#hytham x reader

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Take me back to Constantinople

Hytham (AC: Valhalla) x GN!Reader

Word count: 2704

A/N: I finished reading The Golden City a few days ago and I'm inconsolable :] Have some more Hytham content! (because I fell down a rabbit hole)

Had Hytham been told that he would challenge the tenets of the creed again, he would have vehemently denied it.

Constantinople had already been a tedious enough task to complete, and with his feelings involved, the young man swore to never get attached again. The life of an assassin was always on the run, never stable. He wasn’t meant to stay anywhere.

But then they met Sigurd. He and Basim traveled to Norway with him, then to England – and then Kjotve happened, and now Hytham had to stew in his disappointment as he healed from broken bones. His journey of travels ended here. At least he had the bureau to keep himself busy, as well as the lavish dinners to keep him fed and entertained. He liked it when there were get-togethers in Ravensthorpe. 

Like the one from a couple of days ago.

The assassin didn’t know what the reason for the celebration was – not that the vikings needed any. As long as they were promised food and booze at the banquet, they would gladly pillage and conquer any village they were asked to. Hytham had to admit that their logic was pretty efficient, if not a little too simple. But with Eivor, it was different. Her loyalties lay with her own virtues, a moral compass that luckily aligned with Hytham’s; and thus, she would willingly carry out any task that the Hidden One needed of her, even without the promise of a full belly and a drunken tongue.

She’d done a lot for him and his creed, and he couldn’t bring himself to say no to her when she insisted that he attend the celebration. She knew Hytham tended to overwork himself. There was paperwork to finish, new feathers to stock – hell, even the bureau itself was a mess. If Basim were to return with Sigurd now, and find the bureau looking like a rabid drengr had rummaged through it, Hytham would probably have to spend the rest of the month cleaning up the place rather than working up the ranks. 

He pursed his lips, not amused by the idea, but he tried his best to focus on the moment regardless. The clan members had come to form a circle, swaying to the tune of the music, and clasped their hands together as they stomped their right feet in unison. Hytham could feel the tremor under his own feet, and the laughing of the people echoed all over the room, pulling a smile at his lips too.

For a group of drunkards, they danced with great passion and expertise. Practice, Hytham shrugged. It definitely wasn’t their first night drinking and pissing mead, and dancing until their feet hurt. The circle spun faster and faster as the music enhanced. The dancers paired up to twirl and jump, and through the motion blur of faces and twirling dresses, Hytham saw it. Well, he wasn’t quite sure he’d seen it, but the smile looked familiar enough – and as the dancers continued to spin, his eyes settled on you.

He was right, then. You had indeed joined the circle. But your steps were calculated, and you lacked the drunken sway of the vikings who could barely keep themselves upright. Your smile shone bright, and your eyes crinkled under its pull as you switched partners with a woman. Her cheeks matched the tone of her ginger hair, and you somehow managed to avoid getting splashed by her drink, horn in hand.

Hytham’s eyes softened. It was moments like this that made him feel at ease, with no fear of an uncertain future or the haunting of a dark past. Everyone in this room had their fair share of demons, even the children – but they somehow possessed the power to forget about everything for the night, swinging and swaying to the music as the smoke from the bonfire fed off of each chant.

But there was something about you in particular that fascinated Hytham. Perhaps it was the way you carried yourself. The way you spoke, your presence. Maybe it was just the way you looked at him last week, when he’d taught you how to use his throwing knives. He was fixing your posture, and perhaps you’d noticed that he lingered close for too long, because Hytham caught you looking at him on numerous occasions since then. 

There was something there, he mused. A potion brewing quietly, and you were both none the wiser. Even now, the mere memory made Hytham’s fingers twitch as he watched you disappear on the other side of the circle.

“You’re staring.”

He stiffened, not wanting to give the woman the satisfaction of his reaction. 

“I’m just watching them dance.”

Eivor huffed out a laugh, dragging a wooden stool and plopping down next to him. From the corner of his eye, Hytham could see the blade of her ax glimmering under the candlelight.

“Basim was right, you’re awfully transparent.”

Hytham met her eyes, slightly offended. “He said that?”

“You can’t deny it if it’s true,” the blonde shrugged, nodding in your presumed direction. “Why don’t you ask them for a dance?”

Immediately, the assassin clammed up. It must have been an amusing sight to Eivor; a trained killer with a blade strapped to their arm, refusing to approach a person of their interest. When he and Eivor first met, Hytham had gone into detail about the imperative need to separate one’s feelings from their work – to allow such a thing could greatly compromise both his life and his creed. But it was a blurry line for the likes of him, a game that tested their loyalty to the brotherhood. The young eagle knew that line had been tested before, trespassed by his peers and predecessors. It hadn’t ended well for them – after all, the life of an assassin was short. It was built on sacrifice rather than yearning, that was the true purpose of a Hidden One. But now, Hytham knew he was once again at the mercy of his own heart – and what would that make of him?

Human, the little voice in his head said. It sounded an awful lot like Basim, and the acolyte was sure he could almost hear the older man’s trademark smirk. He must have trespassed that line too, at some point in his life; and Hytham couldn’t blame him. He was almost tempted to do it for the second time, too – perhaps he was spending too much time around the man. 

Hytham gave the viking woman a tentative smile. “You know I’m injured. I shouldn’t be dancing anyway.”

Eivor cocked an eyebrow, like she’d been expecting him to say that. 

“I thought it was your ribs that were broken, not your feet.”

Hytham frowned, frustrated; not because of her insistence, but rather because of her ability to read him like a book. Unlike his mentor, Hytham lacked the talent to keep secrets, and he was seemingly obvious to everyone except for himself.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he tried again.

“And they do?” Eivor laughed, looking at a drunk man who tripped and dragged his dancing partner down with him. Hytham could smell the alcohol on their breath from his seat.

“They’re too drunk to care.”

“Hytham.”

“I know you mean well, Eivor,” he softened his tone, shaking his head. “But I believe I should sit this one out. My ribs have been hurting again, and I wouldn’t want to aggravate them.”

It was a lie, and Eivor knew. Nevertheless, without questioning him, the woman sighed and stood up with great effort. She squeezed his shoulder in one last attempt to encourage him, but Hytham only patted her arm. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, or that he lacked the confidence to do so – but Hytham felt like he’d be intruding if he were to approach you now. You gleamed and danced amongst the other dancers, stepping over the bodies of the people who had succumbed to a drunken sleep. You moved with the kind of expertise he would almost envy if he weren’t a skilled fighter himself. 

Someday, he told himself. Someday, he would try to talk to you again. Not now, when you seemed to be in your own world. Hytham was content with just watching for now.

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

That day came sooner than Hytham expected.

The scenario was oddly familiar. As per your request, you were in the training yard once more, graced by the presence of a slumped dummy. The assassin didn’t stray too far from you, observing your posture as you readied another throw. 

“Remember to aim for a pulse point.”

Hytham muttered, not keen on interrupting your focus. You were deeply concentrated, he could tell. Your gloved fingers gripped the dagger tightly, readjusting your hold, before you pivoted and hurled the weapon at the humanoid sack. The blade hissed through the air and past the target, and the scowl on your face darkened.

“Damn it.”

The assassin smiled in amusement. Throwing knives were cheeky little bastards – they seemed to have a mind of their own and strayed wherever they pleased. And the wind today didn’t seem to be working in your favor, either. These weren’t the best conditions to be training; but for the two of you, spare time was just as slippery as the flying blades. The second you could find time to spend together, you’d take it.

So Hytham respected your choice to continue training. It was a good enough excuse to spend time with you, at least until he ran out of knives.

He drew another one from his belt, nodding at you. “That’s alright. Try again.”

You took the dagger from him, and perhaps your impatience was starting to get to you, because just a few seconds later, the knife was cutting through the air again. This time though, it embedded itself into the crotch area of the dummy, and true to its humanoid appearance, it slumped over as if it were in pain. Hytham let out an incredulous laugh, warily eyeing the dummy.

“Wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that.”

You grinned in triumph, satisfied that this one had struck the target. “But this would still work, right?”

“I suppose it would,” he hummed, instinctively handing you another knife. It was the last from his belt, and Hytham was relieved to know that he would soon be retreating back into the warmth of the bureau. He propped up the dummy before joining your side again. “Try one last time. Here, I’ll help you.”

Your posture was better than last time, but it still needed fixing. The man waited for you to curl the knife up to your opposite shoulder, before leaning closer to hover at your eye level. Gauging the distance by moving into your space was unnecessary, he knew you were capable enough to do so on your own. You knew you didn’t need him either. And yet, Hytham relished the side glance you gave him, one that lingered on his face longer than he’d expected. He fought back a smile as he reached to lift up your crooked arm.

“Focus on the target and take your time,” he reprimanded you playfully. You ripped your eyes away from him, and Hytham swore he could feel the heat emanating from your cheeks. “Your arm should be fully outstretched in a straight line. Aiming too high or too low will miss the target entirely, and you’ll quickly lose range advantage.”

He let go of your elbow when he was satisfied enough. Your eyes were trained on the dummy, unblinking, and the leather of your gloves groaned when you tightened the grip on the knife. Your voice was a soft mutter, but Hytham heard it. 

“You know, you sound a lot like Basim.”

The man gave you the ghost of a smile. It seemed the little voice in his head was starting to seep into his voice now, too.

“Well, he is my mentor,” a pause, and Hytham was tempted to speak again despite your focus. He added quietly. “Would you prefer his tutoring?”

“No. I would much rather enjoy your company.”

“And I yours.”

Another pause, and then, you flung the knife again. It cut through the air with a hiss, glinting for just a second before it sank into the neck of the dummy, and the stray strands of straw fluttered down at the stab. Hytham grinned as your eyes widened, and drew back to look at you properly.

