Prince.
That explained a lot. Everything, every little bit of conversation, every interaction that hinted at it played in taunting loops in his head. Bubbles of rage broiled in his veins. He clutched the poster tight enough to tear it's frail edges. Why was this making him so angry? Altan stood there staring burning holes through the piece of crinkled paper long enough for Griffin to stop and turn back.
With an annoyed sigh, Griffin started towards him. "Altan, what are you-"
       His words fizzled out as his eyes fell to the poster in Altans hands. Then he met Altans fierce gaze with an unreadable expression, gears turning behind those stupid golden eyes.
       "Just when, exactly, did you plan on telling me you're a Prince?" He hissed out through clenched teeth.
    Griffins voice was monotonous, steely. "As I have already informed you, that wasn't your business to know."
        "Oh, I see," Altan laughed darkly, crumpling the paper in his fist into a messy ball, "so you didn't think it was even a little bit important to tell me? It just, wasn't significant. At all." He stood a step towards Griffin.
       "Mind yourself." Griffin spat.
       "No, Goldilock, I'm not going to 'mind myself',"he smiled inwardly when Griffin scowled at the name, "I've been out here, every day for nearly a week, risking my neck for you! It would've been helpful to, oh I don't know, give me a little context?"
        "You are on a need-to-know basis," He growled, squaring up to Altan, "I'm not obligated to tell you every detail of my life! You are not my friend, Altan."
      That last blow caused Altan to snap and he erupted forward, first curling into the fabric of Griffins shirt. Griffin shoved Altan away, and then immediately lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. They crashed into the filthy sewage streams, rolling, exchanging unrelenting blows. Griffins fist rammed into his cheek and Altan shouted, kicking him off.
      "So then why keep me around then, huh?" Altan challenged, scrambling to his feet. "If you want to be a sorry loner so bad!"
       "You are worthless to me." Griffin retorted, sweeping Altans legs out with a strong kick and sending him crashing to the ground. He sat atop Altan, cracking his knuckles into his jaw as he spoke, "Do you truthfully believe I am not capable of finding somebody else? Or finish it on my own? You are only here because it was convenient for me."
      The words cut into Altan and he reacted explosively, grabbing a fistful of Griffins hair and forcing his head to the side so that entire body tilted enough for Altan to finish the roll and regain leverage. He struck down violently, fingers digging into Griffins eye. Griffin cried out, one hand clutching his eye, the other swinging around to jab Altan in the throat. Altan sputtered for a moment before punching Griffin again, and letting his knee sink into his diaphragm. It was Griffins turn to gasp and his face screwed into an expression of pain, his hands moving to try and push Altan off. He almost laughed at the pitiful amount of force behind Griffins shove. He really was exhausted, not boasting his normal freakish strength. The insults began to roll off his tongue like a well practiced song.
       "What? Too tired, princess? Use too much fancy magic yesterday? You're pathetic. I thought royalty was supposed to be strong." He punctuated his sentence with his fist. "I'm surprised they haven't caught you yet! Look at you, you're helpless on your own. You would have died that night with the whisperhounds if it wasn't for me! Alone, forgotten in the dirt where an ex-princess belongs."
      Griffins eyes flew open, eyes suddenly lighting up with a brilliant gold so bright it consumed the entirety of his eyes for but a moment. Altan cursed loudly as a blast of energy exploded from Griffins palms, sending him flying back several feet. A thousand burning hot needles surged through his spine. Griffin closed the distance before Altan could even push himself to his elbows, eyes flashing in rage. He clambered on top of Altan, pinning him, lashing out in a flurry of strikes. Altan raised his forearms to try and deflect the blows, grimacing at the second wind that drove each punch. Eventually one slipped through, connecting solidly under his jaw, sending his head snapping back into the stone ground. He groaned, vision doubling, metal filling his mouth. When Giffin spoke, it sounded disembodied. Distant.
       "You think you are so superior! Do you wish to witness what being the rightful Prince has awarded me, Altan?!" Griffin demanded, rearing back.
      Altans vision came back into focus just as Griffin grabbed the hem of his shirt, lifting it to reveal his entire torso. The sight stalled the fist Altan was planning to drive into his nose, and his eyes widened. Tearing down from Griffins left clavicle to right hip was a massive, jagged, unbroken scar. Images of the small boy being cut in half by a sword flashed through his mind and his gut sank. The disfigured flesh ran like a canyon over the plain of his skin, and Altan laid there transfixed until Griffin dropped his shirt again, pain and resentment in his voice.
       "That is what occurs when you're birthed into a life you didn't ask for." He said, voice hitching. "I've spent my entire existence bearing the weight of responsibilities no one person should face alone. Centurion slaughtered my family when I was eleven, Altan. Eleven. I've been fleeing, on my own, since then. So I oh so deeply apologize if I am hesitant to go around parading the fact I'm a Prince to every single stranger I encounter!"
       As a final point Griffin reached over and grabbed his sword which had fallen only a few feet away. With one hand he gathered his hair, holding the long strands aloft. A tear rolled down his cheek from an already bruising eye, and Altan made some instinctive move to stop him but in one swift motion thick bundles of hair were falling to the ground. The result was a mess of uneven and jagged strands of short hair. Altan gawked openly at him. The strong stranger, the powerful Prince, the methodical mind that showed no weakness were all gone and shedded away in that instant. Griffin was just... a person. Altan's chest suddenly ached as if someone had squeezed his heart. And he hated it.
    Neither spoke for several moments, and they just sat there, panting and staring at each other for an eternity. Eventually Griffin huffed, running a grimy hand through his shredded hair. He dropped the sword, rolling off of Altan and trying to wipe some of the filth off his clothing. Altan stood as well, massaging the back of his throbbing skull. He winced as his fingers brushed a wound and came back red. When Griffin spoke again, his voice was hoarse and unnervingly quiet.
"Let's go."
Altan nodded and followed silently behind Griffin, eyes glued to the streams of murky water under his feet as they began, once again, making their way out of the sewers. He was too rattled to care that they probably drew unwanted attention to themselves.