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Osferth woke with a start. For a moment, all was silent save for the creaking of timber, the wash of the sea, and the slow, heavy breaths of the slumbering men curled together in piles on the ship's deck. Blinking away sleep, he sat up, searching for a sign of what had woken him. There was a shuffle of a body, rocking in restless sleep, then a ragged whimper sounded off to his right, a low, terror-stricken keen that he had only heard before from the likes of kicked dogs and beaten women. He turned, peering through the darkness that swallowed the ship when night fell, finally making out Finan's huddled body curled against the side, half under one of the rowing benches. Osferth rose to a crouch, stepping over several sprawled sleeping forms before reaching his side. Finan was still asleep, but his brows were drawn together, and his pale, sweating face was tight with misery as he shrunk in on himself. A choked sob broke past his lips, and he began to mutter—rambling, senseless pleas.
"No—no—please—please, don't—wait, please, please—no—"
Osferth hesitated. There was no doubt that Finan was in the grips of a nightmare, or a memory, or both combined. He had never woken someone from a night terror before. Gently, he rested his hand on Finan's shoulder, and gave him a careful shake.
"Finan," he whispered. The man's chest heaved; he shrank back yet further, bringing his arms up to protect his face.
"No, no, no, please—I'm rowing, don't—don't—I didn't stop—" Osferth shook him again, harder this time.
"Finan!" he hissed between his teeth. Before he could blink, Finan bolted upright, knife in his hand, and had it pressed to Osferth's throat, his other hand fisted in his priest's robe, teeth bared, eyes feral with fury and terror, his face just inches from Osferth's. The cold steel bit into his neck; he could feel the hot burn of it sinking slowly into his flesh.
"Finan. Finan, it's me. You're safe now. You're with me, and Uhtred, and Sihtric. You got away, Finan, you're free." His voice sounded high and terrified, ringing in his own ears, he was babbling hopelessly, then gurgling. Finan was going to kill him, he was going to die—he was going to die, and he would never be able to tell him—
"Baby monk?" Finan's eyes widened in sudden recognition, and he dropped the knife. It clanged dully on the deck, and Osferth fell back on his elbows, gasping for breath, hot blood trickling down his neck, filling his mouth. Finan lurched forward on all fours till he was knelt over Osferth. His rough fingertips took Osferth's jaw into their grip, tilting his head back, brushing down his neck, now slippery with blood.
"No, no, no, no." Finan's voice rose, raw-edged and hoarse. "Osferth, I'm so sorry, I'm so—Christ, stay with me, you wee bastard."
It was cold. When had it gotten so cold? His eyelids were heavy. It was the middle of the night, it was time for him to be sleeping again. Darkness pebbled the edges of his vision.
Rough cloth at his neck. Mouth bitter with blood and salt. Murmuring. Was it Finan, or the sea?
He was rocked by the waves into a gentle, formless, nothingness.
✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯
Pain pulsed in his throat. Mouth thick with syrupy blood. Limbs pinned down by something—something heavy. Osferth croaked, eyes slitting open. Fire lit up in his throat at the attempt to speak, licking up his neck into his mouth and jaw. Grey morning light filtered through his cracked lids, illuminating a dark head pillowed on his chest. The weight on him was Finan, lying on his stomach between Osferth's legs, arms wrapped uncomfortably tight around him. Weakly, he kneed him in the ribs. Finan's head shot up, and he grinned at the sight of Osferth's open eyes.
"God be good, I knew I couldn't kill you, baby monk!" He rose to his knees, still positioned between Osferth's spread legs. "Had to pin you down to stop you rolling straight off the ship." His voice was light, but his eyes held no mirth, searching Osferth's face anxiously. He leaned closer, brows drawing together. "I'm so sorry—I'm so, so sorry—I—" He choked on what might have been a sob. Without thinking, Osferth tried to croak out a reply. Hot fire seared through his throat, gnawing, tearing pain. He reached out his hands blindly, breathing hard. Finan's warm fingers laced in with his own, and Osferth squeezed them gently, looking up at him with soft eyes. He twitched his lips into a semblance of a smile, trying to communicate that all was forgiven, that there was nothing to forgive. The tension seemed to melt from Finan's shoulders, and he gave an oddly shy smile.