“Good job,” he winked, promptly walking back to the mannequin to retrieve his knives. “Remind me to never get on your bad side again.”

“So this is how you do it?” you asked, and Hytham’s smile softened at the awe in your eyes. “I’ve seen you fling daggers from greater distances with just the flick of a wrist.”

The man shrugged, at a loss for words. He was never good at taking compliments, especially when they were this genuine. “It’s a matter of practice,” was all he said instead. He nodded at the bureau just as you joined his side.

“In that case, I’ll have to whisk you away more often. I need you to teach me how to do that.”

Hytham repressed a grin, but he couldn’t hide the blush on his cheeks.

“You know I won’t complain.”

»» ──────ஓ๑♥๑ஓ ────── ««

Complain? No, he could never.

Hytham didn’t know what it was that pulled him towards you. Other than his feelings, of course. Was it the way the fireplace of the bureau cast shadows on your face? The depth of your eyes, perhaps? The tender caress of your lips against his? Too many questions ran about in his mind, and no answer was valid enough to satisfy him.

There was one thing that did satisfy him, though; and he knew right then and there that he was doomed. The kiss started off with a peck –Hytham wasn’t sure who had leaned in first–; but then came a second one, and then another one, which turned into a lingering kiss. He felt the heat of your sigh, the gentle nudge of your nose, the caress of your lashes against his skin. The blood in his ears was roaring at your touch.

If this was how training ended every time, then Hytham wouldn’t have minded teaching you more often.

You had somehow found your way to the shelves. His body pressed you against them, caging you in his embrace as your hands cradled his face; and here, hidden away from any witnesses, your lips came to create a dance and language of their own. Hytham pulled back, desperate to relieve the burn in his chest but not leaning too far either. Your breaths intermingled once more as his finger skimmed over your cheek, and he whispered.

“I’m starting to think training was just an excuse.”

He felt you smile against his skin, like he had caught you in a lie. Perhaps he had, judging from the glint in your eyes.

“It wasn’t, at least not in the beginning,” you paused, interrupted by him as he surged forward to catch your lips again. Your words etched onto his skin as you whispered through the kiss. “But then you refused to dance with me at the celebration, and I had to come up with a new idea.”

Hytham stilled, and your smile widened at his reaction. He glanced between your eyes, trying to read you like he’d been trained to do in his novice years. It was so obvious now that he looked more carefully – maybe he was too distracted by his feelings in the past to even notice what you were plotting. That seemed to be a recurring problem for Hytham. His cheeks grew warm again, but his small smile said he was impressed.

“I was set up.” 

“Took you long enough.”

“You’re devious,” his words were teasing, but the assassin felt his eyes soften the more he looked at you. Your arms around his neck had never felt so welcoming. “Perhaps we should make a Hidden One out of you.”

“Only if you continue teaching me how to use the knives.”

Hytham grinned, whispering against your lips. “Deal.”

[demigoddessqueens]

girl our baby boy hytham is lacking attention from ys . Can u right where he falls in love with Viking reader and they get married? I think he would be a good husband tbh

THANKS AND I LOVE UR WRITING 🤩✨🤍

Awwwe Hytham deserves some love too!!! 😍

Masterlist 10

First off, that’s Mr. Hytham “I like a woman who can kick my ass kill me”

Nah jk 🤣but really tho 🫣

Hytham will be looking at you with the biggest blown out eyes in admiration

Learned from the Master Basim himself

Your prowess, your build, the braids and tattoos!!

If this is Valhalla, he never wants to leave

Watching you spar or fight in the middle of battles is an art to him, and the blood on your face does nothing to hinder what he admires in your features

Looks for any excuse just to talk to you, even as you tell stories around the fires

Eivor notices his disposition every time you come around, nudging him with a tease every time he blushes around you

Admires your braids and tattoos and asks constant questions about them, watching your face light up as you describe them

Tries to go on walks with you if he can, of course under the guise of “gathering intelligence”

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

HIII :3 you know my ass would ask for more hytham cuz u write him so good.

can u do something about him reuniting with his lover that was in Baghdad when he left with basim? Now he’s older and has few gray hairs . u can make it into a wholesome fluffy fanfic or nsfw(if ur not comfortable with nsfw its okay :3)

Whispers of Yesterday pt.1

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: angst for now

Warnings: None, maybe thar reader is a widow????

Note: I HAVE BEEN SUMMONED FROM THE GRAVE AND IF I COME BACK, I COME BACK BIG. EXPECT A FEW MORE CHAPTERS LMFAO Part Two

Leaning back on the folded blanket, you closed your eyes with a sigh. Late afternoon brought a lazy breeze from the east, bending the cedar branches above you. Small, bright spots lit up on the ground and on your face as the sunlight filtered through the leaves, gently caressing your skin. It was a perfect day; after distributing the fish for lunch, there was nothing better than taking a nap in the shade of the trees with full bellies. Your team - a handful of street children, although for you they meant the sanctity of the family, they lay in a circle under the protection of the tree trunk, some were already sleeping loudly snoring, some were talking, and leaning to the side you saw that two were still adjusting their beds.

Nestled into the soft blanket, you stretched out on the floor, sliding your arms under your head.

"There won't be dinner that way." You heard the sound of giggling from above, and without even opening your eyes, you snapped at the sound. Your palm found skin, and with a thump you pushed the person you were confused to the ground.

The voice laughed loudly as you opened your eyes with a gasp.

"Hytham, I'm about to sleep..." You mumbled, puckering your lips against the boy lying next to you. Grinning, Hytham turned to you and shrugged.

"Are you a cat that you have to sleep after eating?"

Turning your nose up, you tongued your companion and nudged his shoulder as you snuggled closer to his side. Hytham let go, making room for you, and when you were both comfortably seated, he reached his right arm up as if to catch the leaves.

"Guess what I have, and if you guess it's yours." He said, twisting his wrist.

Huffing, you turned to look at him from the side, then back to his hand.

"I don't want a cricket jumping on me….again." You snarled at the boy, but he just smiled at you, his eyes sparkling as if he wanted to show you some magic.

"I brought you a present." He answered more quietly so as not to disturb the other sleeping children.

Raising your eyebrows, you turned onto your stomach so you could look up at his face, leaning on your elbows.

"A gift? What kind of gift? Where did you get it from?” You waved excitedly, your previous annoyance lost in the mist.

The boy chuckled again, then shook his still raised fist with a knowing smile. "You just have to answer and you'll find out."

Sleep and tiredness fade away from you like a faint smoke, replaced by an excitement of anticipation and curiosity.

"Well! Tell me! Please Hythem please!” You urged, tugging on his shoulder now with full alertness.

Hythem scoffed with a smile, then sat up himself, lowering his palm to your face.

"Guess it." He teased again, gently pushing your shoulders.

"Food? Money? Oh! You found a cake, right? Isn't that a cake?" You asked, watching the mark

Ignoring your guess, he continued. "Close your eyes and give me your hand." He reached for yours with his free hand and gently opened your palm, then turned it over.

"But if there's a bug, I'll really throw it at you!" You warned, closing your eyes.

"You won't, you certainly won't." He said and placing his palm on yours, he released the surprise lurking in his grip.

At first you only felt the warmth that the clenched fist gave to the object. Then, folding your fingers over it, you rolled it in your palm.

There were three round things, maybe the size of an olive seed.

"What are these…?" You morphed, closing your fingers as a test, but the orbs didn't compress, they stood the test firmly.

You almost gave up on opening your eyes and asking the boy for help, when a solution occurred to you.

"Glass balls?!" You shouted cheerfully as Hythem started to hush you.

“You can look at them.” He assured me cheerfully.

In your hand lay three sky-blue balls, the light shining on them made their whole insides shine. You hissed in surprise and between your squeals of joy you closed them in your palm and turned towards the boy and jumped on his neck.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you very much Hythem! Oh, they are wonderful! I love it, everyone!” You giggled as you jumped, happily hugging the boy who put his arms around your shoulders in response.

"When I saw them I thought you would like them. That way we'll have something to play with."

"Shall we try them?" Letting go, you snapped his neck and he followed with equal enthusiasm.

Your daughter woke you up from your dream, gently stroking your arm.

"Mama, mama, get up! can we go mom? The sun is about to rise.”

You yawned as you blinked the sleep from under your eyelids, turning onto your back with a grunt. You squinted at your daughter, seeing one of your childhood friends in her for the first time, as you remembered who you were and where you were.

Have you ever dreamed of your childhood? Or was it your daughter you were talking to? You saw the blue glass balls.

This thought woke you up completely, and while your daughter went to the table to pour water, you sat up and grabbed your neck.

Your fingers slid along the chain, and you felt the weight of the small spheres on your skin with relief.

"Wh- where do we want to go Ameera?" You frowned, trying to remember your conversation last night.

"To the bazaar mother!" Your daughter answered, emphasizing the words. "You said we could look at the scarves today."

“Oh, yes. You are right.” You smiled, nodding. The images of your dream at night moved further and further away from your mind, the details faded into obscurity, and by the time you got dressed, all you remembered was that you felt carefree and happy in your dream. Happier than you've ever felt lately.

"Let's hurry, because they will buy the best from us!" Your child urged, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door.

You obeyed with a laugh, holding your hand and letting your daughter lead you wherever her heart desires.

Let her be as carefree as you have never been.

The desert sun hung low over Baghdad, casting a warm, golden glow across the city Hytham once called home. Years had passed since he left with Basim, and although he had ventured across lands and seas, the city's familiar scent of spices and sand filled him with a bittersweet sense of nostalgia.

A few gray hairs had begun to weave through his dark locks, and the lines around his eyes told stories of battles fought and missions completed.

