forum Opportunistic Omnivore: Scavenging the Remains of the Divine || OxO || Closed || 18+

Started March 15, 2023 by @ElderGod-kirky group

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Aideen snickered and adjusted herself so that she had a more advantageous positioning. "Hmmm, no," she said, leaning heavily on the man's shoulders with one arm to distract from her sly looting to rid him of any weapons he might sneak past her—and some valuables. "Did you really think you'd be able to kill the first prince? Just like that?" Noting his ears and stature, she made an educated guess and added, "Fae are so entitled sometimes. And here you are, bested by a little old birdie." Footsteps echoed in the halls, and she could hear the signature slide of metal against stone of Caoimhe grabbing his scythe from behind his chamber door. They heard her call.

But something small and seemingly insignificant caught her attention and pulled it elsewhere. She leaned a little closer, eyes narrowing, and sniffed. Something indescribably familiar but indecipherable flooded her senses, and she spat a Gaelic curse. "Phachao Keoa," she hissed. Bloody purity and flavorless spice. Unidentifiable and nonsense sensations, but he absolutely reeked of it regardless. What the fuck was a messenger of the Old Gods doing here? Caoimhe hasn't exited his room, but she knew he was listening. Aideen drew her sword and rested the edge against the back of the assassin's neck. "Play nice, doll. Shall we have a chat?"

Entitled? Entitled? Eurion was far from entitled. He was just doing his job and that did not make him entitled, Fae or otherwise. He tried to move and wriggle free, but with their position and how he'd landed, there wasn't a chance he was getting out. She was stronger than she looked, even if shorter than he was. Eurion wasn't going anywhere unless she let him, which seemed unlikely given the circumstances. Before he could get a word out about his so-called 'entitlement' she was sniffing him, and acting like he had been put in the gallows for months with whatever it was she seemed to smell on him. Witches - strange creatures. One of the reasons he hated mingling with people like her. The High Witches died at his hand, the regular ones? They just annoyed him to no end.

"I don't see what the fuck we have to chat about." Cool metal met skin and Eurion clenched his jaw, teeth gritting together. No assassin caught trying to kill royalty would be allowed to leave - he'd watched too many executions over the years when it came to being captured before they had a chance to successfully complete their missions. He was lucky he'd made it this far. If he was going to be caught anywhere, Eurion had known it would have been here considering the victims he was tasked to kill. It didn't stop him from simply accepting death, however, even if pinned down with a sword to his neck he wouldn't surrender. At least there would be some honour in his death.

He was a wiggly one, and Aideen was sure that he'd try something to throw her off, but he behaved well enough that she debated on hauling him up and into another room to keep their exchange confidential. She hummed to herself, thinking, and glanced up at the prince's door as the footsteps in the hallway drew near, albeit slower than before. "Caoimhe," she called, ignoring the assassin's biting words and rapidly going through plan after plan in her mind. They might just have to talk there if he wouldn't cooperate, but she didn't want the information being heard by others.

The prince exited the room, looking none-too-pleased by the situation and holding a hefty war scythe at his side. His hair was loosely tied up into a bun, revealing the shaved sides, and he still wore his nightclothes—the partially unlaced tunic and a pair of loose and well-worn sweats. He had to duck down to avoid catching his horns on the door frame, and his tight expression jumped between the assassin and Aideen. Briefly, his gaze darted up to someone approaching them from behind, before settling down onto the man on the floor in finality. Around them, magic shimmer and sparked as a barrier settled into place, soundproofing them from the rest of the castle.

Aideen stayed where she was. "Now that we're all here," she drawled, shoving the assassin against the rug, "mind explaining why a follower of the Old Gods would try to kill the prince?"

Eurion felt the presence of the prince before he saw him. If it was at all possible his guard went up stronger and higher than it had been with the witch. He was tempted to hiss and curse them both out and his face certainly showed that he was contemplating it highly even if he didn't speak at first. The magical barrier felt constricting. As much as Fae and Witch magic were similar in most senses, Eurion had never liked the feel of it and the subtle differences between the two. Something felt off. Maybe it was because he had trained hard to work to understand the changes in their magical abilities. And as much as it was an advantage when it came to differentiating between who was Fae and who was not, it was still uncomfortable to be completely warped and surrounded by it.

He noted the prince's clothes, his hair, and how he looked at the witch. At first glance, it seemed entirely professional, but even for someone who had little to no experience when it came to romance, there was something between them, reinforced by the fact that she had referred to him by name, rather than title, "Does it matter?" He grunted, sucking in a breath as he was pushed against the rug, "I'm just doing what's asked of me, the Gods don't keep me informed on all their plans and schemes."

Seemingly satisfied that his guard had things handled, Caoimhe scrunched his face in confusion. "Old Gods? What…?"

"The supposed creators of witches, you nincompoop," Aideen huffed. She lessened the pressure on the assassin—only because she felt the presence of the fourth person of this little gathering at her back, ready to jump—but kept up the blade against his skin. "It's interesting that someone so esteemed would pay us a visit, don't you think? It's not every day that the Gods choose to meddle in the affairs of what they left behind." She looked over her shoulder and grinned. "And where've you been, Your Highness?"

