Ardaik 15th - Tulot, Serellia

Flann's snoring seemed locked in combat with the rattling of the carriage, and howling wind, over which would be most likely to disturb his traveling companions' attempts at rest. Nevertheless, there were the rare moments when the Serellian prince adjusted and fell silent for brief periods, which was a fair bit more considerate than the carriage and wind, which never ceased throughout the trip.

"It's a wonder he doesn't wake 'emself with such a racket," Zassir commented with a half smile, his own eyes droopy with fatigue.

Artus grinned at the reaver before looking at the slumbering Serellian. "While we were aboard my father's ships, he slept the same," he replied before adding, much louder, "Right, O'Conar?"

Flann roused from his sleep, yawning and stretching as he attempted to shrug off the haze of sleep. "Oh, are we there?" He didn't even wait for an answer.

Instead, he pulled the curtain aside and threw open the window, which was actually an impressive feat of strength. The carriage windows were warped and weathered and prone to sticking. Just getting them open an inch for fresh air was a struggle, but here, Flann had pushed open the stubborn thing enough to stick his whole head out of it and catch a glimpse of the tall stone walls of the city.

High above the carriages, the king and his other dragon riders were already flying over the city wall and toward the castle.

Tulot was a fortress city, with the Carburn Peaks to her west and Terrancaster Range to her east it sat in the roughly three-hundred-mile-wide gap between the two ranges atop a rocky hill. From its perch, the large stone castle overlooked the entrance to the valley and city below.

But Tulot wasn't a fortress made to weather foreign attacks, although it certainly had throughout the Kingdom Wars of earlier eras. It was a city meant to endure the harsh elements of nature in the many forms that it was subjected to. The walls were tall and thick to keep out dire bears, which were common during the spring and summer months, as well as other giant creatures that called the north home.

To the west was the Lashstead River, which wound down from the foot of the Carburn peaks that formed the backdrop to the city.

Though the carriages were approaching from the south, they avoided the southern gate, instead taking the long way around passed the muddy fields being sewn with winter crops, to the east gate, avoiding the heavy traffic of the busy southern quarter of Tulot.

They could hear the men on the gate, hollering and calling to each other as they coordinated to engage the cranks that aided in opening the massive doors.

"The gates are made of ironbark," Flann explained, as Artus leaned to get a better view. "It''sa wood so strong that it can be tempered in the same fires as metal. Hence the name."

"Gates made to handle the likes of dragons and armies," Zassir commented.

Beyond the gates, however, was a rather humble city. There were no marble or sandstone structures. Everything was made of cobbled stone and wood, and it was evident that appearance was often sacrificed for utility when it came to the design of the buildings.

To the right of the gate, as they entered the city, was a giant iron bark tree, and around it a low stonewall. From the old iron bark's branches, hung dozens, if not hundreds of little wooden pendants and trinkets, and under it sat gifts and memorials to those who had passed on.

Beyond the tree were the castle gates that led into the front courtyard, and this was where the carriages came to a stop.

The girls were the first ones out, stretching and chatting while the servants who'd come out of the castles worked to unload their things and get them inside. The boys' carriage, however, was a bit slower unloading as they waited for Zassir to exit first.

"Welcome ta Tulot, lads!" Flann announced as they entered the castle.

It was similar to the other buildings, made of stone and wood, though the wooden frames, beams, and trusses inside were carved with depictions of foliage and animals. Each support beam seemed to have a story etched into it. Furs, antlers, and horns were just as popular as wood to decorate with, and long, elaborately stained glass windows painted the grand hall in a smattering of vibrant colors as Flann led them up the main staircase.

"This'll be your room!" said the prince, opening the door and allowing Artus to inspect it as he turned towards the reaver. "I can show ya the servant's quarters if ya like, er...wait... Reavers weave their own beds, don't they? So I suppose ya could stay just about anywhere then, can't ya?"

"I eh..." Zassir chuckled. "I might refrain fer the sake'a not startlin' more people."

Artus hadn't been able to truly grasp nor appreciate just how much Lorellian influence had been present in Lord Cullach's manor until they'd arrived in Tulot. Even Homenil, which had many differences to La'Trest, seemed far more similar now, by comparison.

The room was strange and beautiful in a way that Artus doubted many of his peers back home would appreciate. The sleeping surface of the bed barely sat above the ground, but was dressed with thick, knitted blankets, topped with an entire wolf pelt. The whole bed was framed by a sturdy wooden canopy, carved with designs very similar to the ones adorning the mantle above the glowing fireplace. He'd never seen anything like it.

"Flann?" Artus said softly once Zassir had taken a few steps out into the hall to continue looking around.

"Aye?"

With one more look toward the door to ensure Zassir was beyond their line of sight, Artus pulled Flann closer to him, encircling the Serellian's broad shoulders with his arms. "That was very kind of you to make Zassir feel welcomed," he whispered, nose nearly brushing Flann's. "And to make me feel at home." Artus pressed his lips against Flann's in a gentle kiss that he'd been longing to give the other prince since they'd left Homenil.