"Thank you for tryin' to wake me." His grip on Osferth's hands tightened. "I don't do well with boats, not since—" He stopped short, grimacing. Osferth bobbed his head to show he understood, swallowing thickly. His tongue was heavy in his mouth. He released one of Finan's hands to mime drinking water as best as he could. The Irishman pulled a flask from his pack, and shifted around Osferth, lifting his head up to cradle it in the crook of his elbow, while Osferth's body was supported by his lap.
"Slowly, now," Finan murmured, touching the flask to Osferth's lips. The water was blessedly cool, washing away the metallic taste of blood. Though swallowing felt like a knife in his throat all over again, Osferth gulped greedily at the flask, clutching at it when Finan moved to pull it away.
"Now, now, baby monk. You'll make yourself sick and spew it up again, and that'll burn for sure, I reckon." Finan corked the flask and set it aside. Water dribbled from the corner of Osferth's mouth, but before he could bring his hand up to swipe across his mouth, Finan was brushing his thumb softly over his chin. The calloused pad scraped against his skin, then moved up to run, feather-light, across his lips. Finan's eyes were dark pools, gleaming in the first threads of dawn light. Osferth couldn't look away.
"I—"
"He's awake!" Sihtric's voice cut short whatever Finan had been about to say, breaking the spell between the two of them. Finan's eyes snapped away as Sihtric bounded towards them from his place at the helm. The other men were beginning to stir; Sihtric had handed off the rudder to Uhtred, who was guiding them towards land.
"Grimsby," Sihtric said, grinning. "'Tis here we mean to find your long-lost brothers, Osferth."
"He cannot speak, Sihtric, and he's tired, can you not see? He cares not for the stupid monks," Finan snapped, defensively pulling Osferth closer. Sihtric crouched beside them, eyes flitting from Osferth's bandaged throat to Finan's face.
"Nngk—fft—" Osferth choked out, nearly sobbing at the white-hot pain that lanced through him at the effort.
"Hoy, every time you try that you turn paler than a nun's arse in winter," Finan said forcefully, "so why don't you stop it, now, baby monk? You've suffered enough." There was bitterness beneath his words. Sihtric threw his arm around Finan's shoulders.
"Finan," he said softly. "You didn't mean to do it."
"Didn't mean to. Still did it, though, didn't I?" Finan growled, shoulders tensing once more, looking away across the water. Osferth snatched his hand and squeezed, hard, then again. Finan's eyes came back to rest on his face, softening. He pulled Osferth a little closer, cradling his head gently in the notch of his elbow. He was so warm, and Osferth was so cold. Sihtric looked from Finan to Osferth, mismatched eyes glittering with a thinly veiled conniving look.
"Seeing that it is all your fault, Finan, I say you should stay and mind the baby monk and the ship when we put to shore," he said, voice dripping with ill-concealed amusement. Osferth peered at him narrowly, trying to guess what was so funny.
"Aye, I suppose you're right," Finan replied absently, eyes remaining fixed on Osferth's face. Heat curled up the back of Osferth's neck and around his ears, threading across his cheeks. Finan's gaze was unwavering, intense, boring through his skin into his soul, unmoving even when Sihtric clapped his shoulder and moved away again, shooting a knowing grin back at them over his shoulder as he hurdled the rowing benches. Osferth would have to ask him what in God's good name he was laughing over once he could speak again.
Finan's warm fingers were still laced through Osferth's own long, knobbly ones, their hands clasped tightly together. The intensity of Finan's gaze was bordering on uncomfortable now, and Osferth shifted restlessly, eyes darting from the mast to the rosy horizon to the base of Finan's throat and back again. Finan blinked, and dropped his eyes to Osferth's neck again, tensing at the sight of the bandages.
"Are you cold?" he asked of a sudden, voice scratchy, gathering Osferth's other hand from where it lay at his side. "Christ, yer hands are ice." He pressed both of Osferth's hands to his belly, pinning them there with his one larger hand. It seemed as though, now his eyes had left Osferth's face, he could not bring himself to look there again. His eyes dragged the ship's deck aimlessly, looking at everything and nothing. Osferth nuzzled closer to his radiating warmth, curling onto his side, pressing his nose into the roughness of Finan's sleeve and closing his eyes. Exhaustion niggled at the edges of his mind, turning his thoughts to a blurry jumble. The dull pain in his throat seemed to recede. He was falling down a long, dark, warm tunnel, but strangely, he wasn't afraid. Sleep washed over him, along with the odd sensation of fingers combing gently through his hair.