Sláine snorted from where he stood, out of the assassin's vision. "Raiding the kitchen."

Aideen shook her head and focused back on the assassin. The Old Gods. They're asking this man for something, but what? Clearly, it had to do with the death of Caoimhe, if not both the twins, but why? And secondly… This was the chance she had at figuring out what her mother was so desperate for her to find. If she believed in fate, she would've thought that this moment right here was just that. She had something she wanted from the man, and she had a feeling that he would rather not die. A win-win for them both. Now, she just needed to get him to talk. "Here's the deal, pretty boy. I let you up, you don't try anything funny, and we can have a nice chat. I've got a proposition for you, and I think you will want to hear it, eh? My knees are cramping from the floor."

It was three against one, evidently, three strong magic users against one assassin who had no doubt the witch had disarmed him of his weapons while they were having their little chat. If he wanted out of this alive, he would have to cooperate whether he liked it or not, "Fine. Just get your stupid sword and yourself off me." It wasn't as if she was heavy, but Eurion was becoming more uncomfortable as the minutes ticked by, still unable to reach any weapons or move away. Finally, when her weight lifted enough for him to push her the rest of the way and slide out did things feel only mildly better. Shielded from the rest of the castle, they could kill him and not make a sound - no one would even know he would have died, well, apart from the Old Gods but they couldn't care less whether or not he lived or died doing their dirty work, they'd find someone else to take his place - better, stronger - and Eurion would be nothing more than a forgotten memory to them.

He removed his hood, scanning and assessing the two - now three - witches that were watching him with carefully trained eyes. If he moved so much as an inch in a way they didn't like well, he didn't want to think about what his death may be like at their hands of them. At least if he wanted to both the princes were here - made that job easier if he decided to even attempt to kill them.

It would seem she had no allowance of dignity as the Fae unceremoniously tossed Aideen off his back. Caoimhe bore his teeth in a silent snarl, the larger bottom canines on display, and tightened his grip on his weapon; but his guard waved him off and got herself to her feet. She twirled a stolen dagger as if inspecting it, then sheathed it in a hidden pocket within her gauntlets. Caoimhe stepped closer and was visibly holding himself back from taking a swing at the Fae. Before he could do something stupid, Aideen swiftly yanked him back by the horn without so much as a blink. The prince snapped his teeth at her, but otherwise went obedient and stepped back again to let her do her job of keeping him safe.

As for the third, Sláine stayed on the other side, making it harder to make a break for it if the assassin so chose to. He was nearly identical to his older brother, but had his hair down, the loose curls only a little rumpled from the day's wear and tear on him. His horns were adorned with decorative cuffs and chains that matched the ones around his neck and dipping below the collar of his day clothes. Sláine still had a soldier's stance, hands hanging beside the hilts of his swords, but had more of a calculating stare leveled on the Fae before him, less likely of the brothers to fly into a fight without provocation.

Aideen approached the assassin once more, inhuman eyes glittering with something like excitement and curiosity. "I'll ask again, since you never answered my question. Why would a messenger of the Gods be acting as an assassin? These nitwits haven't done anything to provoke their wrath." From either side of them, the princes let out identical indignant noises. This, she needed to know before she made her proposition. Curiosity got the better of her, and she also wanted to know what hand they had in tonight's encounter before she went off on a search for the deities. It had to be related.

Eurion crossed his arms over his chest. His frown didn't leave his lips as he tried to craft his reply. The witch wasn't wrong. The princes hadn't done anything to anger the Gods directly, per se, but it was their existence that bothered them. From what he could make out, and stringing together all the kills that he'd been tasked with, the Old Gods had a problem when it came to anyone - witch, fae, or other - that possessed significant magical energy. It had started out small at first. Nobles on the out rims of the country, fae that lived in secluded villages further south, ones that had potential but hadn't realised it yet.

He recalled the first message he had ever been sent. A letter that had drifted into his lap laced with gold, shimmering with magic, and he had heard the voice of one of the Gods, explaining that he had been Chosen, how he was now to work as their messenger. The messengers, few and far between as the years went by, all seemed to have different goals granted. Some were tasked with maintaining order and religion, ensuring that their history and the Gods themselves weren't forgotten. But for Eurion, it had been a different story. They hadn't explained why it was him - he hadn't met another assassin as a messenger but, at least it was more work that kept him busy.

"Not necessarily, but the fact that they are alive is what's bothering them," He jerked his head towards the two princes, "Too powerful."

In all honesty, Aideen never expected to get an answer. From what little she knew of the Old Gods, they weren't very forthcoming of anything at all. Even their hand in the creation of witches as just a legend with no real confirmation. And according to that legend, all the Gods had died from the sickness. But if this assassin had recent enough contact to have a bounty on the princes' heads, then that meant that at least one was alive enough to send out messengers. Eventually, they got their answer, and all three accepted it without doubt or skepticism. The twins shot each other looks and had a silent conversation between themselves, debating on the merits of telling others. Sláine recalled Kaine mentioning a conversation with Finn—another High Witch—where there seemed to be something picking off the more accessible High Witches. So this would be the 'blight' that Hakmarrëse complained about.

