Hylas nodded with the solemn air of someone who was being faced with a painful truth. "From the border town we came from, I'd arranged to…borrow a horse— with the money I'd brought. It was excessive. But I suppose that's why he would've paid double. In any case…I don't ask questions." Words came to him slowly, and he tiredly though of how people could possibly go around organizing thoughts and pushing their voices out and moving their faces all so frequently. Though speaking was a tiresome thing, Hylas could feel a growing curiosity stirring in him as fluttering observations and ideas bloomed from conversation. In what little had been shared between them, Hylas couldn't deny the strange relief of having his presence regarded by another. Being heard, and having someone hold his gaze was a powerful sensation, grounding him to the real world when he had spent so many years with himself in silence. But even in solitude, he had always found the natural world to be loud enough. Here, on the last hill to Crowen, the fields were thrumming with chirping insects, and the gentle breaths of wind tangled the branches of the forest behind them, carrying muffled birdsong out to the sunny plateau. "Cancelling the party wouldn't have stopped me. Zaros didn't think I could get in without the invitation, but I would've found a way," Hylas told him, reaching into a pocket of his shirt that was too flat to hold any berries. He didn't stop walking as he unfolded a wrinkled piece of parchment illustrating a bird's eye view of the palace grounds in perfect symmetry. Along the borders were several symbols and illegibly scrawled notes to keep track of guard rotations and potential exits, including the impossibly high windows of towers. "A month was more than enough time for me to survey the exterior of the palace and find a way out," He thoughtlessly handed the map to Cas, chewing a few berries to give him something to do.
With a gentle hand, Cas took the map. His eyes widened for a moment, taking in and appreciating how long it must have taken for Hylas to come up with something to this caliber. Squinting, Cas gave up trying to read the notes, the words too squished and small for him to read and scrawled messily around the page it was near unintelligible to him, "Impressive." He mumbled, glancing up every couple seconds as to not lose his balanced as they walked, "How would you have gotten from my chambers out the palace though? Chances of you getting caught with a body are high when you're descending from a tower into the halls." One of the reasons as to why his father had insisted his chambers be so high above the rest of the palace after the last war. Being the only heir to the throne, Cas knew that he needed to stay safe from people like Hylas. Not that that had worked as well as planned, clearly. His room had little windows, a sky light - perfect for observing the stars on sleepless nights. A strong gut feeling told him that his father was probably occupying the room. He'd done so for his brothers when they passed, and him not knowing where Cas was the prince had no doubt he was doing the same right now. One way in, one way out. Octain had said, easy to spot intruders. Vines covered the outside of his chambers. Octain had insisted on cutting them but Cas refused, 'They add character to the grey of the brick.' Besides, they stood out with their leaves of green and flowers and pink and yellow and white. The same vines covered the walls of the palace, as well as his cottage hide out. They added flavour, Cas supposed, when the rest of the palace seemed so boring from the outside when not in the gardens.
Hylas swallowed the mouthful of berries, licking his sweet lips and shifting his gaze back to Cas. "That's the thing," he said, thinking back to the pensive hours of consideration leading up to the day of Cas' party, "If I wanted to…get your body to Zaros, the ball would have been my only chance." So much time had been spent rehearsing for that night; watching his foggy reflection trying to smile as it said "Duke Ronan of Arofjord, at your service" and "I wish you the warmest of wishes on this wonderful evening." He sighed, shaking his head to himself as he walked through the thick ocean of tallgrass. "If I couldn't get you out of the ballroom, the plan would be a failure and yes, I'd have to resort to leaving the body." Without thinking, Hylas leaned in close to the prince and the drawing in his hands, pointing to the tower. Next to it was scrawled a wavy symbol with a strike through it. "Vines," Hylas explained, "Some thick enough to climb, with enough jutting bricks." He gave the prince a moment to consider what had been said, taking a leisurely sip from his waterskin and sighing at the brisk river water cooling his mouth. The air had grown warmer as they'd neared the Valthean border, and now that they were past they spray of the mountain's edge, he was home on Valthean soil. Praise to the Gods. After a moment of slow reverence, he gave the prince his attention once more. "This window," he explained, pointing to the side of the tower with a squarish mark and an 'E', "It's…how do you say it…Triiskmeti. Symmetric? Perfectly aligned. Faces the East. At the right time in the evening….the sun sets and casts a shadow dark enough on that East side to hide in." With a soft frown, he considered if explaining this would only upset the prince, and with the foolish thought of someone who knew nothing about human interaction, he decided to make a shy attempt at humour. "You could call it…a window of opportunity."
