"Look, I'm sorry, Bhal, but I promised ta help find Rowan, and yer magic-"

"Magic isn't the answer to all the problems in the world, Flann!" Bhalthier's sudden outburst seemed to catch both of them off guard, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

The marquis was the first to break the silence with a defeated sigh. The pitiful look Flann was giving him reminded him too much of a dog who'd been scolded for no reason.

The tall, lanky man, who appeared tired at the best of times, looked even more so as he slumped down into his armchair and buried his face into his palm.

"I don't want ya ta solve all the problems of the world, Bhal...," Flann spoke again softly, testing the limits of Bhalthier's tolerance. "Just this one."

"Ugh." Bhalthier sounded as if he were in true agony for a moment as he dragged his hand down his face and took in a deep breath. "Fine," he agreed begrudgingly, quickly following it with, "But!" he held one finger up for emphasis. "I want your word that you'll return with your father and sister to Tulot."

Flann made a face. "Rowan's my friend too, and I promised Artus I'd help find him," Flann insisted.

"You can help by returning to the capital. By being at the festival."

"Why? Bhal, what's going on? What do you know?"

"Nothing, I just-"

"Bha! Horse shiet! I know that look. You're hiding something, aren't ya? Come on then, out with it!"

"Will you keep your voice down before you wake the dead? You're right. I do know something, but if anyone asks, you didn't hear any of it from me, you understand? Not a word! Flann?"

"Aye! Fine, I ain't heard a word from ya. Now, out with it!"

"Your father intends to step down from the throne."

"Yar a fecking liar... Yar putting me on as payback! Hah! Well, you had me far a moment. I'll give ya that!"

"Flann, I'm serious. Liam is going to make his intentions official once you're back in Tulot."

"...Fecking hell." Now Flann was the one to drag his hands across his face until his palms came together in front of his nose. "And...his successor?"

"I think you can make an educated guess."

"I'm not ready. Bhal, ya gotta talk ta him. Tell him I'm sick—er—something!"

"Flann, I can't. He's not told me plainly... Bringing it up at all would only prove that I read his thoughts without consent. That's why you can't let on that you know either."

"Ah, feck..."

A short rap on the door to Bhalthier's study was the only warning the two were given before a voice followed; the accent immediately telling.

"Pardon the intrusion," Artus said lightly before holding up his hand. "I require a bandage, and I don't know where to find any of the staff."

The Lorellian's beautiful face was very much that—Lorellian.

Although there was no outward indication that Artus was any wiser to the secret that'd just been exchanged, to simply assume that the foreign prince hadn't overheard them would be naive or irresponsible at best.

Bhalthier was quick to rise, quite clearly trying to avoid looking at the injury despite it being minor. "Just a moment. I'll get you something," he muttered, hastily relocating a stack of books and pulling open a few drawers to rifle through them.

While he did, Artus was able to take in more of the relatively tiny room, which felt even smaller with all the clutter piled everywhere. Books, scrolls, and papers had spilled out from the shelves, across every available surface, including what appeared to be a small bed, and formed stacks between them. A small teapot and a tray set for one occupied the table between the stove and desk. It appeared as though this study was where the marquis spent most of his waking hours, and if one was to believe the rumors, those hours were many.

"Ahem," Bhalthier cleared his throat gently and gestured to Artus with a bottle. "What happened?"

"I was cutting a button free for your pet... It seemed quite set on having it, and I didn't want my coat ruined."

"He does fancy those. Metal buttons aren't particularly common here."

"Aye, ours are mostly wood, antler, and bone...," Flann interjected. "They don't get as cold."

"I see. Is he...the same one?" Artus asked as he watched the bird pull apart its hoard in order to rearrange it to accommodate the new treasure.

"That found you? Yes."

"Does he have a name?"

"Lasrian," Bhalthier replied while he placed the cloth against the opening of the bottle and titled it upside down briefly. He directed his gaze to the top of a bookshelf where a crow was perched beside a rook. The two were much smaller than Lasrian, who was still rearranging his collection. "That one is Eogan, and the small one beside him is Briac," Bhalthier explained as he wrapped Artus's hand. "Without them, we wouldn't have found either of you as quickly as we did."

Artus flinched in anticipation of the solution stinging his cut but was surprised to find that there was no pain outside of the applied pressure. "They're truly intelligent enough for such a task?" He knew that birds like pigeons and crows were absolutely smart enough to deliver messages, but to search for and locate a specific person? The idea seemed like a stretch.

"Yes. In fact, they are superb at remembering people and faces, forming friendships and rivalries... I'd avoid making an enemy of them. They can be quite petty when crossed."

Artus smiled. "You make them sound as though they would fit right in with Lorellian aristocracy."

"Hah, perhaps not that petty," Bhalthier corrected as he put the bottle away. "If there's nothing else, I would like to get a few things finished before the hour gets too late."

Flann nudged Atus's arm with his own. "Eh, that's Bhal's nice way of saying, 'get out of my study.'" The prince's joke only received a mildly exasperated roll of the Marquis's eyes.

"That's fine, Bhal. My room's got more space anyway!"