Aideen cast a disbelieving glance back at Sláine. "Tha thu? Ann an cunnart?" He shot back a huffy, "Fuck off," and shifted to lean against a wall.

Caoimhe seemed conflicted on his want to laugh but also his offense, given that the question was also a jab at him. Instead, he shrugged and grumbled, "Who isn't pissy about power struggles? We just got out of one when Azi got crowned. Do we—"

"No." Aideen rubbed at the bite mark on her neck as she thought. "He's got enough on his place. Besides, I have a use for you." She pinned the Fae with a sweet smile and put her hands on her hips. "Now that my curiosity is sated, onto my proposition. I've got a particular interest in the Old Gods. You have a connection to them, which makes you useful to me and what I want. And I can only imagine how enticing it would be to make it out of this castle without being made into a midnight snack for the king's beasts."

The witches were beginning to get on his nerves properly now with their silent conversations between them and shared glances, not to mention the smugness of the guard and that stupid smile on her face. Sweet was not the word he would have used to describe it. To be honest, being fed to the beasts sounded slightly more enticing the longer he thought about it. At least they didn't talk or poke at him.

"What is it you want, exactly?" Eurion asked, his brows furrowing. 'Connection' was a bit of an understatement. It had been weeks since he had heard anything from the Gods, and when he did the conversations, the letters, and the dreams they wove themselves into never lasted long, only enough to make sure the assassin understood who, what, and where his next kills were, and what he'd be granted when he was successful. Sometimes it all felt more like a big con - or maybe he was just going crazy. The older he got the more and more he was beginning to believe it during the periods of time between meetings. But whenever the Gods made themselves known to him, it was a reminder that he wasn't in fact crazy, just in a very crazy situation.

Being an assassin was hard enough. Between missions for the Gods, he would often pick up smaller, easier and simpler calls for assassins, if only to keep himself in shape and trained correctly. Sometimes it was months before he heard from the ones above and Eurion wasn't going to sit around and wait for work when he could find it, and he was good at what he did. From torture to assassinations it was what he had been born to do, it seemed that the Old Gods had known that before he did.

"To find the Old Gods," she said simply. Aideen had nothing to hide in that regard. She had no other reasoning behind her wants, and at this point in her life, she was more determined to understand what her mother had obsessed over than to really go on a grand quest for glory or whatever it may be. Curiosity would one day bite her in the ass, probably, but she had enough spite running through her veins and a prince with a biting fetish to bite it right back.

Said prince shot her a look that screamed "what the fuck?", then turned to his brother. The two went back and forth in rapid-fire Gaelic, accents shifting from smooth and musical to incomprehensible in just a few seconds. Neither one of them had any idea of what she was talking about, or why she would even try to team with an assassin to try and get what she wanted. Of course they would insist on going with her, despite being the very targets of this man—they were more worried about leaving Aideen alone with him than their own safety. Caoimhe, nostrils flared and expression back to resembling an angry bull, turned to his guard. "Aideen."

Her lips tilted down, and the smile flattened as she pursed her lips. Now wasn't the time for an argument. She had a feeling she knew his feelings on the matter, even if she hadn't understood a word of their conversation. "I don't answer to you. If you have a problem with it, take it up with your kings."

Sláine backed away a little when his brother tensed up. "I have plenty of fucking problems with it." Not as her prince, but as her partner. He wouldn't see her throw herself into something so reckless. He opened his mouth to hash it out with her, but Aideen pointed a threatening finger at him and talked over him, addressing the Fae man.

"Your choice. You take me to the Old Gods and I don't kill you, or this conversation continues until the floor gets a makeover." He had his annoyance written all over his face, she just had to point it out.

Find them?! Even though Eurion's thoughts were scrambled and his consciousness was telling him to just make a run for it rather than agree because he had absolutely no fucking clue where the Old Gods were. He'd never asked, never been inclined or interested enough in their location to ask. He also had a strong feeling even if he did they wouldn't tell him, at least not when he was starting out as their messenger. It was a long time since then. He was older than all three of the witches standing in front of them, which gave him the advantage when it came to the amount of knowledge he possessed in comparison, especially about the Old Gods. But did he know enough to pretend to know what he was doing until he figured out where in the worlds they were? Eurion had never figured out whether they were even still present in this realm or not, or if they were communicating somehow between them. There were too many variables, and if he wanted to live long enough to figure it out then he would have to say yes despite what his gut was telling him.

"I don't know how satisfied you'd be if you ended my life here," From the way the witch spoke about wanting to find the Old Gods, how she'd acted and looked at him when she'd realised he was one of their messengers. It wasn't a simple query that had her asking for Eurion to take her to them, it was deeper than that, "There aren't many of us left." If any. It had been a while since he'd conversed or found another like him. They were scattered to begin with but as the years flew by they became more difficult to find when they needed one another.

Eurion took in the two princes who had glares that rivalled his own. They weren't fond of the idea, which meant they would be along for the journey, too. She was their friend, lover, and guard, they wouldn't let her go alone. The assassin wasn't thrilled at the idea of being around one person, let alone three. But what choice was there? "Fine. You have a deal."