Cas paused for a moment in his tracks, looked at his companion with a small smile before snorting and continuing to walk, "You really do pick your moment, don't you?" he shook his head slightly. Ah yes, I'm going to explain the ways I thought about kidnapping and killing you while also making a joke out of it. He nearly laughed at the thought. He looked back down at the map, all the little scribbles and symbols trying to decipher what they meant. It was nothing like anything Cas had seen before. To be fair, he knew nothing about Hylas' background. Maybe it was a collection of symbols ony he knew the meaning of. Still, the handwriting was in the common language, but still unreadable. Folding the map back up and handing it back to Hylas, "Clever plan though," Cas rolled up his sleeves to his elbow, even with the light fabric the warming of the air as they walked was starting to hit, "If you take into account having to climb back down the tower with my head in one hand." It wasn't a small tower, either, not like the others in the palace. Cas knew Hylas had the skills to do so but even so, Cas was maybe just a little relieved Hylas hadn't had to resort to that plan, "I mean if you'd had jumped into the garden bed it would have soften the fall a little but chances of breaking a leg are higher from a jump that tall." Making a gesture with his hands, he drew the outline of the tower in the air and the bed bellow, "Unless you reached the roof of the common room, worked your way down from there." He continued to draw the palace in the air, picturing it as best he could and the layout. Cas missed home. Hated the feeling of not knowing when or if he would ever make it back. He prayed he would, that whatever God was watching over them for a safe return though knew it was unlikely.
Hylas looked down, unsure if he should be laughing along with the prince or dwelling on his shame. But…he thought my plan was clever. The prince's laugh seemed to ease things for a moment as he took back the map and returned it to his pocket. Even though he'd already memorized the grounds and layout of the place, it could still be of use if Cas decided to imprison him once they reached the palace. He was the Raven, after all. That was a very real consideration, and Hylas pondered his fate as the prince spoke and drew images in the air. Surely, he'd find a way to survive. Whether it be the hangman's rope or the whistle of an arrow, he'd always found a way— or fought his way out of trouble. But with his and the continent's fate in the hands of the only person who could identify him, he was stuck. Well-stuck and discussing murder with the prince. It felt wrong to explain how he might have thrown down his severed head, so he chose to nod and mutter a simple "Roof of the common room," under his breath. Hylas couldn't imagine having such an estate that one could die trying to climb. Like a mountain, the sharp turrets pierced the clouds and the towering bricks of the fortified walls stood grounded and unquestionable. What a grand thing it must have been to look down at the world, up on that high pedestal of his. "Though, there have been many occasions where…there wasn't a common room roof or flowerbed to cushion the fall." Hylas laughed, but his eyes were unfocused and faraway. Flexing his hand, he could still feel the searing burn of a rope slithering out of his grip— arms tearing at the sky as his body met the ground with a dull crack. "I'm a good climber but—" Another chuckle. He shook his head, "I've broken…I've fallen quite a bit."
"How your legs or arms aren't positioned in strange ways is beyond me." For falls as high as the one he was imagining, Cas couldn't bare to think about the pain Hylas might have been afterwards. Having to reposition bones into the right spot made his stomach squeeze with something that wasn't fear, but unpleasant nonetheless. Like eating a piece of raw meat and feeling sick till the sun rose the morning after. The only broken bones the prince had suffered was a fall from a horse when he was younger. The mare as smooth as silk and the colour of melted chocolate had bucked him off with as much as the wind knowing over a piece of pottery. His wrist took months to deal before it finally returned to its original strength, with back aches that lasted much longer. At least I had someone to help after my fall. A gentle remind that the two lived very different lives, and to picture Hylas having to limp away from a kill with a broken ankle and no one to help was something Cas decided to push away. Too empathetic, he knew, and to feel sorry for the man who was discussing his own murder was an outlandish feeling, maybe even slightly overbearing, "So.. you're good at, you know, healing then? No a lot about how to fix broken bones, stitches and all that." Cas had a general amount of knowledge about the healing of others. Learnt before and after the last war. The times where he had to stitch and help the wounded in the middle of screams from those who weren't so lucky to receive the same attention. Too much blood. Flowing like rivers in the mountains far beyond Eirus. Images that Cas knew he would never forget. But Hylas had seen worse, he knew, and his experiences with death were little compared to the assassin.
