Chapter Text
Ironeye was late for supper.
Well, Wylder reasoned with himself, they both ate supper separately from the others, considering they preferred to eat while there were no prying eyes. Him, to keep Duchess from confirming what she already knew. Ironeye, because assassins did not become skilled in their craft by being careless, even among friends and allies.
But even so, and even with their solitary nature, they would entertain a few moments with the others. Talking, laughing, bickering. As a team who regularly spent their time fighting with and for each other against the Night. It helped. It made the burden feel just a little less soul crushing to laugh as they entertained each other's antics. To lightly tease each other's oddities and quirks. To provide insightfulness and understanding to each other's personal demons.
Here he sat in the dining room, seated with his back to the large opening towards the gardens. He was sitting at the edge of the table in a chair turned toward the fireplace, watching the flames flicker and burn. Waiting, willing his thoughts to silence for at least a moment. The gentle glow of the candles on the table illuminated the clean plates and utensils the Iron Menial prepared as Wylder sat- he wasn't pouting Duchess- in silence.
The other Nightfarers had called it an evening, going off to rest or otherwise spend their time as they did to unwind. Guardian and Recluse excused themselves to a library for a lesson. Executor silently went to do…whatever it was he did when he wasn't painting. Wylder had caught him staring into space a few times. Revenant had mentioned going to the shore. Duchess invited him to pout sit as long as he was comfortable as she and the Iron Menial excused themselves to begin planning the next meeting. He had stayed behind as they filtered out, one by one.
Wylder had already ate, empty plate on his spot at the table, winged helm firmly in place. He had taken advantage of the after dinner solace, knowing there was only one other person who would wander in.
Much earlier, Ironeye had been in his preferred spot, near the edge of the cliff in the garden where he could watch the waves and the shore, sharpening his arrows and watching Wylder bake.
Wylder knew he was watching, his instincts were sharp enough to tell when he was being watched, even if instead of malice or blood-lust, it was longing and curiosity. But Ironeye was skilled to. And quick. He excelled in hiding what he wanted when he wanted to. Every time Wylder tried to catch his gaze, the archer would be turned away already, as if he wasn't looking at all.
It annoyed him and made him giddy all the same. But the swordsman had pushed it down, clearing his head of Ironeye, Duchess, and everything else that came with the slaughter of his home, focusing on his baking instead.
Ironeye had joined them briefly for supper, but disappeared when Raider stretched and made his way to the large headstone on the same cliff as he had been recently.
Wylder did his best to stamp down the feeling of jealousy that gripped him. The assassin could do as he pleased, even if his absence had left Wylder noticeably quieter for the rest of the evening.
Wylder felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle, before he heard heavy footsteps. Not Ironeye. Raider.
Sure enough, the pirate lumbered over. "Wylder! You're still up at this hour!"
Wylder turned his head slightly to nod in greeting at Raider. He hadn't the mind for talking. He was still in his somber mood.
Raider took no offense to his silence and boomed on. "Care to spar? I emerged victorious from yet another tourney! A worthy opponent, yet I still have some fight left in me!"
Wylder knew Raider meant well, and the promise of a good spar would normally be enticing. Going blow for blow with Raider always made him want to show off his strength. Wylder prided himself in being a well-rounded warrior, but the pirate's enthusiasm for battle was infectious.
Well…almost always infectious. He was in no mood to spar at the moment. He gave short shake of his head, no.
Raider seemed confused for a moment before looking at the table, spying the saved pita bread that was covered carefully in a warm, clean cloth. Wylder felt his face warm as Raider's face dawned an understanding and then a teasing look.
Oh no.
"Ah. Awaiting on your better half?"
"Raider-"
"I remember being young-"
"Please stop."
Wylder meant for his naturally soft voice to be firm but Raider just laughed a jolly laugh of friendly mirth as it came out pleading. Despite the irritability rolling of the swordsman, the pirate gently slapped his shoulder (and nearly toppled him off the chair he was seated in).
"I tease, my friend! Should you change your mind, you know where to find me!"
Raider saw himself out through the door that lead to the rest of the Hold, and Wylder took a breath to calm his nerves and the warmth in his face. As much as Revenant enjoyed calling the pirate an oaf, Raider was far from a fool, and saw well into the hearts of the others.
Not soon after Raider left, did the hairs on the back of Wylder's neck stand up again. Silent footsteps this time, so much so he almost couldn't hear them. Wylder didn't bother to turn around this time, focusing on the fireplace once more.
He was definitely peeved.