It was true that she'd be unsatisfied if they did end up executing the assassin. 25 years, she's heard her mother's mantra in her ears, whether that be her actual voice or a lingering echo of times long gone. Find them. For what? She had to know. She had to uncover the secrets her mother demanded she seek out. If they killed her one chance at getting the closure she needed to put her mother's memory to rest, she didn't know how she'd feel afterwards. Maybe the same as before; adrift on a current with no real direction besides the one she was on at that moment, unsure of where to go next. Or even a ghost with unfinished business. This particular ghost needed burying once and for all, and she wanted to snag the opportunity while she had it within her reach. And thankfully, the Fae valued his own life just enough to give in to her. Aideen dipped her head in a nod and offered a little grin. "Good. Then it's settled."

Caoimhe snarled under his breath and ducked back into his room, closing the door with finality. Aideen let him stew in peace, knowing that he'd get over it eventually. In his stead, she looked to Sláine and felt ever grateful of his slightly more levelheadedness when it came to things of this nature. The prince sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So, we aren't telling my cousin about this, obviously Caoimhe and I are going, and we all need some sleep before heading out. What do we do with him?" The secret of this encounter would mean that the dungeons weren't an option.

"I don't think he likes me much," Aideen offered. She also knew that the prince had spent a good portion of the day sleeping after a particularly exhausting trip to another world just a few days before screwed up his sleep schedule. Was it wise to leave an assassin alone with royalty? Probably not. But he was a soldier capable of holding his own in battle, and alert enough to not be sluggish. She was close to crashing, and Caoimhe would likely murder the Fae if left in charge—plus, it was better for everyone if he had the chance to talk to her about her rash decision.

Rooming with royalty had not been on Eurion's agenda for the evening. He had been looking forward to a nice long, hot bath back at the inn he had booked for the next two days. A bed that was a bit hard but comfortable enough to get a decent nights sleep, and most importantly - he would have been alone. His displeasure was evident and he made no attempt at trying to hide it as the witch and the prince spoke about him even though he was standing right there. How was he supposed to sleep when he knew that the prince would be watching over him like a hawk circling its prey - waiting for him to make a move to try and kill him or escape, to find a way out of the shitty deal that he now found himself in. He would have taken the uncomfortable stone floor of the dungeons over having to share a room with the younger twin.

"I don't like any of you, to be frank." The twins because of their status, and the witch because she was just plain annoying. Being stuck with the trio for however long it took to find the Old Gods was going to be a test of willpower and more difficult than any of the tests he'd gone through in his younger years. Hells, he'd attempt another royal assassination over this if given the opportunity.

Eurion's eyes glanced the Caoihme's door and then back to the witch. He wondered if he would be able to hear them shouting from down the hall, but maybe the prince would be smart enough, even in his rage with his lover and guard, that he would put that shimmer up that blocked out any noise.

Aideen snorted and made her way over to Caoihme's door, bumping forearms with Sláine as she passed him. "Too bad. Can't have you slipping out unattended to get out of our deal, now can I? You got him?" She checked in with the prince, just to make sure she wasn't passing off a problem she caused onto him without his consent. The prince hummed his affirmative, mumbled something about soundproofing the room to save all their ears from any sort of outcome her future conversation was about to entail, and sent her on her way. As he was the one maintaining the current bubble keeping them contained within the hallway, he kept it up for a little longer to eye the assassin he was left alone with.

As much as he'd rather let the man go and forget the entire night ever happened, he couldn't. They owed Aideen for everything she's done for them, and this request was bizarre enough that it had to be important to her. Was he mad she sprung this on them? Absolutely. But he wouldn't take it out on her or even his current temporary roommate.

"You should've denied her accusation from the start," Sláine said, crossing his arms, "Now you're stuck with me." With a jerk of his head, he gestured to the next door over as a silent invitation for the Fae to go ahead to his chambers first. The doors were spaced enough apart that it was clear that their rooms were essentially mini apartments, fit for royalty and all that. Sláine refused to give the man the opportunity to stab him in the back while leading him the short distance to the door, but also refrained from manhandling—those few inches on him could be enough of an advantage that he was wary of close contact anyway, regardless of the possibility of Aideen stripping the man of any hidden weapon. Someone who got so far in had to be magically adept, and the shifter leaned on the element of surprise.

Eurion held his hands up in a surrender motion. He wasn't going to cause any trouble tonight, he wouldn't make it out alive if he tried and he had a feeling that the witch was someone who would hunt him down in all the levels of Hell if she didn't get what she wanted, "I'm an assassin, not a liar." With slight hesitation, he turned his back and lowered his hands, heading towards the door that Sláine had motioned towards. It was strange, pushing open the doors of the chambers and being met with a room that was twice the size of any house he'd ever lived in. It put into perspective how different their lives were, how different they were, and reminded Eurion of why he disliked royalty.

He tried his best not to ogle at the space as he moved further inwards. The large drapes over the window, the bed that could probably hold three or more if the prince ever felt the need to have more than one in his bed, among many many other pieces of furniture that looked like they were older than he was, and contained far too much gold. Sláine wore more gold on his body currently than Eurion had ever held in over a century.

