Hadrian looked at his reflection on the mirror. He leaned forward, feeling the coolness of the mirror on his forehead. He looked at the sharp features, at the barely seen wrinkles on his face, but wrinkles nonetheless. Gray eyes that looked back at him, and black hair that was still black, thank the gods, which obscured parts of his face.

How could he be so STUPID?

Everything was connected. Now that he thought of it… The tattoo on the man’s face was the mark of an Ablest. That man, that slayer on Marlas referred to the other as ‘Ablest’. Same voice, same height and build. Was he that idiotic to not see all the signs? Was he withering with age? Why? WHY DID HE MISS EVERYTHING?

He. Was. So. Stupid.

Hadrian drew back and slammed his fist into the mirror. It cracked, and then collapsed, the broken pieces falling down onto the ground and some getting lodged into his knuckles. He didn’t care about the pain. He needed to DESTROY something. ANYTHING. If he could, he would’ve given himself capital punishment, but he COULDN’T.

He. Was. So. Stupid.

Everything was laid before him like an open map. The abduction, the tattoo… everything was connected. It was so frighteningly obvious that Hadrian wanted to die out of shame. How could he miss those hints? Despite the hints being subtle, he should’ve seen it. Should’ve seen that Penril was in fact the Crown Prince, that Pen was simply a nickname to hide who he really was.

Oh, he was so stupid.

Hadrian picked out the mirror shards in his knuckle, and then bound it tightly. He watched the blood seep through the white, but made no other move to do anything else. There was no other option then. He would have to make Penril see that he was Prince, and his rightful place in the world, other than being Ablest.

He walked out of his room and went straight to the Prancing Pony, barging in suddenly and nearly tearing the door off its hinges. He could pay for that, but what was important was that Penril knew who he was. The Pony was oddly empty. Good. Made things easier. He spotted Penril behind the bar, as usual. He walked forward, intent on doing what he came for. He put both hands on the counter and leaned forward.

“You’re the Ablest.” He said as calm as he could in these circumstances.

Today was one of those days where Penril called for a day-off for his 'family' up in the Pony. Earlier today he'd put up the usual sign by the doors saying 'DAY OFF, THANK YOU VERY MUCH!'. The Prancing Pony was a place of happiness and laughter that in days like these, even Penril was not used to the sudden silence that pervaded these halls. The tables which he wanted to be always polished stood like statues, littered across the hall. The chairs were all gathered and drawn up by the walls, neatly piled up against one another. Himself, he stood behind the bar, leaning on the countertop as he looked at nothing in particular.

The delicious smell of Madam Carmeli's cooking wafted from the kitchen. Though he had dismissed most of the Pony's hands for today, some of them did not want to stop working, and Penril was not about to get in the way of what they wanted. He gave a big yawn that made his jaw creak ominously. Besides, they had people renting some rooms upstairs, and soon enough they'd get down here and ask for breakfast.

It wouldn't be bad if he got a shot or two, even if it was still early. He took a momentary trip down to the cellar, coming back with a bottle of his fine blue wine and his own personal goblet. He poured a bit of the crystal blue liquid in the goblet before taking it into his right hand and swilling it slowly.

That was when the door banged open.

He looked up, surprised. Lord Hadrian. Missed the sign, probably. Well, it was better than drinking alone. He just about opened his mouth to beckon the man closer, but it turned out he did not need to do so. The man came over, looking very intent over something. Penril stared as the man hand both hands on the counter. However Hadrian's greeting threw him off-guard.

“You’re the Ablest.”

The swilling of the wine stopped. Penril set down the goblet with a light click and took a careful look around. Nobody heard, hopefully. Not even Madam Carmeli. Good.

"Oh?" He said. "What makes you say that, sir?"

The swilling of the wine stopped. Penril set down the goblet with a light click and took a careful look around. Hadrian took note of it. While the bang of the door was loud, perhaps whoever was left in the establishment was too busy with their own chores.

"Oh?" He said. "What makes you say that, sir?"

“Don’t play coy with me, Penril, I’m not stupid.” He said. “You’re the leader. I recognize the tattoo on your face. I saw it years ago.” His knuckles turned white, and his injured hand bled a little more. “There’s no use denying it, Penril Tanith, because I know the truth.”

He gave him a calm, calculating gaze. He wasn’t drunk, he wasn’t insane. He was stating cold, hard facts that would either lead to his smoldering corpse or something else entirely. Personally, he hoped the kid would understand. With the King ill and all… Olencia needed the heir, or else everything was going to collapse. With Gayth eying the throne hungrily and Marlas still were having their feud with Calandae…

“When I was captain, I was commissioned by the King to protect his last living child.” He said calmly. “In the middle of the night, right after I had the guard changed, a slayer came barging into the castle, bearing the same tattoo on your face. I asked him why, and he said that the Prince… the King’s last hope… was going to be a slayer. Do you understand what I’m saying, Penril?”

