Hiram was there, in his cave. He wasn't always there, but if he was around then that's where he was. He knew Drystan was there before he saw or heard the mist. The years of training, honing both his body and his magic, had produced a heightened awareness in Hiram. He could sense the blood moving in on him, enough to discern that it was one individual, and likely a man from the volume of red, coursing liquid. A strong heart, based on how the blood moved. The only thing he couldn't discern from where he trained in the cave was the taste...

The Eldouir was clad in only pants and a sheen of sweat on all his pale, freckled skin. The hair that had escaped the hold at the nape of his neck was matted to his forehead. His mouth was parted, his chest was heaving, and the hatchets in his hands were slicing through the air.

It did not slow him. Not the approach, not the mist, not the name. Hiram was present and aware, but he would not be called away. Drystan would just have to get to him and continue with his address. He was in the deepest part of the cave where the large room of black sand waited. The edges of the room were wide enough for movement, and it was on these that Hiram cut down an army of invisible foes.

Indeed he was isolating, but it was a good thing the Eldouirs were strong. Or weren't they? Hiram had given the, what they wanted--was it not enough? It wasn't what he wanted. Nowhere near what he wanted. But they'd found a kind of contentedness toiling away in kingdom troubles. Funny, how they'd left one form of bondage to society only to enter into another. Hiram wouldn't.

"WHAT?!" He roared, letting loose one of his hatchets towards Drystan. There was plenty of time for the Eldouir to dodge or turn to mist so that the weapon would not lodge into his stomach--if he was paying attention. If not then the blade would sink into his gut. It wasn't an attack. I mean, it was, but it wasn't like Hiram was attacking Drystan. He was being impatience. The way a forty-plus-year-old medieval magical warrior with a battered childhood, arguably psychotic adulthood, and chaotic demeanor reacts when impatient...

Whatever trace emotions to be found in Drystan’s tone and translated into the underlying questions and feelings a more verbal man might have expressed or a sensitive man might have noticed were bypassed by Hiram. He took Drystan at his words, and would think nothing more of what transpired between them.

“Reeling from the role reversal?” Hiram snapped, no longer yelling but certainly still impatient.

Hiram laughed mirthlessly.

"Headship? You think that's what you have?" He scoffed and shook his head. No, Drystan had never had to carry the weight of the Eldouir name. He might be holding down the fort logistically, but he was still just a face in the shadows, a figure in the mist, you might say. No one was looking to him to lead them. Everyone still had their eyes set on Hiram.

"The girls asked for crowns and they got them." He shifted the subject. "Was it the best course of action?" It wasn't rhetoric. He was checking in, in a way.

Yes, family had always been the priority, hadn't it? Hiram remained quiet for a beat, considering Drystan with a stare. Then he asked:

"Do you think you would do a better job?" A seemingly innocent question, but surely Drystan was astute enough to know that Hiram didn't ask hypothetical questions simply to muse. If he was asking, it was because he was thinking about action. He could seldom be convinced to change his mind on a matter, but that didn't mean people didn't try.

Hiram shrugged his shoulders and leaned his head a little.

"Oh, I don't know." He returned, though his tone implied that he very much did know. He was the head of the Eldouirs. Everyone was looking at him. Everyone, even the queens. Yet he'd managed to slip them. He spent his days away from them, doing things they had no idea he was doing. With enough power, one could do whatever they wanted. It seemed Drystan simply didn't have or want more power.

Hiram looked at his cousin for a quiet moment, as if deciding something. Then he said relayed,

"I'm bored."

Hiram smirked at Drystan and his eyebrows bounced, his formerly bad mood apparently forgotten.

"I hear there's a party in Coheed." Was he really stupid enough to attend? Why yes, yes he was.