As he made his way through the bustling crowd, Hytham sniffed the air deeply, letting the swirling hurricane of spices, oils, skins, and food fill his senses. The sounds, the colors, the smells all brought up long-forgotten, obscured memories in his heart.

He well remembered the day when he and his master had first met Sigurd, when the tall prince had initiated them into the wonders and secrets of his country, so that he too would have the opportunity to inquire about Basim's secrets.

Twenty years have passed since then, Hyhtam has already seen half the world in that time. From the icy peaks of the North, through the rain-soaked fields of England to the sunny gardens of Iberia. And wherever he went, with whatever people he made lifelong alliances and friendships, even though he felt like one with the Crow Clan - he was still a child of the East, his heart longed for his long-left home.

So, leaving the fraternity he had built up in England to his student, and saying goodbye to Sigurd, he set off to the south, and then, reaching Poszportus, to the east, so that he could finally see his native land again.

Not that you have to worry about returning in a hurry.

At home, the Brotherhood network was in good hands, the clan was enjoying the most peaceful times since its sojourn on Saxon soil, and Eivor set off for Vinland, trying to further spread northern influence.

It was time for him to live a little to himself, to finally do what his heart demanded of him.

He stopped at a perfume seller, lingering to examine the bottles that held the scented oils. The man was devotedly examining the contents of all the bottles lined up, where they came from, what the ingredients were, how they were made, what wonderful powers they can have if someone applies them to himself, while Hytham turned the bottles with more and more beautiful motifs in his hands, with so many colors and sizes. Amidst the murmur of the crowd and the man's crude narration, Hytham noticed a voice that somehow stood out from among the chaotic sounds.

A child's loud laughter rang out from behind the perfume stand opposite him. A girl was shaking, clutching her stomach among the fabrics and silks, clutching the hand of an older woman, while the mustached vendor jokingly tied a scarf around her stout waist, pretending to be a woman.

Hytham watched the scene with a soft smile. He was somehow captured by this happy moment taken from the life of this family, as the child hugs his mother so tightly, as they laugh together, carefree.

The woman's shoulders also shook, and her scarf resting on her hair slipped back from her hair due to the movement.

The blood froze in Hytham's veins at that moment, his fingers pressed against the bottle in his grip.

The woman's scarf slid down, revealing her rich crown of hair and the glittering jewelry in her ear. A small, shiny, sky-blue sphere bobbed forward - back, right - left in the woman's ear.

Suddenly a strange image popped into Hytham's mind.

A bittersweet joy, seeing the face of a familiar friend; the interruption of the cloudless life of childhood; and as if he had found a relic he believed to be lost.

Something began to form in his mind; feverishly trying to break out from behind the thick gray fog.

Stopping everything - even breathing - Hytham tried to catch that something in his thoughts, and for some reason he felt that watching this mother-daughter duo, he would succeed in it faster.

Her torment was interrupted when the girl, turning her back to her mother, turned to face the perfume stand to show her parent the back of her scarf.

Hyhtam seemed to have been struck by lightning, dropping the bottle from his hand onto the table, he staggered back, blinking widely and watching the girl with his mouth open.

She bore an eerie resemblance to a childhood face, a little girl who was dear to Hytham's heart and who could have meant an awful lot to him if their paths had not diverged so far apart.

And then something snapped, exploded in Hyhtam, flooding him with a numbing, terrifying heat. He knew this face, he knew this girl. Or rather, the woman standing next to the child.

He knew those blue glass balls.

And she knew there had to be a third one in addition to the two earrings.

After your daughter had chosen with great difficulty the scarf she liked best, you turned to the nice seller.

"I think I finally have what I want to buy." You smiled, trying to fish out your wallet. The man gave you a pleasant freshness with his funny stories and even more clownish acting. You appreciated that he was so attentive to your little girl. "How much will the silk scarf be?"

The man's eyes widened, then he frowned with feigned seriousness.

"Yes, yes! I don't want to disappoint the dear child, since he was so kind to me. Our conversation between these disgusting people made my day! Here, take it. My gift!” The man smiled, pushing back your fist with the coins in it.

"Oh, I can't." You objected. "It's a valuable commodity, I don't want to shorten your business."

The man shook his head and bent down to wink at your daughter.

"That's how it goes between good friends, isn't it? You will honor me by accepting my gift! And your mother should consider that her husband blamed you for your debts.It is paid.”

You smiled in gratitude, gently shaking your head. "Unfortunately, we can't. My husband is dead, so he can't repay you for this kind gesture."

The bucket raised his hands at this, not allowing you to hand him the money.

"Then I am all the more certain that I will not accept the money. A mother needs as much as possible to support her child. Please. Let this be my thanks for your kindness.”

Your eyes filled with tears from what you heard, you were so touched. You nodded with a bright smile and let your daughter take the cloth offered to her.

"We are terribly grateful for it." You nodded. "Isn't it, Ameera?"

Your daughter hugged the chosen piece amid intense nods and giggles.

“Yes, yes! Thank you very much for your uncle's generosity!" Your happy daughter.

"And if you've been here another time, please come here! I hope we will have many more such great conversations.” The man waved goodbye to you with a wide smile as you stood there, heading for your next destination.

During the day you visited the huge bazaars of Baghdad. You bought lunch and dinner, talked to a couple of weaving women about when you could work for them again, and handed over the pieces you had made so far to your customers. The day passed quickly, and navigating through the anthill of people, you felt as if you were walking in vain among a thousand and one pairs of eyes, one was following you continuously, drilling a burning hole in your back.

The sensation of being observed was difficult to ignore. It was not an unfamiliar feeling, especially in the bustling bazaars where people's gazes tend to linger. The question now was whether the staring was merely happenstance or deliberate.

Slightly adjusting your path as if casually browsing, you subtly veered towards a shop window that seemed to provide a suitable view of the path behind you. While pretending to admire the wares, you carefully observed the area through the reflection, keeping an eye out for those seemingly endless eyes on your back.

Your eyes darted to every passing face, scanning the bustling crowd for any signs of interest. A man loitering near a food stall, a woman browsing jewelry next to you, children playing an impromptu ball game in the distance – all appeared to be engrossed in their own activities. However, despite the numerous people in your line of sight, none seemed to exhibit any particular interest in you; if they were the ones following you, they were adept at feigning nonchalance.

For a moment, you felt a flicker of uncertainty, doubting your earlier intuition.

"Maybe I'm just imagining things..." You sigh rubbing your face before you turn to your daughter, now leading her a bit quicker out of the bustle of the crowd.

Before long, the crowd thinned out, and the stalls in the streets were replaced by yellow walls and doorways. The crowd of people dwindled until finally you only met scattered residents who greeted you cordially.

"Mom, why are we running like this?" Ameera asked with raised eyebrows, clutching the loaf of bread you had entrusted to her, accompanied by a basket of figs.

As if you only realized it now, your anxiety got the better of you, you slowed down.

"Forgive me dear. I'm just tired, I want to get home as soon as possible. By the way, you have to help with the cooking too.” You smiled sweetly at him, then stealthily glanced behind you. She nodded, adjusting the basket in her grip, but followed your gaze back.

"Did you see something?" He was interested.

“Nothing. Let's go, we're almost home."

She walked past you with a doubtful look, leading the way.

Hytham turned the corner slowly, noting with a sigh that he hadn't lost sight of you. A big lump rose in his throat, and he felt guilty that he had resorted to such vile tricks, just so he could keep watching. The sight of his old childhood friend had a stronger effect on his homesick heart than the calmness of any medicinal potion. As he followed her, from house to house, from ledge to roof, he wondered if he had lost his mind. I wonder what he will say to you when he finally faces you someday? I wonder what you will say? Do you still recognize your old friend at all? How should he approach you, how should he introduce himself, what should he do?

He clenched his fists. Act first; reveal your identity and only then worry about the following.

And yet, Hyhtam's legs struggled forward, he would have wanted to step out of the shadows at any time to reveal himself to you. Instead, like a nimble cat, he darted from one street to another, up to the roofs on one ledge, down to the ground again on another tarpaulin, as the road took him without having to stop. That way, he can at least keep an eye on you and your daughter better, watching your ways from the vantage point of the heights, sometimes scanning your surroundings with a zigzag eye, against possible danger. Fortunately, he was the only one who wanted to follow you that day, so he calmly rested his knives on his waist belt and his hidden blade on his arm.

After a short wait, a more spacious building appeared at the next street corner. The square house, built of red brick and clay, provided a sharp contrast to the small garden in the middle, with a peacefully bubbling fountain, an orange tree and a rose bush in their colorful glory. Hytham watched as you let your daughter go ahead, then, looking behind you one last time, scanned the area and followed you to the safety of your home.

The man stopped, hands on hips.

He can't just walk up to you and introduce himself. However, he didn't think it was a good idea to knock on the front door either. What should he say if you open the door for him? I followed you all the way from the bazaar, do you remember me? And he didn't know what to say if he met your daughter for the first time.

So Hytham sighed heavily and sat down on the corner of the roof with pursed lips, his elbows resting on his knees. He needed some time to think.

Sitting on the edge of the roof, he continued to observe as the evening began to settle. He leaned back, propping himself up against the wall, his eyes firmly fixed on your home.

He wrestled with his thoughts in his head, weighing the options. Would it be best to wait until you were alone to talk to you? How could he approach you without raising alarm or concern? Was he overthinking this whole thing?

He let out another sigh, a mix of frustration and uncertainty, as he leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The evening breeze tugged at his hair, and the sound of distant conversation and laughter from the neighborhood filled his ears. It seemed like the entire world was carrying on as usual, oblivious to his inner turmoil. He knew he had to make a decision soon, but the right course of action continued to elude him.