"Nice space." He mumbled, removing his cloak and hood and draping it over the back of one of the seats. As much as he didn't like the prince, he could appreciate a nice room. Definitely better than the inn by a long run. Maybe he should have gone into architecture or something instead of assassination.

Oh, so he has standards? Sláine withheld any snarky reply, though a suppressed smile twisted at his lips. He followed the assassin into his chambers, locked the door behind him, and let out a little sigh at being back in the most familiar territory he had—his own room. It was huge for a reason, housing what was essentially the job of several rooms all in one. A sitting area where the man dropped his cloak sat in one corner by the door, coupled with a fireplace that had smoldering coals from a burned-out fire. A small kitchenette nested on the other side of the fireplace, mostly counters with a cooling compartment and a place for him to make tea. A large assortment of tea leaves was lining an entire countertop, each compartmentalized in their own labeled containers, and another collection of mugs hung above them by hooks on the wall. Next to the bed was a stained-glass window that curved outwards, and a bench sat in front of it built between the walls to have extra seating without being in the way—like a little reading nook.

Whatever organization the prince might've possessed immediately fell apart when you looked to the other side of the bed in the last corner of the room. An office space crowded next to his wardrobe. Jewelry, makeup, clothes, and trinkets all spanned the space of his wardrobe and dresser, while more trinkets, papers, blocks of wood, pencils and pens, books, and all sorts of miscellaneous items scattered about the desk and the floor around the desk. Organized chaos, Sláine would argue, but even he knew that he wasn't very organized. And beside that chaos was a connected bathroom.

He drifted over to the dresser to begin the process of removing all his decoration. "Thanks," he said, starting with his horns. The chains were a little finicky with coming unhooked from the cuffs, and it took even longer than usual due to his split attention, but he eventually started making a pile on the dresser. Turning back towards the assassin and working more on muscle memory, he nodded to the bed. "Make yourself at home."

Eurion's face scrunched in distaste. He wasn't a guest, if anything he was prisoner for the night. He wouldn't deny that the bed looked enticing with the mass amounts of pillows and the mattress that probably felt like clouds, but the prospect of being in the prince's bed had him stuck to where he was by the seat, "Chuck me a pillow and I'll take the floor."

As he watched Sláine remove his chains along with his other jewellery, he was reminded of what he wore himself. The tight-fitting outfit he wore when he worked was less than comfortable, but it was practical. It provided him with far too many pockets and spaces for weapons than he needed - even though they all had seemed to be filled with a dagger or knives of varying degrees and sizes - but it was less than thrilling to sleep in. The question he was now asking himself was whether he got over his pride and asked for at least a different pair of pants, or if he just put up with it for the next few hours. It wasn't like he hadn't done so before, but usually, in those situations, he had no other option and they were always followed by a shit night's sleep.

The witch would want him feeling primed and ready for tomorrow, he figured. Can't have a tired guide leading them through the country to the Old Gods, he'd probably slow them down but, maybe that wasn't a bad thing. She needed Eurion to lead the way to the Gods she seemed to be obsessed with, and he needed to stay alive. It wasn't an ideal thought considering he'd been looking forward to a decent sleep, but if it prolonged his life in the long run well…

Sláine quirked up a brow at the unmoving assassin, his growing amusement creeping into his expression before he shrugged and turned back to the dresser to focus on his task. "Suit yourself." One by one, the chains and jewelry were removed, and he wasted no time in unhooking his sword belt with one hand and sorting through his wardrobe with another for clothes to change into. Even if he wasn't planning on sleeping that night, he wanted to be comfortable, and the rumpled fabric was starting to irritate him from how long he'd been wearing it.

After setting aside his swords, he snagged a billowy silk red shirt that had the neckline a little worn out, and a pair of gray sweatpants, and changed into them as he grabbed them out of the wardrobe. He had no qualms with the other person in the room, quite use to a lack of modesty being allowed when growing up—fittings were a nightmare, and servants had a habit of barging in no matter his state of dress. But once he was fully changed, he grabbed a similar getup in more muted colors and tossed them onto a pillow on the bed. Wasting his breath on the obvious offer would be for naught, though, so he didn't say anything in favor of going over to his desk to grab a palm-sized block of wood and a tiny little knife.

Really, paying any attention to the Fae standing in his room wasn't worth much given his refusal to even move from his spot by the chair. It's why Sláine refused to bother with acknowledging his existence. As he crossed the room to settle into the nook inside the window, the stained-glass casting moonlit colors across his figure, he curled up into a cross-legged ball and hunched over his newest project to start passing the time; loose sangria curls spilled down his shoulders in the process. He didn't care if the man sat down where he was and pouted for the whole night, or if he caved in and slept on the bed. If he wanted to talk, then Sláine would talk; but he highly doubted that happening given the assassin's huffiness and dislike for everyone. Not that he didn't understand, but being bored for hours on end wasn't an ideal situation, so he did what he usually did in the dead of night to pass the time—whittle.

Conversation had never been his forte. Even as a child, he had found it a struggle to know what to say and when, what the right timing was and when it was appropriate to say certain things - and certain people. It made it all the worse when he decided to become an assassin. You didn't have to talk to people. You didn't have to say anything to anyone when most of your commissions came from Gods who didn't show their faces. Some might have called Eurion's life lonely. Had his parents seen who he had grown up to be, they would have agreed. There had been many nights in his century of life when he had contemplated giving up. Silence was too much when all you had to keep you company were your own thoughts. It left a lot of time to think, and more often than not, the thoughts were less than blissful.

