Ayara skipped over his question regarding her name, having no clue what it meant. All she knew was that it was a name she was given, which most would only correlate to being the name of a killer, if anyone besides a select few individuals knew her name. She doubted anyone could really tell her what it meant, given it was a fairly unusual name. The meaning itself was likely nothing unusual if it shared any similarity with other names.

She was silent through his ramblings, but proceeded to ponder his words for a moment, thinking over what he’d said. “It's a pretty way of thinking of the world. ‘Tis a shame that most people don’t share that way of thinking.” Her irritation had been replaced with a more melancholy feeling, one that she wasn’t all too sure she enjoyed. It was odd to find a common ground of sorts between them, given they seemed vastly different in so many other ways. A prince who hated simply being a prince and an assassin who hadn’t gotten much of a choice when it came to a career. It wasn’t much of a commonality, but at least she found a field in which she could agree with him. The ‘being important’ part was a portion she was unsure of, unless it came to her essentially being a grim reaper to far too many. In a way that did make her important, just not in the way she’d want to be.

She let herself think over the words for a few moments longer, though changed focus when he asked a question. “No one. Or technically I did. Not really anyone around that volunteers to teach that sort of thing.” It did come as a surprise to her that he seemed more intrigued in the matter than terrified. An unusual response, but far more pleasant than the usual hostility. Hence why she rarely used it unless in private or in the most dire of circumstances. It was a gift, in a way. But more a curse than anything. It could keep her alive, or make an already bad situation far worse. Often she wasn’t sure whether it would be her occupation or this ability that would lead to her eventual demise.

“Why do you ask?” Ayara briefly glimpsed back at him, noting the expression he wore. It was similar to how she’d felt when she first discovered she could use magic, before reality made it clear that it wasn’t all pleasant.Thinking about the past left her feeling bitter, having old regrets at ever learning to use magic. At this point it was necessary for her, as the more contracts she took on the more people tried to kill her, the more often they nearly succeeded. In many ways, her life wasn’t her own. She’d been dragged into it at a young age, and now there was no way out. No appealing way out at least.

if you'd like, feel free to skip ahead in time to when they get to the cabin or any kind of event you wanna throw in there to spice things up :))

Henry shrugged, though his eyes still glittered with curiosity. And something else, too--something that looked an awful lot like pain. It was hidden, it just barely let itself be seen. Yet, it existed. It begged to be asked about, to be brought to light. As quickly as it had come to the surface, though, it faded into nothingness, leaving nothing but a blank stare in its place. “Someone I once knew practiced that kind of magic,” he replied, trying far too hard to force nonchalance when the air around him reeked of grief. “There’s not many of you left, especially those who practice in the open like this. I’m sorry to admit it’s not a safe place anymore--nowhere is.”

As they found their way back onto the trail, Henry fell silent for a longer while than he was probably thought capable. His furrowed brow was the only indication of the deep, reminiscent thinking he had succumbed to. The rest of his body had just fallen into a comfortable walking stride that matched Ayara’s, slowed significantly in order to make her feel as though she didn’t have to rush to keep up with him. He considered telling her, he was quite tempted in fact. But he knew it wasn’t the right time--not yet.

There was no way that she could have ‘taught herself.’ It just wasn’t possible. Magic could linger in someone, it could lie dormant for years. But it took someone with active magic to activate magic within someone else, and even then, it took time and effort to learn to actually utilize it. Once or twice in his life Henry had seen someone whose magic had been activated out of spite or strategy, and they never made it past the first two weeks. Wielding that level of power was a liability in itself, and doing it without proper training was nearly instant demise. He’d seen the horrors of it first hand. That was why people feared them so much, that was why it wasn’t safe for them anymore. That was why he had lost people that he loved.

Yet, he couldn’t tell her yet. Not yet. Not about her own magic, and surely not about his own experiences with it. He hadn’t even written about it in his journals, he had just allowed his mind to become numb and his body to follow. He had to be the only one to know the truth, he had to carry it around with him. For safe-keeping, he had convinced himself, but it had created so much more in the way of individual damage than it ever could have if he had confided in someone. Now it felt futile, he would have to take that burden with him to his grave.

