Chapter Text
He thinks of the assassin glumly.
He hadn't even managed to get a name out of him, and now, staring at the mirror that had terrified him beyond measure, he wishes he had an ounce of that resolve. He's a patient man, of course, he has to be, but when faced with this- this-
He shudders at the thought of the word alone.
Viren sighs, running his fingers over the language carved into the gold. It must be old- old enough that humans didn't bother to keep records because they still lived among them then. Or new enough that it hadn't reached their spies yet. He's not going to ask. It's not like Aaravos would give him a straight answer.
He also knows that he should tell Harrow of this.
He won't. But the guilt of lying to his... to his best friend is still there, certainly.
“You look distressed.” But then when isn't he.
“You wouldn't understand.” He says like a petulant child. Because that might as well be all that he is.
“Of course.” Aaravos bows his head, hood slipping just a little bit when he straightens up again. “Serving the king must be demanding.”
“Obviously.” He hisses, stepping behind the mirror proper, running his hand on the smooth cold metal.
“But you are a loyal servant. I'm certain you can persevere.”
“What do you know of servitude?” Viren steps back into view.
“I serve you.” The elf says, and there is that damnable smile again. If Viren could touch him, he is certain his hands would be firmly planted around Aaravos' throat. Anything to wipe that grin off- anything.
“Of course.” He says with an air of attempted calm. Who knows if it translated. Aaravos doesn't say anything- settling to nod instead. “Fine- servant.” Viren locks eyes with him- if only to keep from staring at the rest of the elf when he asks. “Relax me.”
“Is that any way to ask?” But still, Aaravos' long fingers push his hood back, and he runs his hands through his hair.
Viren swallows and tries not to think about how soft it must be- it certainly looks soft. Silken.
“Aaravos.”
“Yes?”
“Give me a spell that will take the migraine and exhaustion away.”
Aaravos nods and Viren is treated to the rare sight- rare as far as he's concerned- for his month of conversing with the secret mirror elf, he'd only seen him do it once – of Aaravos putting his hair up. He undoes a thin ribbon around the sleeve of his cloak and bunches his hair up behind him. The skin of his shoulders are paler. Viren watches with- why dance around it really- with desperation. Waiting for Aaravos to turn around so that he could spy the nape of his neck.
Viren, royal advisor, seduced by the enemy.
He should be ashamed.
He is- he is, obviously, he is- but that doesn't make him tell Harrow. Doesn't make him tell any other living person.
And there is that word again, reading it's ugly ugly head.
Temptation.
He has so many things outside of this that he should spend his time on, but the second Aaravos turns on his heel, silent, like he glides across the floor, like walking is too below him, Viren stares at the stars clustered along his spinal column.
Commits the constellations to memory.
He turns his back to the mirror and stares at shackles on the wall.
He can only imagine what other secrets the assassin had- or maybe he had none at all, and it was all posturing. It's not like he succeeded after all. Harrow was still alive and well, running after his two sons even though he whined about his bad back over dinner. As if he was still just thirties.
He turns to glance at Aaravos, already having retrieved whatever books he needed.
Viren does have such a dreadful habit for finding men he could never have attractive.
The fact that he loved the king, loved him more than his own wife, was an old wound that reopened every time Harrow would smile at a sunset. Familiar.
The elf was- the voice of the elf alone was enough to cloud his better judgment. For all he knows it might be some dangerous form of hidden magic- literally clouding his mind, turning his brain to mush.
“Here.” Aaravos stands in front of the mirror, holding the book up for Viren to see. “Satisfactory?”
“You know I can't read it.”
“Ah-” Aaravos smiles again- “It slipped my mind.”
He's grateful for the assassin of course.
He has no idea where else he would find elf horn on such short notice otherwise.
…
The dream is hazy for a while- the edges of his vision cloudy even when his eyes focus.
Aaravos' study looks oddly large now that he's standing inside of it.
