Ardaik 11th - Central Ocean

The day was shaping up to be another long one, in Flann's opinion. Artus had been more reserved than ever, and the weather seemed obliged to match the Lorellian prince's mood.

The thick fog returned late in the morning. Muting the world around them. Making it difficult to see the position of the sun and hard to discern exactly how long Flann and Edna had been moving about the top deck, conversing quietly amongst themselves.

"I'm tellin' ya, they've no sense. Havin' those dead aboard after everythin' that's happened," she commented under her breath. "How do they know they won't just sit up an take over the ship?"

The hair on Flann's arms rose at the thought, but as he made to reply, a single white crow landed on the railing beside him, startling them both.

Edna gasped at the ghostly bird. "Another ill omen?" she wondered.

Flann immediately shook his head.

"A friend!" he exclaimed, stepping toward the creature just before a sailor's cry cut through the dense air.

"DRAGON!"

The dreaded word was shouted across the misty deck of the ship, sending the entire weary crew into a frenzy of motion.

"There's another!" a second man shouted, pulling more attention to the fog-wrapped skies as they strained to spot the beasts' silhouettes.

"Harpoons first if we can, gentlemen!" Kelber barked as he leaped down the steps between the helm and the quarter-deck. "Angle the cannons!"

Flann's eyes widened in horror. "Wait!" he belted, rushing past his guard to grab the attention of the admiral. "Wait! Don't fire on 'em! Wait!"

Paniel's brow pinched, and he twisted around to see the Serellian prince. "Stay our course," he ordered the helmsman before calling, "Mr. Kelber! Ready the guns below, but hold the shot!"

"Yes, sir!"

Just as Kelber retreated below to the lower gun deck, four dragons emerged from the fog. Each of them appeared formidable in their own right, though none were as large as Kamuhr or Auganull.

They circled the small fleet until Ornath swooped down on the galleon, touching the deck just long enough to allow King Liam to slide off his back.

As brief as the contact was, the creature's weight still caused the port side of the Retribution to dip toward the sea.

Artus scrambled to get above deck when the ship righted herself, and Sebastien's tight grip on his arm nearly pulled him from the steps.

"Artus!" Sebastien chided as the two emerged from the hatch. The cold air hit them both, and Artus's eyes locked onto the crowd of sailors and soldiers bunched loosely around something near where he could only assume the dragon had briefly landed. "Saints above! How many more have been brought onto us?" the advisor added, drawing Artus's attention upward.

He caught glimpses of the hovering creatures between the masts, rigging, and blanketing fog. But there were no booming cracks of gunfire nor clouds of angry, black smoke. Why?

Artus slipped free from his coat—and subsequently, Sebastian's grasp—shouldering his way through the crew to the inner edge of the half circle that they'd formed. There, he found a towering mountain of a man standing next to Flann and Admiral Paniel.

"King O'Conor?" Artus's astonishment was evident in his voice, despite his controlled expression and rigidly dignified posture. "...How?"

"The thanks should be directed toward Lord Cullach," Liam replied as he cast a pointed finger toward the marquis, who was dismounting Folian's dragon in a manner that required the guard captain's intervention so that he did not collapse onto the deck of the ship or get hit by a beating wing.

Artus's mouth parted in astonishment at how very...unintimidating the sight was.

"Eh...well, back to business," the Serellian king said, dropping his hand and clearing his throat. "I assume yar heading is set towards Malton. Our dragons need to rest inland, so if it isn't too much of an imposition, my company requests ta stay aboard until ya make landfall."

Paniel snorted, casting a glance at Artus as the dark-haired prince made his way back through the crowd, presumably to speak with the aforementioned marquis.

"I won't guarantee the most pleasant stay," Paniel said, inviting the Serellian king to walk with him and waving for his sailors to get back to their stations. A few soldiers, however, were kept close by. "We're critically low on supplies, particularly on ammunition, food, and fresh water. We'll still accommodate you to the best of our allowances, though, if you so wish."

Near the ship's bow, McKee and even Iain dismounted their dragons with a well-timed leap so as not to disturb the vessel again.

