athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

"Clean water might be best."

Sinric sits the jars down and starts to shed the heavy cloak. Beneath he wears simple linen pants and a sleeveless tunic clearly not his own and made for a man larger than Sinric.

He sheds the shirt with effort, his shoulders protesting greatly. His back is crossed with the angry red lines of a whip; his throat, back and breasts mottled with bruises, his nipples raw with abuse.

Athelstan supposes the Varangians must have given him those, to cover his nakedness long enough to go back to his room.

His eyes are dark with anger as he takes in what's been done to Sinric. "...I think you're going to need to stay here a while."

"I will heal. It's not so bad as it looks." It's a lie but one he clings to. Especially as he lower his pants.

There, the damage is worse. A solid line of black marked across his rear, visable even through the layers of other marks. And on his inner thigh is a bandage wrapped clean and tight but stained with the shadow of blood.

"You will heal", Athelstan agrees. "But it's going to take - what did they do to you there?"

He's looking at Sinric's thigh, not where he'd expect an injury to be, and he makes no move to touch yet.

Edited 2015-06-25 22:27 (UTC)

"Leo struck me with his mace." Sinric covers the wound, smoothing the linen bandage. "Not hard but the flanges marked me deeply. The Varangians' women used leeches to ease the swelling."

"Did you read of Leo's fate, in the book you found?" Athelstan asks with a kind of dark satisfaction. "Five years after Constantine falls, so will he."

He moves to start running the bath.

"I did not." He looks surprised. "I was too focused on my Lord's fate and studying the Bulgarian campaign. But his son is too young! Irene will become regant, or will his half brothers depose him?"

"History records a fever killed him on campaign, though there were the usual whispers of murder. One chronicle says he took a crown from the Hagia Sophia and the stones themselves made him sick, others look to Irene - who did become regent and develop a taste for power."

"They are well matched, Leo and Irene. I have no doubt she will rule as ruthlessly as he."

In part it is a relief to know Leo's rule will be brief but Sinric worries for the future of the city with such upheaval.

"Ruthless even with her own son", Athelstan says regretfully, "when he was too old for her to control him."

Sinric shakes his head and heads stiffly towards the bath, moving with care. "I fear for my lord's legacy in their hands."

He eases into the warm water, his breath catching as the water swirls around his abused body.

Athelstan quickly undresses and joins him, though still not touching him until he's invited - and even then, the touches will be innocent given what's happened.

"Soak away some of the pain, and then we'll see about the salves."

Sinric moves to him, reaching for his friend, in need of his comfort and companionship. Tears linger just below the surface and panic holds close to his heart. With Athelstan near, he feels he can almost keep them at bay.

"Sinric", he says softly, taking the boy's hands. "I know you must feel truly terrible now, but it will get better. We'll help you."

Edited 2015-06-26 10:05 (UTC)

"I need time to heal, that's all." He swallows, resting his head on Athelstan's shoulder, lying to himself as much as Athelstan. "Just till the marks are gone and I can go back to my Emperor."

"You need only time to heal in body", Athelstan agrees, "and perhaps when you go back to your loving emperor, that will help you heal in soul also."

He shakes his head and starts to speak but breaks off with a half swallowed sob, burying his face in Athelstan's shoulder.

"Sinric", he murmurs, holding him close, "no one walks away unscathed from such a thing as has been done to you. Not done with such violence."

He shakes his head. "It isn't... I'm not..." He can't find the words to express his fears, or his pain.

"Ssh", he soothes. "I'll listen, if you want to talk, but if you aren't ready..."

He sobs again, letting the tears flow now.

"Yes", Athelstan murmurs. "Let it out, how they've hurt you."

Whether in coherent words or tears, he thinks it all helps.

He cries for some time, letting the tears wash away the pain he cannot give word to. He sobs till it's wrung out of him and he hangs limply in Athelstan's arms.

Athelstan is holding him in warm solid arms, letting him cry and supporting him in the water.

Once cries out, he leans exhaustedly onto Athelstan's embrace, weak as a kitten. The tears have helped, but he's still in great pain.