Ardaik 15th - Tulot, Serellia

Flann, Rory, Shay, and Killian had settled into the King's Den, a rather large and cozy communal space that also happened to be located right under Alorta's room.

The raucous laughter from the three made them quite easy for Artus to locate after descending the enclosed spiral staircase nearest to Bhalthier's room. They looked to be well into their chatter and drink, and at first, hardly even seemed to notice that Artus had joined them.

"Done with the marquis already?" Shay asked far more loudly than Artus thought necessary. "Or did ya not find 'em?"

"We spoke," Artus confirmed with a polite, but counterfeit smile.

"Then come sit! Thars a seat and bottle with yer name on em!" Flann boomed from where he lounged in a chair that seemed far too large to for the likes of any normal man.

Artus seated himself but regarded the bottle with a skeptical gaze. After failing to tug the cork from it on his first try, Rory snatched it right out of his hands, and the prince stared wide-eyed as the brunette pulled the cork free with his teeth without the slightest care nor consideration for manners, and spit it across the table toward Flann.

"Thar ya go, Yer Highness!" He cackled while he offered the bottle back.

The scent of the bottle's contents was strong enough that Artus didn't even need to bring it any closer to his face to get a whiff. "What is it?"

"Poitin," Killian answered ahead of Flann who just tossed the cork back across the table.

"It's strong enough ta make ironbark curl!" Flann boasted.

"Oh." Artus was incredibly tempted to decline the invitation to partake in such a drink. He very much needed to be sober enough to concoct a believable lie to tell Flann, for why he'd be returning to Homenil, and coherent enough to articulate it.

"Go on, have a lit'le," Rory encouraged, giving Artus a rather uncomfortable, but likely well-meaning, jab with one of his elbows. "It'll put some hair on yer sa-"

"Chest," Shay interrupted, speaking over Rory.

"Well... Aye!" Rory agreed with another chuckle. "Thar too!"

Against his better judgment, Artus closed his eyes and took a drink, though he held the bottle at an angle longer than actually necessary, and allowed far less passed his lips than he'd made it appear. The alcohol was still potent enough that he scrunched his nose as he swallowed it down with a shudder. "Saints," he coughed, holding the bottle out to anyone who would take it.

Honestly, Flann had thought about offering Artus something more suitable for a Lorellian palette. They had some fine wines and brandies in the cellar, and he would have said something about them had he not thought that it would result in more hazing by his friends. And he was glad that he hadn't said anything when he spied the impressed looks on his friends' faces when Artus managed to not spit out the alcohol. At some point, Flann knew that they all had. As young boys, it was almost a right of passage that would later develop into an acquired taste. But with Artus's good honor solidified amongst his pack of friends, Flann leaned in to take the bottle.

"If ya want some er, dinner wine, let me know," he whispered before leaning back.

The look of discomfort fled from Artus's face, replaced by the kind of smile that Flann had only briefly seen on the occasions when they'd been alone. It was several minutes later before Artus ventured another sip from the bottle.

"So, since his majesty'll be steppin' down after the festival, s'at mean you'll be gettin' married 'fore Rory?" Shay asked.

"Pfffft," Rory huffed. "I could ask Feyah ta be my woman t'morrow, an' she'd be good for it!"

"Ya wouldn't."

"I would."

"Ya talked to 'er da yet?"

Rory rolled his eyes. "Flanny ain't talkin' to any girl's da already. Are ya, Flann?"

"I suppose I'd better start, mum's already got the wedding all planned out!" Flann laughed loudly, but it wasn't as hardy as it normally was, and he quickly punctuated it with a healthy swig from the bottle.

"Oi, ya gonna leave any fer the rest of us?" Killian protested before Flann released it to him.

"...Are you on duty?" Artus asked, still unsure of where Iain's son sat within the nobles' social circle and all too eager to change the subject of Flann's martial future. It truly shouldn't have caught him off guard the way it had. Flann was Liam's only son, and he was around Artus's age. Surely, Flann was under a similar amount of pressure to commit to a wife.

"I am... sort of. What's it to you?" Killian shrugged though it was clear that Artus's sudden question brushed him the wrong way.

Flann didn't like the way things were going. He already felt guilty for not bringing any of this up sooner and at the same time he knew that was silly. Artus was his friend, and he did have a soft spot for the Lorellian, but they weren't as close as he was with Killian, Shay, and Rory. Being that as it was, he still didn't want Artus to feel like an outsider while he was there or not get on with his friends.

"Can't blame him, Kill, after all look what happened to La'Trest... Got gutted in one night by undead and a dragon," Flann said, doing his best to smooth things over.

"Hah, well that won't happen here. Feck, with Bhal here and the drago—" Killian cut himself off and looked over to Artus. "That's right! Ye ain't never seen the den have ya?"