With a deep breath, and after contemplating for a few moments, Hytham slowly got up from the rooftop and began his journey to your home. The time had come. He had chosen to confront you head-on. There was no more waiting; he thought there was no use delaying the inevitable.

[atarathegreat]

Scared for Nothing. Hytham AC Valhalla

Joining the vikings was a large transition for Hytham. He had to adapt so he didn't accidently offend someone for fear of losing his head. No matter how much Basim reassured him, Hytham always feared for his life in his sleep.

"Excuse me!"

Hytham jolted out of his cot at the disgruntled voice. He had never heard such anger on the night of a viking feast, but Basim didn't seem the least bit bothered.

"Apologies!" A sweet giggle was followed by a half-naked viking woman falling through the curtain to the little hut. She was shorter than the typical viking Hytham had become used to, but she could be just as dangerous if he wasn't careful. Her laughter woke Basim, who slept on the other side of the hut, and he approached her fluidly, as if he didn't fear her.

Basim chuckled and lifted her as a bear lifts a tree branch, "Up you get, before you catch a cold." The older man was more generous than Hytham seemed to be, carefully cooing at the drunken giggler as he settled her in his cot. "You can't be serious?" Hytham protested quietly, "What if she wakes and kills us?" And all Basim could do was chuckle, "This tiny girl? Why, she can hardly swing an axe." Basim covered her and sat beside the bed, "Get sleep, Hytham. You will feel better in the morning, and we can help her get through Fornburg without being immodest."

Long ago Hytham had learned that Basim would put him in any uncomfortable position, as a form of "training," in the man's words. It was the worst training Hytham had ever been subject to. But he carried the woman through the little village, hidden only by his hood and her covered only in a large fur. "Over there..." She sounded sickly, like she might throw up from all the things she ate and drank the night before, "Svend will...Svend will help..."

Whoever that was. Hytham called through the cloth, flinching back when a big and burly man came through. "She's greatly exposed...said you would help her..." Hytham mumbled, passing the woman over to him. "Idiot girl, your father will have someone's head for this." Svend sighed, taking her inside.

After the initial encounter, Hytham noticed his mentor keeping an eye on the woman at feasts. It wasn't uncommon for Basim to watch out for others, especially women, but he was dragging Hytham to each and every feast to keep an eye on her.

Gods, she was like a flower in the breeze, dancing as if it were her last day to dance. There was a smile that was brighter than a thousand suns upon her face and, before he knew it Hytham was admitting to himself that this strange viking was...attractive. He loved how freely she did her hair, how loud she spoke in the late hours, and how crazy she was to dive naked into the cold Norway waters. Hytham was hooked by the odd occurrences, captivated by her soul.

"Go and talk to her." Basim chuckled; arms crossed as he leaned against the nearest pillar in the longhouse.

"Talk to her? You must be out of your mind!" Hytham turned away from the man, "I am only here because you have made me come. I would much rather be tucked away in the warmth of the furs."

"You prefer a cot to the festivities? How strange. Considering you always have a drink or two." The smirk on Basim's face was enough to drive Hytham crazy. The man thought he knew everything, never mind that he was right, and Hytham truly did enjoy the feast. But this woman...she was different. She wasn't some tankard of ale or horn of mead, no, she was...Gods, she was something.

She was perfect timing in a terrible hunt. Even as Hytham stayed still, Basim's ideals reached her, and she stumbled over. "Come! Come! You must dance!" the viking lady dragged Hytham into the crowd, moving around in what was anything but dancing. Yet, Hytham let her excitable energy reach him as he attempted to do whatever she did. He even drank himself under the table, a table that was flipped sideways to shield him and the woman from prying eyes as they slept.

[starlightt180]

☹️

me seeing that my fav character barely/doesn’t have any fanfics OR imagines

[reyofsunshne]

What is btalhm ? You have the authorisation to make that answer a wall of text, tell me everything!

HELLO YES! I love you for jumping on this one and asking me!!

"Better Than A Living History Museum" is BTALHM, my Assassin's Creed Valhalla fic I've been working on properly since 2022, but has been in my writing journal since 2020 when AC Valhalla came out!

It centres on a medieval historian reader who is isekai'd into 9th century England!

Because I'm a giant nerd as well, and 10th century textiles and domestic history is my Thing, the historian reader has skills in weaving, and recently we have had a cheeky development hinting to the Actual plot of AC Valhalla, with the reader being Skuld, one of the Norns (weavers of fate).

I've put literal days of research into this fic, and used a lot of my first hand knowledge of Viking reenactment and camping into use, and where I have no idea, I've actually turned to experimental archaeology instead of guesswork! I'm just really proud of this story, and how it's progressed.

Eventually it'll turn into romance and history, but right now it's focused on a lot of animal husbandry and fabric processing instead of the drama of it all!

If you ever feel like picking it up, knowing it pops in and out of hiatus due to my crazy schedule, it can be found HERE

[starlightt180]

ohhh i have a good prompt-

Y/n is very sick with the stomach flu, can you write how Basim would be gentle and take care of the reader?? 🥺

please make this as short or as long as you’d like if you do end up writing about this owo

sick desert flower

Basim (Valhalla)x sick reader

Basim would be all over you and won’t go anywhere when you are sick.

When he returned from a mission and saw you on the bed holding ur stomach he rushed towards you . Asking what got your stomach to hurt

From then on he got so protective and would make you some traditional food that wont hurt your stomach more from Baghdad . Soup , rice and meat, stuffed vegetables .

Won’t let you work or do anything around the house.

will tell hytham to watch over you and keep an eye on what you eat so your sickness doesn’t get worse.

When u starting getting better he’d be so happy ( bro got tired of cooking and watching) but still he will watch what enters your body and won’t let you do heavy work .

now ur stuck with hytham inside the house

hi . Sorry I took so long to do this last week was full of assignments and exams so I didn’t have time to open tumblr. :\ I hope u like this

[leofrith]

FINALLYYYY okay assassin’s creed + 1, 8, 16, 18

1. the character everyone gets wrong

answered here!

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

valhalla is not the worst ac game ever, just as odyssey was not the worst ac game ever before valhalla came along, just as origins was not the worst ac game ever before odyssey, and syndicate was not the worst before origins, and unity was not the worst game before s—[GUNSHOTS]

this happens literally every time a new ac title gets released. everyone hates the newest game until a newer one comes along for people to hate even more, and then proceeds to look back on the game they previously hated with fondness a few years later. rinse and repeat forever and ever. stop expecting the new games to give you what the ezio trilogy gave you. if you want unity, then go fucking replay unity. if you want black flag, then go fucking replay black flag. if you want the original, then go fucking replay the original. stop rating the games based on what they aren't and instead, rate them based on what they are. of course, none of this is to say that people aren't entitled to their own personal preferences, but the constant complaining makes me wonder if most of these people even like ac at all and in fact, just makes you sound like an insufferable, pedantic asshole.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

reader inserts. not only would I Not Fucking Say That, most of the time the subject of the reader insert also Would Not Fucking Say That. they're almost always made to be so painfully out of character in order to fit into whatever story or preconceived au is being written, to the point where i often wonder if the author even likes or cares about the character they're writing for. personally, if i'm writing a character—especially one i like— i want to make sure i'm doing them justice, which is why i cannot fathom essentially borrowing a character's face and name and nothing else for the purpose of wish fulfillment. it's feels like these authors see all these characters as being completely interchangeable with one another and it drives me fucking crazyyyy.

the only reason i can really think of for not just writing an original work at that point is that using a pre-existing character also provides a pre-existing fandom for your work. but then you're also annoying the shit out of anyone, like me, who is going into a character tag because they want to see content about the actual character, not a 5k ooc smut fic that you couldn't even bother to put under a read-more!!! i cannot stress enough how much i literally would not give a single shit what people are doing with their own free time if the proliferation of those works didn't make every single character tag (and often actor tags as well, because some people will tag every character an actor has ever played in their fics as well, which qualifies as spam btw!!) on this site completely unusable. if i ever wanted to see x reader fics i would search for them specifically, but unfortunately there's also no blanket tag for me to blacklist. so i guess i'll just keep blocking new users until i die.

(yes, i know you said specifically ac and this is a bit more general but this relates to every fandom :/)

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

shut up!!!!! you know i'm gonna say leofrith. 😭 he is the It Girl he is the moment he's got everything!! he's got the kind of religious trauma that only being a christian with a martyr complex could give you. he's got dead parent trauma and a horribly one-sided relationship with his adopted father. he loves ceolbert like a son. the best friendism with hytham. he's literally a sister brother. the dog motif. he is so so deeply unwell. i know he's barely got a character arc to speak of in the game but consider: what if he did? he is everything to me i need to be able to beam the version of him that exists in my head directly into the people's brains or i'll die.

send me a number!

[lunavadash-creates]

Could we have part 2 continuation of the puppy dog eye request? It made me feel all warm & fuzzy. I’d love to see how Eivor (Male or female), Basim and Hytham would handle puppy eyes. Thank you so much in advance.

Hello Dear! Thank you for your patience! I had so much fun writing those 💜

Hytham! (aka the sweetest baby)

This man is like a puppy in a body of a human

Always so polite, nice, respectful

I mean, have you seen his face? He has puppy eyes 24/7

Anyway - you knew how hesitant he was on sharing the secrets of his Brotherhood, but, being a curious and stubborn creature, you decided to use your ultimate weapon

The Puppy Eyes ™

It’s not like anyone in Ravensthorpe could resist you anyway

But Hytham? Seeing you like this… he got so shy!

