MALLOS
For a moment, the distant sound of training clatter is the only thing to be heard. Mallos hasn’t known Arthur long, but he’s particularly perceptive of fairy nature and understands the game of subtle motions better than most people: the king’s gratitude is not missed. He returns the small smile in kind, but it swiftly fades as Arthur ploughs on. Once the king has finished saying his part there’s a long and rather pregnant pause. The atmosphere has shifted, becoming distinctly more strained, and Mallos’ facial expression lacks the fraction of warmth it had previously held.
“The same reason you have the right to rule this land,” he replies, his voice devoid of the usual, playful spark which gives it life. “The same reason you have the right to a power humans can only dream of. None of us chose this path, but we were all born to walk it. Do you think you are the first person to raise this concern, Arthur? Why do you think the Council of Originals exists?”
Outside, the clatter and general noise has stopped. It seems the world is on pause for a moment. Mallos doesn’t appear angry or upset, but there’s a slight hardness to his tone which suggests he’s had to make this argument many times before. Having to justify one’s existence so often is bound to become tiresome.
“Like every other person who ever lived, we do not do right all of the time,” he continues. “Sometimes we do wrong very badly, so what do you do to us then? Divinity cannot be taken, only given, and it is difficult to the point of impossible to hold a divine being against their will. Gwythr is the only person alive who knows how, and he is not likely to share that secret with you. The only way to stop an original fairy who does not wish to be stopped is to execute them. Who should have the right to be our executioner, and how should that person decide who lives and who dies? Or are we all to die, because we have a power we never chose?” He leans forward slightly in his chair. “And what then, Arthur, when all of the original fairies are dead? That would make the ordinary fairies the gods of humans. You would have the unchecked power to topple their castles on a whim. Humans cannot control magic any more than ordinary fairies can control divinity, so there is no way to equal the balance of power. Unless,” he leans back again, “you are clever enough to come up with a solution to a problem which has been under debate for many, many thousands of years. If that is the case, I hope I will be the first person you share it with.”
For the first time, he breaks his gaze and stares unseeingly out of the window. This reason, and this reason alone, is why the Council of Originals was created: to protect the humans and the ordinary fairies from the power of the originals. 1350BC, the date every deity knows by heart: the date when their power began to be limited by rules and regulations. Since then the council has worked as best as it can towards the safety and security of the general public, but controlling a group of unruly, wilful deities is possibly the hardest job in the world. No, they don’t always get it right. That’s not to say that they don’t try.
“If you think that because I will one day regain divinity, and because I will not always use it responsibly, that I therefore do not have the right to live,” he states quietly, “then you can take your sword and kill me now.” He studies the king’s face carefully. The door which had been slightly open between them when he’d first entered the room has closed; his face and body language are as coolly impassive as when they first met. “Otherwise, since you ask, I have every intention of ensuring Lorraine suffers in hell for the next several thousand years.”
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