A note is left at Bar, for anyone who may wonder:

We were here. We'll not likely be again.

No regrets; no honour lost. Our blood will not have been spilled in vain.

Y Ddraig Goch ddyry gychwyn.

~ Prince Melou Cunedda Gwthyr ap Medraut of Gwynedd and Cornwall, Lord of Orkney and Camelot

Melou stomps up the stairs to Angela's room and when he enters, the door slams nicely behind him. He places the fox gently enough in the pile with the other toys he acquired the day before and then slumps in a chair, sulking.

If Angela is around, she's got one broody prince on her hands.

Melou follows Angela up to her room in the bar, kitten still on his shoulder, and then holds the door open for her when they arrive.

"Guess you'll have to get used to this again, huh?"

Melou has put the maps away for today, happy enough with what work he did get done on them yesterday before Melehan ruined his mood. But he's not thinking about that right now. He has a date of sorts ( Read more... )

Melou isn't spending another night on the couch and he's still too drunk to think about going back to Camelot, so one key later, there is a room. A pretty nice room, too. There's also a bottle of... something. He can't remember, and two glasses, one of which he throws to his brother. Don't drop it, Melehan. They'll probably charge ( Read more... )

Constantine's coronation had, in a word, sucked. Royally. pun intendedMelehan didn't stick around any longer than he absolutely had to. Melou had seen their mother safely to her room, because they can't ever be sure anymore, especially in Camelot, and then he started doing what he did best ( Read more... )