Hylas kicked a smooth pebble in the path and watched the powdery clouds of dust in its wake as it rolled down the gentle incline of the grassy hill. Crooked limbs be damned, His Highness is lucky he hasn't seen the worst of what's underneath these clothes. Hylas outstretched an arm before him and made a fist, flexing it in a slow rotation to sound the series of muffled pops. "Everything clicks." He never liked recalling the hours of stitching and searing his flesh; he'd worked hard to put them behind him. But seeing that the prince was sincere in his curiosity and that he hadn't ever really considered the efforts of his willpower in putting himself back together, he gave in. "I suppose," Hylas said with a soft shrug, "If it was severe, I'd go to a healer's workroom in the nearest town. But…for the most part, I had to teach myself. I had to. But I…always came prepared. Wine, bandages, hooked needles and thread. Just in case things went…south." Another unintended joke. Hylas wondered if stumbling into conversational oddities were common for normal people. In any case, he couldn't bring himself to smile or shift his gaze while the images of limpness and broken skin were fresh in mind. The smell of burning flesh, the sound of his muffled screams, and the cracking of his dried blood in the years of adolescence and adulthood still haunted his senses. Sometimes, he could still feel the scrape of sand on his palms from the many times he'd clawed his way back to his horse, and he'd find himself thoughtlessly digging at his fingernails. Other times, he'd wake breathless and paralyzed, as if the weight of the world had slammed him into his shaky cot. Like a wretched animal heaving itself away from a formless predator. It would've been better if I'd stayed down. He would always hold a degree or disappointment in thoughts of his own desperation, always remembering the pathetic tremble of hands pulling a bloody hook out of skin every time he saw his handiwork in a reflection.
"I.." Cas paused for a moment, considering his next words carefully, "I'm sorry you had to endure all of that." His tone was sincere, as sincere as it could be for someone apologising to one who committed such horrible acts. But when the prince thought back on his own experiences, how little they might be compared to Hylas', he knew how it felt to be wounded and alone. Not to the extent as his traveling companion, but enough to understand to a certain degree. Cas couldn't imagine what Hylas would have had to do to himself. All the stitches, bones, nights where he probably couldn't sleep due to pain. Guess I got lucky.. Very. With the soft sheets and mattress in the palace. The mountains of pillows that were too many to count and the warm nights in bed with only the worry of the coming days agenda. Not if he was going to live or die, "I don't think your bones should crack so much thought." He pointed to Hylas' wrist with a small sigh, "You should get it checked out if you can. See if there's not a- a tea or anything you could take to prevent it from worsening." And make sure all your bones are actually in the correct position. Strange to feel so concerned for a moment. The feeling was fleeting and passed without a second thought. Hearing about Hylas' experiences, what he'd lived through while he himself had been away by the warmth of a fire reading until his hearts content. Too very different lives. But know they were on the same path. A part of Cas just hoped that after all of this, if Hylas kept his word, he might be able to help him, if only a little and in secret. Make it so he didn't have to stitch himself back up on a bed of rocks and soil, one more comfortable that would give a good nights rest. As payment for helping him, of course, even if they were in this mess because of him.
Hylas' attention snapped up to the gentle frown pinching Cas' brow. Really? There was a calculated pause in the prince's reply, but it wasn't one of awkwardness or pity. His words were coloured with the softened understanding of whatever unpleasantness had befallen him. So this is what sincerity sounds like. "I…thought you might be glad. Mm. Well. A little." His honesty surprised him. Shoulders raised in a tense curve of uncertainty and his gaze turned shy, beginning to flicker away from the prince as he fumbled for words. Hylas didn't mean to sound shocked over his sincerity but he had never been offered empathy like this. Someone telling him his pain— or at least some of his pain was an unfortunate artifact. "N– I mean… Of course you…wouldn't wish ill on others, but me—" Another shrug. "My pain and…failure saves lives…Doesn't it?" Reflecting on his place in the cycles of life and death, Hylas felt the familiar swells of guilt simmering in the flowing currents of his blood. It does. Had the air grown warmer? It had, surely. Thoughts were louder, and then came the slow rise of a numb shiver and cottony vertigo that echoed the wordless knowledge of what he'd done. It was the ugliest feeling he knew. Any harm or hindrance in my survival keeps someone alive. Thoughts were tumbling down the slow spiral of self-loathing, and forgetting the prince as he walked, the silence ate him alive. How many times had he fallen from a tower and hauled himself up to stumble onwards, bloodied and broken, only to do it again when the rope snapped? How many times had the dull, rusted blades of bandits carved red ribbons into his flesh? Was such torment not enough to appease the Gods? How much longer will they bleed me before I'm ragged and limp? Crowen was nearing in sight but Hylas couldn't understand the shapes before him. The prince escaped his thoughts and he could feel his mind retreating; nestling into the space between them and offering him something to dwell on. "Saves lives, yeah," He echoed in a rough whisper, nodding to himself as he kept his pace. "Maybe…a good thing…hmm. Failing, falling."
