Sulla Trebatius reached for the steel mug of ale beside him and took a deep gulp before looking to the latest patron before him. He wondered as he sat the half-drained mug down how it was that he had ended up in this predicament. What should have been an exciting start to an adventure was instead being made a mockery of and had him wondering which deity he had offended now to be sent what one could only describe as a set of plagues personified.

He sat in The Bannered Mare, a local tavern in the city of Whiterun, which was a city proclaimed neutral at present. Its feelings of freedom and democracy for its people were all too apparent by the town crier for Talos on the street and the grumbling Nord here in the tavern being able to exclaim their Stormcloak loving opinions without opposition. Well alright, a few rotten tomatoes had been tossed in the town crier's direction and one particularly smelly cabbage had even struck home but it was difficult to tell if that was the action of a loyal Imperial or a bored child.

Sulla had been in Whiterun for just over two days, part of the small group of Imperial troops who had accompanied General Tullius to Whiterun and would be escorting him to Solitude. Some people in Whiterun had welcomed them, others had shown open hostility and most had expressed indifference. Sulla had visited the two local taverns upon arrival- The Bannered Mare, and The Drunken Huntsman- to get the innkeepers to spread the word that in two days from his arrival he would be looking to recruit skilled volunteers for an expedition. Although he had determined to be subtle on the details he had advised that it was not Legion business, it would be paid for, and only those who had sufficient skill in survival would be considered. He had made a point of adding darkly that others had perished in the hopes of keeping every naive starry eyed would be adventurer away but apparently it was that kind of excitement that had lured people to him.

It had been two days of spreading word as he bartered and drank in the city, taking care not to drift too far from his soldier companions lest a Stormcloak zealot catch him unawares. This all while Tullius was wined and dined in the noble heights of Dragonsreach, living the life of nobility as an esteemed guest of the Jarl, a hospitality which did not extend to Tullius' soldiers. They were guests of the city not the Jarl.

Sulla finally looked up and across the wooden, rectangular table to the latest of his would adventurers. She was an old woman, skin wrinkled with time, her whitened hair scraped back as best she could manage it and hidden beneath an off-white cap, whilst the bones of her frail body jutted out of a plain, brown tunic.

"Um, what do you think you can offer this expedition?" Sulla quipped politely.

The young blonde raised a quill in his left hand, ready to add to the notes he had on the parchment sheets before him. He could hear the purposely loud snickers of the armoured Nord behind him, the same one who openly complained about Whiterun's Commander Caius, undoubtedly hoping it would antagonise the Imperial soldier who sat before him.

"I'm a fortune teller," the crone before Sulla answered with a knowing tap on her nose.

"Really?" Celestia piped up beside him.

The young girl was seated to her father's right, initially low down and out of sight on the chair until she had complained about wanting to see her father's visitors. The complaints had prompted the Redguard barmaid to procure some cushions for the girl to sit on. She had offered them along with a honeynut treat and a wink for Sulla.

The crone nodded confidently.

"Alright," Sulla attempted to play along as he looked across to the old woman, "so where is our expedition to?"

"I'm not a guide," she was quick to retort in a sullen tone.

"Uh huh. Well how does it turn out for us then?" He raised his blonde eyebrows slightly as he locked gazes with her. "Good fortune or bad?"

"I'm afraid my energies haven't quite peaked yet today," she answered calmly as she pressed both palms against the creases in her skirt. "I'll be able to scry on our journey I'm sure," she added confidently with a nod, "for a certain amount of coin of course. Tea leaves, palm reading, crystal scrying... Oooh! Maybe trepanning?" She gave a giggle that quickly turned into a dry cough.

"Right, I don't like tea, only ladies of a certain age get to touch my hand, crystals are dangerous tools for mages and that last one?" Sulla pulled a face of revulsion at this and shook his head. "Look, you're kind of old and frail looking," he said as he gestured across to her. When she continued coughing he added, "and sound like you might be carrying something unpleasant."

The old woman lowered her hand from her face to scowl back at him. "I can see the future," she insisted crossly.

"And yet you couldn't see that I wouldn't hire you for this?" he quipped sardonically as he reached for his ale again.

The old woman stood up with another glower for the man, she raised her finger and pointed down to him, opening her lips as if to say something but was caught out by another chorus of coughs.

"Do you need water?" Celestia queried as she looked up to her with alarm. "I'll get you some."

The young girl jumped off her seat and hurried to the bar that she was too short to get attention at.

