He and I are closer than friends. We are enemies linked together. The same sin binds us.
– An Ideal Husband, Oscar Wilde
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Blood that binds. Rhaevon's words were uttered aloud in High Valyrian, cascading across the ships walls, seemingly taking on their own shape in the small space between him and Euron atop their bloodstained sheets. Blood that speaks. His nails sank into the flesh of Euron's shoulders, until small red beads formed, moving his fingers to his mouth and smearing it against his lips in one swift move.
Blood that lives.
He slid a knife along the length of his forearm, ecstasy and pain mingling as one. The blood dripped from his arm in rivulets, splattering like paint against the other man's bare chest as he straddled him. Euron grabbed his arm as Rhaevon's knife clattered to the floor and in an instant, blood filled Euron's mouth. Rhaevon groaned foreign tongues into the other man's ear before whispering, low and rasped. "I will make you a god."