The internal battle Eurion had with himself over whether or not to spark up conversation, to accept what would likely be Sláine's final offer when it came to a change of clothes and a comfy bed, continued for at least five minutes before the assassin sighed and caved. It was too attempting, even for someone who believed himself to be quite strong-willed - or stubborn, as his parents had said.

He swallowed, pursed his lips before he spoke as he walked cautiously towards the bed, "How long have you been- you know-" Eurion nodded to the block and the knife, undoing the buckles on his boots and placing them to one side.

During the minutes of the Fae's internal struggle, the only sound between them was the steady slicing of wood as Sláine cut out rough chunks into the basic shape that he wanted. It was a soothing process for him, the satisfaction of long slices and less precise handling. But getting into the nitty-gritty details, when he inevitably folded himself practically in half while falling into the focus, was also another type of soothing to him, so really, the entire process was a comfort. But despite that focus, he still glanced up and over to the assassin when he finally heard him talk on his own accord.

The prince blinked and stared off to the side, thinking. "Not long. Maybe… twenty years? Almost thirty?" He thought back to when he first picked up the hobby, retracing his timeline. "It was when I met that woodworker in… I think it was another world? Possibly, I've been to so many…" Sláine shook his head and went back to carving, albeit slower. He didn't finish his thoughts for a while, going silent, until he looked up again and squinted at the air in front of him. "Seymour. Met him while on that fucking suicide mission. Yeah, a little over 20 years." Now that he had his answer, he shook his head and went back to the wood with more speed. "I wonder if that bugger is still conning people with his bets."

Funny thing was, it wasn't a hobby that many people knew about. His rooms were generally off-limits; if the twins wanted to hang out they did so elsewhere so they could be a bother to others, he never brought over lovers or one-night stands, Aideen has only been in there a few times for her job's sake, and the servants knew the princes well enough to be friendly but also had all learned over time to not pay attention to anything that wasn't their job. And the whittling only ever happened at night when he couldn't sleep, along with his tea obsession. Of course the first person to really ask about it would be a would-be assassin essentially trapped in Sláine's room for the night. That reminded him—"Do you per chance have a name?"

Eurion, although confused about the so-called suicide mission Sláine had been on over twenty years ago, didn't question it. There was no need to get too personal when the assassin was going to crash the second he decided to lie down. The lack of sleep was catching up to him now that there was an offer of a bed softer than any he had ever seen or even dreamed of. If they ever decided to get closer to each other - highly unlikely in his mind - then they had the entire trek to the Old Gods to do so.

He tried not to think about the impossible mission that he'd agreed to. He didn't even know how many of the Gods were actually still alive. Two, from the difference in writing style that he had seen in the letters he'd been sent and the voices he heard in dreams. But any more than that and he was at a loss. If he couldn't even tell the witch how many were even alive, how would she take it when she found out he didn't know where they were? Eurion could only drag them around in circles for so long. It wasn't like he didn't know where to start, however. He had kept every letter, written down every dream and detail through the years and stashed them in a small safe house. If there were any clues, they would be in his trunk of letters.

The assassin changed as the prince spoke, not daring a glance as he did so. He wasn't used to the lack of privacy. But, as he was grabbing the shirt Sláine had laid out for him, the prince asked his name, and he paused. Did he use his real name? If things went terribly wrong then they would know his identity, but they'd already seen his face, so he guessed it didn't matter, "Eurion," He pulled the shirt over his head, "It's Eurion, Your Highness."

Aideen's insistence on going on this trip didn't sit right with Sláine, but not because of her motives. He was worried about her safety. Well, all of them and their safety, really. According to Kaine, there's been incidents of High Witches being attacked and killed. It could be a direct correlation to the assassin currently in his room, but something didn't add up right in his mind, and the prince wanted to be overly cautious than under prepared. If this Fae was the only cause for concern, then this trip would be less than entertaining. But if there were others out there… supposedly there weren't many messengers left, but what if there were? Sláine ran through every possibility, and they all got worse than the next to the point that he leaned against the window, horns creating a soft thunk, and sighed heavily to expel all of the mounting worries. Aideen wouldn't take no for an answer now that she had her way. The only way forward was to keep their guard up, not only around the assassin, but the world around them.

A voice cut through his thoughts, and he startled only enough to stay leaning and curl up more to begin the process of whittling the wood down into an actual figurine. Eurion. The prince smiled to himself at the tacked on title. For someone sent to kill him, and now forced into this situation, that was the last thing he expected to hear from this man.

Sláine looked up at the man from the corner of his eye. "Get some rest, Eurion. You'll need it." Gods help this poor soul. He lost count of the number of times his own cousin had to leave the room after dealing with the twins, let alone with Aideen in the mix as a purposeful thorn in the side, jabbing at Caoimhe and anyone that made themselves a target.