He cleared his throat and looked around. No one. Thank the gods. It was a lot easier with only Penril to talk to. He had to make this speech carefully. If he couldn’t…. suffice it to say he would die trying.

“You were that child.” He said. “You were the child I was sent to protect. The child I failed to save and the child the kingdom lost. In effect, you are Crown Prince Penril of House Taran, son of High King Belenus.” He trailed off. “We… I…. owe you my allegiance.”

He gave Penril a sharp glare. He wasn’t kidding. “If you want proof, ask yourself this. How did you end up in the Slayer’s Keep in the first place? Why did your master not tell you anything where you came from? Why… was your master hesitant in having you in Olencia?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Penril, I’m not stupid.”

Penril kept his eyes at the wine, and after a few thoughtful moments, took a sip.

“You’re the leader. I recognize the tattoo on your face. I saw it years ago. There’s no use denying it, Penril Tanith, because I know the truth.”

He lifted his eyes and met gray ones. Another sip. The wine was piercingly cold down his throat, as if he had his entire food tube suddenly frozen.

“When I was captain, I was commissioned by the King to protect his last living child.” Lord Hadrian went on. “In the middle of the night, right after I had the guard changed, a slayer came barging into the castle, bearing the same tattoo on your face. I asked him why, and he said that the Prince… the King’s last hope… was going to be a slayer. Do you understand what I’m saying, Penril?”

He didn't answer. He remembered of course. Lord Hadrian had been young then. Didn't they use to play horse?

“You were that child.” Penril winced slightly at that. “You were the child I was sent to protect. The child I failed to save and the child the kingdom lost. In effect, you are Crown Prince Penril of House Taran, son of High King Belenus. We… I…. owe you my allegiance.”

Still, silence.

“If you want proof, ask yourself this. How did you end up in the Slayer’s Keep in the first place? Why did your master not tell you anything where you came from? Why… was your master hesitant in having you in Olencia?”

He finished his goblet of wine in one gulp. "Oh, I know that. I've forgotten over the years, some of the more important bits, you know, and I can't thank you enough for reminding me." He raised a single finger. "I appreciate having your...err, allegiance, but see. I don't have any interest in the crown whatsoever."

He poured some more of the blue liquid.

"I don't want anything to do with the throne."

Penril finished his goblet of wine in one gulp. Hadrian eyed him apprehensively. Since when did his past charge resort to alcohol? He remembered a few bits, like a rather embarrassing game that concerned him carrying the boy piggy-back style, running and screaming through the castle as if Death was right behind them. He nearly had a demerit for that too.

"Oh, I know that. I've forgotten over the years, some of the more important bits, you know, and I can't thank you enough for reminding me." He raised a single finger. "I appreciate having your...err, allegiance, but see. I don't have any interest in the crown whatsoever."

He poured some more of the blue liquid. "I don't want anything to do with the throne."

It hurt. It hurt so badly it stung. Hadrian reeled as if slapped. He blinked, narrowing his eyes at the same time. What foolishness was this? He was sorely tempted to strangle Penril, or even smash a chair over the idiotic boy’s head, but then he kept himself in check. He mustn’t get angry now. Not after everything. He made it this far with a perfect record, and he wanted it to stay that way.

“You’re a fool.” Hadrian said in reply. “When your father dies, the throne, if you should reject it, would go to Gayth, Marlas or Calandae. Three Houses, fighting over something that is in your possession alone.”

He massaged his injured hand. It still bled, but perhaps weaker. Soon, it would start to heal. Let it bleed. He thought. It’s a price to pay if I can do this right. “If you do not step forward now and identify yourself as the rightful heir, everything you have worked for as a Slayer will be lost. The uneasy peace I’ve managed to make in this city will be broken.” Hadrian said.

“Whether you like it or not, Penril, events are in motion that cannot be undone.” He tried to express his point. “If Gayth wins the throne, they will surely seek opponents and kill them. In little time, only House Gayth will exist, and if the other Houses are lucky, only a few purebloods remain. Can you live with such a burden?” Hadrian didn’t like to resort to that question, but times called for it. “Can you live with the knowledge that if you do not do what is right, every man, woman and child will suffer from the repercussion of your foolish decision?”

“You’re a fool.” Hadrian said in reply. “When your father dies, the throne, if you should reject it, would go to Gayth, Marlas or Calandae. Three Houses, fighting over something that is in your possession alone.”

Penril sighed and swilled the wine again. He kept his gaze onto the soldier's face. Better to let him talk.

“If you do not step forward now and identify yourself as the rightful heir, everything you have worked for as a Slayer will be lost. The uneasy peace I’ve managed to make in this city will be broken.”

I work not just for the politics of Olencia anymore.

“Whether you like it or not, Penril, events are in motion that cannot be undone. If Gayth wins the throne, they will surely seek opponents and kill them. In little time, only House Gayth will exist, and if the other Houses are lucky, only a few purebloods remain. Can you live with such a burden? Can you live with the knowledge that if you do not do what is right, every man, woman and child will suffer from the repercussion of your foolish decision?”

