As usual, Asbel woke with the sun. The eponymous rosy fingers of dawn reached through the half-parted curtains to touch his eyes and coax him awake. He rose without a word. Uneasiness would do him no good; uncertainty would do him no good. Getting ready and joining the others at Cassius's pen -- that was all he needed to do. Whatever happened after that, would happen, and there was certainly nothing he could do to avert the disaster anyhow.

He owned very few possessions, and what he did posses was not designed for adventuring. Asbel's entire life was supposed to have been spent in the palace, in this sumptuous square of a room. The phoenix gathered what he could -- a shirt with long, flared sleeves and a scarlet waistcoat. There were soft leather boots tucked in a chest beneath his bed, never worn, and these he pulled on with (ugh) socks as well. His pants would have to suffice, as would the short traveling coat he had been given that was more artistic than functional: the bands of gold and copper thread skirting the edges turned what should have been a practical item into a sunset. But ah well. He would not remove his earrings, either, and if they were attacked on the road, he would doubtlessly be the first one targeted.

He was halfway through buttoning the waistcoat when Bacchus slammed his way into the room, and Asbel startled, green eyes wide with surprise. But, yes, it was indeed the sorcerer, and Asbel returned to dressing himself with a shrug. "I would not go against the Oracle, Bacchus," he replied in polite resignation. "But I thank you for your luck. I regret that I cannot supply you with any last-minute feathers: I have been told that the leader of the Northern lands is ill and will need my assistance."

---

Augustine, taking care of a few final arrangements before he left for the pens, was not present as Cassius opened the door to the youngest of the princes. Unlike Asbel, the dragon did not like wearing his human form, but housing him as a beast would have been too expensive, even for the royal family. As such, he opened the door with a human hand, faint scales on his wrist and cheek all that marked him as once a reptile. His black hair was cut short, as short as Augustine's military cut, and his mouth was as somber as the eldest prince's was smiling. Dark brown eyes took in Frey's traveling clothes (he did so resemble his older brothers), before the dragon stepped aside to allow the prince entrance.

The room was far plainer than some of the other dragons' abodes, but even so, it was beautiful. If Cassius had one weakness, it was a taste for color, and the stained glass windows high up on the curving walls glowed with morning light, cast pools of blue and green onto the wide, well-carpeted floor. The bare stone walls, otherwise grey, were shot through with glowing stones from the western caves, and the lights, altogether, cast strange hues across the black and brackish green clothes Augustine had arranged for him. For furniture, there stood only the bed, neatly made, and a wardrobe for a sparse collection of human clothes. Bags and packs waited near the door, as did the flight harness and necessary saddlery for the first (and only) portion of the trip to be made by air.

"Prince Frey." The dragon nodded once as a good morning, and closed the door behind his first visitor. "I am pleased to see you unharmed."