But Folian's ears burned with embarrassment as he kept Bhalthier on his feet by way of a strong grip on the marquis's bicep.

"Could ya pull yarself together?" Folian pleaded under his breath. He himself was terrified to be aboard a wooden tinderbox propelled only by wind caught in a few big sheets, but he'd be damned if he was going to look it in front of all these hose-wearing Lorellians. "Yer legs're tremblin' like a newborn fawn's fer feck's sake. Ya look ridiculous."

As Artus neared the pair, a good look at the marquis's face alone triggered a swell of memories. Strangely enough, he even recognized the knight, though Artus couldn't retrieve a name from his thoughts. "Excuse me, Lord Cullach, might you be fit enough for a word?"

"One word may be generous at best," Folian tossed back before he'd even looked to see who he'd just addressed.

"Your king credited you with our discovery," Artus said quickly, maneuvering in front of the two, not to be dismissed. "I should like to know how you accomplished that."

"We eh...heard rumors in La'Trest," the knight asserted.

Artus's eyes widened, and he lifted his chin. "You were in La'Trest?"

"We came upon ya from the south, didn't we? Now off with ya," Folian shooed. "Back to scrubbing yer deck or whatever ya sailors do."

"Folian," Bhalthier managed out the mild warning, despite his fragile state.

Artus clamped his arms around himself tightly. The cold was settling in on his skin, easily cutting through his light, billowy shirt, but he pressed the matter. "What state is the capital in? The castle? Did a dragon destroy it?"

With a twitch of his eye, Folian released Bhalthier and, in one stride, reached the young Lorellian pestering them. He laid a heavy arm across Artus's shoulders and directed them both away from the marquis so the man could get his wits about him without further distractions.

"Look, be a good lad and run along, ey?" Folian hissed, but his suggestion caught a swift reply.

"Sir Spar, it may be too much to ask, but I suggest you restrain your tongue when speaking to foreign royalty."

"Royalty?" Folian's rusty brown brows lifted as he straightened back to his full height and turned to look at his companion.

"Yes," Artus agreed curtly, pulling away and somehow appearing as if he were looking down at Folian, despite their difference in height. "I've been away from La'Trest for days now, and I'd appreciate prompt answers to my questions."

Bhalthier nodded once, his gaze still fixed on the boards of the deck. An attempt to stabilize himself by staring at something static rather than the endless rolling fog or undulation of the ship and dark waves. He still felt infinitely better here rather than in the air. However, he couldn't say that he appreciated how crowded the vessel felt, even without others in their very immediate vicinity.

"A pleasure to meet you again as well, Your Highness." Bhalthier's greeting was effortlessly flippant. It almost seemed unintentional. "La'Trest yet stands. It, along with your father and mother, awaits your return while repairs are already underway."

Folian was actually surprised to see some of the tension in the snooty brat's posture ease the moment Bhalthier had reported on the Lorellian king and queen. The prince even exhaled a sigh before speaking.

"That's good to hear," Artus replied a bit more gently. "Forgive me for my lapse in manners," he added, jumping partway through his apology when Sebastien joined them, wordlessly announcing his presence by placing Artus's dark embroidered coat back around his shoulders. "I would still like to know how you came about us. From who did you hear rumors?"

"Your Highness, if it's of such concern to you," Sebastien interjected, "I'd advise you save your interrogation for a more suitable venue. I fear you'll catch a cold in this frigid damp." He paused for a moment to give Bhalthier a scrutinizing gaze. "Or perhaps something else."

"The marquis merely has a weak stomach," Folian found himself saying in defense of his kinsman. "Not some disease."

"Surely," Sebastien said in what was quite possibly the driest tone Folian had ever heard before trying to usher his prince away from them.

Bhalthier's dark-ringed eyes neither looked surprised nor angered by the advisor's implications. He did, however, look tired. The sort of weariness that came not from endless hours of lost sleep—though he had many—but from a lifetime of intense scrutiny.

"I came across a sailor in La'Trest who claimed his ship had been attacked and that the Rose was heading to Malton," Bhalthier answered, following the two Lorellians. "Why?"