Ayara settled into the silence effortlessly, directing her awareness on the path and the directions that were given to her. Despite this, her thoughts kept circling back to what he had stated, or more so what hadn’t. Something had led to him growing silent, and she wasn’t all too fond of identifying what it was. Especially if it had anything to do with her magic. It seemed he knew more than her about the topic, something possible, given she knew just about nothing besides what knowledge she’d gathered in her spare time, which was uncommon enough. Besides, books weren’t a really trustworthy source when they could easily be outdated.

Sometimes it seemed as if she knew quite little about anything besides weapons, killing, and solidarity. Considering that was what most of her life seemed to amount to, it actually came as no surprise. In some ways, she was lucky enough that her mentor had even bothered to educate her to any extent, even if it was just so that she could blend in at fancy parties if she needed to. She could talk for hours about what poisons to use if you wanted to kill someone quickly or if you wanted to give them a slow, excruciating death. Or, she could go into great detail about a kingdom’s policies and what they traded with, as well as with whom. Nothing that seemed to be actually useful outside of doing a job she hadn’t even chosen.

She cut off that train of thought as abruptly as it had begun, trying to keep herself from becoming irritated over the past. She wasn’t sure why she was so unnerved about the circumstances of her life now. Maybe something that was said seemed to draw attention to it, or maybe the irritations had just grown for too long. There was no use in her dwelling on the past, given she could do nothing about it now. All she could do now was whatever this job was. Protect the prince, and hopefully not die while doing so.

Her focus was split, in such a way that she didn’t recognize the passing of time, nor the turns she took. Soon enough they could see a cabin before them, a pair of horses hitched outside. There was a feeling similar to relief that she felt, glad to have arrived with little trouble. It seemed to be hidden well enough that it shouldn’t end up being discovered, not unless one knew where to look. How long were they expected to be hidden away? Until the threat the kingdom faced had disappeared. Or, until the kingdom itself was in ruins? She was well aware it could go either way, and she despised being dragged into the middle of it all. If she had any luck, it would be a simple case of hiding out until someone came to fetch them. An idea that was most unlikely.

Henry had felt the burden of his own silence greater than anyone else and although he could have easily said a few words to create the security he desired, anything he said seemed too something. Too elitist, too academic, too mundane, too ordinary, too extraordinary. He had just given up, given into the silence. He considered himself to be a rather odd individual, someone who was equally social and antisocial. He could spend weeks holed up in his study, researching his latest obsession with no company but his thoughts, yet he was the same man who would do anything to keep a conversation with someone intriguing from dying.

Of course, he found his new companion extremely intriguing. Everything about her was fascinating from her body language to the scar that cut across her eye. It told small fragments of the stories he was so attracted to, so enamored by in everyone he had come across. He would sell his soul just to hear a story from someone that had lived a little, and Ayara of course was no exception. She was teeming with them, the stories were alive in her eyes and in the scars on her body and anywhere else the young prince could manifest them. He was wishing them into existence, just below the surface. He could accept those stories for now, until he built enough trust with her to unlock the ones that were hidden closest to her, that were kept in the deepest, murkiest waters of her being. He recognized that in order to earn those, he would have to share some of his own, and then he began to feel conflicted in his emotions. Half of him was impulsive, he wanted to share everything about himself in seconds. He wanted to hand over his heart and his soul and his being to anyone who would give him a second glance. Yet, he had the strongest desire to be mysterious, to be desirable, to be misunderstood. There were things he knew he was capable of telling her, but decided to hold on to. Perhaps he was being impulsive, and it was just the glow of a new person rubbing off on him, perhaps he would come to regret sharing any of the things he felt validated in telling her in that moment. All he knew was that, in that moment, he was nothing but what she wanted him to be. An empty canvas, water looking for a container to take the shape of. He could be so easily molded into what she wanted him to be, and though he felt a tad ashamed of how easily he could succumb to these pesky crises of identity, he reminded himself that they made up a large sum of his identity all in themselves.

“My father is an interesting man. I swear he has a secret life--probably many. It seems a new secret of his is unraveled with each gust of wind that cascades down this mountain.”