The frown on Cas' face grew larger as he watched and listened to Hylas whisper and gaze drift off some place far from the present moment. Whether it was memories or thoughts he couldn't tell, but the far away look in his eye and tensing of his body indicated whatever it was, wasn't good. A sense of uneasiness rushed through him. He hadn't meant to hurt nor dig up any unwanted feelings. From the way Hylas spoke, Cas knew he thought low of himself. To be frank with himself, a day ago Cas would have, too, but now seeing how impactful this life had been on the assassin, he deserved at least a little sympathy, "You might have done horrendous things, Hylas, but no one deserves to suffer alone." He said gently, hoping to convey further that he truly did feel for the man. The sight of Crowen was a relief. The outline of houses and buildings, the distant smoke rising into the crystal clear sky. Proper food, clothes, and shelter awaited them, and Cas was eager to arrive. However concern for Hylas grew. Even though they kept pace, wading through the grass and the wildflowers to their nearing destination, he couldn't help but shake the feeling. To think about what Hylas had done in the past, the blood and the screams that must likely echoed around his head everyday, wasn't easy. To acknowledge that yes, he was a killer, the worst Cas had ever known, but imagining the nights he must have spent alone, broken. Days were he had nothing, made the concern grow. He didn't agree with his past decisions, knew there was nothing he could do to change them, but right now he could offer at least a morsel of sincerity, "You failing at your tasks does saves lives, yes, but in turn you're the one who's suffering. Neither is right." Months ago, Cas would have spoken differently. But now, knowing and seeing what thinking about those deeds did to Hylas? Even he didn't deserve that level of pain. And if he was lying.. Cas didn't want to think about that, refused to think about that in the present.
The first syllables of the prince's reply cut through the mental fog like a knife. With a hard flinch, he stopped his rhythmic pace of walking and looked intently at his shifted surroundings. As quickly as he realized the spiralling monologue had ceased, he started up with his walking again, praying that his momentary state of cloudiness hadn't been too noticeable. Though, judging from the delayed processing of Cas' further compassion, the plainclothed assasin hadn't performed so coherently. Biting his lip and searching the ground for answers, Hylas tried to quiet a rising feeling in his chest with careful breaths. It was warm like what he knew of hope and shivered with the same delicate promise of a sprouting wildflower. He was stunned, and the windy silence between them seemed to speak for him. I don't know how to thank you, It said, I hope you understand. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak— wanting to find a way to apologize for his brief confusion or a way to thank Cas. Paranoia, or rather, caution made its entrance. Presented with the venomous reminder of his action, Hylas went down the list. He had lied to the prince, drugged him, taken him from his home, and he'd been seconds away from ending his life and compromising Eirus' political stability. No man, not even Eirus' beloved Prince Caspian could be kind enough to mean such a kind statement. This had to be some ploy to disarm Hyllas– of offering empathy and kindness to gain his trust before striking at his weakest moment. Surely. So as terribly guilty as he was, Hylas wasn't going to break under a few soft reassurances. He wasn't that weak. Before he could think up a timely response, the moment had passed and whatever was fluttering around inside of him had died. "Down this last hill," Hylas coldly stated, "When we get there, keep your eyes down."
Continuing to speak on the matter, it seemed, had done more harm than good. The silence was enough to convey to Cas what Hylas couldn't say, however the cold response seemed to contradict it. Hylas was a riddle with two many answers, it seemed. One that Cas couldn't work out. Swallowing, the prince simply nodded in response, not wanting whatever was going around in Hylas' about what he had just said any worse or form a sense of distrust from being overly kind. Too late for that now. Even out here, far, far from home, Cas knew he was recognizable, even if he was tussled from a night in the woods. One wrong look and things could go down hill faster than a rolling stone on a windy day. Plopping a few more berries into his mouth from his pocket to distract himself from the growing worries of what could go wrong when they arrived, Cas diverted his gaze from the ground beneath his feet to Hylas for a moment, then to the town before them. The distant clacking of metal could now be heard, a sign of life. Relief washed through him like a tidal wave to hear the sounds of life apart from his Hylas'. He never knew he could miss the sounds life, but here it was. On top of it, there was little chance of one of Zaros' men finding him. If they did, there was no chance they were winning this war. Only twenty-two and he'd fought in battle twice. Cas just prayed he lived through this one. Chances were slim, but being a negative Nancy about the whole ordeal when his companion seemed to mope every five seconds wasn't going to get either of them anywhere. One of them had to at least try and remain calm… as best one in a situation such as this.
The town of Crowen was close to desolate. A wide, snaking road of shops and a few abandoned workrooms cut through the frail dwellings, and the damp, dusty air always carried the smell of rain. The field grass feathered into the pebbly soil of the main road beneath their feet, and Hylas took a steadying breath for confidence. He'd have to put their words— slow, rigid and then soft —behind him if he wanted to have a clear head going through with their errands. The safehouse was well-stocked, but the news of the Prince's disappearance could spread fast and it all depended on his ability to carry out the early steps of their plan. In the whistling silence of the countryside, the crunch of Hylas' boots seemed louder than the sharp slam of the blacksmith's hammer, and he gave Cas a look of warning before returning his attention to the scene before them. Don't let your guard down, he wordlessly told Cas, fixing his posture into something softer.
