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The long-house came alive in cheers and firelight. Boisterous Vikingr banged their tankards together and on tables like war drums, the mead spilling over like molten gold. Each and every bright faced settler smiled with their teeth and eyes, hugging each other in joyous merriment as if this would be their last night alive.
Her people often celebrated like this. They chugged their mead like the gods would forbid them from another drop, clung to each other as if Hel and Valhalla would part them come dawn. Screams tore from their lungs as if to harkon the very gods themselves to look upon their self-indulgent carousel and weep in envy.
She laughed and smiled along with them, feeling the pit of fire’s warmth in her blood and the lively roar of her people in her heart. But something felt a miss in the hall tonight. Eivor cast her gaze across the room, eyeing the familiar faces all around but could not find the one she was seeking. All of a sudden, she felt alone in a very crowded hall.
Hytham and her had shared nary a word since her and Sigurd returned from Norway. The only real conversation they had was her deliverance of Basim’s fate, something that ruptured a rift between them. How could she blame him? Basim was sealed away and the end to his saga was nothing more than a cold chamber. Alone in the dark. Done by her forced hand.
She had hoped that once enough mead pumped through their bodies, perhaps they could mend the distance that separated them. To reforge the bond she missed. If only she could find him. She would even tell him the truth if it would help, the whole truth...
“I think he is on the roof,” A voice beckons at her side. Tone slick with cunning and joyment.
Eivor twists in the Jarl’s throne and is surprised to witness Sigurd at her side looking across the hall. A grin playing at his lips.
She squints her eyes at her brother. If she didn’t know any better, the mischievous expression that contorted his face might’ve insinuated he had been taken a hold of by Loki himself. With his fox-like smile Sigurd turns to look at her, his brow raised expectantly. Expecting some agreement no doubt, agreement she will not give.
“Speak plainly, Sigurd.” Eivor urges him. Knowing fully well she will regret letting him continue.
Sigurd laughs as if she’s missing a very obvious point. “Our shadowy friend was last seen clambering onto the roof of the long-house,” He points up.
Eivor looks away a little too quickly. Scowling like she’s been caught doing something bad “And why would that interest me?” She mumbles. Sinking into the chair because she knew she was just digging this hole further.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t shared her ventures with Sigurd before. Many a night she spent adoring Sven’s arms a little too much, or how she once spoke of Vili’s scars as if he was some relic to be handled and admired. Sigurd even joined in at times. However, when it came to Hytham; the man whom Sigurd brought from across the vast oceans, her feelings suddenly gnawed at her and she was hesitant to speak of him in such a manner.
Why that was the case scared her. Because admitting that she cared for him would be like dying without an axe in hand. It made her feel vulnerable in ways that collapsed the world on her. As if admittance would manifest something that she knew could not be slain by axe nor sharp word.
This was more than anything, more than anyone who came before...
“Come now, Eivor. You ought to be more free with your feelings!”
“And if your words become too free, Sigurd, I shall have to cut out your tongue,” She snaps back, looking at him with dark eyes but it only seems to widen his toothy grin.
“I have seen the way you look at him,” He muses, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see Hytham through the wooden panels. Eivor sinks further into her seat. Had she really been so obvious? Had she clung to the nomad life in a way that she had forgotten how to contain her more...vulnerable feelings?
If Sigurd had noticed, then Hytham...
“And I have seen the way he looks at you,” He adds, finally taking his leave with a confident saunter down to join the heart of the feast.
At first, she is compelled to leave her seat and head outside. But her more stubborn side keeps her rooted in her chair and she almost curses herself for it. Determined to prove her brother wrong, even it meant stewing in spineless inaction…
Instinctively, she looks up towards the ceiling. Knowing full well she won’t be able to see Hytham yet taking comfort in knowing he’s up there with only wood separating them. She wonders if he’s watching the stars, committing their paths and patterns to memory. Wonders if England’s harsh cold bites at his skin too hard or if he’s become accustomed to the chilled climate. She ponders if she shouldn’t offer him one of her fur capes, a sign of good faith if nothing else.
Finally, when sawdust is casted down from pressure at the farther end of the long-house’s ceiling, Eivor grumbles and gets out of her seat.
She wanted to see him, Sigurd’s entertainment be damned...but he wasn’t wrong. Her pride was going to cost her a lonely life if she clung to her chair. And maybe it was just the ale, but she couldn’t stand not doing anything about this. Even if nothing happened, even if they exchanged simple small-talk, his company would make her evening worth it.
She can feel Sigurd’s eyes on her like pin pricks as makes her exit. But she pushes onward.
England’s night hits her with a biting chill, an unwelcome sensation from the warmth the long-house provides. Soon she sees a silhouette sitting on the roof of the long-house and suddenly the cold no longer bothers her. Even from all the way down here she can make out Hytham’s form, even under his hood she can tell he’s deep in thought.
