The walk back to the room was agonizing. Riven's initial triumph in the training room evaporated, leaving behind nothing but aching muscles and bone-deep fatigue. His entire body felt heavy, strained by the day's constant pressure—the tactical failure, the mental exertion in Eldrin's class, and the sheer physical brutality of Sir Eryndor's drills.
The mental clarity he'd achieved just a while ago feels like a distant, cold light. Now, all he wanted was warmth and the unconditional comfort of the one person who could give it.
He stumbled into their room, letting the door close shut behind him. The air inside was warm and welcoming. Vaelorian was already there, stripped down to loose trousers, sitting on the edge of their bed and polishing his twin swords. He looked up, his movements ceasing immediately as he took in Riven's appearance—the sweat-plastered hair, the grimacing fatigue, and the slight tremor in his hands.
Riven didn't try to speak, didn't bother with a proud report of his performance. He just dropped his bag and stood there, swaying slightly.
He doesn't care about the net, or the archer, or the extra hour of training right now. He just wants to stop moving. He wants to live in the moment. Vaelorian is here. He's not angry or disappointed. The stern Prince is gone; it's just Vaelorian now. But somehow, Riven needs him to see that he tried, that he did his best, and that now he's done. He just wants to be held. Just to be held by him.
Vaelorian rose without a word as if sensing the younger boy's thoughts. The classes and the task were forgotten. The discipline from the instructors dissolving instantly, replaced by the profound tenderness of a lover. He crossed the short space and gathered Riven into his arms.
"You look like you fought a mountain lion, my love," Vaelorian murmured, his voice a low, soothing sound against Riven's temple. He could feel the ragged hitch of Riven's breath and the stiffness in his shoulders.
"Sir Eryndor..." Riven managed, the name catching in his throat.
"I know," Vaelorian interrupted softly. "He's already told me. You were magnificent. But that can wait."
He gently took hold of Riven's shirt and pulled it over his head, then knelt to unlace the heavy, dust-caked boots. He led Riven to the bathroom. Vaelorian poured warm water into the bathtub, testing the temperature with his hand. He then led Riven into the bathtub, and lifted the wash cloth, soaked it, and began to carefully wash the grime and sweat from Riven's shoulders and neck.
The care was agonizingly slow and gentle. Vaelorian traced the line of Riven's collarbone, ran the cloth over the tense muscles in his back, then guided Riven to sit up. As he worked, he massaged the soreness out of Riven's shoulders, his touch a blend of care and complete devotion.
Vaelorian took in the sight of the younger boy. He looks exhausted, but that mischievous glint in his eyes—that's the look of a guy who learned something difficult and applied it with perfection. Vaelorian had pushed him too hard today, but it was necessary. He wouldn't risk the younger boy's life for nothing. He wanted him to be of use to himself and others. But now, in the quiet, all that discipline can melt away. He's his to care for, not command. He'll make sure the ache doesn't last, and the comfort does.
"The net," Riven finally managed, leaning his head against Vaelorian's steady chest. "I took out the flanking threat first. Sir Eryndor said I fought the smartest."
"I knew you would," Vaelorian replied, pressing a kiss into Riven's damp hair. "You have the mind for it, you just needed a little push to use it."
When Riven was clean, Vaelorian helped him into some loose sleeping clothes. He then led him to the bed and tucked him under the thick covers. Riven didn't protest, didn't try to prolong the interaction with a kiss or a tease. He simply burrowed into the pillows, his head resting on the spot that smelled most distinctly of Vaelorian.
Vaelorian turned off the lights, plunging the room into warm, intimate darkness. He slipped in beside Riven, pulling the younger boy closer, until Riven's back was molded perfectly against his chest.
"Sleep now, my love," Vaelorian whispered, his voice warm against Riven's ear. "You fought well."
Riven let out a deep, contented sigh, feeling the immense weight of Vaelorian's arm draped over his chest. In that moment, surrounded by safety and warmth, Riven realized that the discipline was only meant to make him better, but Vaelorian's affection was what made life worth fighting for. He was asleep before Vaelorian could offer another word.