Ardaik 17th - Homenil, Serellia

Rowan let his weight sink further into one of Bhalthier's armchairs. The warmth and light from the fireplace cast long, harsh shadows across the floor and walls. He was fortunate that Bhalthier's servants knew him and his family well enough to allow him to stay there until their master returned, but Rowan wasn't sure how long he'd wait. After all, it seemed like Bhal's servants expected him back by sundown. That had come and gone, then dinner, and now it was well past midnight. Perhaps it was the fact that he'd built it all up in his mind. Seeing Artus again, what he'd do, what he'd say, and now to find him gone again, Rowan felt nothing but regret.

Brice had gone his way, but before they'd parted, he'd given him the name of a tavern in Cardenar, saying that if Rowan managed to get out of Serellia before the big freeze, he could find them there. Rowan smirked as he turned the piece of paper over in his hand. Clearly, the smuggler had learned nothing. But that was Brice's choice, and he was prepared to deal with the consequences, and Rowan admired that, at least. If he'd considered the results of his actions more, none of this would have happened. He shouldn't have left Artus, shouldn't have lied, shouldn't have treated his feelings like a game. That's all that kept running through his mind as he stared into the fireplace. Even as his eyes grew heavy and he sank lower in the chair, he refused to find a bed. So that's where he stayed until he could no longer stay awake.

***

The carriage ride was nearly unbearable. Artus had never felt so impatient in his entire life as the scenery rolling passed the window had long since been blanketed from view by the cloak of night.

He often thought of confronting Lord Cullach about the Citadel mages since the man had submitted himself to the confinement of the carriage along with Artus and Zassir this time. Artus thought out entire lines of conversation that could pass between them, but as smoldering as his frustration and displaced energy was, he came back down off it just as quickly and then thought better of saying anything. He'd hold his tongue on the matter for now. Lord Cullach had supposedly made good on their agreement over finding Rowan, so what might it hurt to see the results of the marquis teaching him to harness or use his supposed magic?

One thing that set a smile on the prince's face was that Bhalthier looked just as exhausted as Artus felt and wasn't getting any semblance of rest either. Zassir was keeping himself entertained by occasionally rubbing down his legs that he could reach while seated on the bench across from Artus and Lord Cullach. Artus wasn't sure what purpose it served, but after a few hours passed sunset, Zassir nodded off, head lulling as he dozed.

"Are we-" Artus rasped, repositioning as he cleared his throat. "Are we to be arriving soon?" he wondered since he thought it felt as though the carriage may have crossed onto a paved road.

"We left late, so we'll not be there until near dawn," Bhalthier assured as he turned a page in his book the jostling of the carriage didn't seem to bother him any more than Artus's question or the Utsi's gentle twitching from time to time.

When morning came, the sky painted a smattering of pink and orange, dark purple clouds hung not far off, and the wind had picked up. Bhalthier had pulled the shade's down on the east-facing carriage windows. However, it wasn't from the howling winds or increasing daylight that woke his travel companions but the sudden slowing and subsequent halt of their ride altogether.

Rowan had thrown off the blanket that one of the servants must have laid over him while he dozed when he heard wagon wheels coming up the gravel path. Then, at a speed that might have made anyone else dizzy, he cleared the two steps that led up onto the landing of the foyer and threw open the door. The icy wind hit him like a flour sack and burned his cheeks as he surveyed Bhalthier getting out of his carriage and eagerly looking to see if anyone else was in their company.

Artus's legs felt weak as he stepped down from the carriage, but he froze as he held his hair out of his face to look upon the manor. For a moment, time felt like it had slowed to a crawl, and he wasn't sure he was genuinely seeing the blond standing on the front landing. "Rowan?"

Rowan's lip twitched with emotion that was hard to describe as he cleared the distance between him and Artus and wrapped his arms around the other Lorellian. The sound that left him wasn't enough to form any discernable words, but instead, somewhere between a sob and a laugh as he squeezed him. That was all he did for a long moment until he drew in a deep breath, unwilling to release his hold lest Artus disappear onto the wind again.

