Only two people knew he was on Shaman, and one of those people was dead.

"I told people I was going away," Gawain explained with a shrug, eager to reassure, "but not my end destination."

Altair nodded. "We like to retain an alluring air of mystery at all times," he told Josephine, tipping her a wink.

Gawain's stomach squirmed at his lie. Mallos knew where they were, of course, and whilst Gawain didn't know his grandfather from Adam, his father trusted him, and that was going to have to be enough for now...for him, and for Mace.

He eyed the trees again as the canopy shifted, rippling like a wave. Gawain had encountered numerous unusual trees on his missions. Carnivorous trees, trees that could sing, trees that grew fruit which could keep a man's stomach full for days, but he had never known an entire forest acquire a purpose. That was new. Maybe, maybe Tristan didn't need him after all? If Shaman's flora and atmospheric magic had sided with his brother (not to mention one of the best soldier Gawain had ever met) perhaps his father had miscalculated. Compared to that he was just a drop in the ocean.

And then Mace conceded.

It was worse than he'd expected, and Mace's blunt, clipped tone made it all seem worse somehow. He'd known his father was dead, that had been hard enough to process as he hopped from country to country in search of Mallos. He hadn't truly come to terms with it, he'd focused all his energy on getting to Tristan, on helping his brother... The truth hit him like an anvil. Brother, killed, framed, patricide, Mordred, ambition, the words seemed to hover in the air around him like a mist. It was too much to take in all in one go. His fingers danced anxiously through his hair again. When he'd been taken from Shaman he hadn't even known he had an uncle, let alone a murderous one. And who in their right mind would believe a story that painted Tristan as a villain? His carefree, charming brother with a smile and a laugh that could light up a room? He'd be a teenager now, of course, not the same winning little boy, but he couldn't have changed that much could he? Enough to make a believable villain in a political pantomime?

What about my aunt? he wanted to ask, thoughts of Mordred leading him inevitably to Morgana. He was forced to bite the enquiry back again. He'd have to be cleverer than that.

"Can you tell me a little about this king of yours?" Gawain ventured. He hesitated, realising he might have made a mistake. Holding up his hand defensively he hit Mace with one of his more disarming smiles. "I'm in, man. I'm not trying to gather intel or anything, I just want to know a little something about the guy whose band of merry men I'm about to join. If I'm going to meet him, I'd like to be prepared."

"He really is a mess otherwise," Altair grinned toothily, enjoying himself enormously.

Shut up. Gawain thought at him as loudly as he could. The lynx started to chuckle with a guff huff huff sound. Gawain kicked a rock at him.

"You can probably tell by looking at me, Captain," Gawain resumed, turning back to Mace again, "I'm not really one for putting my feet up and sunbathing." He smiled. "How do we find our way through a forest with a mind of its own? Impress me?"

Gawain