Ardaik 15th - Tulot, Serellia

"Surely it could wait until after we've eaten," Artus replied, lacing his fingers behind his back. Unless... "Or is it news of Rowan?" The lift in his voice was all too telling of his hopefulness. Artus found himself clearing his throat and avoiding Flann's gaze.

"No, and trust me when I say this conversation has been mistakenly delayed for far too long already."

"I'll catch up with you later, Artie," Flann said as he slipped passed Bhalthier and into the hall.

Artus's shoulders sagged as he watched the redhead leave, but he was quick to correct his posture the moment he looked at Bhalthier. "Well, Lord Cullach," he sighed, "would this be an acceptable setting for such a conversation, or shall we have it elsewhere?" It wasn't that Artus knew the castle well. In fact, quite the opposite was true, but by his imagenings, if the sitting room felt private and secure enough to steal a kiss from Flann, then surely it was adequate for a conversation with the marquis.

"In attempt to avoid cutting into your meal time, it'll suffice," Bhalthier replied, though his tone seemed to suggest that it had little baring on his answer. "Your fainting earlier, is that something that occurs frequently?"

"Somewhat," Artus replied as he moved to the armchair Flann had been reading in. "More so when I'm distressed, but not exclusively nor every time," he added, picking up the book and taking a seat. "The physicians at home determined that it is a combination of a less-than-hardy constitution and lingering ailments from the accident. The one that resulted in the loss of some of my hearing, though you're obviously aware of that." Artus ran his fingers down the spine of the book as he spoke, eyes skimming over the gold leafing pressed into the tooled leather. "It's nothing to concern yourself with. Nothing can be done about it."

"I see," Bhalthier hummed out before continuing. "And if I were to tell you, that your physicians were wrong? That those fainting spells, had more to do with magic than with the injury you suffered?" This time he didn't wait for a response, continuing as if his own necessity to purge himself of one less secret was more powerful than his desire for polite decorum. "Nearly ten years ago, a boy washed ashore in Homenil. A mage. The solitary survivor of a terrible tragedy. He was a Lorellian noble, and knowing what I did of nobles and Lorellia, and of being a mage, I took pity upon him. I sealed away his memories of what had transpired and placed a hex upon him. Should he ever inadvertently attempt to access his magic or memories of it again, the hex would prevent it, and only grow stronger. I was young and inexperienced. I thought I was doing what was best, however... I never imagined that the hex would manifest physical side effects... So, after finding out that you'd fainted in the hall this morning, as a result of the hex, I removed it. If I hadn't, it's likely that one day you would have fainted and never woken up again..."

The sound of the book hitting the chair, then the floor, after slipping from Artus's hands was startlingly loud in stark contrast to the silence that briefly followed Bhalthier's admission. Artus didn't jump at it, however. In fact, he didn't move at all. He stared at the marquis as if, by magic itself, what he'd said had frozen the prince in place, wide-eyed.

Finally, Artus swallowed, blinking and bending over to snatch the book off the floor. He did his best to smooth the pages that had been creased in its haphazard landing. "You..." he started, but stopped immediately, seemingly distracted by his meaningless task, though in reality he was anything but. "You put... I-"

Artus let out a frustrated huff. He sounded like a stuttering doorman from Cocham who'd just had his first brush with one of his betters. He wasn't, though. He was the prince of Lorellia. He took a breath and composed himself before making another attempt, this time, his eyes meeting Bhalthier's directly.

"You expect me to believe that I'm a mage? That somehow none of the tutors, nannies, maids, servants, physicians, guards, courtiers who've ever been around me wouldn't have noticed, or said, or done anything about it? Nor either of my parents? Sebastien?" Artus closed the book more harshly than he would have liked as he stood, discarding it on the seat. "That's absolutely ridiculous."

"I don't expect anything...other than for you to be very careful. Magic is often a manifestation of will, especially in fledging mages. Whether you believe you have magic or not, without the hex, your magic will manifest itself when you're in destress."

