Worth more than you were given

Erik can't hold back the grin that stretches his face, leaning into Ember's train of thought. The concepts from his father's tales are... perhaps a bit wild. Maybe laced with things that would keep the vikings, at least the children, on a path that wasn't entirely covered in blood. Still, there's comfort in them, as well. "'s it really a disguise, when y'look like y'do?" A glimmer in his eyes, though maybe it's just the flickering light from the brasier. Though the culture and customs hadn't always felt quite his own, they're the most comfort he has. At least he can pick and choose from the beliefs, in a way that the pups can't.

Settling, taking a ong sip of the tea... he does nearly choke at the idea of being called a king. The boy had never pulled rank, not properly. The name hadn't even been important, or he'd never been important enough to take it. He chases the stiffness from his bones, from his posture, relaxing into the teasing and taking it as much in stride as he's capable of. Still, as her words hover over the not yet of it all, there's a suggestive smirk that settles over his rough features. Resting his head down on her flank for just a moment, grinning. Unapologetic, even if the gesture is a bit forward, a bit possessive.

A deep hum in his throat, unable to remove the smile from his face as she places a kiss to his jaw. In return, Erik gently licks the space between her eyes, cheeky. Gentle, for once, as he rests beside her. He's capable of it, even if it's not as natural as he'd like it to be. Just for her. As with most things that rested between them, just for her. She's seen far more than he's allowed anyone else, the history between the pair far longer than it feels like their years should allow.

History that would keep writing itself, as he curiously opens her bag. Rummaging for a moment, carefully setting the bottle of wine on the bed between them. The Hallows and their wine making... this really was the good shit. Beside it is a bottle that's far more curious, one that feels warm and heavy in his grasp as he holds it up to the light. Swirling and golden, Erik's eyes going wide as Ember gives her explanation. His heart pounding in his chest, be it from her proximity or her promise.

"Em I--" Erik falters for a moment. For someone who's always chosen his words so carefully, out of necessity and habit, they fail him. Grasp still firm on the precious bottle, he leans in. Kisses the girl, with no desperation present-- just tenderness. Where words fall short, Erik can rely on actions. "I don't know how t'thank you." Pulling his gaze from the girl for only a moment, it returns to the bottle of glimmering liquid. No fear, only faith, as he uncorks it and presses it to his lips.

The boy wouldn't remember the flavor, after this. All he can taste are her lips, the tea, and the burning sensation that courses down his throat. Like liquid fire, stinging, scalding. It's enough to make him tremble, at first. He can only think to set the now empty vial down, head going foggy. The convulsions come next, rocking Erik to his core. As if he has no control over his body, over his system, over the searing that grips him. Collapsing back on the pallet of furs, trembling, unable to hold his head up for the moment. Something told him this would be the easiest part of things. It's as if the crystals within his throat were being dissolved, a process that would take on a mind of its own.

Erik's tolerance for pain was the stuff of legends-- had to be, in a condition like his. Even still, it feels like parts of him are being eaten from the inside out, pain like none he's felt before. Every bit of the boy shakes, though he fights to keep his head intact. Reaching for Ember, wordlessly, just trying to keep her close. It wasn't going to be easy, but nothing worth it ever was.

"Erik"