Crossing his arms, then quickly uncrossing them, he stopped directly in front of the cabin door, then turned and went towards the horses. Instead of pausing and returning to his last movement, he remained with the horses, his demeanor softened further by the large beasts. He was ashamed to admit he didn’t know the least about caring for them, but judging by the abundant resources before them Henry acknowledged that he would have time to let anxiety over a projected incompetence stew before he would have to face it in a few days’ time. After ensuring that the large beings were cared for, he proceeded inside, holding the door open in a chivalrous manner for his companion.

The cabin wasn’t much, it certainly didn’t have the flair that one may expect from the mountainside chalet of a royal family. Of course, Henry still wasn’t convinced that this building didn’t have a thousand secrets of its own. “If a building could talk, what stories it would tell,” he observed the structure with a keen, curious gaze before flopping down on the chaise that was positioned directly in front of the fireplace, sprawled out in a dramatic fashion. After a matter of moments mostly spent watching Ayara take in the ambiance of the space herself, he groaned childishly before adding, “this may be the most entitled musing to pass through my lips in all twenty-three years of life, but what I wouldn’t give to be at a ball in this present moment.” His stormcloud blue gaze followed her around the room for a few moments more before he inquired, “I imagine you’ve been to many a ball in your day. Have you ever gotten to enjoy one, though? Forgive my presumptions, but you don’t seem quite the type.”

Impulsively, he rose from the piece of furniture in a less dramatic fashion, scanning the cabin once more. “It seems you and I will be in close quarters for the time being. I suppose this could be the social experiment of the decade, considering neither you nor I spend much time out of our own self-designed enclosure of solitude.” He paused a moment, glancing around at the space. It was modestly sized at best, decorated with a few rugs, a bed, a table and chairs, a few dressers, cabinets, and the like, and then the fireplace and the chaise he had just risen from. “I suppose that last thought was redundant, forgive my rambling.” More grimly, he added, “I fear this will not be the tranquil asylum my father believes. He has always been naive.” Henry’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I fear this time it will cost him his life and those of many others, too. I don’t foresee many making it out of this alive, if it is what they say.”

Ayara hovered a short distance away, scoping out the area and making note of escape routes and hiding places. No place was truly safe, no matter how well hidden away it was. If they were found, a possibility she would not deny, it would be better for her to have a route of escape rather than running blindly through the mountains. Her mind was tricky, always reading the terrain and deciding safe paths to take in the case of danger, even if nothing happened. Often she didn’t even realize she was doing so. Not until she caught herself musing over how a tree would be a great place to perch for an ambush or how a dense patch of woods would be a great place for someone to go missing.

It was a struggle to get out of that mindset, particularly when she needed to actually interact with another individual. Which was something she should probably do now, but she wasn’t sure what to say. What could she say besides what was going through her mind? She wasn’t the strongest when it came to social interactions, but she was at least certain that murder wasn’t a popular conversation topic. Instead, she observed. One of her limited skills that actually seemed to be of some use with overcoming new obstacles. Even if she was only using it to navigate the complications of social relations. Besides, one could learn a lot about another without ever conversing.

“It seems everyone has a secret life nowadays.” Secrets. Such a strange thing that everyone seemed to have, even herself. But was a secret really worth your life? Nearly everyone she was ever hired to kill was killed over some secret. Whether it was an affair, a backhanded remark, or simply competition. She wasn’t sure whether to consider it pathetic or simply just sad. Maybe it was pathetically miserable.

Ayara followed close behind as he entered the cabin, relieved that it wasn’t some posh retreat like she’d feared. Though she would have preferred a little more space, given it really didn’t seem to be designed to house more than one occupant. She walked slowly about the space, her eyes rolling at Henry’s dramatic recline. It seemed that there was little she understood about him. Not that she cared to try to. She figured she’d only get more confused whilst doing so. Instead, she paced around the room, counting the steps between the door and the far side of the cabin. Occasionally glimpsing through a window, deciphering where someone could hide and not be seen from the occupants of the cabin.

She gave a small chuckle in response to his complaint, a response that was likely unexpected to come from her. “Once. Never since then.” It was a vague response to his question, but she wasn’t inclined to give a more meaningful explanation. Having satisfied her curiosity in terms of the interior of the cabin, she turned her attention back towards the prince. She was usually quite talented when it came to reading people and deciphering their intentions despite her blatant lack of social skills in actual conversation, but she wasn’t quite sure how to figure him out. Maybe that was for the better, but it would quite likely bug her the longer she remained in his presence. Knowing when people were lying or keeping secrets was something she prided herself on, oddly enough. It made each contract less of a mindless mission to kill and more of a puzzle. A puzzle in which the main goal was to take something apart rather than to piece it back together.