Artus froze for a moment, turning his head to look back at the marquis. "I wondered if that means some of our men survived. I'm grateful to hear that they did."

It wasn't until the Lorellian prince and his handler had disappeared amongst the other sailors that Folian saw fit to speak again. When he did, it was hushed, and he was shoulder to shoulder with Bhalthier. "Is it just that all Lorellians look an' sound conniving, or does he seem ta be hidin' somethin'?"

"Everyone's hiding something, Captain Spar," Bhalthier retorted, with a quiet regret that hung in his words as he passed the guard captain. He knew from experience. In fact, he was exposed to so many untold secrets that, over time, he'd come to the conclusion that it wasn't a matter of if someone was lying to him; it was simply a matter of degree and decent.

***

"Aye! Artie!" Flann's greeting was so iconic that Artus need not turn to look to know it was the Serellian prince who joined his table that evening at supper. Mug in one hand and pipe in the other, the young northern prince looked as though he were already home.

"We still have drink left?" Artus mused with a small but forced smile. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting at the table alone, scrutinizing his empty plate with his fork. The condition of his stomach implied that he was still hungry, but he found himself quite lacking any desire to ask for another serving. What Sebastien had told him about Rowan's actions consumed him far more than the ache in his gut.

"Aye, more barrels of wine left than food in the hull." Flann passed his mug toward the other prince and took a long drag of his pipe. The fiery-haired prince folded his arms in front of himself and leaned in so that his words might be slightly more private as he watched Artus tentatively take a drink from the mug. "Edna told me what happened on the Rose. Rowan speaking to Sebastien." Flann paused to glance over his shoulder before his green eyes fixed back on Artus. "That, and the fact that his body wasn't found and no relic neith'ar...what do you make of it all?"

Artus swallowed down the burning liquid in his mouth, then cleared his throat. His answer was equally as quiet. "That Rowan is alive, of course."

"Well, a'course he is!" Flann exclaimed; though he managed to control the boom to his voice to a hushed level, his excitement was still evident.

"And that he lied to me," Artus added, finally venturing more than a glance at Flann. "I'm not sure what to make of that yet. But I want to find him."

"Ah...hah... Aye." The enthusiasm drained from Flann's tone, and the corners of his lips drew down into a frown. "I'm sure Row had reasons. I, er...I hope they were good ones," he added before closing his lips around the end of his pipe, almost as if to avoid saying anything foolish.

"Rowan is brave and smart," Artus asserted. "Rugged, even, by our standards. I can't imagine he would have taken the relic without believing his plot was worth such great personal risk." He took a smaller sip before setting the mug back down in front of Flann. "I fear I may have gravely misstepped in revealing my feelings for him. It was possibly one of many naive mistakes as of late. And now I wonder when allowing you to know my secrets will turn to bite me as well."

"Thar he goes again... Feck'n ey," Edna murmured under her breath from where she and the guard captain sat. Even though she was no longer the only Serellian guard, that hardly meant she was going to take her eyes off Flann and the Lorellian prince.

Folian paused mid-bite to follow Edna's eyes toward Flann. He chewed slowly as he studied the royal pair. They were seated quite close. "He's bored an's been stuck on a ship full'a men," Folian mumbled between chewing, wagering that Prince Artus was likely the most feminine thing on board. Not that Flann hadn't shown the occasional passing interest in men as well. "Nothin'll come of it."

"How ar'ya so sure?"

Folian shook his head. "Lorellians are as closed-minded as they come."

"Mark my words, thar gonna be in ta trouble," Edna said before returning to her food.

Flann leaned back to his full height. "Ah...well, sorry ya feel that way...but if ya want ta get yar mind off those kinda thoughts, I'm free—at least until we make port," Flann suggested as he made to stand.

Artus's hand was quick, only a flutter of movement before it had landed atop the table, his pinky and ring finger only overlapping Flann's. "I would like your company, Flann," Artus said, ears flushing slightly when he caught the female guard eyeing them in his peripheral. "Regardless of my cynical thoughts."