Ardaik 16th - Letter Addressed to Bhalthier Cullach

To Marquis of Homenil, Bhalthier Cullach,

It is with the utmost thanks to your previously rendered services that I even draw breath today to compose this correspondence. For that, I again extend my gratitude, as well as my reassurance that the nature of your aid will be treated with sensitivity and confidentiality.

However, I am quite concerned by the information recently relayed to me by my most trusted advisor. He asserts that on the morning of the eleventh, you and your party came upon the fleet of vessels accompanying the Retribution, one of my naval flagships, that had yet to be accounted for following the attack on La'Trest.

It was there, he informs, that you discovered the whereabouts of your prince, and also my son, both of whom had been under my advisor's supervision following their attempt to escape the undead. He further states that when your group parted ways with the ship at the port city of Malton, Prince Artus was with you and your party.

As it's presently been five days since the eleventh, more than sufficient time for the Retribution to return to the capital, l would have expected to receive an urgent communication from you regarding the whereabouts of my only child.

My family already owes you a great debt for your role in recovering Prince Artus when he once before was believed to be lost at sea, and I've since always thought of you as a deeply empathetic man. I'm appalled to imagine that my son may be in your country, with your knowledge, and that you would choose for any reason not to see him safely returned or allow us notice suitable to retrieve him.

I have also received no acknowledgment of the apparent recovery of Prince O'Conar, who we, until the fifteenth, had expended precious time and resources to search for and recover as well, at the behest of your king, despite the present condition of Lorellia's capital and the urgent needs of my own people.

While I'm well aware that communications can be lost or interrupted, I've known your avian charges to be quite quick and reliable.

I will therefore be awaiting an expedient explanation for your failure to notify me of the aforementioned, and of your inaction in regards to returning Prince Artus to La'Trest, should my advisor's claims be accurate to what has indeed transpired.

– Cristaldo Tito'Di Felice Viotto

***

Ardaik 16th - Tulot, Serellia

Flann's interrogation passed much the same as Prince Viotto's. Folian stood in the corner, shifting his weight occasionally to keep from growing stiff or locking his knees. The slight headache that had started in his temple had grown, stretching to the base of his skull when the mages were satisfied with their cumulation of responses from Flann.

When he and the prince were finally released, two guards took Folian's place to follow Flann to wherever the lad saw fit to be off to. Folian, however, didn't have long before he would need to oversee the shift rotation. He figured he should have just enough time to get back to the barracks for some food if he was quick about it.

His hopes, however, of that much-needed meal were instantly dashed when he spotted Norah sitting alone in the courtyard. And he was reasonably certain, by the sounds of it, that the girl was bawling her eyes out...

With a pained sigh, he changed course. There was no way he could ignore her. Norah was sensitive, but he'd never known his cousin to make a habit of breaking down so openly over the things that bothered her. The inconvenient truth was that he had an inescapable soft spot for her. He hated to see her sad for any reason.

Folian was thirteen when he'd split Shay Dougherty's lip over the fecker pulling her hair--a boyish display of affection, no doubt--one which had sparked quite the jealous fire in Folian's gut. Shay's father, the Jarl of Pinehaven, was none too pleased, but Shay hadn't been any worse for it. Folian had been, though.

He'd been heartbroken by the realization that, had Norah not been family in name, he'd have eagerly tried his hand at winning her attention himself. He would have begged Iain for her hand since Norah and Killian weren't his uncle's children by blood but rather had become his daughter and son from a marriage of convenience.

None of it happened, of course. Folian's own mother wouldn't have it. She'd made it clear at every opportunity that her brother's adopted daughter would not be a romantic prospect for him. So, Folian grew up to pledge himself only to his work instead. If he had no future with the only lass his heart had ever really pined for, then he'd have no one at all, despite the many offers frequently tossed his way.   

Rubbing the back of his neck, Folian came upon his cousin. "Norah?"

Her sudden jump was an easy indication that she'd not noticed him, that and the way she hurriedly began to wipe her face as she tried to compose herself.

"Oh, Folian, I uhm, didn't see you there! You gave me a start!" she forced out a laugh while doing her best to look and sound normal.

He raised a brow, mouth slightly agape as he took in her appearance. She truly had been crying as though someone important had died. "What's the matter, then?" he wondered nonchalantly as he began to work a handkerchief out from under his bracer.

"Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing a'tall..." Norah said, crossing her arms firmly in front of her and tilting her chin upward for all of a minute before her gaze met his, and she crumbled like ice in the spring haw. Her lip quivered a moment before tears flooded back into her puffy eyes. It took her several deep sobs before she dared to try and form words. "Oh, I'm sorry... I really don't know why I'm actin like this, it's not like Flann and I were close. I just... well I just got ta hope'n that maybe someday—well, I don't suppose it matters now—But that doesn't make hurt any less."

