Ardaik 7th - Central Ocean

The sun was high; nearly midday, Rowan wagered, by how their shadows had shrunken to almost nothing. The shadows weren't the only thing that had nearly disappeared, however. The wind had left their sails as well. Normally, one could count on the wind coming out of the southeast to carry ships into La'Trest, but today their canvas hung slack and empty, the two ships barely moving.

"The winds have changed, Row...'tis an ill omen," Flann said as he looked up from his ax, which he'd been busy sharpening and oiling. In Rowan's opinion, the ax didn't appear to need as much attention as his friend was giving it, but it was something to do.

"It's seasonal, not an omen," Rowan replied before returning to his weapon. The beautiful decorative blade was crusted with dried black and brown blood from the undead it had tangled with days ago. For a weapon that was all show, it had served Rowan well enough to see his head not parted from his shoulders, but he knew the real reason was less likely the pretty sword and more likely the guardsmen and, well, guardswoman.

"Prince O'Conar is right. The southeast wind never fails...unless fate has taken it from us," one of the merchant sailors warned as Flann's remaining guard stepped nearer to the edge of the boat.

Flann stood, sliding his ax into his belt as he stepped past Rowan to observe the view with his kinsman. Rowan watched the two Serellians closely as they surveyed the vast, open blue waves. It was awfully quiet now; no birds, no wind...only the occasional creak of the boat and the rhythmic slapping of waves against the haul—until something broke the surface of the water.

The expulsion of air through a massive blowhole was so sudden that it made both Flann and his guard jump and stumble back before the Serellian prince broke into laughter, and Rowan soon followed.

"Aye, there be yar omen!" Flann declared light-heartedly, pointing at the creature.

"No, that's just a black whale..." Rowan replied, but the smile began to fade from his face as more spouts and fins began to break the surface of the water around them.

"You mean whales..." the guard corrected as she slid her sword back into its scabbard.

Rowan's smile further dropped as he recalled what he'd heard of black whales. That they were scavengers. They could smell a carcass from miles away and were common around shipwrecks. This pod was huge and heading right in the same direction as they were—toward La'Trest. Perhaps the Serellians were right. These whales were an omen. A sign of death.

Rowan's attention shifted as he spied Artus coming up from below deck, and instantly his chest tightened. He'd cursed himself several times for what had happened last night, or rather what hadn't happened. In the moment, it had seemed reasonable and right, but before he'd even returned to his own hammock, his head was flooded with all the things that could have happened. He'd barely slept at all. Instead, he'd laid awake deliberating and regretting. Even now, all he could think about was how he'd probably never have a quiet moment like that, alone with Artus, ever again.

It was probably for the best; what would come of it besides scandal and heartbreak? To what end was he hoping they would come? Lovers? That was out of the question entirely. They'd be hanged—well, Rowan would be hanged. He didn't want to think about what would happen to Artus. The prince had to know all of this too. He wasn't some dim-wit backwater noble from Orlington. He was the crowned prince of Lorellia.

And yet, there he stood—chatting with Flann as they watched the whales. Artus hadn't so much as glanced in Rowan's direction or even acknowledged that he existed. And why should he? Flann was free to do as he pleased. He was a prince in his own right, and Serellia didn't condemn affections from one man to another. It made sense that if Artus were interested in men, he'd choose one closer to his own status; Flann checked all of those boxes.

And what was worse was that even Rowan couldn't blame Artus. Flann was likable, and kind, and sincere... He was so candid and open. He was everything that Lorellia wasn't, and that made Rowan's blood boil.

"Are there black whales in the Whispering Sea?" Artus wondered, his question aimed at the Serellians. He wasn't looking at them or the whales, however. Rowan was who he was aiming for eye contact with, but the blond seemed too deep into his own thoughts to notice.

Artus wished he knew what to say to Rowan. Or at least how to approach him, but now he was admittedly a little nervous. What if the baron's son regretted their kiss, or rather, kisses last night? The thought turned his stomach as he resumed tracking the undulating movements of the whales and their interruptions of the waves.

"Up north? Perhaps there are. You'd have to ask a sailor," said Flann.