A Breton male seated at the bar glanced down with intrigue to the young girl jumping up and down and waving her hands energetically.

"Oh excuse me please! Please! This woman needs water!" Celestia called frantically.

The Breton's hazel eyes darted over to the cause of the girl's distress. He saw a tired looking, blonde Imperial soldier leaning back in a chair with his arms crossed behind his head whilst an old woman pointed and cursed at him in between exaggerated coughs.

The Breton smiled before turning back to the bar and its owner Hulda who didn't seem to hear the child over the general din of the bar's patrons and the singing of its resident bard Mikael.

"Hulda, a cup of your finest water please," he ordered.

Hulda looked up from the steel cup she had been cleaning and glanced over to the man in confusion. "My, what now Christophe?" she queried dryly.

Christophe, the Breton, smiled back at the woman. "Your finest water, it's for Olava," he advised as he jerked his thumb back in the crone's direction, "we have a very concerned citizen for her." He glanced down to Celestia and winked.

Hulda turned her piercing stare upon the old woman. "Oh, poor soldier if Olava's the best he's getting," she said with little concern.

Hulda turned away and headed to the back where a bucket of lukewarm water was sitting ready to be carried to the cooking pot. She knelt down and scooped it up in the cup she had just cleaned. She headed back to the bar and held the cup out to the Breton.

"There you go," she remarked tiredly, "go help Olava with that nasty, convenient cough of hers."

Christophe took the cup and handed it down to the young girl carefully as if it were made of glass. "There you go," he said with a smile, "go do your good deed."

"Thank you," Celestia retorted softly as she looked up at him with a sudden shyness. She accepted the cup in both hands as she felt a rush of heat to her face and dipped her head almost instantly to hide it.

Christophe let out a chuckle as she scurried off as quickly as she could to Olava.

Hulda looked on with mild interest, surprised by the appearance of the girl.

"So that's what that was all about," she murmured. "And there I thought you'd gone soft for Olava."

Christophe watched the girl as well as she stretched both her arms up with the cup in offering to Olava, immune to the fact that the old woman was still spitting curses and phlegm at her father.

"What's that all about anyway?" Christophe pried as he continued watching, half-expecting Olava to throw the cup at the soldier when she took it from the girl.

"You haven't heard?" Hulda queried. "He's looking to round up a group for an expedition, says it's not Legion business but then he did come here with the other soldiers and he's wearing that armour so that's doubtful. I imagine that's part of the lack of interest, Stormcloak followers won't trust him, the less law abiding won't either and who does that leave who's free to run off on an adventure they might get killed on for an undisclosed sum of coin?"

"An adventure where?" Christophe pried as he folded his arms and glanced over his shoulder to the weary looking innkeeper.

It was no secret that Hulda wanted to retire soon, although the greys in her hair remained few she had passed the point of middle-aged and did not want to still find herself scrubbing cups at Olava's age. She was also past the age of being marvelled by a young, attractive soldier speaking of adventure and gold, and old enough to be sceptical about that kind of talk unlike her barmaid Saadia who had definitely paid more attention to the soldier than any of the other patrons in this evening.

"I don't know," Hulda muttered, "he's been shady about the whole thing, ask him if you care. Of course," she nodded over in the blonde's direction, "it looks like you'll have to get in line."

Christophe looked over at Hulda's words, his eyes widening at the oddity that entered the tavern and was now heading to the soldier in what was probably one of the noisiest ways to walk.

Olava had stormed off with a few final grumbles and a reluctant gulp of the offered water, departing from the tavern without a farewell to anyone. In her wake came a man clapping and giggling as he walked nimbly across the wooden floor, pausing to do a jig that was not in time to the music. He twirled and halted before Sulla, slamming both palms down dramatically on the table between them.

Sulla looked up to the man in astonishment, struggling to keep his wonderment from his face as he took in the man's appearance and tried to work out what exactly the man was dressed as. He wore an outfit of black and red with an outlandish, black collar and a hat that flopped backwards to expose his pallid face but didn't quite conceal his long, wild, red hair.

"You are the one giving shiny, clinky coins for travel companions, yes?" the man queried excitedly.

"Er...I'm offering a wage for qualified people to come on an expedition," Sulla corrected calmly as he continued to eye the man warily.

"What are you?" Celestia queried with intrigue.

Sulla only realised then that she was still standing and was entirely too close to the man whose eyes seemed a little too demented for his liking.

