Romance! Drama! Explosions! It's like a Hollywood move, except with actual plotline!
Unfortunately Enthralled – chapter nine
He really hates his allergy to honey.
Really, really hates it.
It's not that it's an inconvenience. Honey is relatively easy to avoid, since it only turns up in mead and a few sweet dishes. But it's infuriating that he, a powerful mage and skilled assassin, can be rendered utterly pathetic by something so trivial.
Naturally, he doesn't share this weakness with the rest of the sanctuary – no-one knows, not even Banus. Well, up until now, that is. Now being when Uvani accepts Banus' offering of sweetroll, and only remembers that it's made with honey when he can't move his arms anymore.
"Uvani?" Alor asks, noticing the rigidity of his posture, despite the relative comfort of his chair, "What's wrong?"
And he really doesn't want to tell him. Not because he thinks Banus will use the information against him, but...he doesn't want to appear weak. He's aware of how much the younger looks up to him, how he sees him as confident, unbreakable (though it's arrogant and antisocial in the eyes of others). So to learn to already Alval Uvani can be toppled by a food product...
"Uvani," Banus repeats when he does not get an answer, but fidgety silence, "What is it? What's the matter?"
He doesn't want to, but he has no choice. After all, what excuse can he come up with? "...I can't move."
The other Elf frowns; "What do you mean?"
"I mean I can't move," Alval tells him through gritted teeth – though he's not annoyed at Banus so much as himself for being so completely, carelessly stupid. "I'm paralysed."
"Paralysed?" He can hear the panic in Banus' voice, and see it on his face when he touches the elder's arm and realises the muscle is as stiff as a board, "Did one of the others tamper with your drink?"
"No, it's-" he swallows and tries to turn his head away, can't, so looks at the wall instead. Logically speaking, Banus was likely to find out sooner or later. But he had always hoped it would be never, "It's an allergic reaction. To the sweetroll."
"To the...?" he glances down at the sweetroll, the very thing he gave to Uvani. The regret is practically inked across his face, "I'm sor-"
"Don't be," Alval interrupts, "I should've remembered sweetroll is made with honey. Don't apologise, you'll make me feel bad."
"Sorry," Banus says again automatically, then realises: "Oh, I didn't mean- never mind. When will the paralysis wear off?"
"In an hour or so," until then, he's stuck in the chair. Which isn't good, because anyone could walk in and see him, and he really doesn't want anyone finding out about this, "Banus, can you take me back to my room?"
"Of course," Banus agrees at once, before comprehending just what that would entail, "Ah...you can't walk, can you?"
Uvani doesn't answer, but doesn't need to. Even though it was his request, he still flushes horribly when the younger picks him up, straining slightly with his weight – he's much lighter than Uvani, after all. He doesn't think he's ever been so embarrassed in his life, but between this and the rest of the sanctuary discovering his one weakness, he'll take the former. He can only hope no-one sees Banus carrying him – and when they make it to Uvani's room without incident, he can't suppress his sigh of relief.
Banus sets him down on the edge of the bed, though Uvani is still awkwardly frozen into the sitting position. He tries lowering the elder's arms to make the pose look more natural, but they won't budge an inch.
"...I wish you had warned me earlier," he sighs.
"It's not something I go around telling people. It's a dangerous thing to divulge, especially now."
"With the traitor, you mean?" the Leyawiin sanctuary, as with every other home of the Dark Brotherhood, has been flooded with rumours of betrayal, of slain family, of an assassin amongst assassins. Just gossip, just speculation – but Uvani, being privy to the affairs of the Black Hand, has been informed by Speaker that the rumours aren't rumours at all. "You don't...you don't think it's someone in this sanctuary, do you?"
Uvani gives a snort; "Honestly? No. None of them are smart enough to pull off that kind of deception. But they are stupid enough to pass on any weakness of mine to the real traitor. So naturally-" not that he needs to tell Banus this, but even so, "-This stays between us."
Banus nods, before glancing again at Uvani's almost froze form; "Is there anything that would help the paralysis wear off quicker?"
"Beyond distracting myself to pass the time? No."
"I see," Banus says and then, his hands drifting coyly to Uvani's arm, "...I could be the distraction, if you'd like."
Uvani swallows harshly – it's the most he can do, since he's incapable of becoming any tenser than he already is. Again, the feeling isn't necessarily bad, just foreign, because it's been a good few years since he's indulged in anything remotely intimate. "Banus-" he starts, voice coming out far rougher and raspier than he had intended, "You shouldn't suggest that kind of stuff, especially when I can't react. It's cruel."
"Yes," Alor agrees, but those damnable deft fingers of his are still skimming up and down Uvani's arm, barely disturbing the cloth of his shirt, "But then, we're assassins. It's a cruel business."
He whets his too-dry lips, wanting to both turn towards the younger and yet also pull away. He can't move his limbs or neck, but he can still feel. More so than usual, in fact: his whole world seems to be focused on that arm, that touch, that other mer sat smiling beside him.