With the piece of cloth finally free from his bracer's stubborn hold, Folian took Norah's chin in his free hand and lifted it, bending over to diligently and delicately wipe the tear streams from her round, reddened cheeks with his handkerchief. "Enough of all that," he murmured. "There's only four men a woman should ever bother cryin' over in 'er life. Her father, her brother, her husband, an' her son. Ya haven't got the last two yet, and yer da and Killian are fine." He shook his head, tsking to himself to avoid chuckling at the state of the poor girl. All worked up over what was likely nothing. "An who says Flanny-boy don't fancy ya anyway?"

"Oof, don't do that Folian, tis cruel!" Norah said with a gentle huff. "I know he fancies Artus," she pouted.

"Pfffttt!" Folian barely had time to jerk his face away from her before a burst of laughter left him. "Horse shite! Who said that?" He chuffed out a few more cackles before managing to contain himself. "Ya know what, never mind. I have a fair idea'a who. T'was the princess, aye? Puttin' those thoughts on ya and makin' ya fret about nothin'. She's teasin' ya, Norah. S'nothin' but pokin' fun, an yer lettin' it get ya distraught."

"Oh I don't know..." Norah huffed out again. Now she seemed more tired and confused than sad. "Sometimes Alorta feels like my dearest friend and other times I wonder if she's friend a'toll... I really shouldn' say that, I'm sure she doesn't do it on purpose."

"I wouldn't dare profess ta truly understand the ways of women, be it how they handle friendships, or anythin' else fer that matter..." Folian was quiet as he stretched back to his full height. He then glanced around the courtyard to see it was still mostly empty before kneeling in front of her. "Norah, someday a lucky lad is gonna have yer hand if he's deservin' of ya," Folian said, staring directly into her blue eyes, made red from her distress. "Understood? I'll see no more of this," he warned, giving one of her cheeks a light, playful squeeze while he laid the handkerchief across her lap.

Norah squeezed the fabric in her hand and gave Folian an appreciative smile. "Aye, thank you."

Folian found her sweet smile as infectious as ever and couldn't help but allow himself to smile as well, until the chime of a bell rang out across the courtyard from the barracks nearby. He rubbed his freckled face, grunting as he stood. It was time for the shifts to change.

***

Ardaik 16th - Tulot, Serellia

To Artus's dismay, finding Lord Cullach hadn't been a simple task once he'd parted ways with the mages from the Citadel.

Part of him couldn't help but wonder why they hadn't asked about his motives for taking the relic nor mentioned himself being a mage.

Then came the epiphany that the marquis could have simply lied to him. Fooled Artus into believing that he was privy to a secret that the Serellian could absolutely hold over him, were he in need of blackmail...had he a need to control or manipulate him.

The longer he stormed through the livery, through the courtyards back inside the castle, and through the halls, in search of the elusive Lord Cullach, the more upset Artus became. Then, finally, it made more sense...just as Artus had suspected initially. He couldn't be a mage. But he was in a vulnerable position. Artus desperately wanted to believe he could repent for his actions by helping save La'Trest...through learning magic.

He needed to speak to Bhalthier. The marquis hadn't left for Homenil yet. His large carriage was still in the livery with the others, the only suggestion of Lorellian design to be seen. And that thought brought about another.

Of course, Lord Cullach had lied--had a scheme in the works--he had strong ties to Lorellia. And if Artus understood anything about his own culture, it was that Lorellian nobles, in particular, were dealmakers. Plotters. Self-interested vipers to always be cautious of.

Perhaps spending so much time around Flann and his kinsman had lowered Artus's guard...something he indeed should've been leery of.

Artus jolted to a stop, his slick-bottomed boots sliding on the floor as he spotted a familiar bird. The crow was hopping its way across the cobblestone through an archway. Artus immediately changed direction to follow.

Sure enough, the bird had dutifully navigated to his master. Bhalthier stood in a room with Edna, a small piece of parchment in hand. The way Lord Cullach's fingertips delicately stroked the bird's ash-white feathers gave Artus all the reason he needed to suspect that the marquis' ability was granting him far more information than the written message was worth.

"Lord Cullach," Artus said sharply as he entered the sitting room. "Are you not leaving for Homenil?"

Bhalthier's perpetually weary expression settled on Artus, hardly phased by the foreign prince's tone.

"Yes, and it appears we have company awaiting our return. Rowan Geoffrey De Saint-Pierre."