The redhead stood upright and turned to Celestia with a wide grin before he burst into loud laughter. "Why Cicero is many things!" he exclaimed proudly. "Mother's nearest and dearest, her closest confidant, oh yes, and her keeper and oops!" He clamped both black gloved hands over his mouth and shook his head suddenly before lowering his hands to laugh again. "Said too much!" he exclaimed with a wag of his finger.

"Celestia come sit beside me," Sulla instructed, all the while keeping a sharp gaze on the manic man.

Celestia, still looking to the redhead with fascination, glanced over to her father reluctantly.

"I like your hat," she said as she gave the man another intrigued look before obeying her father.

"Why thank you, the jester liked it on his head once too but then it did not seem so fitting when it was just hat and head," the man retorted, at once both happy and dejected as he smiled and shook his head.

Christophe, Hulda and a few other patrons at the bar watched on with interest as if they were viewing a play. Everyone was wondering what the jester's next move would be and a few people even made wagers in hushed tones as to whether the soldier would punch him or not.

The redhead turned his attention back to Sulla. "Cicero would like to join this journey," he said determinedly.

"Okay, where is he then?" Sulla demanded as he frowned up at the man.

"Ha ha ha, he he," the oddly clad man sounded out the words of laughter this time rather than actually laughing which had Sulla suddenly ill at ease. "Why you are looking at Cicero now."

He placed one arm across his chest and gave a mock bow. In the bow, he suddenly turned his head up sharply to meet Sulla's wary blue stare.

"He needs room for mother too of course," he added in a serious tone.

"You need room for your mother?" Sulla queried in disbelief. "This isn't a picnic," he scorned.

The man, Cicero, giggled again. "Mother goes everywhere," he plucked out a dagger and started balancing it by its tip on his fingers, "and if we could go via Falkreath too."

Sulla's blue gaze darted briefly to the dagger as anger filled him as he wondered if the man was attempting to intimidate him. "No," he snapped, "why would we need to do that?"

The redhead cocked his head slightly and pouted. "Cicero needs to go there with mother!" he retorted anxiously.

Sulla frowned and resisted the urge to jump up from his seat as he tried to quell some of his rising anger. "Are you just trying to hitch a ride somewhere?" he exclaimed hotly.

Cicero shrugged, his unusually animated eyes darting about the tavern before he pocketed the dagger again. "Well, two birds, one stone, always nice to kill twice when striking once." He giggled once more.

"I...what?" Sulla continued to regard him with a heated irritation. "We're not going via Falkreath," he said sternly.

Cicero slammed his palms down on the table loudly once more and leaned down to glower at the blonde before his expression suddenly switched to pleading as his eyes widened and his mouth quivered.

The transformation was so sudden it filled Sulla with alarm as he resisted the urge to lean back, determined not to show fear to this man.

"Oh but please, have a heart, Cicero can go find you one if you don't. We already had mishaps at the farm, the wagon was just fixed but there are many wolves on the road and mother gets cold and cranky and lonely." He shook his head forlornly. "Cicero gets lonely." His dark brown stare darted over to Celestia and he gave her a smile. "Why Cicero could entertain the child, yes, yes!" He clapped his hands suddenly. "With songs and games and stories!"

Celestia stared up at the man in continued fascination, too young to consider his eccentricities anything other than amusing.

"I don't need a child minder," Sulla snapped.

The copper eyebrows narrowed down as the man's mouth arched up in a snarl and he regarded Sulla with a fresh fury. He pointed out at him angrily and shouted, "Cicero will have you pay for this treachery!"

"Treachery?" Sulla echoed. "Look clown, I'm hardly betraying you, for that to make sense I would have had to have offered you a spot in the group first and then kicked you out down the road."

Cicero blinked in confusion, his poise frozen for a moment as he frowned. "Alright then, Cicero will have you suffer slightly for this mild inconvenience!" he cried out triumphantly.

"I'm already suffering," Sulla lamented sardonically, "everyone keeps pointing and shouting at me, it's like being in training again. Go look around, I'm sure there are Khajiit caravans about that'll let you join them to Falkreath. I'm just not heading that way."

Cicero turned away, shaking his head before he sniffed and muttered, "Cicero is hungry... ...need a sweetroll... or a carrot.." He glanced over to the large, iron pot hanging over the fireplace hopefully and headed over to it. He looked into his contents and sighed mournfully and loudly. "Just meat, potatoes and leeks, no carrots or sweet rolls. Cicero has no luck."

