Ardaik 15th - Tulot, Serellia

The den was half library and half a hunting room, full of furs and mounted animal heads decorating the walls. They placed Artus on one of the long couches, and Bhalthier rolled up his sleeves.

"Lend me your blade," he requested, holding out one of his pale hands.

Folian's left hand didn't even twitch. It stayed right where it was, resting on the hilt of his sword, locking it in place. "What the feck for?"

"I need a drop of blood," said Bhalthier in an equally unflinching tone.

"May I...be excused?" the other guard asked.

A deep sigh left Folian as he reached for and drew the knife from his belt. "Don't tell me yer afraid of seeing a little blood."

"...It's not the blood, Captain," the guard admitted.

Folian pinched the bridge of his nose, then waved his hand dismissively, relinquishing the knife to Bhalthier before following the guard to let them out, then re-locking the door after. "Care ta explain what ya think happened, Cullach, or are ya gonna leave me ta lay awake at night wonderin'?" he asked.

"It's a hex," Bhalthier said plainly, focusing more on what he was doing rather than anything else. It wasn't exactly easy to harm one's self. Even the brief prick against the blade's tip took Bhalthier's total commitment. Luckily, the knife was sharp, and in only the stroke of a second, Bhalthier had a little red blotch on the end of his finger, more than enough to make a mark across Artus's forehead.

The little mark began to bubble as if it were laid across hot metal until the blood was boiled away completely. Bhalthier stood and stuck his finger into his mouth to stop the bleeding.

A chill trickled across Folian's skin, but he tried to focus on the questions at the forefront of his thoughts rather than what he'd just witnessed. "Who do ya suppose hexed him? An shouldn't you be careful doin' that?" Artus stirred but didn't quite seem awake, so Folian lowered his voice before continuing. "Won't ya bleed like a stuck boar?"

Bhalthier took his finger out of his mouth, the wound still faintly oozing blood. "Nothing a little flour won't solve. I'll be back," he said, moving towards the door. But as he unlocked it, he paused and looked back. "Oh, and...It was me. I placed it there the last time he was in Homenil." There was some regret mixed into his words before he disappeared out the door.

Folian stared, dumbfounded... He liked to think he knew Cullach fairly well. Or at least that he knew him well enough to reason out why the marquis did most of whatever strange things he tended to do. But as he looked down at Artus, Folian couldn't, for the life of him, make sense of why Bhalthier would've hexed a child nor what motive he could have possibly had. At the very least, no motive that painted Cullach as anything but a monster...

***

"How are ya feelin'?" Zassir asked when Artus slowly sat up.

The reaver was seated in one of the darker corners of the room Flann had shown them earlier, perched on a footstool that he'd relocated away from the crackling fireplace.

"...Thirsty," Artus said, rubbing his eyes.

"Pitcher's right next to ya." Zassir motioned to the small side table with his shoulders rather than his hands since they were busy weaving. "I brought it in earlier. Thought ya might want a drink or somethin' to eat. Give ya a little strength, ya know?"

"How long was I unconscious?"

"Mmm...I'd say it's been a few hours. Prince O'Conar was terribly worried about ya, but Lord Cull...?"

"Cullach?" Artus provided.

"Aye, that's the one. Lord Cullach reassured 'em that you just needed yer rest an' that you'd be fine."

Artus poured himself a cup of tea from the teapot he figured Zassir had been referring to, and after a few sips, he climbed out of bed and moved to one of the chairs in front of the fire. "...I shouldn't like him as much as I do," Artus said after a stretch of comfortable silence between them.

"Who?" Zassir asked, looking up, the glow from the fire dancing off the almost iridescent white of his pale hair and matching skin. "Lord Cullach? He is a little old for ya, I think... Well, not that he seems very old...Actually, I'm not very good at judging humans by their age, ta be honest. Some don't seem ta-"

"Flann," Artus corrected. "I meant Flann."

"Ooooh. Oh, of course."

Artus watched as a few of Zassir's legs, the farthest back on each side, scooted the reaver, footstool and all, closer to his chair. Tucking his own legs under himself, Artus leaned on his side, resting his head against the back of his seat so that he could face Zassir.

"Why shouldn't ya like 'em? He seems like a very kind man."