There was a stretch of silence before he heard a sigh from directly behind him, and then Ironeye's deep voice. "You didn't have to wait up for me, you know."
Wylder tilted his head but didn't face the other. Perhaps it was foolish to turn your back on an assassin but he easily trusted Ironeye with his life.
Ironeye rounded the chair, standing directly in front of Wylder, who stubbornly continued to watch the flames. Maybe he was being childish but he was in no mood for words. Luckily Ironeye was one of the only people in the Hold Wylder was able to communicate with without the use of his voice. Ironeye always seemed to know what he was thinking, and always knew what words to use if he needed them.
That fact softened him up, if just slightly.
True to Wylder's observation, the archer leaned into his space, lowering his voice. The sound of it had Wylder suppressing a shudder. "Jealous?"
The swordsman tilted his head just slightly again, but the other direction. He considered letting his silence speak for him before responding, "…you never returned for supper."
He knew the assassin had noticed the plate on the table, but Ironeye glanced at it again regardless. He seemed to ponder his words before speaking. He was always blunt, even his jokes fell flat, and Wylder knew this would be no exception. "I know. Thank you. I didn't want to miss Raider's tourney."
Wylder bristled again, trying to feign nonchalance. But Ironeye of course caught it the moment he stiffened. Wylder couldn't feel his hand on his cheek, but the firm yet gentle contact had him turning and making direct eye contact with the archer.
Ironeye's bright blue eyes pierced his own like the arrows he expertly shoots. The look in them was tender, fond, amused almost. Wylder's heart thundered in his chest. "While it looks good on you, your jealousy is unfounded. You have no reason to worry about Raider and I. My only interest is his tourney. Nothing else. Not when-"
The archer suddenly cut himself off. Wylder hadn't noticed they got closer as the assassin spoke until Ironeye was pulling away, taking a large step back and turning to the lit fireplace stiffly, back to Wylder.
Ironeye had practically climbed on his lap for Marika's sake, Wylder's own gloved hand had somehow snaked around the archer's waist as he had spoken.
The swordsman took the moment to catch his breath, suddenly finding himself panting with anticipation, entire body buzzing with warmth. There was a tense silence, filled only with near silent breathing and the heaviness in the air of What Could Be. He could have sworn he almost felt Ironeye's breath though his faceplate. All he had to do was move in just slightly. Had they not both had their faces covered, Wylder was sure they would've-
No. That was a dangerous thought to finish. He needed to collect himself. They were here to extinguish the night. And then Ironeye would return to his work and Wylder would die. And hopefully enact the plan he was forming. Ironeye wouldn't want to see hide nor hair on him by then once he learned what he was planning.
All too soon, Ironeye regained his composure, turning back to Wylder with practiced, apathetic eyes. Wylder missed the honesty in them already. With it, the tense atmosphere turned into a false pleasantness. Wylder felt himself revert into silence with it.
"You baked."
It wasn't a question, but Wylder nodded, watching through the corner of his eye as Ironeye finally picked up the plate and revealed it's contents.
Wylder's pita bread was in the center, but Wylder had saved a little of everything else the Iron Menial had prepared. Meat, vegetables, grain. Wylder slid a tankard towards Ironeye, foamy ale dripping down the sides as it came to a stop on the table by the archer.
Wylder wanted to stay. He wanted to watch Ironeye's face as he enjoyed his baking. He wanted to enjoy a few more moments of peace with Ironeye. Which meant it was time for him to go.
He stood, and he knew Ironeye was once again watching him, even if his eyes suddenly became hidden from beneath that hood of his. He made it towards the door that lead to the rest of the Hold before Ironeye spoke again.
"Wylder."
He stopped, turning towards the assassin.
After a brief moment, Ironeye finally settled on, "Goodnight."
Warmth blossomed in his chest even as longing filled a corner of it. His voice was soft and warm as he replied. "Goodnight, Ironeye."
He exited before he could make any more of a fool of himself.
He was quickly becoming tired of dancing around each other. But it was necessary. He couldn't reunite with Duchess, and he couldn't pursue Ironeye, even if the other was (clearly) interested, if not reserved for his own reasons. It wouldn't be fair to any of them. This was a burden he had to shoulder for the better.
So, as he completed his nightly ritual of looking at his earing in the light before climbing into bed, he pushed back the thoughts of Ironeye's voice and almost kisses, falling into a restless slumber.
A man doomed to die should not crave the touch of dexterous hands and the warmth of blue eyes, should not long for twin horses to gallop side by side once again. He had to keep suppressing his desires. It would hurt less when he died that way.