Hardly any foreign trade came through here, but the town was lucky enough to keep itself standing through the staple tradesmen working quietly. There was a single baker, a bookkeeper, the stables, a blacksmith, and a tailor. All lived off the land and kept to themselves, only gathering for the rare wedding, funeral, or festival when such days came around. There couldn't have been more than six townsfolk moving up and down the wide path with their baskets and bales of long-grain, keeping to their morning errands with thoughts and worries miles away from the nightmares of war. Hylas had always tried hard to stay anonymous in the frequented town, but there were a few folks who would know his face. Though so far, the coast was clear. "Parchment and ink?" He prompted, nodding to the bookshop on their right. Pausing for a moment, he decided that risking a shopkeeper's recollection with Cas' presence was unnecessary. I don't want to…silence anyone today. "Wait here," He said, half-turning at the idea of giving Cas one of his knives. Because what if he's attacked while I'm inside? But it's Crowen. The tyrant of the century was Old Man Befli's escaped goat. No threat could befall Cas. Not here. He discarded the consideration and skipped up the creaky steps to the door, looking back at Cas with an expression so grave it could've killed him. One wrong move here and it could all be ruined. "Don't talk to anyone. Don't look at anyone. And don't draw attention."
So different from the busy city life Cas was used to, and yet here brought more peace than home ever did. Quiet, undisturbed, so unaware of what was going to befall the continent in the coming months. If only they could all live in the same oblivion Crowen's small population did. When they reached the bookshop, Cas refrained from rolling his eyes at Hylas' words, however mumbled a quiet, "Yes, yes, I get it just go," before leaning against the outside wall and crossing his arms. He hoped Hylas wouldn't be long. Parchment and ink shouldn't take too long to collect, and soon they'd be off and he'd get to writing that letter. Cas could feel his nerves bubbling around inside him waiting to explode. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere in a town with barely anyone to occupy it, someone might recognize him. A slim chance, but the possibility had him staring at the ground as if it was going to jump up and attack him at any moment. Gods please be quick. Head down, eyes down, arms crossed, he knew he looked slightly suspicious leaning against the cobbled wall behind him. If they were back int he city, no one would even bat an eye. A good thing about busy streets, if you didn't move no one would even notice you. Here, when the street was near empty, a stranger standing by themselves would be a cause to look further. So, Cas stood as still as a rock, doing exactly as Hylas said and doing everything to not draw attention to himself. If word got out that the prince was alive? Well, then he really would be dead. All it took was one person, in the right place, with the right knowledge of who he was and their plan would be in shreds before it even got off the ground.
Hylas moved through the bookshop with feverish determination, heading straight for the far counter where the bookkeeper stood reading and minding her shop. Greeting her in quiet, hasty Valthean, Hylas asked for a stack of parchment and a square vial of ink, dropping a few coins on the worn wood counter before she'd even reached for the shelf behind her. He surveyed the short islands of bookcases filling the room as he waited, keeping his breaths steady and unrushed as watery panic coloured his thoughts with suspicion. Why was she taking so long? Yes, the bookkeeper may be old, but what if she's thinking about why I'm buying such things? Most of the village is illiterate, and… There was a sharp shuffling at the desk. "Pertil voi." Here you are. Her rough voice cut through his thoughts and his gaze sprang back. "Trazzien," Hylas breathed, hands moving faster than he meant and scooping up the ink and pale sheets in a smooth motion. Conscious of his hurried look, he took his time walking away, feigning interest in the short volumes on farming and weaving on his way out.
As much as the prince bothered him, the sight of Cas alive and unharmed was a relief. Reflexively, he wanted to smile at him. But in that split second of to roll his eyes at the foolishness of it all. Give me a break, I was only gone for a moment. "Here," Hylas said, holding out his wares for Cas to take from him, "You'll look like you have your own business to attend to." With a short pan of his surroundings, Hylas nodded back to the near-empty road, keen eyes searching around the bend for the creaky sign of the baker-grocer.
Cas released a short, relieved sigh when Hylas returned, taking the items carefully, making sure not to spill the ink of tear the parchment. Gods knew he needed as much as he could get, "Thank you. You didn't run into any trouble, did you?" That was the problem with small towns, word travels fast, and danger could be where you least expected it to come from, and it wasn't like there was many places to hide around here. The absence of a weapon made itself known to Cas once more, his hip feeling too light without the weight of his sword back home. For now he'd make do, but they both knew he needed one eventually. They might not have had any trouble on the way out of Eirus, but making it back in now that he was presumed dead would be more of a challenge. Walking around the back streets of home empty handed was likely to end badly, he knew from experience. He doubted any problems would arise in Crowen, considering how small and desolate the place was. Even with Hylas at his side he couldn't help but worry about what might occur. The quicker they got out of here the better. In the slight breeze that wandered through the town, and in the silence of the blacksmith's work, the gentle creak of the sign was noticeable. The wood worn down and in need of a replacement, the metal chains that hung the sign above the door needed oiling or replacing, it seemed. In the small view they had from where they stood, a stall with a minuscule array of fruits and vegetables was noticeable. All home grown and native to the land with the lack of foreign trade, or even any trade at all. It was still a sight that Cas was thankful of, a change in food, more food than the berries they had had all day today. He had no doubt that the smoke waving its way out the chimney from the old building was the owner baking the day away.