Cheeks? Red

Eyes? Staring at the ground

Heart? Pounding

Speech? Stuttering

But then he slowly raised his head, with those blue eyes of his peering right into your soul

“y/n, please: I can’t do it. I can’t let down my brothers and sisters, no matter how much I want to share everything with you”

For the first time in your life, you were the one who had to bend under the pressure of the most powerful puppy eye stare in the universe

“Fine. Fine! But then I want to try food from your homeland. You said you know how to make it,”

“Of course, y/n” he would smile and this time, it was your heart pounding like crazy

Basim

“What are you doing with your face?” he would say, frowning

He was quite busy with some stuff, so he just spared you a glance before focusing on his work again

“Basim, please? Let me try your hidden blade on?”

“No”

“Pretty please?”

“No”

“Pleeeeeaaaaasseeeeeee” you almost laid on his desk, giving him the best puppy eyes you could manage to make

Yet, he stood still, unmoved, immune to your charm. Was it the power of a true Hidden One? In that case, you hoped Eivor won’t ever learn that trick

“y/n, the hidden blade is not a toy. Not something I can just let people touch or wear, it is a-” he stopped as he raised his head again and saw you, with this sad face and almost watery eyes, sitting there so sad and disappointed

He sighed, knowing that he lost to your charm

“Five minutes,” he said, reaching for his hidden blade to take it off. You couldn’t believe he actually agreed to it, but hey! You wanted to try it ever since the day Eivor received one! Basim helped you wear it, putting the blade on top of your arm, the same way Eivor was wearing it, and then showed you how to use it. But he never let you out of the little house he shared with Hytham

When the five minutes had passed, you gave him the blade back and were ready to leave when he stopped you. “Y/n? Didn’t you forget something?”

“Forget? What?

“The price,” he said with a wide smile that made your heart sink. “You won’t leave me here without any recompensation, will you?” and suddenly he also made puppy eyes, almost perfectly imitating your own. And then you realised. This was the true power of the hidden one and you had just lost against it.

Bonus: soon you discovered that his bedroom eyes are so much more powerful than the puppy eyes

Eivor (I’m playing as a male Eivor because smexy so since you gave me a choice male Eivor it is)

Eivor never could resist you

When you were children, teens, adults, your puppy eyes always gave you what you wanted

Eivor and Sigurd used to say “eyes more powerful than axes”

Unfortunately, your parents were no longer in the picture, after the spring ride, so you lived alone with your grandmother, a wise woman who was making sure you will become a herbalist. It wasn’t a dangerous job, but it was very demanding and important, much needed in a growing settlement

The problem was your heart. You liked working with herbs and all, but you also needed adventures! You wanted to taste the life of a true Viking so, when you heard Eivor was gathering warriors for a raid, you decided to go as well

“No, you know you can’t go with us. It’s too dangerous and you are more needed here.”

“Eivor, please! When my grandma will move on, I will be stuck here forever! Maybe this will be the last year I will be able to actually leave the settlement, don’t leave me behind!” you begged, and when Eivor turned around to look at you, you gave the best puppy eyes you had in your arsenal

Eivor bit his lip, a bit uncomfortable. Yes, he couldn’t really resist and he could see your point. As a herbalist, soon you won’t be able to leave and no, you still had someone who could carry on your work for a few more weeks

“Fine. I guess if your grandma kills me, I can still go to Valhalla” he muttered under his breath

You laughed at him and dashed to grab your axe! The adventure awaits!

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Hytham headcanons

Hytham (AC Valhalla) x GN!reader

Word count: 1078

A/N's note: I've been meaning to write about Hytham these past few weeks! Have some headcanons while I finish reading The Golden City :) (it got a bit angsty at the end)

Hytham’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. Hear me out.

He's pretty quiet (compared to the rowdy Vikings, at least), but true to his creed, he watches everything and everyone like a hawk. This applies to you too.

Hytham is willing to wait when he starts to grow interested in someone. He’d much rather approach them only once he feels like he’s gotten to know them both from the inside and the outside. I don’t see him seeking his crush out from the very beginning – he prefers bonding with them over time and seeing where things go.

Do not be fooled by his acting. Whether he’s cackling at a joke, dining at the longhouse or target practicing, Hytham is sure to be eavesdropping on your conversation. If you’re nearby, that is. This doesn’t mean that he’s spying on you specifically – he tends to strain his ears (like all Hidden Ones do, really), and sometimes, if he’s lucky, he might just hear your voice.

When he does, he smiles to himself.

You’re good friends with Eivor, and often accompany her on her errands around the village. This has led you to the bureau multiple times, and Hytham is always caught off guard by the unexpected visit.

“🧍🏾‍♂️Oh. Good evening.”

You like the place, it’s cozy and the man isn’t bad company either. So you stay, and even if there’s other parchments he needs to finish before sunset, Hytham perks up at the chance to answer any question you might have (grinning and kicking his feet when you show interest in the creed).

So that’s where you spend time together. Celebrations in Ravensthorpe are also guaranteed to lure him out of his cove – you’ll be sure to find him letting loose and coming out of his shell more. His favorite game is apple bobbing, and he’s determined to win everytime – but despite his competitive streak, he might pretend to lose if he’s going up against you.

As for gift giving, it doesn’t evolve into actual physical gifts until later on (he thinks that’d be way too obvious). Instead, his first ‘gifts’ are things you might need.

Whether you have experience in fighting/self-defense or not, Hytham hints at the training yard he and Basim use. He invites you to use it whenever you please (you can pummel the dummies for a bit, as long as you put them back in their place); and if you have no experience whatsoever, he’ll gladly teach you some things.

You don’t get to have your own hidden blade though. Sorry (ask Basim for one)

But you can try his! Just don’t die.

If you do somehow get injured, you can have the medicine he’s made. It’s all yours.

Interested in a particular topic? He probably has a book about it at the bureau (or he’ll find it somehow, don’t ask) and will gladly let you take it.

Teaches you how to do the leap of faith. If you pull his leg just like Eivor did and don’t leave the haystack, I think he’d have a similar reaction.

“Very funny. You can come out now.”

“We are so not doing this rn.”

“Please.”

“Please, Basim will kill me.”

Things start to shift when you see the signs. You crack a joke with your friends and notice Hytham’s already looking at you with a soft smile. You tell him your pouch is broken, and remember the beautiful purse you’d once seen at a market in Lunden. Days later, coincidentally, Eivor brings you a beautiful leather pouch from the same city (hint: it wasn’t Eivor’s idea). You also find him playing hide and seek with the Norse children outside, and he urges you to join.

You start testing out your theories. When spring comes, you comment on the beauty of the blooming flowers and he’s immediately crouched down, going through every plant in your vicinity to tell you everything he knows about them. By the end, you have a large bouquet of flowers in your hands.

Eivor sees this, and jokingly tells Hytham he should get some purple ones and smack you in the face with them (a courting tradition amongst Vikings). Needless to say he’s mortified.

Random secret: he knows how to make flower crowns – his mother taught him when he was younger.

He’s giving you instructions as you weave the stems together, and you can’t help but feel his eyes glancing repeatedly between your hands and face.

It’s not until Ravensthorpe is attacked that you’re forced to face your feelings. The ambush is bad – there is no escape as the docks are on fire, and arrows are whizzing past you no matter where you run. Whether you’re a villager, a sage, or a warrior doesn’t really matter. It’s the kind of attack where you’re certain your next stop is going to be Valhalla.

But then the clashing of swords stop. The last enemy falls to their knees, and through the smoke and the ringing in your ears, you hear the roaring victory of your people.

Sigurd and Basim are looting the bodies. Eivor is opening the longhouse where the villagers have barricaded themselves. But you don’t catch sight of Hytham, not until you see him emerge from the woods along with the other Drengr. His white robes are flapping in the wind, his sword dripping with blood, and he’s holding his side as he grimaces. So you run to him.

He sheathes his weapon when he sees you alive and well, eyes darting all over your face as if scanning for injuries; and before you can say anything, he cups your face and locks his lips with yours.

Congrats! You’re now dating.

Basim tells you and Eivor something enigmatic months before his sudden betrayal. Hytham’s happiness is clearly reason for his gratitude, and no matter how much you insist that Ravensthrope is Basim’s home too, you’re only rewarded with a wry smile from the assassin.

It’s months later, when you’re sitting in the empty bureau with Hytham, that you reason Basim must have known. You watch as Hytham grips the table and rakes his hands through his hair, how he paces the room when he’s not squeezing your hand. He questions everything when you realize Basim must have known all this time – must have known that he wasn’t going to stay, that his apprentice would be alright. That Hytham would be happy in Ravensthorpe. And thus, you make sure it stays that way.

[demigoddessqueens]

hey could i request some basim x reader please? Maybe something where they are both together in Valhalla but just that basim didnt turn into loki....

i just finished mirage and need to comfort myself 🥲

Of course!!

A/n - I know the feeling 🥲💔💙

Masterlist 10

From the POV of Eivor and Hytham

Eivor sees the two of you and a blush begins to creep on their face. They feel as if they have to turn their head away because it feels like intrusion on an personally intimate moment.

The hushed whispers you share with each other feel like a welcomed intrusion and Eivor feels the intimacy that flows from your shared glances and touches

Whatever effect you have on Basim, it is noticeable how profound your relationship shines through.

Hytham feels a sense of relief for his Mentor because he is his best with you

The countless trainings, trips across the land and sea, Hytham considers you and Basim the closest he’s had to a real family

Sailing to where the Northmen are is where he sees the glowing intimacy. Every move, every decision is calculated but is oh so careful as Basim consults you for his course of action

From a distance, he smiles in relief because of the happiness that is grasped in this violent prone life

[erzsebetrosztoczy]

hiii . I saw ur requests are open and if u still do fics can u do ac Valhalla hytham x reader? Reader is an artist and hytham enjoys his time with them , also their drawings, maybe he goes through the papers she drew on and sees himself? And he thanks the reader with a kiss.:3

U can change anything u don’t like in this request i just want a fic about my boy hytham .😭😭

Canvas of Secrets

Pairing: Hytham x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: if you count that i love writing yearning and falling in love with Hytham instead of actually having a relationship with him lol THE YEARNING GUYS HE'S A YEARNINER MATERIAL!!!