“We are in agreement in regards to that. Lets just hope that we don’t end up on the list of casualties, or at least that you don’t. Besides, tranquility is quite boring.” For a person talking about death, her own included, her tone was fairly uncaring and didn’t carry the gravity that one would expect. Some would likely find it insensitive for her to care so little about so many potentially losing their lives. Given her profession, it was what people expected, and she was so used to abiding the expectations of others. It was a shortcoming of hers to not really express the level of empathy that was expected, particularly in such a situation. Not that she really saw it as a flaw herself, but people tended to take offence when she didn’t express the same level of emotion as they did.

Eventually her pacing about the room halted, settling herself against a wall opposite from the other in the room. Her eyes seemed to cut through the shadows of the mask that concealed the upper portions of her face, her expression nearly unreadable. “I’m a bit surprised that you aren’t more concerned I may still kill you despite the threats your guards made. You seem more concerned about the likely deaths of others than your own.” She tilted her head, regarding him with open curiosity. “Not that it’s a bad thing, but it does differ you from the others who share your station.” A slight frown overtook her features as she fell into silence. Eventually she spoke again after a long pause, her tone having switched to resemble a feeling of strong dislike that she’d previously buried. “Too many men try to barter their lives for others, their children included.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” he retorted, finding his way towards the extended cove that passed as a kitchen. He opened the cabinets in a methodical fashion until finally he found what he had been searching for: bottles of mystery liquid that could all be passed under the broad blanket of alcohol. He seemed pleased with himself for finding the stash of it and did not delay in pouring two glasses of something that was probably older than him, covering the room once more and offering the other glass to Ayara. “Most of the men my father deems as friends are wretched. I wouldn’t mind seeing the lot of them dead under different circumstances. It’s just,” he paused, his expression melancholic and forlorn once more. This look of tangible pain and expression seemed to fit the stormy hues of his eyes. “All of the innocent people that will be slaughtered as the means to an end, that is what I cannot live with.”

Sighing, Henry sat back down in the chaise. It was a stormy, misty day but the humidity provided a sense of warmth that delayed the need of a fire for another few hours. It was only late afternoon, though it felt like they had been ascending the mountain for hours, and with all of their supplies gathered there was little to do but converse and consume whatever alcohol Henry could find in the cabinets. “It feels counterproductive to be sitting here in a cabin in the mountains while so many people are down there, blind to the horrors that may await them tomorrow.” His gaze had fallen to the amber-colored intoxicant in his glass. He would shift the angle at which he held it, tracing the ripples that fell across the surface. “I suppose it would be futile to try and rescue them now, though I would like nothing more than to take the path we trailed off of all the way back to the town where they all gather. If they’re not meant to die, I will only create mass hysteria and mistrust. And, well, if they are,” he swallowed, brooding and forlorn, “news will spread and they will only be killed faster.”

He rose again, pacing the wooden floors. He stopped every now and again at the window that overlooked the town, almost expectant that it would have erupted in flames in the fleeting moments of his absence. “The truth is, I want to be anywhere but here. I would like to go and save at least a few hundred innocents. I would like to be with my father in his death, and perhaps in my own. I do not fear death the way many so commonly do.” He sighed, then emptied his glass, pouring more. It was glaringly obvious now that he was trying to debilitate himself, to drink himself to the point where he could no longer pace or consider being martyred for the sake of a few hundred innocent lives. He sat back down, no longer wanting to ask Ayara about death, or about her favorite way to kill a man. He didn’t want to think about death. He didn’t want to think, period. Yet, his brain was unable to be numbed, even by the drink in his hands. He sighed once more, realizing that she had mentioned so much to him that he had not absorbed. There was no point now in trying to recall it, or even in resenting it. He was completely distanced from the cabin, from her, from any of it. His mind was a million miles away, and his sanity was quickly following. In a bitter, heavy silence, the young prince allowed himself to suffocate in his own impending doom.

