athelstanthescribe | (no subject)

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.

The tears could only help spiritually, and Athelstan knows it.

"Has the heat helped your muscles at all?" he asks softly.

"A little." He sniffs softly, trying to pull himself together. "But I'm very tired."

"Then let's go to bed." It's not remotely a sexual advance, not this time. "You can rest, and I can check your wounds."

He nods, leaning on Athelstan to get out of the bath. The bandage on his thigh has come loose and he reaches to keep it in place with a flinch.

"Leave it", Athelstan says gently as he helps Sinric out. "I'll check the wound looks as it should and then put it back."

He nods and lets it fall. He feels so tired. So very tired. He staggers, leaning heavily on Athelstan. He's on the verge of fainting.

Athelstan catches him, not quite carrying him because he doesn't have the height for that, but certainly taking most of his weight, and starts towards the bed.

Sinric falls more than lays on the bed, the wound on his thigh bleeding afresh. "Forgive me." He whimpers, his eyes closing as he falls into a swoon.

"Oh, my friend. There's nothing to forgive you for."

Carefully, he lays Sinric out on the bed, sliding a pillow under him to keep his sorer places from pressing, and begins to inspect his wounds.

His injuries are much as to be expected considering what was done to him. The worst are the solid black line across his rear - a strike with the shaft of Leo's mace, the three deep red marks that ooze blood on his inner thigh where the flanges dug in and the swelling to his throat and chest.

His ravashed hole has been cleaned and salved by the Viking women but the swelling there also is severe.

Given over to blessed oblivion, Sinric looks very young and very hurt. Like an angel savaged by wolves.

There's a knock at the connecting door, from Ragnar's room.