Sounds… like a<span style="font-style: italic">plan</span>?<br/><br/>Siravii choked back bile as his attention bounced between the occupants of the Oratory. The queen tensed at the thought of sending her son as part of a two-man team to track a<span style="font-style: italic">whatever-the-fuck</span>that thing was. Paygans on both sides seemed to agree on the effort, and about how best to go about it. Gods above, they were already talking about sleep, as if anyone could sleep after what they’d seen tonight. Finally, dark and sunken eyes rested on the prince, who seemed absolutely radiant with optimism. He smiled, and Siravii silently asked the gods for forgiveness for the kick he was about to give this proverbial pup.<br/><br/>“What’s stopping me from killing him?”<br/><br/>The room quieted suddenly, which SIravii expected - just maybe not that quickly. But it was said and done, and he held his ground about it. “I’m sorry Siravii,” the desh began quietly, firmly, as if somehow in some way<span style="font-style: italic">he</span>was the one who was expected to apologize in this situation. “I don’t think I heard you correctly. I’m sure I didn’t.”<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">In through your nose, out through your mouth…</span><br/><br/>Siravii focused on breathing as he tried to string words into sentences, but he couldn’t hear himself think over the racing of his own heart. He couldn’t look at the desh as he answered, nor could he stand to look at whatever horrified expression the prince would have to wear after being so casually threatened after exhibiting nothing but warmth and welcome. Instead, he looked at the queen, whose imposing form seemed much more bearable to size up. “If you send me back in there, with just your son, what’s stopping me from killing him?”<br/><br/>“Siravii..,” came the desh’s low warning.<br/><br/>“No,” he demanded - an inexcusable offense when addressing the desh, but one that he felt comfortable committing. He shook his head, backing up his bold assertion. “It’s not happening. You send one more, we send one more, and we have a better chance if one of those things finds us.”<br/><br/>Wood dragged loudly against tile as Soma pushed himself to his feet, his chair sliding against the floor beneath. “You will do no such thing you treasonous cur. On Fayhn’s name, I will see to it-”<br/><br/>“You can go with him then,” Aloth breathed out, almost too quietly to be heard over Soma’s rant. He and Siravii both blinked, and simultaneously the question both came to them:<br/><br/>“<span style="font-style: italic">What</span>?”<br/><br/>The desh rose gracefully to his feet and folded his hands in front of his middle. He cast his gaze downward to the pallid and disfigured head, giving it a genuinely thoughtful look. “I said,” the desh spoke up, making sure that Soma could hear every enunciated syllable. “You can go with them. You’re my eyes and ears, and Siravii is my prisoner. You’ll handle him while the search ensues, you act with my full authority as it pertains to his treatment.” He waved a hand idly, as if he was brushing away any future rebuttals.<br/><br/>Ever since he was old enough to ponder existentialism, Siravii had always assumed he would be able to pinpoint exactly where and when his life would spin out of his control. By committing crimes against the desh and his people, he assumed. Normally when criminals are caught, though, they do their time and then they’re released back into the public to do the same shit they were doing before - only slightly more carefully. Not with Siravii though, he was facing a death sentence either way. He could go to the Whitewood now and die getting ripped apart by whatever horrors the trees hid, or he could refuse and go back home to be hung without question.<br/><br/>If he were being honest, he’d rather hang.<br/><br/>A hand wrapped itself tightly around Siravii’s forearm, pulling him to his feet. The desh, for as dainty a man as he was, had a surprisingly firm grip. Even when Siravii found his feet beneath him, the desh did not let go. “Go on then,” the desh urged. It wasn’t a question, it was a silent demand for Siravii to bite his tongue and eat his words.<br/><br/>It was easy for Siravii to look apologetic because he<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>. The prince had committed no sins against him except the sin of incredible fucking naivety and blind optimism. “I am sorry, prince,” he apologized, only half-truthfully. He wasn’t sorry for using violence as an option to try to get more men to face these…<span style="font-style: italic">things</span>so he had a better chance of coming out of it alive. He<span style="font-style: italic">was</span>, however, sorry that it had to be the prince. It obviously was a shitty tactic; he should’ve threatened the queen instead. It would’ve probably worked better. “I wouldn’t try to harm you. I’d never throw my people into war like that. But make no mistake, if you and I go to the Whitewood alone, we’re dead men anyway.”<br/><br/>Siravii could<span style="font-style: italic">feel</span>the desh studying him from the side. His grip around Siravii’s arm tightened; he wasn’t buying it, but he would play the part as if he did. Aloth straightened his back and shook his head from side to side. “Make no mistake, Seifr. No harm will come to your son. If I might make a suggestion, send a guard from your roster to make sure that doesn’t happen. Should the prince come under threat, the guard and Soma should have no trouble putting it down.”<br/><br/>The desh enunciated the last few words and Siravii was not ignorant of the venom that laced them. Suddenly Siravii’s arm was free from the vice grip it had been in, and blood began to rush through it all at once. “If that sounds acceptable, we would greatly appreciate your hospitality. And your forgiveness on behalf of our prisoner.”