As Bhalthier spoke, Artus had begun to wring his hands, but paused immediately after the marquis's last claim, hiding them behind his back and raising his chin. "What do you mean it will manifest itself?" He wasn't stupid. While he'd never been raised with concern for mages being anywhere in his near vicinity, he was aware that they were dangerous. That magic was dangerous, and that mages were difficult to control. That was why Lorellia had the laws that they had against the use of it. To protect people.

"All young mages first experience their magic at some point, like a child's first words. There's only four ways for that to happen, and they depend on the mage's magical alignment, or what type of magic they are naturally attuned to. Most are rather benign and harmless... Yours are not. The last time yours manifested...well, it wasn't a storm or sea monster that sank those ships, Artus..."

Bhalthier might as well have slapped Artus because he looked just as confused, insulted, betrayed, and horrified as though he had. Once again, by admission alone, he'd rendered the foreign prince absolutely stunned.

"If what you're impling is true," Artus said, his tone low, "is that why you believed I could do something about the necromancer who attacked La'Trest?"

"Possibly..." Bhalthier admitted, though he was still skeptical of the idea. Artus wasn't trained. There were mages half his age who were far more skilled, but they didn't have the ability to destroy two galleons either. That kind of power was rare and dangerous for everything around it. It was because of mages like Artus that people feared them so.

The prince scoffed. "Possibly? You're accusing me of being capable of destroying not only one, but two, of the finest ships in the world, claim that you've now removed the one thing preventing such a disaster from happening again, and believe that it possibly could be controlled? Could possibly be useful?" The edge in his voice was rising. Definitely beyond something polite, and approaching what could be heard by ears beyond either door to the sitting room.

"Yes! Possibly if you'd had gone to the citadel ten years ago and knew the skills to control it... But you didn't because I—"

"I don't know anything about magic, Lord Cullach, nor is disappearing for several years to an island somewhere off the coast of Serellia to learn, even a thinkable option!"

Bhalthier paused to correct his tone as he realized it had raised to matched pitches with Artus. He took a deep a breath and started again, reclaiming his neutral tone. "I made a mistake. One that I regret."

The intensity of Artus's icy gaze melted some. Guilt and regret were two things he found himself far too closely acquainted with, especially as of late, and his chest was aching as though a wound he hadn't even realized he'd had was suddenly torn open again—fresh and burning and compounding upon the rest of his recent heartaches. "Well," Artus said delicately, reminding himself of his own mother after they'd yelled at one another. "If I'm that dangerous, and I can't be helped, then perhaps it would be best that you do whatever you'd done to me again... I can't fathom nor stomach the idea of hurting anyone else."

"I'm not hexing you again. That was a terrible solution. If you want your powers bound, there are clerics who do just that."

A wave of disappointment crashed into Artus that he'd not been prepared for. He hadn't even realized before then that for a brief moment he truly had hoped that being a mage... That posessing magic could have been precicely what he needed to navigate himself through and out of the complex mess he'd tangled himself in. Clearly, not even the marquis believed that to be a potential reality.

In fact, Artus should have known better. Lord Cullach had said as much on multiple occasions. That magic wasn't the answer to everything. Perhaps, it wasn't a viable answer to anything at all. It was exactly what Artus had been raised to believe it was. Nothing more than an unfortunate illness of sorts, not unlike his other deviation, to be discriminated against, and pushed out of and away from civilized society.

"I'll see to it, then," Artus snipped before brushing by Bhalthier to return to the door leading to his room. "Zassir," he called, after opening it and stepping part way inside, shadows from within welcoming his lithe figure with an immediate embrace. "I'm going to have dinner with Prince O'Conar. I'll return shortly."

A light, but swift reply came from the reaver. "Aye. I'll be here, Your Highness."

The only other regard for the marquis the Lorellian gave was a curt, "Lord Cullach," on his way out of the sitting room.