Ayara kept silent, averting her gaze away. Instead she contemplated the glass she’d accepted, downing it a moment later. Liquor wasn’t her preferred poison of choice, but at least it helped cover the shame and guilt that had risen in her. Whatever the prince wanted, she couldn’t give it to him. Whether that was words of comfort or assurance, or whatever else he could be seeking. Hundreds of people may die, a reality that seemed to hardly bother her. She wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to care. Especially if caring would lead to her entering the same descent from sanity the prince was following. It was good that he cared for his people, it reminded her that not all people were awful. At the same time, it reminded her that she hardly seemed human. Or at least she didn’t display the level of emotions expected of one. Just a hundred innocent people dying was no matter to care little about, but she already carried the guilt of having caused far more. While the cause was indirect, it didn’t prevent the lives from ending.

The now empty glass was set down with a dull thud, a deep breath being sucked into her lungs. She pushed herself off the wall, her gaze wandering towards the prince who seemed hardly there at all. To some extent, she was concerned. It wasn’t the wisest choice to deal with one's misery by drowning it in alcohol. Not that she was one to talk, having done so herself nearly a thousand times. Instead of saying anything she wandered over towards the cabinet he’d pulled the liquid from, eyeing the bottles within. Enough to keep someone drunk for a good while, or to simply put them out of their misery. She hoped he was aiming for the prior and not the latter, though it was difficult to tell with the way he was looking. He’d likely be moping for some time, lost in whatever depressing cycle of thoughts he was circling through.

“If you decide you want company or simply some fresh air, I’ll be outside.” The statement was brief, her tone far kinder than it would usually be. She made her way towards the door, pausing before stepping out. “Try not to drink yourself to death.” The door had shut and she was gone the moment the words had finished leaving her lips, her pace quick as she half jogged a short distance from the cabin. Leaving him alone was most definitely an unwise decision, but her hope was that he’d pull himself out of his despair on his own. She didn’t know him well enough to try and offer advice, nor was it her place. Her role was to simply be a glorified nanny. If he wanted to drown himself in the wonders of alcohol, then so be it.

Her movements had led her to the base of a fir tree opposite of the cabin’s front door, a location in which she proceeded to seat herself on the pine needle coated ground and ignore the presence of the cabin. The chances of the prince leaving that cabin were slim, given the abundance of liquor and his unsurprisingly grim thoughts. As the assassin she would have figured to be the more uncheerful of the pair of them, but she’d been quite easily proved wrong. Though with the threat hanging over them, cheerful wouldn’t really make that much sense. Maybe she should have stayed in the cabin and tried to steer the conversation down a more pleasant route. She wouldn’t know how to even if she tried, and would likely only make things worse, similar to how her words already seemed to have played a role in his spiral into madness.

Henry sat in silence for a few moments after Ayara had left, simply processing her departure. He had considered leaving too, but he had realized that it was far from the mature decision to make, so he had been pacing the floorboards in the presence of an assassin instead of obtaining the solitude he craved. Once she was gone, he thought about it more. He thought about the fact that he wasn’t under the authority of anyone other than himself. For just a moment, his mind was occupied, and he grabbed for the journal he had slipped in the pocket of his leather vest. It was empty, it smelled new. He put it up to his nose, breathing in the scent of his study, the scent of home. He placed it down on the table before the chaise and began writing. What is it like to have complete, unrestricted freedom over your person?

Closing the journal after the ink had dried, Henry slipped the journal back into his vest, hidden from sight. He had written that question down to ask Ayara at a more convenient time. When he spoke, he typically rambled, and often regretted not asking about the things he contemplated in isolation. If he didn’t write it down, it would plague his mind for eons, and he preferred to keep his mind as tidy a place as possible. When left to his own devices once more, though, he began to panic.

He couldn’t breathe, the air came out in ragged gasps. He could feel the lives of his people weighing on his subconscious, as if he were connected to them. He felt as if he could telepathically connect with them, as if his mind was warranted in graphically envisioning the mass murders of every single person he loved. Every time he closed his eyes, it was there. He couldn’t tell if it was real or if it was just his imagination. He couldn’t blink, he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything from this cabin in the woods, he was completely and utterly helpless. And, by this point, he was also at five drinks consumed.

