MALLOS
Soldiers are boring. The whole point of a soldier is that he thinks and acts as part of a unit, which means he’s just the same as any other soldier. Mallos has conversed with his fair share of soldiers and warriors, and can testify to just how boring they can be. Furthermore, a skilled enough diplomat should have no need of soldiers, but even the most skilled soldier will require diplomats. Ergo, his job is better.
Also, girls are way more interesting than soldiers, diplomats and most other things in the world. Tristan’ll understand that in a couple of years.
When Tristan calls him strange, Mallos returns his gaze to him and grins in a way which says you have no idea. Strange is usually synonymous to interesting, and Mallos would rather be interesting than normal any day of the week. The smile drops a way a little as he watches the expression on his grandson’s face alter noticeably, and it doesn’t take a genius – which Mallos is – to guess what may have brought about the change. Arthur and Morgana had been right. What could he say that would not have already been said, and how could he broach the subject? On the first score, Mallos is reasonably confident: his unique logical process gives him an advantage over others. The difficulty would be in approaching the topic without making Tristan feel as if this meeting had been scheduled by concerned adults.
The race offers a welcome break for thought, and does at least seem to cheer the nine year-old somewhat. Seeing that Tristan is obviously an able swimmer, he smiles in the face of the former’s frown and slips his hands casually into his trouser pockets. He half-expects the old help me out/pull in the water trick but, really, should have known better. Tristan’s question coupled with the thrumming of paws behind him raises enough doubt for him to semi-turn; he just has time to catch a glimpse of something big, green and fast-moving before it rams into his legs and knocks him into the lake.
It’s cold. That’s the first thing that Mallos registers as the murky brown water closes over his head, and his limbs instantly go numb with shock. The air is warmer now than it has been for a long time, but it isn’t warm enough to heat the lake to the kind of Mediterranean swimming temperatures that Mallos is used to. The cold sucks out what little air had been in his lungs, forcing him to make for the surface as quickly as possible. The not-very-warm air stings his face and, not for the first time since he’d been stranded on Shaman, he’s grateful that he retained his ability to swim even after losing divinity. He pushes his hair out of his face with one arm and flicks the other against the surface of the water, sending a well-aimed splash Tristan’s way. The young prince doesn’t seem particularly concerned by the cold, so Mallos bites back a comment referring to it and suppresses a shiver.
‘Mallos,’ Sperantia’s voice snaps in his head. His she-cat familiar has been quite moody lately because of all the work she’s had to do clearing various farms of their rodent problems. ‘I felt that from half way across Shaman. What did you just do? You said you were going to find Arthur, and the only explanation I can think of is that you found his walk-in fridge instead – ’ There’s a pause while she processes his latest memories, and then: ‘Mallos! Get out of there, it’s wet. And filthy. How could you think of throwing Tristan in? Get him out and dried off, now. Don’t you know that being wet is bad for you? Do what you like, but don’t inflict wetness on others.’
To which he replies, ‘Arthur has a walk-in fridge?’
Sperantia sends back a disgusted kind of ‘har-umph’ noise and severs the connection abruptly. He’ll be for it when he sees her later, so he makes a mental note to hang around the castle as late as possible.
He hadn’t gone far when the cu-sith pushed him, and it only takes a stroke and a half to reach the edge of the lake before pulling himself out. Tristan is nearby, so Mallos reaches down with one hand and pulls him out by his collar, leaving Celidon to his own devices. The nine year-old is weighty enough with the water and clothes weighing him down, and Mallos is particularly thankful that he took off his armour earlier. The air has a nasty cold bite to it now that they’re soaking wet. While they both sit at the edge of the lake, Mallos pulls his shirt off, wrings it out over the laughing water and then puts it back on again. Really he ought to dry off and warm up properly, but since Tristan appears unaffected he isn’t going to do anything more.
He broaches the topic while he’s buttoning up his shirt, knowing that boys tend to find it easier to discuss personal things when they’re not face-to-face with the other person. “So,” he begins, using a decidedly more serious tone than before. “How have you been?”
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