With that, and much to the relief of the other patrons, Cicero skipped over to the tavern doors and exited.

Sulla let out a heavy sigh and started thumping his head up and down on the wooden table in frustration.

"Papa!" Celestia squealed in alarm. "Stop please!"

Sulla paused when he felt Celestia grasp at his arm and squeeze it anxiously. He raised his head slightly, tilting it up when he felt someone's shadow fall upon him. He saw Christophe's slightly crooked smile and let out a groan as he sat upright once more, ignoring the urge to rub at his now pounding forehead.

Christophe took a seat and offered over one of the flagons of ale he was carrying. "Good evening," he greeted cordially.

"Evening," Sulla muttered, unwilling to agree that it was good.

Christophe folded his arms, creasing his light, leather armour and continued to grin over at Sulla. "I hear you're recruiting for an expedition."

Sulla looked the man over briefly, he was young, in his twenties probably like Sulla, maybe a little older than the blonde, confident judging from his cocky smile and the amused glint in his hazel stare, with a hint that maybe he knew something of survival in his choice to wear leather armour.

Sulla held up a hand, ready to stop the man before he could go on.

"Just a second, so far I've had five Dragonborns, one guard who says he might be the Dragonborn and doesn't know it yet," Sulla complained, "some kid trying to run away from home, a bored housewife who wants to see, and I quote, 'if her husband will notice if she's out of the city or retain his vision of the Jarl's ass', one grumpy granny claiming to be a fortune teller, and, well a lunatic. So what are you?"

Christophe's smile widened. "I'm not the Dragonborn," he said assuringly.

"That's nice," Sulla dismissed, "if I'd asked what you weren't I'm sure that would be a long list."

Christophe's smile remained, immune to the insult. His hazel eyes darted about the tavern momentarily before he leaned across the table, dropping his voice to a hushed tone. "I have talents for hunting, I'm good with a bow, I've travelled plenty in Skyrim's wilds before and been in draugr plagued ruins more than once."

Sulla nodded along. "Where is the but here?" he interrupted.

Christophe looked surprised at this. "Come again?"

"The but, the downside you're not saying. You just heard the type of people interested in this so far but here you are trying to say you're everything I'd want, tell me why it is you want to come along." Sulla sucked in his lower lip slightly and tilted his head a fraction. "Or is it, need to come along?" he pried.

"And Olava thinks you need her," Christophe mused merrily. "Alright fine, I need out of this city and fast," he confessed. "I crossed the wrong woman and hoped for forgiveness. She sent me a letter saying she was deeply touched and that I was quite right, her anger was misplaced. She says it's time to rekindle our friendship so she's sending someone to fetch me to bring me to her, and to avoid a scene they will be calling at night and," he added with a wink, "that I should take care to pack my belongings securely because the journey could be treacherous."

"Well, the moment a scorned woman says you're right you know you're dead," Sulla retorted calmly, "no need for the rest of it. Alright, so you want to come to avoid an assassin, what good is that for me?"

Christophe parted his hands outwards slightly on the table. "I really am good with a bow and experienced with draugr, ruins, and the general wilds," he insisted, "and other things. I was a ranger for a while and part of a group of hunters."

"Hmm, and how did you end up falling in and out with a dangerous woman?" Sulla pried.

Christophe looked to Celestia pointedly before giving Sulla another smile. "Do I need to tell you, a clearly single parent, how one can forget the perils for a seductive smile?"

Sulla frowned at the idea of Celestia being a peril and reached out a hand instinctively to wrap it about his daughter lightly.

"My daughter Celestia will always be the number one priority for me within our group, let me be clear on that now," he said warningly.

Christophe nodded agreeably. "I have no quarrel for that, were she mine I would prize her too. So, can I join you? It's a time sensitive thing for me so answer quick, I'll have to pack tonight, when do you plan to head?"

"Well, I was hoping for better interest, suppose we could go in the morning and I'll try the next town," Sulla retorted.

"Marvellous."

"What's your name?"

"Christophe Bartlet, and you?"

"Sulla Trebatius."

Christophe lifted his flagon at last and raised it to the blonde. "Shall we drink to this then?"

"Sure."

Sulla lifted his flagon and tapped it against Christophe's lightly before taking a sip. He lowered it to the table and gave the Breton an apologetic look. "Don't cease getting merry on my account but Celestia's minder is at the Drunken Huntsman taking a respite so I must limit my enjoyment tonight," he confessed.