"You're alive," Artus whimpered against Rowan. "You're alive... You're alive...." Each repetition became more choked in emotion as he squeezed Rowan back.

"Aye," Zassir said from behind the prince, only halfway out of the carriage and already shivering. "An' he'll be sick from the cold, as will we if we stay out 'er."

"Agreed," Bhalthier said, motioning for them to make their way inside while the servants hurried to unload their bags so they might do the same.

Rowan nodded. "Of course, of course!" he said, only giving the spiderling a passing curiosity, but honestly, the ground could have opened up right there and swallowed him whole without Rowan giving it much attention.

Artus wrapped both arms around one of Rowan's as they walked. "What happened, Rowan? Where did you go?" he asked once they were settled in front of one of the hearths. "You have no idea how worried Flann and I were. How did you make it here?"

Rowan's smile sobered some as he seemed to recall that night and fished out something from his pocket and placed it into Artus's hand, then used both hands to close Artus's fingers around the small round object. "I'm sorry... I should have told you."

The prince's dark brows pinched together, and he looked down at their hands. "...Sebastien was right, then? So you did have the relic?" Once again, Artus felt the same tug in his chest, almost as though it were an invisible net, cast out for one purpose, but drawn in empty. Flann was miles away, still in Tulot, where he'd remain for quite some time. He'd told the Citadel mages only this morning that he did not know the relic's whereabouts... Would they need to be informed? Would... Artus's breath caught in his throat. ...Would the necromancer come looking for it?

There it was, the very look that Rowan had been dreading, and he didn't hesitate with what he said next. "What? No, Sebastien had taken it... I'm not sure when or how he'd managed it, but I wanted to confront him alone when I found out. I thought that perhaps he'd feel less inclined to lie to stay in your good graces if I approached him alone, but all I received was being run through with a sword. Who would have thought that the relic held the white dragon? If it weren't for her, I'd not be here before you..."

Artus practically lept forward out of his seat, his knees knocking against Rowan's. "Run through?!" Tears threatened to leave Artus's eyes. "But you're alright," he said, more to calm himself than anything. "And you're here... That's what matters."

"No worse for wear," Rowan assured with a playful smirk. "Besides a few scars, of course," he admitted with a slight tilt of his head. "But you have to be careful, Artus... They want the relic. They'll stop at nothing to get it."

"Who?"

"The necromancer and the black dragon."

Artus stood, pulling away from Rowan and stepping toward the glow of the fireplace. But, unfortunately, its warmth did little to soothe the chill that rode across the back of his neck and down his spine. "I don't want to speak of them... I'm far too exhausted." Artus turned slightly, eyeing Rowan. "Have you heard any news from your family? From Lorellia?"

"I'm afraid I should be asking you those questions... I've been in the depths of the wild since we parted."

"...With the white dragon, you mentioned?"

Rowan nodded. "She wants my help in dealing with them... and I feel somewhat obligated, seeing as how I'd be dead without her, but it still took some time to warm up to the idea."

"No," Artus stated firmly, turning the relic in his palm. "No. You can't. That sounds terribly dangerous, Rowan. And how do you know you can even trust her?"

Rowan was rendered silent by Artus's words. He had a good point, but Rowan was more touched by how concerned Artus seemed over him, protective even because Rowan felt the same for him and was now reminded of how he'd failed him.

"I'm sorry, Artus... I told you I would be at your side, and I wasn't." He leaned forward, taking the prince's hand in his own. "Allow me a second chance to make good on that vow. If you could find it within your heart to do so."

"If you appealed to my heart alone, I would give you as many as you asked of me," Artus admitted, struggling with the sting of shame that came along with it. He was ruled by his own foolish heart. And while he was sure what he felt for Rowan was some form of love, his head still warned him to proceed with the most excellent care.

"Then appeal I shall, for if the past week has shown me anything, it is where I belong."