#hc: braham snores

[i-mybrunettelady]

from the protective prompts, actions 3 or 6 if either of those happen to please the inspo birb :) -kerra-and-company

Ty for the ask!! And sorry for being this late, my god, worst record yet...

prompt: for one muse to step between the other and someone who intends to do them harm

Trigger warning: blood, violence

Vague spoilers for IBS

----- Cragstead, 1334 AE

She’s gotten used to the snores. That is alright; Kiernan used to snore as well and she’s never minded snoring as a sound. A quiet night for a hunter works better, since you can hear anything that approaches, but there is a feeling of making a homestead with the snoring around, even if they’re sleeping with beds meters apart from each other.

Sanne can’t sleep. Thoughts of Kiernan swim aimlessly around her mind, a sense of betrayal he wouldn’t want her to feel. He’d want her to be happy, to thrive. She’s made peace with his death years ago, watched his body become ashes that were scattered to the wind he so loved. Realistically, she isn’t betraying his memory, life they would have had had Svanir not cut it short.

But there’s a difference between a tumble here and there and the feeling of wanting to make it more than that. She settles on the furs, sits up and reties her hair into a braid. Boy is staring at her, perched on a beam high above, as is Soar, both making inquisitive little noises.

“I’m fine,” she tells them in a whisper. “Don’t worry.” Boy flies down and hops on her pillow. “I’m certain, Boy,” she promises. “Now go to your mate. She’s waiting for you.”

Soar makes a noise that sounds like agreement and Boy swiftly flies back. Sanne smiles, turns on her back and stares up at the wooden ceiling.

Kiernan would want me to be happy even if he isn’t here to see it, she thinks. Maybe I could ask a necromancer to guide his spirit here for a short while so I could ask? They say that’s easiest on Dragonfall. Humans’ death god has a realm there now.

That’s one hell of a legend to the Commander’s name.

Suddenly, something interrupts the sound of snores. Footsteps, heavy, trying their damnest to be quiet. Without a sound, Sanne stands, blindly reaching between the pillows for her axe. Not ideal, but good for emergency cases. Once she feels up the handle, she snatches it, bare feet quietly pressing on the wood below.

Soar and Boy notice her apprehension. They take up cautionary positions from high above beams, poised to strike at a moment’s notice.

“Is he here?” a male voice asks in a hushed tone.

“Should be,” another adds. “He’ll pay for what he’s done.”

Sanne’s hair stands on end. She can sense Svanir when they’re near. She resists the urge to roar, hidden as she is. They took Kiernan; she wouldn’t let them take Braham too, Bear’s lousy fur!

There’s a tinge of magic - not a thought, exactly, but something like it. Two strands coming from the beams. Sanne sends out a signal: Wait. She spots them turning to Braham’s bed, counts the distance between her and the nearest Svanir’s head.

She’s done farther shots with less effort. Shadows are her friend. They haven’t seen her yet.

“Wait,” the first Svanir says, “shouldn’t we also watch for a female? He should be living with a female.”

“What can she do, anyway? A single female against both of us,” the second replies.

Sanne wants to spread his head in half and use his intestines as her belt. If there’s anyone she hates, it’s the Svanir.

“I dunno,” the first Svanir says, “the Commander is a female and she took down a lot of dragons. Jora is a female. Females aren’t harmless.”

You’ll see how harmful I am, she thinks angrily and aims. To the birds, she sends a signal: Now.

The second Svanir barely has the time to shout before the axe lands in the back of his head and he falls dumbly on Braham’s sleeping body. The norn wakes with a shout. The first Svanir screams as two battle birds claw at his face, evading his attacks by flying up.

Sanne sends a burst of vines around his throat, squeezing them tighter until his body drops lamely to the floor. The birds settle back on the beams, unbothered by blood on their talons.

Braham breathes heavily, watching the small bloodbath. “Spirits,” he says breathlessly. “You’re a menace!”

“I’m a hunter,” she says simply, “and I hate Svanir.” She straightens her sleeping gown and walks over to where the bodies are, reaching to pull the axe from the Svanir’s head with a wet sound.

“I meant that in a good way,” Braham says. Sanne stops mid-pull to look at him. “Wish I could’ve seen it. Must’ve been magnificent.”

“You’ve seen me hunt before,” she mutters. “This is nothing. These two idiots-” Her heart, though, wants to jump out of her chest. She’s done nothing worthy of the word magnificent. Notable, maybe, but not magnificent. She has to stop before she lets something embarrassing slip.

“Healing your arms is magnificent,” she continues against her better judgement, “not stopping two idiot Svanir trying to avenge their fallen bitch-dragon.”

“I should appreciate what you do for me on a daily basis more, yeah,” Braham says softly. His voice has a loud note of sadness in it. “You make them not hurt with your magic. It’s not guardian magic, but Nyra’s the better healer than I am, and-”

“I saved her life too,” she says with a stupid grin. “I’m a superior healer, evidently.”

“Yes, you are.” He sits on the bed, making space and tapping weakly against the sheets with his palm. His hair is a mess from sleeping, his chest bloody and Sanne doesn’t know whether to ask the Spirits for help against her illusive heart or thank them.

She slithers over and sits. Soar makes a curious noise. Braham gingerly wraps his hands around her shoulders and kisses her hair.

Bear, give me strength, Sanne almost whines. Spirits in the Mists, give me strength.

“This was nothing,” she says. “No need to kiss my hair for-for-that.”

“What if I want to?” he asks honestly. “Would you... object? Since I can’t- Nevermind. Just.. Would you like me to kiss your hair?”

Sanne stares, dumbfounded. Blush finds its way onto her cheeks and she rubs at her collarbone, as she normally does when she’s in an unfamiliar situation. “Sure,” she says dumbly. “Why not?”

The axe is still in the Svanir’s head by the time they’re done laying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Braham is snoring into her hair and she can’t move. Her heart wants to beat its way out of her chest.

There’s no way she’s sleeping tonight. Boy and Soar might laugh at her in their bird way, but there isn’t a chance in hell.

For once, Kiernan’s memory smiles. He’d have wanted her to be happy.

And by the Spirits is she happy.