He had followed the instructions to the letter and only now does he realize that he's been lied to- not a migraine cure at all. The horn he had ground to dust was turned into a paste, and the paste was pressed into a point between his eyes before bed.
He takes a few moments to let the anger come and go until he realizes- his 'servant' must be here somewhere- certainly. The only question was if Aaravos knew- rather- if Aaravos cared if Viren wandered through the chambers in search of him.
Probably.
Viren would be mad if Aaravos just appeared in the castle.
But then, as he thinks it over he's almost certain Aaravos would do as he pleased regardless of Viren's opinions on the matter.
He finds him in the bath after a fair bit of wondering and getting distracted at any piece of writing. All of it reversed and inverted, just as if he was reading from the mirror. Useless venture on his part- he honestly wasn't sure he was hoping for, considering.
Regardless- he finds him literally in a bath. The room is hot, and Viren's clothes stick to his skin almost immediately. There are a few pools and steam rises from almost all of them.
The water is milky and hides most of the elf from him. Most, being the key word. The stars on his shoulders and arms are so close to him he could reach out and touch them- run his fingers over them and-
“Are you relaxed?” The elf's voice makes Viren jump. Aaravos hasn't turned to look at him. “Perhaps you would join me?”
“What is this?”
“You were distressed. And in doubt of my abilities.” Aaravos draws the word distressed out like that's enough of an explanation.
“So you lied to me?”
“Did I? Does a migraine still ail you?” There never was one, to begin with. Viren suspects this was known information.
“No.” He says slowly. “Thank you for your service.”
“Ah- but it is not over.”
“It wouldn't be, would it?”
He stands up, and Viren turns to look away. It's not anything about modesty or indigence. It's just everything about his own mental well being, and how is he going to look Aaravos in the eye if he knows how many stars are on his-
“The hot water will help you relax. Minerals.” He says as if that's enough of an answer. “Let me undress you.”
“I can undress myself.” He says, and his fingers fly to get his coat off. Aaravos sinks back under the water slowly. “I'm not a child.”
Aaravos gives the tiniest shrug, head cocked to the side ever so lightly. A suit yourself kind of a motion if he's ever seen one. Viren unbuckles his trousers and watches long legs slowly descend back into the water from the corner of his eyes.
Temptation Temptation Temptation.
But then- He swallows slowly and kicks of his small clothes. This is obviously a dream, right?
And what are dreams for if not indulging in bad choices?
The water is hot- past warm certainly- and it stings in that way that almost makes him pull his foot back out. He grits his teeth and force his body to live through the shock of it. He feels eyes on himself and tries his best to be dignified.
Respectable.
The heat almost burns. His skin isn't having the best time of it- neither is the rest of him.
“There.” Aaravos drags the word out again- until Viren is sitting on the raised stone along the sides opposite of him- “Do you not feel your worries draining away?”
He feels something draining away, and he's fairly certain it's his resolve.
“Yes.” He mumbles. Now that he's across from the elf, there's so little stopping him staring. The water is not as opaque now- and even for all of the steam, he can count stars all the way down to Aaravos' ankles. “Certainly.”
His calves- his thighs- Viren doesn't know what he wants to touch more. Are the starts just patterns on skin or are they something more- and the blackened spot on his chest, is it a hole or just darkened skin- what does he feel like- what does he taste like-
“You can sit closer you know,” Aaravos tells him, and Viren does. Moving makes the water burn again- but he settles just a few feet away from the elf. Now if he wants to look at him, he has to actively turn his head to drink him in, and Viren isn't sure if he could bring himself to do that. Dream or not.
Before he has a chance to make that choice, Aaravos inches closer until their legs are touching.
The elf closes his eyes and leans his head back until it rests on the cool floor behind them.
“Are you-”
“Fine.” It comes out like a sigh.
This must be a dream then. He's never heard anything like that come out of real Aaravos' mouth.