"No trouble," Hylas murmured with a shake of his head. He made his way across the damp, dusty road and turned to Cas with a knowing look. Stay outside. With a nod, he bypassed the ripe fruits and vegetables waiting for him; there was a scrappy garden waiting for them at the safehouse. He'd already blown off his monthly finances on the whole ordeal of kidnapping and then deciding to save the prince, and though he knew this wasn't a time to be modest, he couldn't bear to pay for something he might already have. Inside the bakery, the thick aroma of fresh bread filled his lungs, and for a moment he was grounded to the damp floorboards, taking in the divine pleasantry of it all. It smelled like safety, a full stomach, and the dry warmth of a fire— perhaps what his mother would have smelled like, if he could remember such a thing. His stomach made its yearning known and he shook away the solemn thought. After a moment, he came to his senses and approached the counter. "Cialo," He greeted. Minutes later, his pocket was two coins lighter and his rucksack several pounds heavier. Inside, it carried a thick, carefully wrapped slab of meat, a hard block of cheese, a Stelre loaf, a bag of long-grain, and a few pounds of sweet dough. The bare essentials of a poor Valthean with a mind right enough to grow his own vegetables and forage his own herbs. "Let's keep moving," Hylas said to Cas as he stepped off the baker's doorstep, "And I haven't forgotten how said that you needed a sword. The blacksmith's shop is right ov—" Hylas's words broke as he turned toward the lower curve of Crowen's working row. A pair of dark eyes dashed behind the splintered column of an abandoned cobbler's shop and into a crooked alley. There was no way Cas could've seen it. So quick and low to the ground, even Hylas could've missed it had he not turned before him. But in knowing what he saw, he felt no worry. For now, he'd have to pass off his hesitation as a casual thought. "—It's the smooth cobble building with the thick chimney. You can't miss it. Go ahead while I go back into the baker's. I forgot something."
Cas was hesitant for a moment, but only for a second and it passed before he gave the feeling a second thought, "Uh, yeah, sure, don't be long, you've got the money." He couldn't pay for the sword without it, and he wasn't going to just take it. Turning on his heel and heading down the old road, he made his way to find the blacksmiths. Hylas was right, it was hard to miss the building, standing out like a sore thumb in the middle of the road. The gentle clang of metal had resumed, along with the quiet crackle of fire and sizzle of cooling metal. It was almost a comforting sound, a familiar sound if anything. The quiet was starting to sound like roaring silence compared to what he was used to. From the bustling of servants around the palace, to music in the ballroom or quiet chatter in the common room, even just the sound of work was enough to make him yearn for home.
Inside, the blacksmiths was a mess of half finished projects lying around. Tools scattered across tables in close range ready to be used at the drop of a hat. Finished works were lined up against the wall and shelves close to the front, likely so people such as Cas who needed a weapon could easily see their pick. The man bent over some weapon on the far side of the store hadn't yet spotted the prince as he moved towards the line up of swords. From short to long, different sizes and cuts, all beautifully made. Cas guessed he'd been doing this a while, a talented man. He'd make more money in the city. But he wasn't one to judge too harshly. When he was noticed, the man gave him a smile and a nod, as if knowing why Cas was there. A stranger, why else would they drop into the blacksmith if not looking for something already made. He guessed Crowen didn't have many long time visitors. So, Cas began admiring and looking at the swords before him, picking them up to feel their weight, how they held, the design. He didn't need anything fancy, just one that would last him till they got home.
Hylas followed the curious movement down the alley, making his way through shallow puddles of filth and mud. Ah, memories, He bitterly thought. Turning the corner, he was face to face with Crowen's own little band of orphans. He sighed, and looking past them, he drew in a short gasp. The corner of the blacksmith's workshop was visible, which meant that if Cas was foolish enough to wander away from their meeting point (he was), then there'd be the possibility of his seeing him. Life's a gamble, I suppose. The orphan that led him there spoke up in squeaky Valthean. "I beg your pardon, sir." Hylas sighed again and shook his head, waving his hand to dismiss it. The orphan boy— Tomil was clever. Hylas knew that he wouldn't have sought him out while he, 'the stranger', was travelling through with a companion. That had never happened before, and Tomil wouldn't have bothered him if it wasn't important. "Is the girl sick again? Ask the apothecary—"
Tomil shook his head. "No, sir. Reva's gone to heaven. Two moons ago."
Something cold swept over Hylas, and he drew in a sharp breath. Gods. She couldn't have been more than five or six. Almost as old as I was when—
"Two days from now, Miss Erente is taking her business to Weltyrn! And…and she 's organized for a great big caravan. A six horse team, sir! She says she'll take anyone who'll fit and pay their expense!"