Christophe nodded before turning sideways in his chair to swing back his flagon as he suddenly felt more relaxed.

"You look like someone who can hold their liquor. How about a friendly contest to win a staff?"

Sulla looked up at the Breton who had come to stand beside him and frowned as the man's black robes gave him away as a mage.

"No," Sulla retorted bluntly.

"Are you sure? I bet you can't finish even one drink with me," the Breton goaded him with a taunting grin.

"You'd win that bet," Sulla retorted, unperturbed, "I have my daughter beside me, I'm not drinking."

The Breton's dark blue stare shifted down to Sulla's flagon. "Is that for decoration?" he quipped sardonically. "Maybe you're just not up to the challenge."

"Maybe," Sulla replied with disinterest as he started scribbling things onto the parchment before him.

The Breton raised his hands to hips, pushing in the folds of his robes as he gazed down at the blonde with puzzlement. "It's just for fun, don't you like fun?"

"Oh sure," Sulla answered to the parchment, "and when I'm not minding my daughter or on duty in the army I will happily have a few drinks."

"It could be more than that," the Breton insisted, "it's a contest, come on!"

Sulla looked up at him in irritation, wondering how the man suddenly had a cup in one hand.

Christophe watched on quietly while he continued to down his flagon and wondered if he would get offered a chance at the contest.

"I'm busy," Sulla insisted, "with my own thing here, try someone else."

"What is your thing?" the Breton quipped. He rubbed at his tawny brown hair with his free hand and peered at Sulla's notes curiously.

"An expedition," Sulla explained, "for ancient treasures, it'll be dangerous with draugr, traps, Falmer and perhaps worse. People have already died on previous ones," he added.

"I see," the Breton mused, "and have they died often?"

Sulla gave him a stony stare. "Well usually, unless mages are involved," he said pointedly with a deliberate nod at the man's telling robes, "people tend to only die once."

The man gave a chortle at this and took a gulp from his cup. "This could be entertaining, right? You, already on Arkay's list now with having dodged his grasp while so many around you haven't, this fidgety fellow here," he said with a gesture to Christophe, "and who or what else hmm? Oh, oh," he laughed again, "that was what the plague spreader and the jester were about yes?" He started to laugh loudly prompting another frown from Sulla. "Oh but what a band of misfits you're going to have, most amusing. Well I'm in, how could I not be? Much better than a drinking contest definitely!"

"What?"

Sulla just stared, unsure what exactly had just happened.

"Well I have to come, this disastrous mission of yours sounds most marvellous, bound to be a few laughs along the way," the Breton enthused. He stuck out his free hand to Sulla. "Sam Guevenne."

Sulla stared down at the hand numbly. "Sulla Trebatius," he finally responded.

The blonde shook the hand at last, remembering Tullius' insistence that he had a mage along.

"What magic do you do?" Sulla quipped.

"Magic? Oh right," Sam looked down at himself, "the robes. Hmm, what kind do I do?" He broke the handshake to raise the hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Conjuring," he said as if he had just decided upon it.

"Right," Sulla grumbled, unimpressed.

"So," Sam beamed down at him, "will we drink on it?" Seeing Sulla's returned frown he said hastily, "no, okay then."

Christophe held up his empty flagon. "I'm happy to drink on it, no child minding for me." He cocked his head towards Sulla questioningly. "Not tonight, right?" He hiccuped. "I don't mind doing it other days."

Sulla stared back at him scornfully before leaning over to Celestia slightly and clapping his hands over her ears.

"The fuck you will," he said sternly. His azure gaze darted up to Sam in icy warning. "You either," he added firmly. "She has a minder. I don't want her influenced by unscrupulous people."

Christophe turned round to face Sulla properly with a look of hurt. "I'm not unscrupulous!" he protested.

"You're wanted dead by some woman," Sulla reminded him hotly, "what else should I think?"

Christophe drew himself up proudly in his seat. "Maybe I'm a great lover and she's just angry that I broke up with her and took my generously long endowment with me," he huffed.

"Sure," Sulla sneered, "more likely you owe her money."

"And why am I unscrupulous?" Sam queried casually in between sips of his drink.

"You're a mage," Sulla stated flatly.

"Oh?" Sam laughed. "So it's not the whole enticing people into drinking contests thing? Good to know. Guess I should've worn a different outfit for you."