Note: I feel like I need to get back into the writing mood, writing vibe because its still off for me??? Lemme know I tried my best with my lil fried brain :(

The mid-morning sun bathed Ravensthorpe in a soft, welcoming light, casting long shadows as villagers busied themselves with their daily tasks. The rhythmic clang of blacksmith's hammers and the lively chatter of merchants created a symphony of everyday life. Amid this bustling activity, Hytham moved with a sense of purpose, his mind focused on his duties as a Hidden One. 

Based on the documents Eivor found, another possible target appeared on the horizon, although he still had to do some research to make sure the information was true.

However, that day somehow work eluded the man as he passed by the edge of the settlement, where a small group of children had gathered around a figure seated on a low stool. Curious, he approached, drawn by the sounds of laughter and the sight of animated faces. Sharp laughter rang out in the air, but not with the usual gaiety of children- instead, he heard a soft, restrained laugh.

As he drew closer, he saw you surrounded by the little ones, gleaming eyes watching you, your hands deftly sketching on a large sheet of parchment. The children watched in awe as you brought a scene to life before their eyes, pencil strokes fluid and confident. You were capturing the essence of a lively market, complete with bustling stalls and cheerful passers-by.

Hytham paused, intrigued not only by your talent but also by the way you engaged the children, patiently answering all their questions, letting them try out anything and everything that piqued interest in their little heart from your work.. You glanced up, sensing his presence, offering him a warm smile.

"Ah, Hytham! Come, join us," you called out, your voice light and inviting. "We're just sketching the market today."

He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "I didn't mean to intrude. I was just passing by as I heard your little gathering having a good time." He smiled warmly at you.

You waved off his concern with a flick of your hand. "You're not intruding at all. Here, take a look." You held up the drawing, and Hytham marveled at the intricate details and the lively energy that seemed to emanate from the paper.

"You're incredibly talented," he remarked, genuine admiration in his voice.

You chuckled softly. "Thank you. Drawing has always been my way of capturing the world. It helps me see things more clearly, appreciate the beauty in everyday moments."

Hytham nodded, understanding the sentiment. "I can see that. Your drawings have a way of bringing things to life." Hytham chuckled, his eyes flickering between the drawing and her face, admiring the details and the skill that went into it

A child tugged at your sleeve, drawing your attention back to the group. "Can we draw the animals next?" the child asked eagerly.

"Of course!" you replied, ruffling the child's hair affectionately. "Let's find a good spot near the stables."

As the children gathered their papers and pencils, you turned to Hytham once more. "You're welcome to join us, Hytham."

He nodded in response, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips at her invitation, a rare sight that made your heart skip a beat. He then glanced over at the children and thought for a moment before replying.

Very well. I'll join you. He agreed quietly.

Hytham followed her lead as she guided the children over to a spot near the stables where there was enough room for all of them. As they settled down and everyone began drawing the animals around them, Hytham took a moment to observe the scene before him. He chuckled softly at the children's excited chatter and laughter, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere. The day passed in a blur of laughter, sketches, and shared stories. Hytham found himself returning to your side time and time again, drawn by your infectious enthusiasm and the sense of peace that seemed to radiate from you. He watched as you guided the children's hands, teaching them to see the world through the eyes of an artist.

As the sun began to set and the children dispersed, you and Hytham found yourselves alone by the stables. Whipping your hands on your apron you joined him at the end of the stalls. Hytham leaned back against the wall of the stable idly, his eyes fixated on the setting sun. He chuckled softly, feeling a sense of peace and contentment in the moment. Once the children had left and it was just the two of you left, he turned his gaze towards you. Yours eyes met and he noticed the warm, knowing look in your eyes. You held his gaze for a moment before speaking quietly in a calm voice, breaking the silence between the two of you.

"Thank you for spending the day with us, Hytham. It was nice to have you here."

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. " It was my pleasure to spend the day with you and the children. They're a playful and curious bunch, it was refreshing to be around such innocence. I enjoyed it more than I expected. You have a way of making even the simplest moments feel extraordinary."

You blushed at the compliment, your heart fluttering. "I'm glad you think so. Sometimes, it's the little things that matter most."

He glanced at the drawings scattered around, his gaze lingering on a particularly detailed sketch of a horse. "You have a talent for this, you know. These drawings. They're beautiful."

Your blush deepened, and you looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Hytham. That means a lot."

Hytham noticed the way her blush deepened and how she looked away shyly, his smile softening at the sight of her shyness. He chuckled softly and pushed off the wall of the stable, taking a few steps closer to her.

“It's the truth.” He stated softly, his gaze fixed on her with a warm, genuine look in his eyes as he spoke. “You have a gift for capturing beauty on paper.”

 "This has always brought the greatest happiness to my life." You replied, crossing your arms in front of your chest, walking up to the wall and joining him to admire the colors of the setting sun. "The days pass quickly, and we often forget the things that bring us happiness as time goes on. There are memories I don't want to forget. So I learned how to preserve them.”

“And that gift will last a lifetime.” He replied softly, his eyes fixed on the gorgeous hues of orange and red as the sun descended below the horizon.”Memories are important. They make us who we are, after all.” 

"They do," you murmured softly, a smile playing on your lips. "Memories shape us in ways we sometimes don't realize until much later."

Hytham nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still fixed on the horizon where the sun had disappeared. "I never used to think much about memories," he admitted quietly. "My life as a Hidden One demanded focus on the present and the future. But being here with you, experiencing these moments... I realize how much they matter."

You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. "I'm glad you feel that way, Hytham. It's important to cherish the moments that make us feel alive."

Hytham's gaze flickered towards her at the feeling of her fingers brushing against his. A touch that sent a small shiver up his spine. He looked back at her with a softened gaze and a small, warm smile.

“And moments like this?” He gestured with his head to the setting sun and then to their surroundings in the stables, his smile growing slightly. “Are they moments that will stay with you in memory?”

You considered his question, taking in the peaceful scene around you—the gentle rustling of the leaves, the faint scent of hay, and the quiet companionship between you both. The beauty of the moment seemed to intensify with his presence beside you.

"Yes," you replied softly, meeting his gaze. "When shared with someone special, they become the heartbeats of our memories. They're the ones we carry with us, even as time passes."

Hytham's eyes held a gentle intensity as he listened, a small smile playing on his lips. He seemed to absorb your words, savoring the tranquility of the moment, the connection between you both.

He leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours in the cool evening air. "And I want to make more memories like this—with you," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, overwhelmed by the sincerity and depth of his feelings. You reached out, cupping his cheek gently in your hand. "I want that too, Hytham," you replied softly, as if afraid this moment  will disappear if spoken out loud. 

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning into your touch. "Then let's cherish this one," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a tender kiss that spoke of promises yet to be made, and a future waiting to unfold..

Hytham leaned into the touch of your hand on his cheek, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he reveled in the sensation of your touch and words. He felt a wave of emotions swelling within him—a mixture of gratitude, hope, and a sense of belonging he had long suppressed, and he couldn't deny the longing that stirred in his heart at the thought.

As he opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft, vulnerable look in his eyes, he took in your beauty under the golden light...

You reached up, gently threading your fingers through his hair, cherishing the softness of his dark locks beneath your touch.

Hytham's heart skipped a beat at the feeling of your fingers in his hair. He let out a low, almost inaudible sigh, closing his eyes momentarily as he enjoyed the sensation of your touch. It was a simple gesture, but it felt intimate and tender, a connection that seemed to deepen with every passing moment.

He swallowed, his words barely above a whisper as he spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability and tenderness."I've long kept my heart guarded, hidden beneath the weight of duty and the shadows of my past," Hytham murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes remained closed, savoring the intimacy of your touch, the way your fingers threaded through his hair with such gentleness.

"But with you," he continued softly, opening his eyes to meet yours, "it feels as though the walls I've built around myself are slowly crumbling. Your presence... your touch... they awaken something within me that I thought I had lost."

His admission hung in the air, vulnerable yet filled with an honesty that spoke of deeper emotions. The golden light of the setting sun cast a warm glow over both of you, lending an almost ethereal quality to the moment.

You felt your heart swell with tenderness at his words, understanding the weight they carried. Gently, you let your hand caress his cheek, your touch conveying comfort and acceptance. "Hytham," you whispered, your voice soft with emotion, "you don't have to carry that weight alone anymore. I'm here, and I want to share whatever burdens you carry."

Hytham's gaze softened at your words, and he reached up, gently resting his hand over yours as it gently caressed his cheek.

"Thank you," he murmured sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. "For seeing beyond the surface, for... for accepting me."

You nodded, a small smile touching your lips as you met his gaze with unwavering compassion. "You've shown me glimpses of who you are beneath the armor, Hytham," you replied softly. "And what I see... it's someone deserving of love and happiness."

The evening breeze stirred around you, carrying with it the quiet intensity of the moment. You stood together, bathed in the fading light of the sun, united in a bond that grew deeper with each shared revelation and tender touch.

When the world around you settled into dusk, you knew that this moment marked a new chapter—a chapter where walls crumbled, hearts opened, and the promise of a future filled with understanding and love blossomed under the gentle caress of an evening's embrace.

[freshneverfrozen]

Tincture - Chapter 3

Reader x Ivarr, Reader x Hytham

Part One, Two

Friendly reminder that, irl, we don’t tolerate bastards. We kill and eat them.