"Hush." Hylas told him, wearing a gentle frown as he considered his loud news. There was always an echo in alleyways. Weltryn was two towns over and booming with trade. The little group of misfits could find work or maybe even an orphanage to take them in. Hylas shuddered at the haunting memories of a Volytran orphange and prayed that no such places waited for them in Weltryn. "I understand," He said, looking from Tomil's wide-eyed gasp to the others standing attentively, hoping to look tall and grown. "You do, sir?"
Hylas nodded, realizing that his expression didn't match his hopes for them. A small, encouraging smile rose and he reached into his pockets. Holding back a good grouping of gold pieces for the swords, Hylas' hand curled out of his pocket and presented Tomil with a handful of silvers and a few gold pieces. Immediately, he began to shake his head, looking down at his little hands overflowing with currency with watery eyes. "Stay together. Take care of each other. Don't bicker," Hylas told them, turning to leave as the hurried footsteps of the others rushed to peer down at their treasure. It felt strange to have their first and last real conversation end in their tears, but Hylas understood the desperation in their looks of reverence as he walked back down the alley. In some strange way, he supposed that something inside of them understood that Hylas had once been like them. There was a look in their eyes that they regarded each other with— Hylas and the orphans. Even in the past, Hylas' silent presentation of a few silvers were met with firm nods and rare smiles. Solidarity. Now, they would have something to hope and work towards, even if war was coming, Hylas knew how important a will to live was, especially to a hungry child. Clearing his thoughts, he stepped out into the humid daylight of Crowen's main road and stepped into the blacksmith's.
Cas hadn't wandered off, too drawn in by the swords crafted with such excellence. Curiosity got the better of him for a moment when he realised that Hylas was taking longer than expected to find whatever it was that he had forgotten. He peered round the side of the blacksmiths and down the road, seeing if he could spot him. All he could see was a hint of movement in an alleyway close to the grocer. He could make out the large, well built figure and assumed it was Hylas, however what he was doing only the Gods would know. Sighing, even though he wished to know what he was doing, he turned back into the building. What can you expect from an assassin. The sword that had grabbed the princes' attention was a long sword, no surprise to anyone. It wasn't what he was used to, of course, there was no white steel and even so it would be expensive. However, the one he held was still as light as his one back home. It had been sheathed in leather, delicately made and the imprint of snake made the thing look more expensive than it probably was. It held beautifully, balanced by perfection. Cas could tell that the smithy had spent his whole lifw honing in these skills to create pieces such as these. They were all wonderful, but there was something about this one that Cas couldn't shake. The sound of muffled footsteps grew closer, and when the prince peered round, he saw Hylas walking towards him. For a moment he was inclined to smile in greeting but stopped himself half way, only offering a small little wave instead with his free hand, the sword in the other, "Took you long enough." He called out.
Hylas sighed at the prince's comment, though wore a private smile thinking of the reason behind his preoccupation. At least some good could come out of his road to war. "That one?" He simply asked, nodding to the light-catching silver of the gripped longsword. It was easily the finest piece on display. Hylas offered a curt nod to the blacksmith, who, approaching the two with a cleaning rag in hand, responded with a gentle nod of his own. Timid for a burly ironsmith, Crowen's economy relied heavily on him. His weekly trips to Weltyrn brought back quiet prosperity, and with money to spend on food and drink, everyone's lives improved. There weren't many people Hylas could trust— those few were the ones smart enough, like the blacksmith, not to ask questions when a many-knived stranger needed his blades sharpened or his bones set. So before him, Hylas was at ease. On an open palm, Hylas drew a circle with his pointer finger; tracing the Valthean gesture for money. The blacksmith held up seven arthritic fingers. Forgetting himself, Hylas turned to Cas to explain that the smith was deaf. Obviously shy, the blacksmith turned to Cas and greeted him with a nod. With a sudden look of recollection, the blacksmith held up a finger of momentary pause, turned on his heels, and darted off to his workstation. Hylas read the expression as something burning or in need of a minute of his attention. So while Hylas waited for him to return, he slung his rucksack to the side and twisted out a tightly-bound pouch of fabric from a side pocket. "So the sword, it's alright? Good enough for you?" He asked, looking into the pouch and counting enough gold and silver to meet his price. The ironsmith returned a moment later, wearing a childlike grin as he extended his arms and a glistening sword towards them. Freshly forged, drops of water still clung to the mirror-like panels of pressed iron. Like the sword in Cas' hand, it was long and weighted for a knight, with a wooden handle carved into think waves for grip. Marvelling at the blade, Hylas wondered if it was still warm.