Flann grimaced a little, there was a reason that outsiders, and Lorellians most of all, never saw the den because it technically wasn't supposed to exist.

Between Killian's rude reaction and Flann's blunt retelling of what had happened to his home city, Artus had all but decided that he'd reached the limit of his tolerance for the evening. He no longer desired to be in the company of the inebriated Serellians. But mention of the den, however, caused him to raise a dark brow.

"The den?"

"Dragon den..." Flann clarified.

"Whole castle is sitting atop a fecking dragon nest! Ya'd have ta be stark raving mad ta attack Tulot castle!" Killian exclaimed.

A small stretch of silence followed, and Artus could only assume it was because Flann's other, older, two friends were aware of Killian's misstep, despite being quite drunk.

Rory finally cleared his throat and spoke up. "Aye... it would take more than a few beasties ta fell any of our cities," he said, his tone uncharacteristically grave.

"Well," Artus said, lifting the bottle in his hand slightly higher. "To your fortune and fortitude," he toasted before taking another mock drink that the other boys duplicated with genuine gulps. "...Could I see it?"

In an instant, every gaze had drifted to Flann, and the prince felt that this would only equal a small fraction of the discomfort that he could look forward to as King.

"A-aye? Aye!" Flann said finding his bottle empty and discarding it to the fireplace before standing. "A quick trip down befer bed."

"Perhaps in the morning, actually," Artus said as he stood as well, placing his nearly full bottle on the table between them. "I fear I wouldn't make the walk tonight."

"Ya did drink more than I expected, Yer Highness," Shay said in an appreciative tone.

"Aye," Rory added, standing and leaning just a bit far to one side as he found his balance. "Flanny'll see ya ta bed!"

"Ta yer bedroom," Shay corrected, taking a little more time to stand himself.

"Aye, they know what I meant!"

Flann rolled his eyes, which did make him feel a little headed but he shrugged it off. He concealed the slightest bit of sway, by tossing his arm around Artus's shoulder and then used the other to wave over his shoulder as they exited. But once they were to the stairs Flann still hadn't said anything more. Part of him didn't want to sound drunker than he was, and another part just didn't know what to say, and the last part of him just wondered if there was a way to undo the last half hour.

"...Flann?" Artus said once it seemed that they were sufficiently alone. "I'm going to have to return to Homenil with Lord Cullach... He intends to leave in the morning."

"So soon?"

"I was hoping it needn't be. Truly, I was." Artus wasn't sure how much of his meaning Flann was really able to process. He himself felt warmed, but he'd not partaken in nearly as much as he wagered Flann had drank. The Serellian prince could easily be a fish swishing around in a barrel of wine, or ale, or whatever else was available in a large enough quantity, and likely seem more collected than he had any business being.

"Did he find Row?" Flann wondered. That had been Artus's whole reason for coming to Serellia, so Flann couldn't imagine that had changed. Bhalthier was the best equipped to track people down, they'd already seen how effective the Marquis was at the task. Still, part of him had wished for Artus to stay just a bit longer.

"No. Not yet, to my knowledge, but there's my father to consider," Artus explained. "Whoever he sends to collect me when he does, will go to Homenil first. I should be there to claim responsibility for where I've been." As he spoke, Artus had begun fiddling with the hem of Flann's tunic. Every step they took felt worse...making his heart heavier. It had been so very foolish to allow himself to get so comfortable around Flann. It was far too easy to skirt around other Lorellians. They were all so disingenuous or secretive about how they felt. Hisself included. Flann wasn't that way. He wasn't that way at all, and Artus both admired and hated it. Perhaps he was jealous of that genuineness and openness.

Artus paused, noting how he was likely due credit for half of Flann's balance. "If this is likely the last time we'll see each other for a long while, I..." Artus searched those emerald depths, grasping for some of the boldness he so often found in them, hoping he could siphon just a little for himself. "...would like you to know that it will pain me greatly to be apart."

"Aye..." Flann's reply was low and thoughtful. It carried with it his sincere agreement. Artus was right. He needed to go. Flann, however, had far more reasons than he would have liked to stay, and lamenting his own responsibilities wouldn't make either of them feel better. That was what Flann didn't want, and he would feel much worse tomorrow if all he did was ruin their time together now. "But, yer not leaving till morning, and I don't suppose ya'll need much sleep ta ride in the carriage, right?" the prince suggested with renewed optimism.

Flann's question had caused a flush to overwhelm Artus's pale features. Far more so than the hair-curling potato wine had. Artus laced his fingers with the rough, callus-covered hand draped over his shoulders. If they were going to break each other's hearts, why not do it without regretting what they could have done when they could've just done it? "What did you have in mind, Your Highness?"