadful.”
Hytham merely hums in response, embers flickering in his eyes. The acolyte swallows.
Eivor hates this, he cannot stand here and pretend that everything is alright, they’ll ask, let Hytham know that should they need Eivor he is here for him, they will not pressure the matter.
“Are you alright?”
“Hmm?” Hytham says, being brought out of his thoughts, “Oh— yes, I apologise.”
“Something must have occurred, you’ve barely spoken a word to me since we departed Ravensthorpe.” Eivor is concerned. Hytham is a quiet type, of course, but he’s never been one to deny conversation, especially about this. The Norse knows Hytham is excited to see England, to do more than just stay in Ravensthorpe and look at scrolls – they’re capable of so much more than what they’ve been doing, Hytham must have a hunger for it.
“My mentor, Basim,” Hytham chooses his words carefully. “He… said something rather strange to me. That I— I am like a son to him.”
“This surprises you?” Eivor questions.
“I do not know. Maybe I had hoped somewhere that he had seen me in such a way, but I never expected him to confess it.”
Eivor knows it his turn to hold up his end of his bargain with Basim. The fire continues to flicker, and Hytham shifts.
“It’s strange.” He continues, “As if there were something else he was not telling me.” He turns to Eivor, “Have I soured your mood yet again, my friend?”
“Not at all,” the vikingr replies, “Your company has only made this journey far more enjoyable.”
“You said so yourself, I’ve barely said a word.”
“Words do not always need to be spoken for a good time to be had,” Eivor smiles, “I am grateful that you’ve joined me on this trip.”
“May… may I confess something?” Hytham breathes.
Eivor tilts his head, “Is something else troubling you?”
“No, no. I merely— I do not want you to be here under false pretences.”
“I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“I told Randvi that only I would be able to find anything relating to the Order in Jorvik, but would require your assistance since you knew the land,” Eivor nods, showing he is listening, “This is not true. You’ve proved yourself more times that you can crown a king, unite the lands, so finding something such as this would be as easy task for you. But the truth is… I desired your company. It saddened me that I would only see you in Ravensthorpe and that I would be bound to my bureau, so when I found something that indicated more Order activities up north, I lied to Randvi. Told her that I needed you to accompany me.”
Eivor processes his words, “Is this what you two were arguing about before I arrived?”
“Yes, she believed that I was making you do my creed’s work. That I did not need you for this,” Hytham sighs, hanging his head, “I am sorry I deceived you.”
“Don’t be.” Eivor says, “I enjoy your company, I cannot say my own methods would be any different were I in your place. Besides, England is lovely and I was rather hoping to show you soon.”
Hytham shifts again.
“There is more,” he says, but he doesn’t look up. Eyes focused on the fire, as if it had wronged him.
This raises Eivor’s curiosity, and he leans more towards Hytham.
“Oh?”
He doesn’t speak for a moment, clearly considering his actions and words, “I care for you, Eivor, a great deal.”
The vikingr goes to speak, to say he cares about Hytham too, but he can’t because the assassin’s lips are on his. It’s soft, gentle and Eivor knows he’s holding back, he returns the kiss in full earning a sound from the acolyte, hand pulling him closer, shifting for a better angle to make it less awkward.
They part, breathing in each other for a moment.
“Please,” Hytham speaks, pleading, “Please tell me this is not a one time thing, that you feel the same.”
“It’s not,” Eivor reassures. “But I must confess I have little experience in this area. I want to make you as happy as you make me— but I fear I do not know how.”
“You make me happy here and now. I do not need grand gestures or declarations.” Hytham says, kissing Eivor once more.
“Perhaps not,” Eivor sighs into the kiss, “But I would like to give them to you anyway. I would give you all of England if you only asked it.”
He hears Hytham whisper his name between kisses until the action is not enough, he pulls him closer seeking friction. Leads a trail of wet kisses along his jaw, down his throat. He feels as though he’s died, died and gone to Valhalla because there is no truer glory than this. Than the sweet noises Hytham is making under his touch, his lips on Hytham’s skin.
The assassin pulls away.
“As— thrilling— as this is—” he pants as Eivor continues to mark his neck. “Oh-! By Allah, Eivor!”
“You were saying?” Eivor says, withdrawing with a mischievous look.
“I would rather we… not go beyond kissing, if that is alright?”
“That is more than fine, kjaereste. We do not have to do anything you do not want to.”
Hytham lets out a gentle smile, “You mean so much to me Eivor, and I confess I do not have much experience in this area. I do not wish to rush this.”
Their fingers entwine, and Hytham leans forward, so his forehead touches Eivor’s.
“I do not have much experience either.” Eivor shares, “We can learn, together if you would like.”
“I would like that.”
And Hytham kisses him again.