Melou of Camelot

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 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 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.

He doesn't catch it. But it falls on the bed, so that's okay. The prince in question is somewhat sprawled over the bed, and sends out a flailing hand for the glass.

"Nice." Melou snorts, then passes the bottle. No, he's not going to throw that.

"So. Why you being sensible? And can you stop? It's doing my head in."

Melou shrugs. "One of us has to be and you're more entitled to be pissed than I am."

"Right." He's silent for a moment, staring at the bottle. "I could see it, Mel. I could...see his blood. I nearly fucking killed him then, I could just...FEEL it."

"I know." Melou answers quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I could tell."

Melehan just shuts his eyes, and tries not to notice how his own hands are shaking. "Why'd they do that? Waited for five years and then crown him? Doesn't make sense. Could have waited another year and given it to us." Us, not me - Melehan's normally the one to automatically speak in plurals about anything.

"Fuck, Mele, Arthur was younger than us when they crowned him. It's got nothing to do with our age and you know it."

"Arthur had Merlin." It's weakly said, so Melehan just takes off the lid of the bottle. Pouring it into a glass, and he downs it. "Fuck them."

Melou holds out his glass expectantly. "Yep. Kill 'em, too."

"Okay. Fuck their daughters and kill THEM. Sounds like a plan?" Mele pours, like a good brother. And then fills up his own glass again.

"That is an excellent plan." Melou salutes his brother.

"Good." Melehan grins back.

"But I call first choice on the daughters."

Melehan eyes him. Pause. "Why?" That's not a 'no'.

Melou grins over his glass. "So I can leave you the ugly ones."

"Now, that's not fair. You can chat them up easier then I can."

"I think given our plan, chatting up isn't much of an issue." Melou points out.

"...true. Clearly I need to get drunker."

"Can we?" Melou gives this serious thought. "We've been drinking for two days straight."

"Melou. We can ALWAYS get drunker."

"You're right. I forgot those hours when we passed out."

"Exactly. So, here's to get drunker and pretty noble-girls?"

Melou raises his glass, and says nothing about pretty serving girls. That's so water under the bridge. Really. "To drinking and pretty girls we'll never marry."

"Yeah, that." It's too far to clink their glasses, but they mime it anyway. And then down their glasses.