***

Flann's accommodations were well-suited for a private conversation. There was a large crackling fireplace casting a golden glow on the furniture situated near it, as well as a table and chairs for more secluded dining. In the daytime, the view from the balcony or any of the suit's windows overlooked the estate's garden, though for now, the outside world was dark and hidden from view.

"Might Lord Cullach have mentioned Rowan while you were speaking?" Artus asked as he took a seat on the chaise lounge holding the palms of his hands out briefly towards the warmth of the fire. "He was rather dismissive to me earlier..."

"Eh, yeah... Well, he gets like that when there's a lot of people around. Ya catch him alone. He'll be easier ta talk to." Flann retrieved a bottle from a cabinet and then searched a drawer for a corkscrew that he was sure he'd seen the last time he'd spent the holiday in Homenil. "But he agreed ta help, and he's always come through in the past."

Flann trusted Bhalthier. But then again, he'd trusted Rowan too, and the idea that either wasn't worthy of that trust was far more of a struggle for the Serellian prince than it was for him to yank the cork free, which he did with a single pull.

"Besides, ya haven't even got to see Tulot yet!"

Artus was quiet momentarily as his gaze traveled from Flann's face to the bottle. Flann knew the Lorellian Prince obviously wasn't in Serellia for a holiday, but the circumstances didn't keep him from being anxious to show Artus around.

"That's true," Artus agreed. "I haven't really seen any of your countries...aside from this wonderfully dreary place," he added with a wry smile. "How far is the capital from here?"

"Oh...day—day and a half, depending on the horse," Flann said, rubbing the red scruff on his jaw in thought before smiling. "Or only a few hours by dragon!"

He took a healthy swig straight from the bottle and then held it out in offering towards Artus as he joined him. Flann's weight on the sofa tipped Artus towards him, but Artus didn't seem to mind.

In fact, Flann was sure Artus's smile widened slightly before he tamed his expression and took a tentative drink from the bottle, unable to help wincing just after.

"I'm going to owe quite a debt to you for your help, Flann...and for your hospitality."

Flann raised a brow as Artus spoke of owing him. Even after spending extended periods of time in the other country, he still found it odd how Lorellians always spoke of deeds as though they were always some sort of transaction.

"Consider it free of charge," Flann said with a wink, attempting to speak a language that his Lorellian counterpart would understand more easily.

Artus held Flann's gaze, his posture softening as he passed the bottle back. "...Because we're friends?"

"Exactly!" Flann beamed, taking the bottle and then falling silent for a moment as he studied Artus closely.

Despite his smile, the Lorellian seemed rather reserved, and Flann couldn't blame him after everything that he'd been through—that they'd been through.

Rowan was only part of it. No doubt, Artus would be worried about his family in La'Trest, too. "Eh, ya know...Bhal's got quite an extensive study. I'm sure he wouldn't miss a quill and a few pages if ya were wantin' ta write home."

"I've actually not known what to tell my father... I have something written out, but...I don't know yet if I'm ready to send it. It has been difficult to quiet my mind enough to find the proper words nor imagine how well they'll be received." Artus took a breath, sighing it out. "My mother will want me home at once. That, I'm certain of."

Flann made a tense face, punctuated by another swig from the bottle. "That is a tough one, Artie," the redhead sighed, taking a moment to think before glancing back at him. "What would you want to tell 'em?"

A short chuckle left Artus before he sized Flann up and gently pulled the bottle back out of his hand. "I just told you, if I knew, I wouldn't be fretting over it."

The drink Artus took this time was still marginal compared to Flann's healthy gulps but certainly a little more than his last. Once he swallowed, the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. "Could you imagine if I entertained telling him the truth in its entirety? 'I'm terribly sorry for the undead and the fire-breathing dragon, Father. They weren't my intent. I only stole the relic to be alone for a moment with Lord De-Saint Pierre, whom I believed myself quite enamored with.'" Artus took another sip and delicately wiped his lower lip. "Hn...He'd have survived the attack on La'Trest only to die from the embarrassment of his own son's failings...and foolishness."

Flann's smile faltered. It pained him to hear someone so beautiful be so unfair to himself. So unforgiving. His free hand twitched with the urge to put his arm around the other prince, but Flann kept it resting where it was. "It's not yar fault. You can't have known what would'a happened, Artie."

"My ignorance won't absolve me of the consequences of my actions, Flann. Nor would the nature of my motives be excused by my family or the court. They'll think me twisted. Ill." Distress had edged its way into the end of Artus's statement, and he sat a little straighter again, distancing himself just enough that their arms were no longer brushing.

Flann regretted not having trapped him in a partial embrace.

"It's a matter I'll find some manner of solution for soon," Artus concluded, "Just...not tonight."

"Right... Suppose it is quite late, isn't it?" Flann agreed as he glanced back towards the balcony that bridged the gap between the warmth of the room and the empty void of night beyond.

Artus followed Flann's gaze before returning his attention to him. "I suppose it is... Thank you for the drink, Flann," he said, leaning forward and placing the bottle on the low table in front of them before standing. "And for the company... Truly, I do appreciate spending time with you."

"Aye." Flann's smile reached his eyes. "As do I, Artie."