Chapter Three - Promises and Assurances

Basim greets you with a nod. He is the only one to greet you at all. Surrounded by two grim-faced Danes, one big, the other bigger, Basim looks out of place. Out of place, but not uncomfortable. 

You, on the other hand, know that you appear both. With the sun bright in the sky, some of the cold has retreated, but it hardly improves your restless mood. The camp is a small one, a dozen tents scattered round, and you wonder how much of the blood on the axes and stained leather these men wear belong to your neighbors. You do not meet their eyes when they stare. Instead, you search the shadows for any sign of the mad Dane.

Basim’s voice draws you from your thoughts.

“My wayward apprentice and his charge.” He clasps Hytham’s outstretched forearm and the grin that follows turns to something genuine that warms the black of his eyes.

Hytham looks to one of the Danes, a woman, tall and with hair the color of frosted straw. 

“Eivor, this is the healer we found on the road, the one I spoke to you about.”

She smirks and tosses her head with a chuckle, sending her war-braids spilling. “With the spark in your eye as you did? Yes, I remember the story.” She ignores Hytham’s spluttering and turns to you. “As Hytham has said, I am Eivor, of the Raven Clan. If you can mend scratches, you are welcome.”

“I can mend more than scratches,” you assure her, “But I hope it will not be needed. Thank you for allowing a stranger in your midst. It is a generous offer.”

Eivor nods, though her attention returns to Basim and the other Dane. The latter is an immense bull of a man. He has been quiet thus far, his face serious. Something about it bothers you the longer you look at it, until you are staring, and you are sure recognition is only a thought away.

Something in the eyes, the hair, the chin...

Warm breath on your cheek draws you from your thoughts. Hytham is near, very near, leaned over the distance between your horses.

“We will ride soon.” His eyes find yours. Blue, you decide. Today, they are blue and gilded like a king’s crown. You cannot look at them long, glancing downward to see his fingers flex. They hover in the air, as though he may reach for you. You wish he would. A steadying hand would do you good right now. You watch, disappointed, as that hand falls to his thigh.

What does he read on your face, you wonder? Fear? You certainly feel it, you have since rising this morning, and doubly so when you and Hytham had arrived at the camp.

You fear being recognized atop your stolen mare. 

But of the two dozen faces you count milling about, none belong to the Dane who had set you on this path. You don’t dare ask after him. As the others speak of plans, you remain silent, intent on looking disinterested, even as you listen.

Hytham’s promise holds true. Within the hour, you are riding. Basim guides his horse to the other side of yours, and you find yourself caught -- guarded -- by these pretend monks. It sets your jaw to grinding, even as you remind yourself to be grateful for their protection. The Danes stop watching you as the two men close ranks. Maybe it is the threat in their curved swords or the seriousness of their faces. Either way, no one bothers you.

Hytham, you understand. You have never made friends quickly, but the man is as close to one as you have. But Basim? He owes you nothing, no matter Hytham’s claims. When he watches you, it isn’t with a man’s interest, as you had first assumed. He seems curious. Like a cat watching a bird before deciding whether or not to crush it under a paw.

There is as much danger here as you would have found had you kept to the road alone.

The reins protest between your fingers and you realize that you are squeezing the leather tightly enough to color your knuckles. 

Wilting flowers do not survive as long as you have, but there is nowhere to run should you catch the wrong eye. You are eased when Basim informs you that most of the party will follow the large Dane tomorrow, parting from your smaller group that is bound for Ravensthorpe. 

Riding a little farther in companionable silence, Basim catches your eye. His face is free of the road-dust that cakes so many others, and he lets you have your moment’s study. The cracks and crannies reveal no secrets, however, and you eventually look away. 

“He is not here,” Basim whispers, “Do not look so worried.”

The words do not land as Basim perhaps hopes. There is no feeling behind them, and you are left frowning at the road ahead. That uncanny knowing will not settle -- something is amiss, and if it is not yet so, it will be.

Is this a mistake? Am I a fool? Not long ago, you would have called such a neatly presented gift as this one a trap. But the years you have spent in motion, never lingering until arriving at Fremedeleigh, are weighing on your shoulders. The frown settles into the lines of your face as you squint into the early autumn sun. 

But it shines brightly, and if it knows what lies ahead, it keeps those secrets to the heavens.

.

………….

.

Something is wrong.

Fitful dreams weave webs of a dangerous face full of teeth and hateful eyes. They stir you, until you are pulled from their depths by fear and the night’s encroaching cold. For a moment’s time, you do not open your eyes to the blackness. Instead, you listen. A fire crackles beyond the flaps of your tent, the sound warm enough to chase away some of the chill. Softer still, voices murmur in the rough tongue of the Dane’s. You hear no breathing from the opposite corner. The woman who had agreed to share her tent has yet to come to bed.

But despite the gentle sounds of a well-guarded camp, a tickling in your bones tells you that all is not as it seems. You have heard the quiet before, and you know the danger that comes with it. 

You open your eyes to darkness, unable to feign sleep any longer. 

And for the first time, the knowing fails you.

It has come too late and met a cannier foe. 

You see nothing, but you feel a weight sweep over your face as a heavy, callused hand cups your mouth and presses hard. Breath is driven out of you on a gasp, but the air meets the resistance of a palm and you are forced to swallow it back down. Cold, gripping fear balls in your chest, and you flail, striking at the body that settles above you.

Thighs press on either side of your middle, lifting only as your left arm is wrenched down and caught under one knee. You strike again with your free right arm, aiming high, clipping the intruder around the head. A voice hisses at you in the darkness, the sharp sound of sucking breath through teeth, and when you strike again, the hand that holds your face shifts to dig its nails into the skin of your cheeks and jaw.

“Found you, foxling,” says the voice. It’s sound is harsh even in a whisper, like the noise of a body dragged over rocks. 

‘Foxling’. You know at once who has you - the mad Dane. 

“Next time, find a hole farther from your hunter.” He titters softly, and through the darkness, you think you can make out the gleam of teeth. “Now, how shall I skin you?”

A sudden effort from you sends him forward, loosing his hand enough for you to sink your teeth into the meat of his palm. He tightens his grip, lifting your head in the span of his large hand, and then sends it cracking back against the ground. Sparks burst behind your eyes as, dimly, you register his weight shifting, moving to better subdue you.

He leans low over your ear, his breath hot at your neck. “I think I will kill you,” he hisses, “What our Raven-feeder doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Let’s start here --”

You don’t need to see it to know steel when it presses at your skin, the tip of a dagger digging into the flesh below your jaw. You squeeze shut your eyes, pressure mounting as you try again to throw him off. A rustle of fabric at the edge of your hearing stills you for a single beat of your heart, and you feel the Dane go rigid atop you.

A woman’s voice cracks out, “Oi, what’s this? Find your own tent for your business -- oh, it’s you, Ivarr. I didn’t realize.”

Light from the campfire spills past her, chasing away the shadows from the tent’s interior. For the first time, you can see Ivarr above you, his weathered face and neck flushed, his lank hair obscuring half his face and the snarl that forms on his lips. 

“Can you not see I am busy?” he growls, one hand still tight over your mouth, the other poised with a jagged little knife, the end of which you can just barely see.

The woman hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder. The sounds of campfire chatter have ceased, replaced by the noise of quick steps crunching over stone and dirt. Ivarr sighs, sitting back to rest on your knees. His weight is heavy -- you had learned as much during your struggle, and you know that you had been right in your brief observation that he is a larger man than his build and movements would have you believe on a glance. 

A second figure appears in the opening and a grin curls around Ivarr’s lips. “Ah, Wolf-Kissed! I found a --”

“Get off the woman, Ivarr.” Eivor steps forward and when she is near, the fingers of one hand curl in the back of Ivarr’s shirt. A moment later, he is lifted off of you, Eivor sending him stumbling back. 

Ivarr rights himself with fluid whirl, so smoothly you would think he had not just been tossed away like refuse in the wind. “She is a straggler, Eivor --”

“A survivor,” the woman snaps, “She has escaped you. What rock did you emerge from under, Ivarr? I thought you had returned to Shropshire.”

“I smelled a rat,” his cold blue eyes turn to you, “Had to come check the larder.”

You try not to let him see the shudder that runs through you as you pull your cloak around your shoulders. But he sees past the movement and smiles again. He is almost ugly, except for the moments when the light catches his eyes and the glint in them distracts you from the scars and deep angles. There is a depth in them that frightens you -- it dawns on you that those eyes are not those of a madman, as he first seemed, but rather a very singular personality, one that revels in the sort of violence that nearly left you cut from ear to ear.

A crowd gathers beyond the walls of the tent; you can hear their shuffling and their murmurs and see their shadows playing through the cracks. Two men push past, and a breath leaves you in relief as Basim appears with Hytham at his heels. Hytham’s worried gaze finds yours, dragging over your face to land at a spot near the left side of your jaw. He scowls at what he sees there and it is only then that notice the trickle of warmth running down your neck. Ivarr’s cut had been a nearer miss than you had realized. All over again, the rising, frozen fingers of fear grip you tight.

Basim gestures between the two glaring Danes. “I see our new friend yet lives. Perhaps we can move our arguments outside?”

“Piss off,” grunts Ivarr. He sweeps past Basim. “Unless you want to argue with the tip of that curved sword.”

“Entertaining as that would be, it would be a mistake.” Basim’s eyes shine with a look that would have most men stepping back, but Ivarr only waves a hand at the man.

He calls on his way out, “Somebody get me a drink! If I can’t kill horse thieves, I will drown myself in ale instead.”

At last, the tent is quiet, save for the quiet shuffling of feet. With Ivarr gone, Eivor turns to you. Her eyes run from your feet to your head, her lips quirking. She gestures to the wound left near your jaw. “Seems you’ve a scratch to mend already.” 