Clearly taken off his guard, Flann's face reddened across the bridge of his nose and cheeks as he grinned.

"Well, I, er..." Flann trailed off because honestly, his brain was having a hard time thinking about anything at that moment.

The sound of a low, deep horn echoed from outside the room, and Artus raised a brow at Flann.

"Ah, that'd be the signal we're late. Heh," Flann explained as he headed out of the room, motioning for Artus to follow. "Be back later Zassir!"

***

Flann led Artus to the northeast corner of the castle where the war room was located. It had its own entrance, allowing the jarls to come and go without having to walk the entire length of the castle or disturb any day-to-day life going on therein.

It wasn't as large or as impressive as Artus's father's war room. It felt more private and personal, probably because Serellia had fewer people and, by extension, fewer leaders. However, there were still enough people gathered for Bhalthier to remain absent, and Flann was sure that his father had already expected as much. There wouldn't be anything said that Bhal couldn't just find out later on his own.

"Please, take your seats. We're about to begin," said the king.

Everyone else was already gathering around the table when the two princes arrived. Flann nudged Artus's arm and motioned with his head toward a pair of chairs near Liam's seat, at the head of the table. Directly across the table from the king there was no chair, only an empty space between the table and the giant hearth.

Artus's face flushed as he quickly moved to one of the two open chairs, gracefully seating himself. For some reason, staring at a table full of world-worn faces was far more intimidating than being audience to a sea of pretty masks. He rested his hands in his lap, glancing at Flann for some form of reassurance.

Flann was still holding a grin when his glance met Artus's, though he tried to tame it down when his father began to speak.

"Thank ye all for coming at such short notice. As I'm sure ye've all heard by now, Lorellia has been attacked by undead, and we have reason ta believe they find their origins from the Silent Slough. I don't suppose any of ye would need me ta spell out what this might mean fer us, but I'll go ahead and say it anyway... Any of our homes could be next."

"So what? Wiverham's nearly at the Slough's doorstep. We deal with the likes of the Slough every day. T'ere's nothin dar that should have any of my men so much'as bat an eye," the Jarl of Wiverham spat.

"He's right," said the lady Jarl of Boulderstorm. "If Lorellia has brought the Slough down upon them while caught unprepared, then it's thar own fault. They wouldn't dare send us aid in the winter once the passes close up. The law of winter holds. After the festival, Serellia is on its own."

It occurred to Artus that the jarls at the table were completely unaware of who he was, with the exception of Lord McLiannen. That, or if they were aware, they didn't seem to mind speaking so bluntly of his country in front of him.

"How should a kingdom like Lorellia be prepared for an assault from a necromancer?" Artus's words had left his mouth before he'd had a chance to think better of it and catch his tongue, though his upbringing had enabled them to come out in an effortlessly diplomatic tone, almost entirely free of emotion. "Or a dragon? By breeding our own, perhaps?"

Artus's question caught the attention of everyone rather quickly, and silence fell across the table.

"Ahem, Prince Viotto is correct, and I was just about ta get to that. Auganull and a necromancer seem to be heading the attacks and have awoken Kamuhr."

"Bah, mages! That's what the Citadel is for," The Jarl from Wiverham said. "Have them send their spell blades out to deal with the matter."

"I have sent word to the Citadel. Their mages should arrive within the week. Augunall's another problem...a big one, that not I nor any king before me has been able to handle...and we may have the trouble doubled with Kamuhr's re-emergence. Any suggestions on how to save our hatcheries from being raided again are welcomed."

More of the jarls joined in on the conversation, but as the volume rose, Artus found himself increasingly distracted. Before long, his inability to focus morphed into an all too familiar lightheadedness. He couldn't faint in front of these Serellians... It was quite clear what some of them already thought of his kingdom. He wouldn't contribute to their misconceptions.

Artus placed a hand on Flann's forearm, leaning close to him as he discreetly pushed out his chair. "I'll be back," he whispered before standing. It was incredibly difficult for him not to race to the door. Every second seemed painfully stretched until he finally found himself in the hall.

"Where do ya think yer off to exactly?"

Captain Spar's voice startled Artus. "Don't," he spat, stumbling when he jerked away from the guard's reach.

"Ey, easy..."

Artus hadn't had a dizzy spell this bad in quite some time. "I don't...feel well." He was only conscious long enough after his muttered claim to see true concern flash across the guard's freckled face before his world went black.

Folian's breath caught in his throat. His off-hand flew to grab the foreign prince, but Artus slipped from his grip. "Feck!" he barked, lunging onto his knees in order to fully catch the Lorellian just in time to keep him from cracking his head on the stone floor.

For a brief moment, Folian was at a loss of what to do, but one of the guards who'd been patrolling the hall had seen the incident and was now quickly making their way to them.

"Captain? What happened? How can I help?"

"Have someone get one'a the medics," Folian said, carefully raising back to his full height with Artus cradled in his arms. "Tell em-"

"Bring him to the den," Cullach's voice cut in as the Marquis approached them. "I think I know what happened." He motioned for the captain and the other guard to hurry, and once they were in the den, he closed and locked the doors before joining them.