“Yes,” Viren says with the bravado of someone who absolutely isn't prepared for any repercussions the following words might have. “You certainly are.”
The elf cracks an eye open to look at him slowly.
“Shall we drop pretenses then?” His hair is still up, Viren notices belatedly.
What do they have left, if not pretense?
Aaravos moves smoothly, even in the water, and not a drop of it goes spilling over the edge of the pool when he climbs into Viren's lap. The elf's legs curl around his waist, resting on the step, and the rest of him presses forward, chest on Viren's chest, head resting on Viren's shoulders.
“What-”
“Put your arms around me.” Whispered in his ear like almost every other sentence was, it shouldn't make him as flustered as it does. But he does as he's told, hugging him around Aaravos' ribs. “Good.”
“W-what-”
“Just hold me,” Aaravos says in a tone that's only sort of pleading. It must be the heat- or the dream- whatever. “Be a good human and hold me.”
Viren is stunned into silence, which hasn't historically happened a lot- but then he's never really needed to touch an elf before. Even with the assassin, there was no need for physical contact when he could spin dark magic to do the work for him across the room.
He's heavier then Viren thought he would be, for some reason. He's broader and taller with horns and more hair, and still, Viren thought he wouldn't weigh an ounce. He does though. At least a few. And he's cool- even in the steaming water. And so much bigger then Viren, even now.
The elf's horn scratches against the side of Viren's head, and Viren almost wants to move his hand up to adjust both of them but if he does it feels like whatever this moment is will evaporate into thin air.
Whatever this moment is.
It's a unique angle if nothing else. The stars twinkle brighter, from the heat or from his touch he's not sure, but now that he's so close he can tell- they do twinkle. Faintly. There is light on his hands- barely there but there none the less. Viren fans his palms out, and it gets another pleased sigh out of Aaravos.
“Am I here for my benefit or yours?”
“Are they not the same?”
“I-” Viren opens his mouth and closes it again.
Even the nudity- skin on skin- all of this steam- the situation that he thought was clearly going to be erotically charged isn't. And it's a little disorientating at first. He would be lying if he said it wasn't- if he didn't think-
But instead, he just does as he's told.
They sit there for what must be hours, Aaravos just sighing contentedly, doing something that, if Viren were a braver man, he would call nuzzling, but Viren isn't brave, historically. Never has been. Aaravos moves his body occasionally, adjusting in a way that drags skin on more skin.
If Viren didn't know any better, he would say that it's neediness.
Or loneliness.
Centuries or however long alone?
Anytime Viren shifts, the arms around his shoulders stiffen just a little bit, and the legs around his waist tighten, almost as if the elf is scared to be alone again.
Viren's sure that can't be it though.
…
He wakes up with pain in his neck, and his mood is soured for the rest of the day.
Washing off the paste between his eyes takes longer then it should have.
He shares breakfast with the king, and while Harrow smiles and laughs at whatever thing Ezran has done today, Viren stares straight ahead and tries not to turn his head too sharply. A long day of advisement later, he descends down into his private dungeons, and into the room with the mirror.
Aaravos has his hair down, book in hand, waiting. He might even actually be reading whatever tome he's holding.
He looks- like he always looks.
“Did the spell work?” He asks, and Viren holds his gaze. “Did the migraines recede? Are you still exhausted?”
He hesitates to answer because really, what if it all was just an odd dream.
“Not well enough.” He says, and Aaravos looks at him with what could be called mild surprise. “I'll try it again tonight. Maybe it's a build up situation.”
“Maybe.” Odd dream or not, he's hard pressed to say that he wouldn't want to have it again. “I will search for a better remedy for you.”
“That's fine. I mean-” He waves a hand. “You're fine. I'll suffer through it. As humans suffer through a great many private agonies.”
“Yes,” Aaravos says with an air of hesitation that's new and rare and interesting. “Of course.”
Of course.