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

Started March 15, 2023 by @ElderGod-kirky group

tune

Eurion had always felt more comfortable at night, ever since he was a child. Maybe it was because his powers were strongest at night, or perhaps it was because it was easy to disappear from reality in the shadows he surrounded himself with. He had never paid more than five minutes of thought towards the idea, only because it was distracting and, more often than not, caused him to reflect on how he felt - which never ended well, not at his age. Whatever it was, the assassin didn't practically care. His life revolved around death, and by this point, he practically reeked of it.

The Old Gods only made themselves known to him when they needed a death, and it seemed that they needed a death more and more often as the days went by. That didn't surprise him. The longer the years went by the more powerful the High Witches became, and there was no way that the Old Gods were going to let their creations become more powerful than them. Eurion had never questioned why he out of all people had been one of the Chosen. He figured it was because he already had a skill set that fit whatever criteria the Gods seemed to have when it came to picking their assassins that when the time came it had been an easy choice. His parents had been proud, though more worried than anything that the life would lead to something terrible happening to their son. They hadn't been entirely wrong, but the assassin knew that if they were watching him now, they might be more disappointed in all the killing.

But it didn't matter now. It was enough work to get by and survive and that was what mattered. A bed and some decent food every night and he was happy. Well, as happy as anyone would be in that instance. The Golden Hunter had made a name for himself doing the Old Gods' dirty work. He heard what was said about him behind his back, in bars and inns across the country. None of it was sunshine and rainbows. But Eurion gave less than two shits.

It was what had led him to where he was now - scaling the large castle walls in order to slip through one of the windows to kill the two twins of the Mac Arthfael family. It had taken weeks of planning. The defences were stronger than any other that Eurion had seen when it came to nobility and High Witches - probably because they were royalty. Every door and gateway guarded, patrols that change more often than most. It made sneaking in difficult, but not impossible. He'd been an assassin for over a century, and he wasn't an amateur.

And so, as he climbed the cobbled walls and slipped silently through the window, landing with nothing but a soft whoosh from the wind outside to alert someone that a window had been opened, Eurion was inside. Had his cape not been covering his face his mouth would have been on the ground. The grandeur of the place was one to marvel at, and he had to take a moment to appreciate the amount of work that must have been put into creating a place so beautiful. It rivalled that of the Fae.

With the shadows behind him, the Golden Hunter moved through the shadows - sticking to walls and drapes that cast any moonlight away, allowing him to lurk and hunt virtually undetected. All he had to do was make it to each of the Prince's chambers and kill them without altering the guards - should be easy enough.

Despite Draíochta Síoraí only becoming an official kingdom 1,300 years after her founding, the castle was a monument from her birth. Two millennium is a long time—plenty of time to grow a castle with each passing generation. Fortifications, of course, were one of the main things regularly updated and bettered. But the grandeur and comfort, the sheer vastness of the building itself, only grew with each ruler and each expert of their time brought in to make improvements, or adjustments. If you went further through the castle, you could start making out the differences, as if the builders hadn't wanted to mess with what came before, but rather blend their work together to honor those that came before them. It wasn't gaudy by any means, with pointless displays of wealth, but rich with signs of life. Plants, high windows, well-loved furniture, path-trodden rugs and old woven tapestries.

The two princes had called this place home their entire lives, knowing nothing else. And as a result, they were used to assassination attempts by those crafty enough to get past everything standing in their way. Rule number one: don't be so foolish to be in your chambers at the expected time.

Unfortunately for the entire staff and their sanity, Caoimhe rather disliked following that rule.

"Magpie," the prince whined, reaching out and looping his arm around Aideen's waist. "Nothing is going to happen. Come to bed with me. I rather like having you in my bed at the same time that I am in bed." He tugged her closer, and she stood between his legs, hands pressed to his chest to keep some semblance of distance. "Please?"

Aideen sighed and dropped a kiss to his forehead as she idly unlaced his tunic from the day. "Unfortunately, baby boy, I have a job to do. You can survive without me for another hour or so. I'll still be in bed with you eventually." Caoimhe huffed indignantly, spotted an open patch of skin on her throat, and leaned in to bite it. Aideen sucked in a breath against the sting, but it was soon gone, soothed by his magic. The bite mark, on the other hand…

"You're going to make me look like I consort with vampires," she scolded, but he only looked pleased with himself. Aideen shoved him away by the horns and backed off before he could trap her in his arms again. "Now that I've been assaulted by my charge, I need to go. Do try to behave, please? My job is hard enough already with you instigating fights with all the nobles."

