Death's Reason

Chapter 18

Picture of Bird/Eun:
https://www.instagram.com/p/CEX9ZiMnEkA/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Picture of Alasdair:
https://www.instagram.com/p/CEX9CyoHwRB/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

Lemme know if the links don't work

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Growing up, killing was never a problem for Eun. It was never seen as taking life or ruining life for others. Causing pain. He never saw the negative outcome of his actions.

Many a men had fallen at his blade. All fell in order to keep Alasdair safe.

His blade and hands were stained but the color was appreciated. He was raised a weapon. He was raised a shield. He was doing what he was raised to do. 

And even if he had proper morals he would do whatever it took to save Alasdair.

He saw love in those around him but none seemed to feel it as much as he did.  Maybe it wasn't romantic love. Maybe it was love for the monarchy.

Eun wasn't that smart but even he knew that was a lie.

Because Alasdair's lips were puffy and red and distracting. His eyes made him homesick for the ocean, a vast network of water he had never touched before but felt every bit as familiar with. He had never touched his skin but dreamed of it being soft.

Dreams that didn't involve Alasdair's lips and eyes and skin felt more real, were full of fear. He dreamed of dying for him. Of doing what he believed he was born to do.

Then there were other dreams, dreams he couldn't fully remember when he woke but felt as if they were once his life when he thought of them. Distant memories. The smell of the salty sea. How cold its depths were.

Then red. So much red.

But they were just dreams for his first decade of life. Dreams that could be ignored after long days of training and killing, his sore and screaming muscles, his hammering heart at the thought of failing. Of Alasdair dying.

But when his training was over and his days were full of Alasdair and killing those who got too close and the feeling of homesickness, he started to wonder what that homesickness was about.

His home was his small room off of Alasdair's. That was where he lived and grew and cried and loved. That was home. But those sea green eyes made him think of home as something else, something more fluid, something ever-changing and flowing.

He smelled the ocean, sometimes, when he was half asleep or full of grogginess in the morning. When he was too close to Alasdair. When he had those dreams.

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Puberty hit him but everything felt wrong. His voice got deeper but not from being hoarse like he expected. His body felt wrong but it was all he had ever known. He braided his hair sometimes, late at night, never having learned but the familiar process calming him. 

(He also wanted to braid Alasdair's hair, run his fingers through those dark locks)