It was a hard decision. He hated making such kinds of choices, but Hadrian was right. Every word he screamed was right, but Penril knew that the life in the palace was not something he could possibly go back to now after such a long time. He was...he was not used to the whole set-up anymore.

"What makes it the right decision?" He asked, taking a sip of the wine. "A Slayer does not really concern himself or herself with the politics of the Houses. Our work is only to protect you and the people from the creatures of this world, to heal you of ailments when your physicians fail to cure you. Our work is beyond what people like you consider to be important things. I am afraid that I have grown used to my kind of work, I cannot turn my sights to another line anymore."

He set the goblet down and steepled his fingers together.

"Lord Hadrian, I am no longer the King's heir. I ceased to be so when I was taken to the Keep." He said levelly.

"What makes it the right decision?" He asked, taking a sip of the wine. "A Slayer does not really concern himself or herself with the politics of the Houses. Our work is only to protect you and the people from the creatures of this world, to heal you of ailments when your physicians fail to cure you. Our work is beyond what people like you consider to be important things. I am afraid that I have grown used to my kind of work, I cannot turn my sights to another line anymore."

He set the goblet down and steepled his fingers together.

"Lord Hadrian, I am no longer the King's heir. I ceased to be so when I was taken to the Keep." He said levelly

“Maybe you think so.” Hadrian replied. “But you are the Heir, by blood and by right. While you may ignore that fact, I won’t, my Liege. That child I remember wanted to be just like his father, and whether his Lordship likes it or not...” He leaned back and saluted. “You may think of me as a stubborn old goat, my Liege, but what I do is right.” He lowered his hand. “I just hope you see that.”

What made you change? He thought sadly, looking at the other with a sad gaze before going back to his gruff exterior. No matter. Even if you don’t admit it, you are, and always will be.

Hadrian was, and always had been famed for his near fanatical loyalty. Once he had his eyes set on something, you could be sure he would guard it with his life. He had guarded this boy, and failed. Now that the boy was back, you could be quite sure Hadrian would guard him, despite the charge being older now.

“Whatever you ask, I will serve.” He stated. “The King’s Guard as always stands with the King and his Heirs, and we will adamantly refuse any House from the throne, even if we die, or rather, if I die. The Guard is fractured and unsure, but I do my best.”

Hadrian stepped back and turned on his heel in traditional military manner and left the place as promptly as he had come.

“Maybe you think so.” Hadrian replied. “But you are the Heir, by blood and by right. While you may ignore that fact, I won’t, my Liege. That child I remember wanted to be just like his father, and whether his Lordship likes it or not...” He leaned back and saluted. “You may think of me as a stubborn old goat, my Liege, but what I do is right.” He lowered his hand. “I just hope you see that.”

Penril could have fallen down the chair. Lord Hadrian's loyalty...it was a scary thing.

“Whatever you ask, I will serve.” The older man stated. “The King’s Guard as always stands with the King and his Heirs, and we will adamantly refuse any House from the throne, even if we die, or rather, if I die. The Guard is fractured and unsure, but I do my best.”

He watched the loyal soldier go with a rueful smile.

Well. I think it is time to return to the Keep...

OOC: By permission of Penril, I can post here. :look

Staggering in the dark like the drunk he was, Ruuval blinked and frowned as the alley he walked along forked into two directions. The alcohol was getting to his usually clear head, and he couldn't quite recall where to go next. Served him right for trying to finish all the rum he had pilfered from the back of a bar. Better than have the lads at the "guildhouse" finish it, he had thought. Now he couldn't even get to the guildhouse. He swung a leg to the right, almost falling over his head before he caught himself and leaned instead on a wall. Everything seemed to spin and tip on its side. He was really drunk. Which was unusual, given his immunity to the effects of alcohol.

More staggering, and then he came to some place familiar. Only it wasn't where he lived (took him a while to realize that). It was a bar--no, an inn. Didn't I come here before? Hmm. Doesn't matter. Someone can tell me where the port is... He--miraculously--got to the door without staggering, but lost his balance at the very end and fell against it. Damn. He couldn't quite tell how long he leaned against it, but it was enough time for him to realize that there were people still inside, at this hour, and they were talking. Ruuval wasn't usually an eavesdropper, but he felt so sick that leaning on the door was all he could do. It just so happened that he could hear what was being said inside. Things like Slayer, and the King, and some guy inside being Heir. It also sounded like the older voice was the younger one's father, but maybe that was just the rum. It could all have been the rum.

A few minutes later, he heard footsteps nearing the door, and out of pure instinct to hide, Ruuval heaved himself from the door and ducked behind it as it opened. He hoped the person would not close the door when he left, which the person did not. Lucky for Ruuval. He remained on the floor, staring up at the sky. All he heard seemed very vague to him, but some part of him was nagging at him think. Slayer....don't I need a Slayer? He smiled to himself, the facts suddenly making sense, and then he closed his eyes. To Valleran with getting home. He'd just sleep there and go back in the morning.