Caoimhe hummed and leaned back on his palms, grinning like an imp. "Mmm, not my fault they're prudes." She rolled her eyes and left him with a flash of her middle finger, then slipped out of his chambers to stand guard by his door.

As he was the first prince, his rooms were the first in the hall, so Aideen had the advantage of stopping anyone suspicious before they made it to any of the other rooms. But, as she also liked to play games, she shifted into her magpie form and perched atop a plant pot just outside the entrance to the hallway. Hardly anyone ever suspected birds to be guards, let alone ones that had an eye for anything shifty, given her childhood of thieving and trickery. It was also comfortable for her, embracing the warmth of her magic and fluffing up her feathers. She chattered to herself a little, almost like a sigh, and set her sharp eyesight about on a quick swivel.

For a castle so grand and royalty so strong, Eurion was more than surprised at the lack of guards he found as he trailed along the far end of the hall. He would have thought there would have been a guard at least every door he came across, especially that of the prince's. As he drew finally only a few meters away from Caoimhe's door, he stopped. Eurion had always been one to trust his gut over his magic, for even though it seemed to know and sense what was beyond his normal sight, he still, in over a century, was too idiotic enough to trust it. If magic could talk, it would yell, and potentially slap him across the head for being a dumbass.

As he crouched behind a large pillar, his gut lurched. The assassin wasn't nervous, no, he had never let his nerves get the better of him as of yet, but more so because it felt far too easy. He'd never known a castle so grand in all his years that would leave their royalty unguarded - especially when it came to royalty like the Mac Arthfeal's. But as his eyes scanned the darkness, Eurion saw nothing. He couldn't sense a presence watching him in the shadows, nor any shadow or figure that may come charging down the hall when he finally stepped out to cross.

Eurion looked to the large wooden door, taking into account how many locks he might have to get past, who might be waiting on the other side apart from Caoimhe and who else he might have to kill tonight if they got in his way. The near silence in the hallway was almost deafening as he waited, biding his time to be sure that there were no guards hidden away and who would pop out at the last second.

If there were, the assassin didn't feel them, and either they were talented beyond belief, or there really just… were none. He shifted his cloak, making sure it was fashioned securely around his face before finally, he stood, glancing to each side of the hall before stepping silently onto the worn-torn carpet and towards the door.

For the most part, Aideen idly groomed herself and acted as a normal bird would, stretching her wings and fluffing out her feathers when a breeze floated through the hall. It didn't take long for Aideen to see an odd warping of the shadows. She kept up her ministrations so as to not bring attention onto her, but kept a careful eye on the spot. Waiting. If there truly was an intruder, then they were at least smart enough to hesitate. Timing was everything, especially when dealing with unknown factors like guards or even a wayward servant scurrying along. She commended them for that decision, even if she silently laughed at the challenge she'd face if her instincts were correct.

The shadow moved, then revealed a masked figure—heading straight for Caoimhe's door. Bingo.

It was laughable, really, how confident this assassin seemed to be. No guards at all in the hall for the royal chambers? Either this wannabe was an idiot, or a veteran taking their chances on the palace being the dumb ones and this being an easy kill.

Aideen stretched, shook herself out, then took off out of the plant's leaves with a shrill cry, like a normal old startled magpie. In the air, she circled and fluttered, screeching—alerting—before coming up with a split-second plan. Taller than her, but skilled enough to be as silent as a cat's paws on the carpet. Sure in her element of surprise, she dove for the assassin's back. Closer and closer, before pulling up at the last second and shifting. Aideen crashed into the assassin's back, back to her normal form, and followed them onto the floor where she perched herself atop them and pressed her weight into their shoulders. There was an excited chirp to her voice as she spoke.

"Hello there."

Eurion's head had snapped up towards the screeching of the bird, though in the moment had definitely not seen it coming. They tumbled to the ground and he grunted, feeling his head hit the carpet and his body suppressed under that of the person now inconveniently on top of him. His dark eyes narrowed through his mask, and had his face been visible, it would have shown that he was scowling. He should have known it was too easy, and now here they were. The assassin presumed that whoever this was had to be the prince's personal guard. Why else would they be stationed outside the chambers? Eurion could feel the magic radiating off of her. It made sense - having a guard that was of magical strength to protect them. Not many had been given abilities as Eurion had. Many assassins he knew were human and possessed no magic in their entire body. Hells, a rock had more magic inside it than a human did these days.

He bared his teeth, "Get off me." He knew she wouldn't, but what else was he supposed to say? 'Hi, how's it going? I've come to kill your princes because they pose a threat to the Old Gods.' Her voice was already getting on his nerves and she'd only said two words.

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.