Quickly running around the side, Eivor puts her skills to the test as she climbs up the long-house. Eventually the sound of her feet skidding against the bark compels Hytham’s focus and what was once a look of panic is quickly replaced by a small smile as she waves at him. She half-wanted him to compliment her. After all, not everyone in the settlement could join him like this.
And that thought was incredibly appealing to her, as if only her and Hytham could see the world from this angle. Like their own special nook of the land, open to them and only them. Exactly how he taught her his order’s most honourable practise; their leap of faith.
The thrill that pumped through her blood, the way the fall stole the breath from her throat. The mere second she thought she could hear the Valkyrie’s wings bat together before autumn leaves enveloped her, and a beaming Hytham awaited her. She knows it was that moment, her peering up from a pile of leaves that she realised this man would be important to her. For him to share something so amazing with her, because he thought she could do it…
And seeing him genuinely happy to see her, it was like she was peering from those leaves once more and seeing him more clearly than ever.
“Eivor, good to see you,” He greets her as she sits beside him. She loves the way he says her name, she loves the foreign lilt to his voice that carries her name so softly and so brightly. It’s unlike anything she’s heard from another’s voice. Her name had always sounded hard on people’s tongues, something that took effort to pronounce. But it sounded so smooth through him, so effortless and easy. As if each time he greeted her by name was intended as a compliment.
For once in her life she preferred Eivor to Wolf-kissed.
“I wondered why you were not in the hall,” She starts. You could see the entire settlement from this height, and even higher were the fields of stars etched across the black sky. “Now I understand why. The view from up here is….breathtaking,”
“I needed a moment of peace after a busy night. You Norse can celebrate for days it seems, I am in awe of your stamina and energy but I am not quite built for such merriment,” He confesses sheepishly.
She suddenly feels as if she’s intruded upon something. Perhaps the very reason he climbed up so high was because he needed some time away from the settlement. From their ways...from her. And how could she blame him for what she did to his mentor?
She hadn’t spoken the full truth of Basim’s anger, the fury and madness that was wrapped up in the man. Of what she had witnessed with Sigurd and how it led to the dark end of Basim’s saga. A regrettable end that haunted her still.
He probably felt more alone than ever, and it was because of her...
“If your isolation is intentional my friend you need only bid me farewell and I will intrude no longer,” She says, her voice sounding sadder than she had tried to mask. Her stoicism wasn’t quite strong enough to hide her disappointment.
Luckily, he seems more offended than anything. “You company is a pleasant one, Eivor. If you wish to go do so. But do not leave because you think I will it. If anything I...would really like you here with me at this moment,”
Her heart beats a little faster. Gods, she was acting like a little girl. However, before she could settle again she searched his blue eyes for a hint of deceit, for anger masked behind politeness. All she saw was shining azure, and her heart continued to bat like butterfly wings.
“I...would enjoy that too,”
They sit in silence for a moment. The presence of each other was enough to sustain them and the view of the stars enthralled them, the beauty only heightened by the chain of respect that linked them. As if the stars only shined because it was both of their eyes that looked upon them.
“How do you do it?” Hytham breaks the silence.
She is confused by his question and instantly senses they are about to tread on topics that will reveal much about each other. She is not scared, if anything she leans in closer.
“Speak plainly,”
“You lead these people with such ease I wonder if you were born for it.,” He clarifies, still looking up at the stars as if they will reveal some insight to his puzzlement. “Leadership is a tasking burden, heavy and rough on the shoulders. Yet you carry yourself well, your chin high and your might withstanding that of doubt and betrayal. I wonder if anyone else could do as you do,”
She chuckles. “You make me out to be much mightier than I am, Hytham,”
He doesn’t smile. “Not everyone could away from a situation like the one Dag dragged you in,”
This time, her smile dies and Eivor frowns. Dag’s death was still fresh, even so many years later. Casting a look over her shoulder and she can see his grave even in the dark. The one she dug up and filled in herself.
“I walked away. But my nights have been anything but peaceful since,”
Hytham whips his head towards her, looking fearful as if he’s poked a bear.
“I...I am sorry. I should not have presumed-”
She raises a hand. “It’s alright. I do not regret my actions, only that they ended the way they did. Back then all I was doing was what Sigurd asked of me but Dag saw only a power hungry woman. I wish he could have seen me as his friend, for I never bore any thoughts that counted him as less,”
Hytham nods. “You are remarkable, even more now. It was unrealistic of me to assume the burdens didn’t weigh on you. But you’re still here, you kept going despite it all…”
He opens his mouth as if he’s going to continue, but he stops himself. When she heard him utter remarkable, her heart soared. Anticipating his words to delve somewhere she had only dreamed of. But when he remains silent Eivor decides to change the topic. However, he lets out a brief sigh before she can.
“I only wish I could have shouldered some of the burden for you,” He whispers. A memory of all the times where he did not pains him.