Hearing his own name back at him was strange. It had been years since someone had spoken it apart from himself, and even then it was usually just in his head. It took him back a little hearing it from the princes mouth. Eurion smoothed down the bed sheets as if there was a wrinkle. Silk, from the feel of it, and the softest type he’d ever felt. Strange was the world of the royals.

Awkwardly, Eurion slid onto the bed, “You need sleep, too.” He wasn’t going to stay up all night, was he? He wasn’t a stranger to a shit sleep schedule due to busy days and busy nights, it came with the job description, but if Sláine was going to be accompanying him with the witch and his older brother, he needed rest just as much as he did. But, he supposed when there was an assassin in the room - especially one that was going to kill him less than half an hour ago, Eurion wouldn’t sleep, either, and would keep a watchful eye just as Sláine was doing now.

The mattress was indeed as comfortable as if clouds had been taken from the sky and placed inside the room. It beat the floor, and the inn, and he was glad he got over his pride, at least for the evening. The pillows felt like sinking into a bed of feathers rather than the hard rocks he was used to. It was a strange and uncomfortable sensation, especially with the prince in the room.

As weird as it was for Eurion to be taking over the prince's bed, knowing that someone else was going to sleep there was just as weird for Sláine. It was probably for the best that the rest of the family didn't know about this. Why yes, Mother, we made a deal with an assassin charged by the Old Gods, and then housed, clothed, and offered my bed to him. What seems to be the problem? Gods, if his ancestors saw him now… They'd actually probably grab snacks and want to see how everything plays out in the long run. The Mac Arthfaels were nothing if not outrageously unorthodox yet astoundingly determined to get what they want. Making stupid decisions was just as part of his name as was his magic. Aideen wouldn't be there if it wasn't.

The response he got from the Fae wasn't one Sláine was expecting. This time he let the amusement show, a grin spreading over his lips. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it almost sounds like you're taking care of me." An assassin trying to get him to sleep. Ridiculousness just poured over every crack in this situation. No, he wouldn't sleep for some time. Someone had to keep an eye on Eurion, and he hadn't been planning on getting a full-night's rest anyway. If he got tired, he could brew himself some tea. If he found himself sluggish while traveling, he knew how to put himself into autopilot and keep going. Caoimhe, too, though Sláine suspected that his brother ran on pure adrenaline alone than anything else.

Getting tired of holding his head at the hunched-over angle, he found the loop built into the thin inner-frame of the window and hooked a section of his horn through it. Sufficiently lazy, he twirled the chunk of wood around, searching the increasingly smaller and more shape-like lump for any imperfections or sections to hack off.

Eurion frowned, opened his mouth to argue, and then decided against it, "Whatever. Night then." He grumbled, turning over to face away from where Sláine sat on his little nook and closed his eyes. He wasn't trying to take care of him, it was just a comment considering they would be travelling in the morning. The prince could believe what he wanted and Eurion couldn't care less, even if it might not seem that way. Sleep came to him easily enough, drifting off into the realm of unconsciousness in the most wonderful bed. Maybe in the morning, his back wouldn't be sore.

But, even with the obscene beauty that was Sláine's bed, his sleep wasn't restful, at least for the first few hours. Eurion tossed and turned. From the outside, it looked like he was having a nightmare but he wasn't, and he wouldn't be woken until his dream - well, meeting - with the Old Gods let him.

The world he found himself in was desolate, white and clean and pristine as if no one had ever stepped foot on the ground where he now stood. It felt like floating in midair but his feet were situated on an invisible platform that shimmered whenever he moved. Pockets of memories circled gently above and below, some he remembered and others of people and places he didn't recognise, and then there was the giant shadow, a blurred face that, even without eyes, Eurion knew was staring at him. The faceless one, the one he had communicated with the most and was involved in pretty much every mission he was given, only this time, they didn't speak. Their figure shifted and one of those pockets of memories - or realities - was pushed forward. Eurion couldn't make out what exactly it was, but from what he could make out, it was some ancient statue, broken and worn and hidden away. Did that mean they knew Eurion hadn't killed the princes? Were they trying to show him the way? Or was it some big coincidence it was completely unrelated? He tried to talk but his voice failed him.

A moment later it was fading - the world faded, and Eurion jolted awake, sweating. He couldn't tell in the near darkness of the room if Sláine was still there - he prayed he wasn't.

The prince snickered to himself at Eurion's grumbling. Old habits die hard, and being an assassin didn't escape him from the inevitable teasing. If anything, it opened him up to even more poking and prodding just for the thrill of seeing what the Fae's limits were. And—it meant that Sláine had effectively deflected the subject. He didn't need his killer interrogating him about his sleeping habits.

It was a rather boring night, as they always were. The time allowed him to make quick progress of the chicken figurine he steadily chipped away at. He sometimes stood to stretch his legs or get some water and snacks. At some point, though, he dozed off while laying on the window bench. Sláine had no idea how long he had slept, but it wasn't nearly long enough to make a difference, and when he startled awake, he instinctively knew that it was an outside force pulling at his attention. Magic. Glancing around proved useless, but then his gaze settled on the restless assassin and… there. A haze. Sláine slowly sat up and assessed. Around Eurion's head was a hazy cloud of magic, shimmering and warping his sight like gas would. He looked up—and pursed his lips. Ah. A small opening cracked open the ceiling, surprisingly quiet given that it led to another world. The assassin wasn't dreaming; his consciousness was pulled into another world somehow. Anyone else would've thought nightmare, but they didn't hold the magic that his family owned.