"Of course." Artus shook his head at himself and returned his attention to the other prince. Flann had already said that he wasn't much for sailing. Artus supposed it was difficult for him to imagine a life so segregated from the sea. "Well, I expect we may see some sharks, too...the closer we get to the bay. If our dying wind and these whales appear to be an ill omen, I'm certain those will look to be as well," Artus reasoned. But not unlike the nobility of his country, he didn't believe these animals to be anything but hungry. La'Trest had been accosted—and now her blood was in the water, so to speak. He just hoped it wouldn't be as bad as he feared. And that his father wouldn't be irreparably furious with him. "Are most Serellians superstitious people?"

"Aye, and with just cause, with the Silent Slough at'ar doorstep..." Flann trailed off, the smile on his face faltering.

Artus's brows lifted at Flann's change in expression. He'd never heard of such a place, nor could he recall having seen it on any map. "What's the Silent Slough?"

"Used to be the great city of Aramass, Serellia's largest port on the east coast. It completed the Eastern Sea trade routes that stretched all the way from us to Cardenar, back in those days. It was also the first city to fall in the kingdom wars—sunken by Lorellian magic."

The Lorellian prince was stunned. How had he never heard of what would have once been such an essential port? Before he could question Flann further, however, the redhead continued.

"Our people regrouped in Pinehaven, abandoning the city. Over the years, Aramass became a den for thieves, pirates, rogue mages, and all manner of other creatures that had all fled north to escape capture and settled in the ruins."

"...Creatures driven out of Lorellia," Artus mused, to which Flann nodded.

"After more time had passed, the land around the ruins sank and pooled with brackish water, creating the Frigid Marsh. It eventually became overrun with hordes of spider folk who'd been pushed out of their homes in the mountain caves. For years the ruins of the city decayed and festered—unreachable—cut off from the rest of the world until my grandfather tried to reclaim Aramass," Flann explained, his words painting unsettling images in Artus's head. "He lost scores of men until finally, he gave up and declared the land unlivable. 'A silent slough of rot,' and the name stuck, even to this day. There's only one place those giant toads who attacked La'Trest could have come from..."

"They were from Serellia, then?" Artus questioned. "What reason would they have for traveling all the way here to our capital?"

"The Slough isn't Serellia. At least, my father doesn't consider it so. He'd no sooner send soldiers to defend it than he would to capture it. Rumor has it that the fallen soldiers of Aramass and the Lorellian invaders never found peace and still roam the Slough... 'Tis why we Serellians plant trees on top of those who pass—to keep them from rising again. But no one buried the dead in Aramass..."

Despite the direct sun overhead and the lack of any breeze, Artus's skin prickled with bumps. The idea of literally rooting the dead in their final resting place sounded ridiculous...that was until he considered the horrific creatures they'd seen only a few nights ago. What if La'Trest was still swarming with them now? "Trees are important to your culture, aren't they?" he asked absently, eager to change the subject. The attack and their escape still didn't feel entirely real. Artus supposed it was possible that he, as well as the others, were still in shock. "Is that why you carry an ax rather than a sword?"

"Aye. There are entire ancestral forests..." Flann took a moment, clearly lost in his thoughts, before returning a slight grin in response to Artus's second question. "This? I made it myself!" the Serellian prince declared boastfully as he drew the ax from his belt and handed it to Artus. "No better weapon than one that'll serve you just as well in battle as out of it."

Artus felt somewhat awkward holding the tool. It certainly wasn't balanced like a sword, nor was it flashy, gilded, or speckled with fine stones...but it did look useful. Sturdy. And he could appreciate the pride Flann took in it. In fact, as he turned the ax's handle in his hands, his gaze flicked up from examining the ax head to sizing up its owner. It seemed to suit the Serellian prince quite well. "This is impressive," he admitted, allowing a bit of a smile to slip onto his face. "You did a fine job. I don't think I know any nobles who are versed in smithing. All they know is how to write and count." Artus sighed before adding "and argue" with a grin of his own.

"My father's idea. Or, eh, more of his demand after a few parties got out of hand," Flann admitted as he scratched the back of his neck.

"So, after you got out of hand at a few parties," Artus translated.