She looks at him like he’s said something utterly scandalous, enough to make a nun weep and a priest faint. Hytham upon seeing her reaction looks as though he has too, and quickly diverts his eyes to the floor as if he’d burn into flames if Eivor stared directly into his eyes.
She bets if she were to brush against his cheek her fingers would burn hot to the touch. She’s not seen this side of him, flustered? Yes, the cultural difference between his home and her’s was enough to relieve him of his hugr most days. But this was vulnerability.
She smiles, smiles so much her cheeks are soon to hurt. “And how would you have...easened my troubles, Hytham?”
Hytham rubs his face and shakes his head. Nervous at the suggestive tone and driven by thoughts if he should have even taken her lilt in such a way. “I don’t know...council? I-I don’t know how to answer that, Eivor. Other than to offer my shoulder in the future…”
“I have always known that your shoulder was one I could turn to. If anything, I am afraid you do not see me the same way after...after Basim,” It’s her turn to confess something now. She keenly watched his expression, aching at how it shifts from shock, to hurt to...something else?
Confusion?
“I believed you, Eivor. I believed you when you said he tried to kill you. I believe you had no other choice. I bear no ill will for you over it. If I have become distant it is only because my mind is troubled with what exactly I am to do with myself in England. Without a mentor...I felt lost,” He explains, he then puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes tightly. “I contemplated going back to Constantinople, once the Order of Ancients here were cleansed of the land. Yet after some thought…”
Him drawing this out threatened to make her jump off this long-house roof.
“Nothing would make me sadder than to leave your side. You’ve inspired me to remain, to rebuild my order in these lands as you have built your clan. I couldn’t imagine myself anywhere else,”
She grabs him by the arm that holds hers. “Do not draw out your sentences like that again,” She warns seriously but he just laughs, shaking her slightly.
“Would my departure be a fatal blow oh mighty Vikingr?!”
She leans in closer, close enough she needs only whisper in his ear for him to hear her. “A blow I do not think I could ever recover from,”
“Truly?” He breathes, this time it’s him who searches her eyes for an inkling of doubt. Waiting for her to start laughing at him.
There’s no laughter. Just Eivor inching closer, willing Hytham to feel the conviction behind her words. To feel them in his soul.
“Nothing could be worse than the thought of an ocean separating us. I'd...miss you,”
He blinks, and the next words sound breathy, nervous, tantalising. “Eivor...I-I..”
She takes the lead where he cannot. “You are important to me, Hytham. I care for you, more than might be wise. If you were to leave...it would fell me…”
“As...As I said before. You are remarkable. I have watched you f-for so long but never did I think that you could ever-”
Too much talking, Eivor thinks. So she silences him with her lips, pressing into him eagerly to silence any doubts that might have lingered. For him and her.
The child in her jumps out for a second. The fear of becoming too close, too attached. The smell of burning and the flash of red on the snow. It urges her to pull away. A moment’s heat is tattooed in her head and the words almost possess her. But this is not Vili, she will not ruin this like she had with Vili.
Still, she pulls away. Giving him a moment of clarity to think this through, to decide if this is what he really wants. If she’s what he wants. Hytham responds to her breaking away by carding his fingers through her hair and pulling her back in, much deeper, much harder. Like he’s starved of her touch, her kiss.
His fingers dig into her scalp sensationally, his palm and her skull seem to fit perfectly together and she wants to return his eager touches in kind by enveloping him with her arms. Shielding them both from the world. But she dares not go too fast, too forceful. She’s wanted this for so long and he is unlike any man she has ever been with. He’s not a vikingr with a striking beard. Skin inked in runes and demigods nor is leather strapped against battle hardened muscles.
It’s like he’s fragile, and one touch with her hand will shatter him into a million pieces.
Hytham somehow senses her apprehension. With his free hand he takes her wrist and raises it to his cheek, settling her fingers along his cheekbone. These hands have murdered, have tortured, maimed and beaten men and women. Yet Hytham brings them to his face with such soft affection it threatens to make her sigh in wanting.
He tilts her head to deepen the kiss and she hums against his mouth, moving fluidly against his lips as if the two of them have done this a thousand times. If destiny is unavoidable, was she always fated to be with him like this? Was her mouth meant for a man who some years ago lived across the ocean? The thought of them being destined to be together is such a sappy thought, but one that fills her with warmth.
She cradles his face, running circles along his cheek with her thumb as she starts to lick his bottom lip, scraping her teeth lightly to convey her desires. Lust sets fire to Hytham and it’s a mighty battle of tug and pull and fingers itch towards each other’s buckles...
“Eivor,” He whispers against her, his breath cool to her hot lips as she sighs longingly at the sound.
“The...the long-house is too-”
“The bureau,” He answers for her, kissing her again and again. “No ones at the bureau,”
Eivor stands, takes his hand and helps him up before the two descend like birds in flight. Heading into the bureau….