He is attracted to Banus Alor. It's stupid to try and deny it, because they both know. They've known ever since that day picking mushrooms in Blackwood – before then, maybe, probably. Perhaps they knew when they first saw each other. It certainly feels as though he's been enthralled with Banus from the start.
And Banus feels the same. There is no doubt, no worry that his odd, not-quite-physical desire is unrequited, because Alor has always been as clear and straightforward with his intentions as he is being now. They've never kissed, never shared anything more than the occasional tender touch or meaningful glance, but the attraction is there. So obviously there that he can't remember a time when he didn't feel this way.
"Uvani?" Banus murmurs, because Uvani has not spoken, just stared down at his arm as best as he is able, "You're not uncomfortable with this, are you? I'll stop if you are."
He tries to shake his head, remembers he can't, and resigns to giving a verbal reply: "I'm not uncomfortable, just...it's not a feeling I'm used to."
"Me neither," the other admits, and Uvani wonders if that means Banus has never been intimate, or simply hasn't been intimate in a long time; a part of him hopes it's the former, if only because the thought of Banus being with other people doesn't sit with him terribly well.
"I suppose we should take it slow, then," Alor continues, moving up to Uvani's shoulder and tracing the bare strip of skin just above his shirt collar, "This should do for now."
He doesn't quite understand what the boy is doing at first, until the fingers slip beneath the material, and he realises – he is seeking out a pulse. "Banus...?"
"Sshh," Alor hushes him "I want to feel your heartbeat."
He quirks a brow; "What do you think this is, a romance story?"
Banus just laughs.
They know. His one weakness, and they know.
He knows they know, because he's found honey everywhere – in his water supply, his potions, his bandages, his everything, anything to somehow get the stuff into his system. He can smell it on them, on their clothes and their hands and their sly, shifty looks.
After roughly the eleventh time, he asks Speaker to intervene. But Speaker is very relaxed, very nonchalant – a good thing, because it means he gets on with everyone, even grouchy Dunmer. But also a bad thing, because it means he's far too lenient with certain sanctuary idiots who, in Uvani's opinion, need the respect beaten into them. Sithis knows any other Speaker wouldn't stand for such immaturity... unfortunately, this isn't any other Speaker – it's his Speaker, who doesn't share Uvani's fondness for launching fireballs at people, and so nothing gets done.
After one week, and twenty-seven honey-related incidents, he finally lashes out.
They didn't expect him to, maybe. He's turned the other cheek for so long now that none of them ever thought he would actually lose his temper. But he loses it spectacularly: with a lesser sanctuary member pinned to the wall, desperately trying to pry Alval's hands from his throat, the other assassins shouting but too scared to intervene, and Banus the only one brave enough to actually try and pull him away.
But he ignores them all, and demands of the struggling underling in front of him: "How did you find out? How?"
"I don't-" the assassin gasps, incapable of anything more with the brutal stranglehold, "I don't have to tell you a thing-"
"You do if you want to keep all your limbs, n'wah," his voice has gotten softer since he left the Ashlands, but he's still capable of producing that trademark Morrowind rasp, "Now start talking."
"Uvani," he just barely hears Banus over the others yelling, the footsteps and chaos – pleading softly, "Uvani, please. You'll get in trouble."
He loosens his grip a fraction, but only enough to let the assassin struggle more, and wheeze: "H-how do you know Alor didn't tell-"
"Because Banus isn't a rat, unlike you," Uvani snaps before Banus can say anything, "You're not going to tell me? Then there's no sense wasting time...where should I start? A hand? An eye?"
"Uvani!" he hears the stern bark of the sanctuary Master's voice, "What do you think you're doing? Let him go at once!"
"A-alright, fine! We overheard you and Banus talking-"
"Who overheard?"
"Uvani, if you don't let him go-"
"Just a group of us!" the underling's eyes flick between Uvani, Banus, and the Master of the sanctuary – who he presumes will stop any serious harm coming to him; "We heard some other things too. Pretty intimate things."
Uvani's eyes darken, "I'd shut my mouth if I were you."
"In fact," the assassin continues boldly, loud enough for everyone to hear and absolutely confident that Alval will do nothing with the sanctuary Master present, "I'm surprised you haven't fucked each other yet-"
And no sooner has that last word left his lips when it becomes a bone-wrenching scream, though nearly drowned out by the roaring flames that rise from the assassin's feet and consume him. Uvani, eyes cold even in the firelight, watches without mercy, only satisfaction in knowing that he has broken a sacred tenet, invoked the Wrath of Sithis, and that he really doesn't care. The underling is dead long before the inferno has died out, leaving only a blackened corpse and a shocked silence from the rest of the sanctuary, even the Master.
Uvani turns, wrenching scorched hands away from what's left of his victim's neck, and allowing the body to fall as he turns to stare at the crowd. All the would-be culprits flinch under his gaze, as red as blood, as harsh and unfeeling as ice; the expression only softens when he reaches Banus, who looks back not in fear, but a silent, solemn acceptance of This had to be done.
"And that," Uvani concludes quietly, though in the utter stillness, his voice carries like ash in the wind, "Is why you shouldn't poison my food."