It’s all a mess. And to think, when he left the castle this morning all he wanted to do was research chemical formulae in the sun. Now he’s standing in front of his best friend, faced with the daunting question: didn’t you trust me? Of course he trusts Tristan. He’s about the only person left in the world Thoth does trust. The issue is far more complicated than a simple lack of trust, and the real reasons are confused and numerous. Possibly first and foremost amongst those is a sensation he could probably never explain: Thoth is, and has always been, a thoroughly independent child. Even if he hadn’t learned long ago that he has to take care of himself in this world, he’s not naturally inclined towards allowing others to fight his battles for him. The extent of Tristan’s relationships with the other children at court he’s never been able to truthfully ascertain, and it has always seemed to him that telling would achieve nothing bar upsetting his friend. What could Tris do, after all? He’s a prince, not a god. All that would happen is that Tris would get upset, he would upset Tarquin, and Tarquin would take out his feelings on Thoth – and the circle would repeat until Thoth simply stopped telling, and then they’re back to square one. Also –
“I didn’t want you to know – how much of a – a loser I am,” he mutters, feeling his eyes, cheeks and throat burn, and wishing he could sink into the ground. “You’re the only one who likes me. Everyone else – Tarquin isn’t the only – they all say – ” He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a breath, trying to find some verbal coherency through a forced sense of calm. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just – I was scared.”
There. He said it.
The suggestion that they head back to the castle is welcome. Thoth notices the puppies for the first time as they run up to Tris’s heels, but doesn’t really register them enough to comment. He trudges along in silence, eyes downcast, not entirely sure if he’s in trouble or not. Tris’s voice is strained and the words are indicative of exasperation, but Thoth isn’t socially adept enough to work out if this constitutes a telling-off or if it’s simply more anger directed at Tarquin. The tone is certainly close to Nim’s ‘Thoth is being difficult’ tone, and that’s usually followed by a scolding or attempt at discipline of some description. The worry and uncertainty is only abated when Tris proclaims that he is his best friend. Tristan is, undoubtedly, the coolest and most popular person he knows – and of all the friends he has to choose from, he counts Thoth the closest.
He’s still processing this when Tristan visibly picks up on the slip that Thoth had hoped he might miss. He’s never seen his friend really, truly angry before. Of the pair, Thoth is usually the one losing his temper, while Tris acts as the mediator, listener or calmer as required. The snap is so sudden and the role reversal so unsettling that for a moment he feels a flutter of fear, and doesn’t know how to respond other than to answer the question posed.
“A few times,” he says quietly and evasively, preferring not to enrage his friend further by recounting the details. A few is not many, but more than twice.
He watches Tris pace up and down the corridor, unsure of what to do or say, and appreciating for the first time how difficult he must be to respond to when he’s in a temper. When the prince finally turns back to him, his words bring with them a conflicting sense of ambivalence: a nagging disbelief coupled with a an overwhelming sense of relief. Thoth brushes aside the first and embrace the second, choosing to place complete trust in his best friend. Not thinking, not caring about the masculine cultural norms he usually tries to uphold while Tris is around, he takes a step forward, wraps his arms around his friend and gives him a tight hug. Having fought back tears ever since Tarquin took his pendant, two successfully escape now.
“Sorry,” he mumbles as they break apart, brushing the tears away with the heel of his hand. “You’re all wet.”
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