"Anyway, let's be clear," Sulla addressed the pair sternly as he looked from one to the other. "This will be a dangerous expedition, I am not exaggerating that, I only want you if you can handle yourselves. The people with me didn't just die, some suffered horribly," he squeezed tighter on his daughter's ears as he spoke, "hacked apart by draugr, dragged off by Falmer for torture, poisoned, cut down by traps, drowned, lost in the ruins, it's all happened. That is the risk you take. You will be paid for it and you will get your cut of the treasure too, save for the plunder I am specifically seeking."

Sulla paused and looked from one Breton to the other again in warning.

Christophe was watching him carefully, heeding his every word whilst Sam was studying the contents of his cup.

"Equally," Sulla continued, "I don't want back stabbers so guess what, the pay doesn't come until the end and if you think to sneak off with the treasure and forget the pay don't forget, none of us knows each other so you'll be pissing off everyone with that and have no allies. Furthermore, the Legion does have an interest in this expedition, even if it's separate for them, so you will have their wrath too," he insisted.

Sulla looked from one to the other again with a cold glare. "Furthermore, my daughter will be with us but she is separate to this business, she'll be kept safe out of the ruins and I want no talk of death or Falmer or draugr around her, got it? Nothing inappropriate, she's only eight and she's had it hard enough. You mess that up and I will hack you into tiny, bloody pieces. She has a stuffed bear, she still sucks her thumb at night and she believes in faeries and unicorns, I don't want that changing anytime soon, do you both understand that?"

Sam and Christophe exchanged a quick glance before they looked back to the serious looking blonde.

"You um...don't think hacking us up might upset her?" Christophe queried quietly.

"I'll have her out picking flowers with her minder while I do it," Sulla advised icily.

"You know, you have Hircine to blame for the whole unicorn thing," Sam murmured, "he wiped them out. Bloody self-important bastard figured the last one should be sacrificed to him, imagine thinking you're great enough to warrant the extinction of an entire species. What's wrong with just having people party in your name huh? No, no, no," he waved his hands out in dramatic emphasis causing some liquid to spill from his cup, "let's decimate some innocent, beautiful creature that, I must add, used to be a pretty good lure for good looking virgins."

Sam looked at Sulla knowingly and burped before taking another gulp from his cup.

"And that is one of the many conversations you won't be having with my daughter," Sulla advised. "Now, can I take my hands off her ears?"

"You probably should," Christophe retorted, "I think they're hurting." He looked to the wincing child with a sympathetic smile.

"Just one more point," Sam interrupted. "You said fuck, and I know her ears were covered when you did but it was right before you began this big lecture about keeping her innocent and chasing butterflies and all, isn't it just a little hypocritical that you said it in her presence?"

"Why don't you take that word and insert it between shut the, and up," Sulla grumbled back before he finally lifted his hands off Celestia's ears.

Celestia turned an angry stare up to her father as the red glow of her ears showed between her blonde tresses. "Papa, that was sore," she complained.

"I know my little star but papa had to have an adult talk with these two," Sulla advised her. "Anyway, it's gotten very late, we need to get you to bed."

Sulla pushed back in his chair and stood up, extending a hand out to Celestia.

"Ah, just a minute."

Christophe jumped up to his feet and gave Sulla an anxious stare coupled with a sheepish smile. "Could I...it's just...where are you staying?"

"With the guards," Sulla retorted carefully, "we have rooms in the Drunken Huntsman."

"Hmm. It's just, I should move tonight," Christophe admitted.

"Yes, well you can find me there in the morning."

"Could I impose on you this evening?"

Sulla pulled an expression of disgust whilst Sam gave a loud, jovial laugh.

"I don't," Sulla stumbled over a protest as he shook his head and his cheeks flooded with red exposing the odd white scarring they both bore, easily ignorable against his normal skin tone. "I mean, I'm not..."

Christophe held up his hands and waved them to the blonde. "No, no, I just, I might not get ended prematurely by an assassin if I'm spending the night with guards. I'll sleep on the floor, it's just one night."

Sulla sighed and looked down to the young girl who had started to yawn beside him. He crouched down to pick her up in both hands. Cradling her against him, he looked back to Christophe sternly.

"Fine but pack quickly and if you snore I'll place a pillow quite firmly upon your head."

"Again with the hypocrisy," Sam chided followed by a tutting noise.

Sulla shot him a biting smile. "I only mean it as an offer of comfort, an extra pillow to help ease the burden of snoring," he remarked darkly.