At that, she slips out, Basim following her. Only Hytham remains. He looks grim, as he so often does, his eyes on the ground near his feet. 

“Frown much harder and you will dig a hole,” you say, though the words are difficult to get past your lips.

“Good,” scoffs Hytham, “Someone can bury him in it.”

Harsh words, but hard to disagree with. The bite in them surprises a grin out of you. The fear and panic are fading, and you find yourself moving on steady feet to Hytham’s side. The press of your hand at his arm draws his eyes up to yours. He seems to at last catch himself, shaking his head. 

“I am glad Eivor was here,” he says with a gentleness you feel in your chest.

“You and Basim were not far behind her,” you remind him.

“Cutting a throat is a quick thing. If he meant to do it, I think we would not have been here in time.”

“If he meant to do it?” You raise a hand to your neck, fingers sliding over skin tacky with drying blood. 

“Even Ivarr knows better than to kill a woman in the middle of camp.”

“So he meant to frighten me then?” He had done a fine job of it. He had snatched up your life and held it between his hands on a whim.

Hytham shakes his head again. “I think he likes to play with his food.”

“Must we call me that?”

Hytham laughs, even as your stomach churns. “You are right. I am sorry. A poor image.” His cheer sobers quickly, his eyes settling on you once more, though the shine in them remains. When you had joined him at his side, you had placed yourself nearer to him than perhaps you should. He has somehow closed the distance further still without you noticing, the heat from his body warm across the small space. So close, you can see the freckles across his cheeks, remnants left from a time in a sunnier climate than England’s. He appears to be considering something.

“Here,” he says after seconds have passed, “Take this.” With one hand, he reaches for you, his palm soft over the back of your hand. With the other, he reaches around to his side and frees a small, sharp-looking knife from his belt. He presses it into your outstretched fingers. “In case Eivor is not around next time.”

“What of you?” The question leaves you without you meaning it to, and your cheeks heat mercilessly. Hytham’s gaze softens in the light.

“It is my knife. Think of me when you stab the man with it.” His fingers run over the back of your hand, so light it could almost be imagined, and you shiver at the touch. He pulls his hand away.

“That’s very cut-throat of you, Hytham.”

“You would be surprised how cut-throat I can be, healer.” At this, something passes over his expression, but it is gone before you can name it. “Now, get some rest.”

“Goodnight,” you tell him. He slips out of the tent, pausing before the flap can fall. He catches your eye, smiles once, and then is gone.

.

…………….

.

The next morning, your mare is already saddled when you find her. 

Ivarr sits atop her, grinning down at you as he braces against the saddle. The mare tosses her head, snorting when he pulls her reins tight. You frown as you watch his fingers wind their way through her silver mane, twirling the hair, taunting you. 

“You’ve taken good care of her,” he says when you come to a stop safely out of his reach. “So kind of you to return her to us.”

It is another cold day, cloudier than the one before it, but anger heats your face as you glare at him. But what can you say? She is not your horse. She belonged with the Danes to start with, not quite stolen, but it’s a near enough difference that you won’t argue it. One glance at him tells you that Ivarr knows this, as he knows that you are snared by your helplessness to protest. 

He nudges his heels into her sides. She comes to you, her velvet nostrils flaring as she noses your arm. As you reach to pet her, heat spreads behind your eyes, unreasonable and traitorous. She is a horse. Nothing more or less. Still, as you feel her warm breath on your palm, it feels as though Ivarr is taking something more from you.

And when you find the nerve to meet his eyes, you know that has been his intention from the start. 

He smiles, all teeth. 

“They say you are a healer. Or did they call you a witch?” He tilts his head - mocking you. “Dark seidr, that. So, tell me, witch, why is it that you did not heal all those people? What good are you if you cannot attach heads back onto shoulders?” His voice rings with the sing-song sound of a child’s rhyme. It echoes in your ears like bitter wind. He digs his heels into the mare’s sides once more, circling her around you. Her dark eye watches you as she passes, and somewhere in your heart, you think that the beast is sorry. Ivarr continues, his voice rising loud enough to turn heads. “Instead, you ran. Like a coward. Do you know what we do to cowards?”

The blood in your veins goes cold as you glare spitefully up at him. You want to spit at that grinning face, or claw at it, or sink Hytham’s knife into the socket of one of those eyes. Ivarr leans closer, craning down until his face is only a foot from yours. He studies your face and his eyes glimmer at the boiling wrath he must read there. He raises a hand, runs his thumb over his lip as though to taste the air as it sours between you. 

When you do not answer, he says, “We polish our blades with their innards.”

Coward. Witch. They are only names. But as they slither out from his lips, they sound like curses, echoing in the back of your mind. Hands clenching at your side, it takes all your effort not to reach up and drag him from his horse. He likely won’t fall for that trick twice. 

Instead, you raise your chin, and try not to think about how your insides feel as though they have turned to water. 

As levelly as you can, you reply, “You did not manage it the first time, nor the second. Do you want to know what they say about you? They call you ‘boneless’.” You peer up at him, unblinking. “I wonder if it is because you do not have the spine to back up your words.”

A boom of laughter fills the air, startling the mare and sending her prancing. He snatches her reins and pulls her back around to face you. 

“You,” he levels a finger at you, “you, I will skin cunt first. The Raven Clan and its strays will not protect you forever. Rest easy knowing that your fate is already sewn. You won’t be my finest kill, but I am a man who can find joy in the little things.”

He pulls at the mare, rounding her with a bellowing whinny, and leads her away. 

You are glad to see him go. But as you know many things, you know, down to your heart, down to your bones, that you will see him again.

[fabricated-misslieness]

Hytham x male reader

Hytham.. he’s so cute.

Set in the Ravensthorpe settlement, after the Brotherhood house is built.

I apologize for the low quality gif.

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 644

“Apart from putting your life in danger, it flies in the face of what we have tried to achieve…”

You are interrupted from you reading by a sigh coming from your lover. Over the years, you had grown to know it to be a frustrated sigh.

“Something wrong?” You’re not very worried, as Hytham is often frustrated. He tries tracking members of the order from time to time and more often than not, it leads to frustration.

However, the worry rises when he does not respond. Usually he replies dismissively, too focused on the task at hand. He never replies with silence.

You knew something was wrong, that this frustration didn’t come from the mere books and scrolls.

You set the book aside and focus on him.

He’s pacing, one hand on his waist, the other occasionally on his chin or hair.

“Hytham.” You call gently, he doesn’t respond. You repeat his name a little louder, which does end up catching his attention. He looks annoyed, perhaps at you, but you do not let it rouse you. “Something wrong, love?”

He sighs and nods his head, walking closer to you. “I feel like I trouble Eivor.”

You raise an eyebrow, gesturing for him to elaborate. It causes him to sigh again, even if explanation was inevitable. 

“Eivor already has a lot of work to do on their own, but I tell them to assassinate any Order of the Ancients they see and gather clues along the way. That must be a lot of work.” You shake your head, sometimes Hytham worries too much. “Not to mention--”

“Hytham,” You interrupt before he can worry his little head too much. “sit down.”

Without objection, he moves to sit at the end of the bed, it’s a small bed and you’re sitting up on it, but you stop him before he can. “On my lap.”

“O-On your.. your lap?” He flushes a pink you love to see.

“Yes.” You laugh. “You know, we’ve done worse things.” Hytham gulps, clearly embarrassed.

He reluctantly sits down and boy is he awkward. “Hytham, do you need to relax?”

“Yea..” He whispers.

You slowly and gently push him down to lay his head on your chest, allowing him to back out if he wanted. He absolutely loved cuddling, yet he was too timid to initiate it. You’re delighted to feel him wrap his arms around you himself. “Eivor is not burdened by you.” You stroke his hair to calm him. “I’m sure they’re fond of fighting, or more so the thrill of it. Eivor is perfectly capable, and if they were burdened, they would at least inform you.”

Hytham nods and lets out another sigh. This time, as you’ve learned, it is one of relief and comfort. Ironically enough, it makes you let out one of your own.

“Thank you.” You’re sure he’ll worry about it again someday, but he will have you with him. That’s a given.

“Look at me.” He lifts his head from your chest to look at you. You surprise him with a peck on the lips, which you separate from quickly.

He throws his head back in surprise, a blush quickly forming on his cheeks again. “D-Da-Darling?”

You shoot him a confused look, innocently tilting your head. “What, you want another?”

“Yes, but--” Before he can finish that sentence, you give him another kiss. He’s glad to find it last much longer, with actual movement.

You pull back, putting your attention back on the old letter you were reading. “Now, we both have work to do, I assume. Unless you’re in need of a break.” Hytham nods at the mention of a break. He deserves one, especially after his thoughts of troubling Eivor. “You can stay here, then. I have a question though,”

“Mhm?”

“Is this letter really Reda’s? I thought he was just a child.”

[anime-vixxen]

Updated my fic XD also changed the name to Insipience cause hey why not

[sonnefuchs]

Assassin’s Creed: Valhalla Masterlist

Basim

Come Rattle These Bones

Fate is Not Done with Us

Firelight

Keep Your Secrets

We Have the Night

Hytham

Hytham Masterlist

Ivarr

A Change

A Friendly Battle

A Warm Welcome

How Far Down

Later

Might as Well Stay

Never Too Drunk

Silver and Death

Sunsets and Rivers

To Be King

Wandering Hands

Wildflowers

Ivarr x Reader Saga?

Repton

Repton II

Ledecestre

Quatford

Sigurd

In These Arms

Moonlight

Ubba

A Little Longer

Gildefort

Not My Time

To Be Yours, Tonight

Unarmed

Vili

A Map of Life

By My Side

I Could Get Used to This

My Catch

My Raven

Stolen My Heart

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