Flann laughed, his eyes glimmering. "Said that I should learn how to do something constructive with my time, and I chose to apprentice with a blacksmith in the barracks for a while. This ax was my crowning achievement! Yep. It's weighted improperly, and you can see the wear on the blade is uneven, but those are minor things," the Serellian boasted, with a clear bias toward his own weapon as he slid it back into his belt. "It'll still cut firewood or cleave a man's skull, and that's all that matters," he added with a chuckle.

The raven-haired prince didn't join in on Flann's laughter, however. Instead, he was completely distracted by movement in the lower stairwell—someone else joining them above deck. Sebastien only briefly glanced at Artus before making his way toward the helm, where one of the merchant crew was steering, and Kenton had also stationed himself.

Rowan took notice of Artus's attention shift, just as he'd taken notice of the faint bruise on the prince's face that hadn't come from any toad or undead. The steward's son had been quietly observing the two princes—admittedly, mostly Artus—pondering how he should insert himself into the conversation or if it was even wise to do so. Again, he found himself in the oddest position among the crew. He was high-born enough to not fit in with the sailors or the guards, but he was well below the ranks of royalty. This left him with only one other man on his level.

The blond's gaze followed Artus's to Sebastien, and now suspicion began to grow in the back of his mind. Artus and Sebastien had had a fair bit of contention over the last few days, but would the advisor be bold enough to strike the crowned prince? The thought alone made Rowan's jaw tighten.

"So..." Flann's voice broke the silence quite abruptly. "I'm sure yar family won't be expecting us. I wager those fancy flags'll be enough to stop them from blowing us out of the water?"

Artus again focused on Flann before what he'd asked truly sank in. "This ketch is part of the royal fleet. They wouldn't fire on it." At least...they shouldn't. What cause would they have to? Sure, the merchant ship was sailing just off their port side, but that should hardly be a reason to attack them. "Thank you, however, for making me nervous over something that's silly to be nervous over," Artus teased half-heartedly. "Rowan, how well do you wager our Serellian guests can swim?" he added in an attempt to bring Rowan out of whatever deep pondering he was doing.

"Serellians don't swim, Artus; they hop from iceberg to iceberg. Or ride a tusked seal. You know that," Rowan countered.

"Oh, aye. If only there had been one around the night of the attack. I'd have saved us all!" Flann laughed.

"That would have been quite the sight." Artus chuckled as well. "I've read of brave knights rescuing maidens on horseback, but never of any saving a prince astride the sea's marine life. Serellian stories must be far more interesting than ours," he said, with a rather mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"Ya've never heard of Gwalter Spar, the North Paladin? He could tame any animal! His best friend was a dire bear named Gideon, and he rode upon a saber-elk bull." Flann shook his head. "Well, come on then! What stories do Lorellians tell?"

"Tales of ghost ships and sea monsters, and of werewolves, and of a particularly nasty hag who turns the money of wealthy but foolish men into stone," Artus replied. "And she can also make their wives disobedient."

"Hmm...I've heard there are a great few about a certain prince too. I should like to hear one of those," Flann suggested with a smile.

The Serellian's request drew Rowan's attention back to Artus. The number of stories to part from mouths about Artus, and more specifically, what happened to the Épée de Mer, must've rivaled the number of stars in the northern sky. The prince had probably been asked to recount the event more than he'd been asked anything else about himself. So it didn't make sense for his face to suddenly be aflame at Flann's request, and yet, Artus stood there beneath the gaze of both the Serellian prince and Rowan with what appeared to be cold feet.

"I'd hate to disappoint, your highness," he said, feigning a playful, confident tone. "But I would prefer to save that story for a more intimate setting. After all, it is the most interesting one I have."

"Alright then," Flann said, looking around a moment before turning his attention back toward Artus. "Is below deck private enough?"

"Uh..." Artus supposed he should've known better than to think that Flann would've been so easily deterred, given his apparent enthusiasm for fantastical tales. "I suppose it'll have to be," he said with a polite smile, motioning for Flann to lead the way.

While the Serellian headed for the steps leading below deck, Artus stopped next to Rowan on his way, whispering, "Come fetch me if I'm gone long?"

"...Define long," Rowan said in a sly tone while he watched the two disappear down the stairs. His smile faded the moment they had before looking toward the ship's helm.