There were a lot of reasons... and as Artus considered the halo of soft red light emanating from each of Zassir's eyes, it was impossible not to reflect on how dramatically his entire world had changed...

The day before the festival, he thought he knew himself fairly well. He knew he loved sailing, he knew he had terribly problematic but persistent feelings for Rowan De-Saint Pierre, and that regardless of whether his plan to reveal his feelings for Rowan succeeded or failed, nothing, ultimately, was going to ever truly change about his life.

Now he was sitting in Serellia...chatting with a reaver as though they were the closest of friends, about his tangled mess of a heart...

"Artus?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly. "We both have obligations, and my parents certainly wouldn't approve. And there's also...someone else who's very important to me."

"Oh?" Zassir's hands paused, and he looked up again.

"But I don't know where he is right now," Artus was impressed with himself. He thought he'd done fairly well to keep the heartbreak lancing his throat from marring the sound of his words.

The reaver nodded, "I suppose that would complicate things... Does he know where you are?"

"...I doubt it. We didn't really expect to be parted when we were. Or...at least I don't think either of us did."

"But ya don't know?"

Artus's brows furrowed just a twitch. "No."

"Then let it eat somethin' bigger," Zassir replied, shrugging his shoulders and turning the length of fabric he was creating.

"...What?"

Zassir cleared his throat. "Oh, it's a usti sayin'...not a literal translation, o'course, but it means-"

"Usti?"

"Yeah, that's what my people are called... Yours use 'spider-folk' or 'reavers', fer us males. We're usti."

"Oh." Artus offered Zassir an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. What were you explaining before I interrupted?"

"The sayin' means... well, that the problem yer frettin' over is small. Not that it isn't important, just that it's likely too small to be agonizin' over they way ya are. Or to put it another way, the answer won't feed ya, or ehm...fulfill you the way ya might think."

Artus contemplated Zassir's point of view. He wasn't so sure he agreed at all, but he could certainly understand and respect the concept the usti was describing. "...Perhaps."

They were both quiet again for a while, the logs on the fire the only sound to be heard. Artus finished his tea, and Zassir also had a cup. They were each on their second cup when Artus suddenly stood.

"Hm?" Zassir hummed, blinking out of his meditative state.

"I'll be back shortly," Artus assured.

"Oh. Alright. Did ya need me ta come too? Ya know, in case ya feel weak again?"

The Lorellian prince shook his head. "No, I won't be gone long." Artus paused and looked toward Zassir. "Though if I am, it may be prudent to come look for me."

Zassir chuffed, a smile stretching across his face. "Aye. Noted, Your Highness."

With a genuine smile, Artus left the room, taking care once he'd stepped out into the hall to close the heavy door carefully, so as not to slam it behind him.

As soon as he saw Artus, Flann was on his feet, leaving the book he'd had in his hands atop the side table. "Artie! Yer awake! How are ya feeling?" It was hard not to hear the worry laced in his tone. "Ya didn't miss much in the assembly... Just more arguing."

Almost before Flann had even finished speaking, Artus wrapped his arms around his neck, melting into him. "How long have you been in the sitting room?" he asked against Flann's shoulder. Zassir said Flann had been worried, but actually seeing the other prince's concern made his stomach flutter and his face flush.

"Oh, eh, not long, just um...well, since the assembly was over," Flann didn't actually remember when that was. All he really remembered was how long it felt. Like an eternity. He thought about telling Artus that his father had announced his intention to crown his successor at the festival, but it just didn't feel right at the moment. Almost like he'd be selfishly making the conversation about him, so he kept the news to himself.

"I'm sorry...I wouldn't have had you wait for so long." Artus pulled back so that he could look up at Flann. "Have you eaten?" He wasn't sure what time it even was.

"Huh, now that ya mention it, I am hungry! I could probably eat a small dragon," replied Flann.

Artus allowed his hands to return to his own sides. "Perhaps we could dine together, then?"

"I'd like that," said Flann just before someone knocked on the door to the sitting room.

Without waiting for an answer, Bhalthier opened the door slowly and allowed himself in.

"Oh good, you're up. I'd like to borrow you for a moment if I may," he said to Artus before turning his attention to Flann. "And I believe your mother is looking for you."