Stumbling out of the cabin, Henry’s eyes were intense, they were filled with pain and grief and shock and loss and every other emotion that could flood the senses. It was as if he had actually witnessed something traumatic, as if his imagination hadn’t just convinced him he had. His skin had paled, and he almost felt disappointed with his body. Why wasn’t it shaking? Why wouldn’t tears flood his face? Why wasn’t his body showing what his mind felt?

He wasn’t sure how long he had been sitting in there, but when he reunited himself with the outdoors he found the sun to have dropped significantly. It wasn’t quite dusk, just a hair before. The sun had peeked out from behind the angry storm clouds of the afternoon, beaming down on him and making him more emotional. How dare the weather be pleasant on the day the world would end as he knew it?

He spotted Ayara. He wasn’t sure how, given the fact that she was hidden beneath a gargantuan fir tree. She was so close to the door of the cabin that she remained hidden in plain sight, and he realized that even in leisure she remained everything that her reputation demanded she be. Her back was faced from the cabin, though, towards the mountainside. She looked like something divine with the golden beams of the sun cast down upon her, the shadows of the tree contrasting it and making everything around her dark. He almost felt bad disturbing her, she was something of a reverie to a man who was intoxicated beyond reason.

He sat down beside her so quietly he wasn’t even sure she knew that he was there. Then, he reminded himself that he was rather drunk, and he probably wasn’t as discreet as he thought himself to be. He studied the scenery before them, though it wasn’t quite as much to look at as he imagined it would be. The trees blocked most of the view of the land below, all that was really visible were the green fields at the base of the mountain. Perhaps it was better this way, out of sight and out of mind.

Finally, after a long, dreary silence, Henry croaked out a sentence. His tone was pained and full of desperation and defeat. “What if we went back?”

Ayara had found her peace in the quiet of the mountain, a silence she felt more accepting than any silence created by a lack of social interaction. For a period she was still, leaning her head back against the trunk of the fir and letting her senses flood with what was around her. She always felt more comfortable in the wilderness. Maybe it was the unpredictability of it that drew her to it. A trait that seemed to contrast people. It was rare for her to be surprised by anyone’s intentions or interests, as they were quite frequently all looking for the same thing. Nature was different. It could be harsh and cruel one second, then kind and gentle the next. She expected the unexpected, and was often surprised nonetheless. While the unexpected outcome may be unappealing, such as a severe storm, it didn’t bother her as much as it may someone else.

She wasn’t still for too long, pulling a whetstone from her pouch and one of her swords from its sheath. Having as many blades as she did, and them being as necessary to her survival as they were, sharpening them was a common part of her day. Routine kept her from letting her worries get to her, even if she rarely had much of a routine besides a couple of repeated tasks. The sound of the stone against the steel was soothing, at least to her. Some may find the noise irritating or unappealing. To her it was a sound that meant safety or simply stability. It was rare for anything to be stable in her career, given her constant moving from place to place. The smallest grasp of such an idea was enough to keep her sane most of the time.

The process was quick, a couple minutes at most spent on a blade. Sharpening them to a point that was too fine would make the blades brittle, a lesson she’d learned the hard way. Some could say she cared more for the blades than she did herself, and in some ways they would be right. They were what made her something, even if that something wasn’t a good something. After being at it for nearly her entire lifetime, the idea of good and bad seemed to hardly bother. If someone directly told her that killing people for money was bad, she’d be hardly bothered. A younger her would have cared, maybe even tried to come up with an excuse. Except it was over a decade too late to go back.

The last dagger was slipped back away only a short bit before the prince emerged from the cabin, Ayara having since returned to be nearly statuesque. Her eyes were lightly shut, her head rested back against the trunk once more as she attempted to identify the birds in the trees from the sounds of their calls. It was more of a guessing game that would have more incorrect answers than correct ones, given she knew very little about birds and how to identify their calls. She hadn’t been aware that he had excited the cabin til his footsteps drew closer, though she didn’t provide any acknowledgement of his presence. It was unexpected that he left that cabin, given she’d been so certain that he’d spend quite a while drinking. The fact that he’d drunk more after she’d left wasn’t up to debate due to his movements and the smell of alcohol that followed him.

