Title: Patience, a Steady Hand by Helenish
Fandom: Inception
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Categories: AU, Angst, Drama, Romance, Slave
Length: Epic (43,502 words)
Warnings: the author warns for "Rape, attempted rape, coercive sex, dubiously consensual sex, physical and emotional abuse, violence, sexual violence, and sexism," and I'll add a warning for a relationship/plot of 'rape that turns into love.'

Author on LJ: helenish / helenish
Author Website: Helenish

Summary:
821 A.D. Arthur is in the nightmare business. Eames is a thief, a liar, and versatile with a pen.

Review:
This is one of those stories that the setup (Viking AU!?!) sounded so crack-y, and the warnings (lots about rape) sounded so daunting, that I avoided it for a while despite seeing it recced around and constantly popping up on my delicious bookmark network. When I was finally in the right frame of mind, I was so glad I'd read it. The warnings are all appropriate and should be heeded, but helenish takes the set up and uses it to explore all the problematic concepts inherent in it. Somehow, the Arthur and Eames are still very much themselves, despite Arthur now being a Viking berserker and Eames an artistic monk-turned-slave.

Arthur (the Viking!) captures Eames as his slave, saving him from slaughter, but forcing him into a life he doesn't want. Their relationship is long and complex; they're both pretty messed up, and in a messy situation. My favorite parts are during the long winter, when they're holed up inside away from the rest of the village and Arthur is learning Saxon from Eames and Eames is drawing. I also really liked the character voices and settings. The village and life there is vivid, though I have no idea if it's historically accurate. The ending is happy and a bit unexpected and I love where helenish takes us. There's a clever symmetry to it.

Arthur hadn’t planned to take him; he’d already killed a score of monks, mowing through the refectory and the chapel, the bakehouse, letting the dull red roar in the base of his skull push him, axe and sword, shield at his back. He ran, deeper into the monastery, seeking the treasury, but the first monk he found to ask wouldn’t tell him where it was; he killed him with a single ripping stroke up through his chest, a mercy kill, and moved on. He stopped in the doorway of the next room, nudging the door open with his hand and taking it in with a quick glance; a man, bent over a tilted table, stroking letters into a clean sheet of vellum.

Patience, a Steady Hand