(no subject)

[thewidewideworld]

{from here}

Sinric leads Athelstan back to their room, stopping at the bar to have a quiet word with the bar before they go. When they arrive in their rooms, the bed has been spread with a large, warm bear-fur and draped with silk. There are candles on the table, at bedside, on the windowsill, bathing the room in soft, warm light.

Sinric smiles and leads Athelstan towards the bed. "This night is for you, beloved Athelstan. We'll go only as far as you're ready for."

Comments

[athelstanthescribe]

"But you have happy memories from after you were sold. The birds have been your family, no?"

[thewidewideworld]

"Oh yes." He hums, "Of sneakng into the kitchen to steal treats and being paddled by the cook. Of learning to dance for my Lord and his easy laugh. Of the first time Probus and I found a path to the roof. I have been very lucky."

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan nods.

"And you probably remember those more clearly than I do mine. It's - what I do remember is more a collection, fitted together, than anything. As if it might all have happened on the same day."

[thewidewideworld]

"That is true. Life in the palace is all I have ever known. Or at least all I remember knowing. And like your monks and books, it has been a good fit for me."

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan nods.

"And so will the traveller's life, I think."

[thewidewideworld]

"I hope so. As being a northman has suited you." He sighs, stroking Athelstan's hair. His own eyes are growing heavy but he won't sleep till he knows Athelstan is settled and ready to sleep.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan notices, studies him for a moment, and curls closer against him.

"I think I might be able to sleep again."

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric starts to sing to him again, the soft Northumbrian lullaby as he strokes Athelstan's hair.

But its not long before he falters, falling asleep himself, the song on his lips.

[athelstanthescribe]

Athelstan holds him, calm and unmoving, but he doesn't sleep.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric sleeps fairly soundly, sniffling and shifting occasionally but hugging close to the safe, loving source of warmth next to him like a cat.

Asleep, he looks very young and very small, the mask melting away to show the fragile softness beneath.

[athelstanthescribe]

It's easy to forget how young he really is, sometimes, when he's awake and wearing the courtesan's mask.

Athelstan strokes his hair and face, very lightly, not wanting to wake him.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric makes a soft, happy sound at being stroked and curls closer, content and trusting.

Something that only happens two places - here in their shared rooms and in his Emperor's arms.

[athelstanthescribe]

The last thing Athelstan wants to do is disturb this, either by another nightmare or by moving.

He curls protectively around Sinric.

[thewidewideworld]

Sinric murmurs something softly and rests his head on Athelstan's chest, letting the beat of his heart sooth him deeping into sleep.

[athelstanthescribe]

In turn, Athelstan starts to relax. Sleep will catch him sooner or later, he knows, but for the moment he's content.