Cas offered a smile, kind smile in return to the blacksmith. Strange to see someone so timid work in a place such as this. But then again, he couldn't hear the loud sounds of metal clanging together as he worked, and Cas supposed it would be a blessing in that instance. He knew none of Valthean so even if the blacksmith could hear and speak, he wouldn't know what to say. He guessed out here, there was no need for common tongue when everyone spoke the same language and so did the towns nearby. Brushing off those thoughts, he turned back to the sword, "It's wonderful, he's a talented man." So light, so delicate, so sharp. He had no doubt it would have ease in battle. How long had it taken for the shy man who worked here to hone in such skills to make pieces such as these? and on his own? It was admirable. When the second sword was brought out, he jaw nearly drop. He glanced at Hylas, noting the look on his face. It drew a small smile to his face to see him so transfixed on the metal before them. To be fair, so was he. It was a gorgeous blade, more so than the one already in his hand, "Take it." He encouraged, nodding from the assassin to the blade. Even though he wanted to try it out himself, seeing Hylas wield such a weapon would be… Cas couldn't place the word bubbling around in his head, all he knew was that he wanted to watch the assassin. Study came to mind. Learn and watch how he fought. Everyone back home were so boring after years of watching the same technique and style, the same drills. Hylas was something new. Something different. Something more.
Hylas' head began to shake before Cas could finish speaking. "I don't need a sword and I don't know how to fight with one. I'm fine with what I have," He claimed, looking away from the beautiful sword and clearing his throat as he shouldered his rucksack. "But if you prefer this one, you take it." Quietly, Hylas recalled their past conversation on the subject of swords, feeling the soft, familiar yearning in his hands for something heavy and powerful to cut through the air. He'd always loved the story of the Sword of Riverglass as a child, and in the few memories he had of his parents, he could still grasp at the golden ghosts leaping into the river at sunrise and trying to 'grip' the sun's reflection and lift it out of the water. Then there were his older years, where he'd forgotten the sound of his own voice— where he would find his way to a river after night terrors and look at the moon's long reflection; silver wounds over the inky blue surface of the water. The whisper of a sword had haunted him his whole life, and at the glistening offering before him, it was hard to ignore that curious twitch in his hands. With a pained look, he raised his gaze back to the blacksmith and signed for the price again. "…Five, he says." Hylas doubted he even had enough for both swords, and he didn't feel strongly enough to challenge him to bargain. The day had worn on him, and with the invisible weight still pushing down his shoulders, Hylas turned to Cas. Reading his expression, he let out another breathless laugh and shook his head. "Why do you feel like I should make this expense? We've already had our little shopping spree."
Cas rolled his eyes with a small chuckle. Placing the sword in his hand down, leaning it against the nearby work bench, he reached for the one in the blacksmiths hand. It was an elegant piece of work, more so than the other. Not that the other wouldn't do well in battle, but this one was a pure masterpiece. Light in hand and sharp as anything. The waves added that extra strength that was needed to pack a punch, "If you don't know how, maybe now is the time to learn." He promoted. He guessed Hylas wasn't one to make unnecessary expenses. Not that this was unnecessary, but he knew he would be reluctant to buying both. It was his job to convince him otherwise, "I don't doubt your abilities, Hylas, however daggers aren't exactly the best weapon in war." Too small. Gave the enemy a chance to get too close, resulting in wounds and deaths that didn't need to happen. Having a weapon that kept the enemy at arms length, literally, was better, in his mind, anyway. Cas had seen too many soldiers fall because of it, and he would be damned to let Hylas die that way. The thought rattled him for a moment. He was an assassin, why would it matter if he died on the field? "Besides, if we have both, I can teach you." The chances of receiving a quick response from his father would be slim, resulting in the two of them spending more time than either of them wanted. If they were to do so, maybe they could be productive while they waited.
Hylas could hear the truth in the prince's words. Opportunity. Safety. Necessity. Advantage. There was so much value. He wanted to listen to the urges inside of him that told him to take the sword as an investment and give up his gold. But insecurity and fear always outweighed temptation and he had to shake his head. "That's well and noble of you to offer, Cas, but I really have no need." Hylas sighed, shrugging with the casual regret of someone who had no control over an unfortunate event. "And you've got bigger things to worry about than some commoner's swordsmanship." Reaching for the sword, he wanted to shake his head again and scoff at the prince's poor encouragement. Nobles and Royals; they think it's so easy to give into whims, no matter how detrimental they might be to a poor man. Selfish, childish, spoiled, self-indulgent, f— A cold shiver ran up his right arm; the arm holding the sword in a feather-soft grip. Cas and the blacksmith were gone. His thoughts had died and a quiet thrill had replaced them. Did all knights feel like this? Something in the cold weight of that slender mirror translated into a cloudy shock of power through his body, and Hylas submitted to it. He felt his mouth open and close with his loss of words, and slowly, he leaned the shining weapon against the cobble walls. Wordlessly, he reached for his pouch and paid for both.
