Aedan's home: Aedan/Fiach
He could feel it the moment they came closer to his home. The witches -- they always smelled of electricity and herbs, the deep earth and magic at their beck and call. It was not something he was treated to often, but with more frequency than the third scent. Wildness untamed, ice and fire that was not made by human hands, the tang of lightning.
He finished making the bed before he headed back downstairs, keen hearing catching the last of their conversation. His foot was on the last stair as the knocking began to clear what spirits remained that should not and he slid up to the door, barefooted, in his jeans and a dark green jumper.
Fae were prickly, but this was his home, and he opened the door without wasting time. "Greetings. Lord Fiach," he said with a simple, and respectful bow. "I only received news of your coming moments ago, but you are all welcome to come inside for something to eat and drink before you return." Most of that was directed to the witches that he assumed would be leaving. Aedan and other man would have to have their own conversation later.