After his arrival, the silence continued, just as she had expected. It wasn’t til he spoke did she stir from where she’d hidden in her thoughts, briefly looking towards where Henry was sat beside her. What would happen if they went back? She wasn’t quite sure what to say at first, whether to say what she was thinking or what he wanted to hear. She preferred the first of the two options, given she didn’t enjoy lying even if the truth wasn’t what the person wanted to hear. Even then, she wasn’t even sure what the truth would be in this case. It most definitely wasn’t what he’d want to hear, given the way he spoke and the general state he appeared to be in. She wasn’t even sure what would happen if she confirmed his fears or simply hinted that the worst could happen. She wasn’t good at handling any situation that involved emotion, even when it was her own.

“If things are to be as bad as you fear, then we’d likely die alongside everyone else. In the chance they are not, I suspect your father won’t be too pleased that we returned, and send you back out here with some other protector who won’t let you return.” Ayara sighed, the gray-blue of her eyes locked on the sky before her. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to what she said, figuring he’d either panic more or maybe come to his senses. “I can’t tell you that everything will be okay, that no ones going to die. It may be what you want to hear but it's not going to make the pain better. Especially when it’s not the reality of the situation.”

I have no actual plans for this, feel free to make it as drama or as not drama as you want <3

“And would that really be so bad,” his voice was sullen and faint, the words spoken only after he had taken a long contemplative silence. Perhaps that was the most concerning part, the fact that his words were not rash or negligent of consideration. He had considered it, and he still felt the same. “Me dying? Would it really be such a travesty if everyone I have ever known and loved won’t be here to see me live?” He glanced around like he was looking for the bottle he had been previously toting around, but stopped after a moment or two because he had either remembered it wasn’t with him or surrendered to the truth of the matter, which was that he didn’t need one more drop. He didn’t dare look in her direction, he didn’t trust her. He didn’t know her, she wasn’t someone to be trusted with the complete surrendering of his guard. Not yet, perhaps ever. She would have to earn his trust to see the full weight of his vulnerability.

“It’s pointless to talk if you can’t empathize with my point of view, so I’ll leave you to your own brooding.” His tone was even, but it was laced with ice. What was he feeling? Hurt? Betrayal? Anguish? Rejection? Was it even truly her blame to take, or was the sum of his entire world ending as he knew it causing him to find someone to blame? He sighed heavily as he stretched to his feet, feeling imperfect and broken and like someone who was so far from enough he could never understand what feeling satiated with oneself felt like. And eventually, at the end of all his feelings, all he could feel was absolutely nothing at all.

The next moments were spent hurling the glass bottle into the unlit fireplace, watching the glass erupt into flames. Then, somberly, he stood by the window that faced his home. He pretended he could see the lights of the castle through the star-strewn skyline, though it was well after dark. When his thoughts got too disturbing, he turned from the window and found himself on the chaise once more, lying in something of a fetal position with a blanket thrown over his frame. He knew there would be little sleep in store for him for the foreseeable future, but in his turbulence he thought it better to pretend to be sleeping when Ayara came in. He waited and waited for her to come in, trying to calm the loudness of his thoughts but allowing tears to trickle down his face instead. He wondered what she was doing out there. Sharpening her weapons? Gathering the resources for a fire? Had she taken the horses and left him there to fend for himself? Any alternative that put Ayara in danger had been blocked out of his mind. Though he knew her very little, the thought of losing even one person was enough to send him spiraling over the edge of himself.

Finally, after what felt like hours had passed, Henry was still feeling extremely restless and couldn’t find sleep. He had given up on the notion that he would pretend to be asleep when his counterpart entered, overcome by curiosity as to where she had gone. Somewhere in the back of his mind a rather unrealistic fantasy had manifested that she had gone to save at least some of the people in the kingdom. He knew it wasn’t true, but it didn’t stop him from finding comfort in it. From there, he came to the realization that if she had gone somewhere, he could make an escape and go back to save them. He was still far from sober, making the line between good decisions and bad decisions very, very blurred. Putting on boots and a long overcoat his father’s staff had brought up before their arrival, Henry slipped out of the cabin and into the obscurity of a moonless night. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was headed to find Ayara or to save an entire kingdom full of innocents, but he was headed there with a lack of rationality.