Ch. 3 - Between Friends

                                    

                                          
"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.