For the hours that Sláine remained aware of it, he kept an eye on Eurion and the portal, checking in to make sure nothing nefarious slipped through and that the man didn't suffer any ill effects of the invasion. He didn't know what to do besides sit and watch, concern lacing every inch of his body and tensed muscles. The only thought he had was to busy himself with something, anything besides staring, so he eventually stood to make some tea. He had a special type of blend he once liked using when first learning to travel between worlds and realities. It soothed the aftereffects, calmed the body and mind, so that they didn't hit so hard when returning home. He didn't use it much now that he had gotten used to it, but he made the brew anyway, then poured it into a mug.

Eurion woke just as the prince finished. Sláine slowly moved to the side the man was facing, then carefully set the mug down onto the small bedside table next to him. Chewing on what he should say or do, and glancing up at the ceiling to make sure the opening was gone, he settled on a whispered, "This should help," and moved away to get some tea of his own.

Eurion swallowed. The dizziness and exhaustion that followed the encounters with the Gods had never dulled with time, not for him, probably due to the infrequencies of the dreams. Usually, it was just the physical messages that they sent, written and golden. He'd kept all of them over the years, marking every connection but also every kill he had successfully completed. Maybe not a good idea to show the princes that stash of letters.

The assassin was grateful for the tea even if he didn't know that it would help with the recovery period. He took the mug in both hands, making sure he was sitting up and wasn't going to fall back into the mattress before he took a sip. The warmth spread through him. He could feel his heart rate ease softly and his head start to clear from the cloudiness that it was currently swimming in. He took another sip.

Eurion's gaze was fixed on the door to the prince's chambers as if something were to burst through at any moment. Nothing would, of course, it was just the assassin recovering and unable to avert his fixed gaze to anything else, but it was clear he was startled. The magical energy it took him was something Eurion had never become used to. Usually, he just had to wait it out, whether that was under a tree in the woods or a bed in an inn. There had never been anyone else around when these dreams occurred before.

In his dazed state, he muttered a soft, "Thank you." He didn't know if Sláine had heard or not considering how quiet it was, but it was all he could manage as he recalled what the Gods had shown him.

Sláine paused just as he was about to pour his own tea, faintly hearing the assassin's voice in the silence of the room. He didn't know how he was supposed to feel in the moment. All the emotions and rational thoughts clashed into one another, but his mounting anger towards the Gods for violating one of their loyal followers in such a manner, to forcefully subject their mind to another world, was winning the race. The prince licked the tips of his sharpened teeth, holding everything in check, and poured tea into one of his favorite mugs. "Tha mo thiodhlac saor," he said back, voice low in the silence.

Leaning his back against the counter, Sláine drank his tea in contemplative silence, still watching the walls for any hints of shifty portals—or doors, as his family also called them. None jumped out at him, even the ones that reached out to his magic and made themselves known to him, just not the rest of the world. Growing up, it had been terrifying, seeing all sorts of things that no one else seemingly could. Not even his family saw exactly what each other saw, different doors responding to different people. Azriel attracted those housing great beasts, for example, but the twins never had that problem. His thoughts traveled back to Eurion, how he wasn't meant to be part of that magic, and yet there he sat, dazed and slowly sipping at his drink.

A noise caught the prince's attention, like that of a whooshing. The wall next to him warped and shimmered, a rippling effect distorting the paint as if it was really a pond disturbed by a pebble. Sláine made a slight hum of surprise just as he held out his arm, and a fluttery mass of feathers tumbled through the wall. The chicken landed on his outstretched forearm, with a piece of paper tied to a leg. Sláine took the paper, then tossed the protesting chicken back through the wall with his own magic, sending it over to Azriel's chambers with just the slightest twist of reality. It would seem he wasn't the only one awake so late.

The note, as he unrolled it, was written in the king's scratchy and uncertain handwriting. I know & you have my blessing. Don't worry about us. Be safe. - Azi

If Eurion heard the noise of the chicken being tossed through the walls of the palace he didn't show it. He didn't look or move apart from the rising of the mug to his lips here and there, but his eyes did not move. They remained, unblinking at the chamber door for what seemed like an eternity to the assassin. Softly, the shadows around him twirled across his arms and hands, as if he were trying to soothe himself with his own magic - like a blanket of familiar shadows, something he'd done as a kid and the habit had never seemed to leave. Usually, he didn't have much control over it, but his magic always seemed to know when he needed it.

Slowly, Eurion turned his head to glance at Sláine. His moved as if he were scared that, if he turned too fast, he might be thrust back into whatever reality he had just come from, and for someone who didn't give an outward appearance of fear, even when he was faced with three magic users stronger than he was, something about the magic the Gods used petrified him, even now.

"Do you have a book on ancient landmarks?" His quiet voice lifted through the room. While they were awake, Eurion supposed they may as well try and find what it was that he'd been shown. He wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, not for a while, at least, and definitely not in the state he was in.