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Posted on June 29, 2014 at 02:59:44 AM by arthur
The level of concern on the young nurse’s face went beyond the professional. Arthur had seen it before, when a person tended the same ill or wounded patient for an extended period, a bond was formed. It was a deeper kind of caring; Fearne had a good heart. The king smiled and gave her cold fingers an encouraging squeeze, “any progress is good,” he said kindly, ignoring his stomach’s lurch of concern. Arthur had no point of reference to judge how long Mallos’ recovery would take, or even what form his rehabilitation would take. It had been different with Tristan; the king had seen infected wounds before and knew what looked good and what was troubling. As far as he knew Mallos’ symptoms were to be expected in a man who had magically obliterated himself; that one was a new one on Arthur. However, he had been king of Shaman long enough to no longer be surprised by anything Aura’s strange little world had to throw at him. And Mallos? Well, the king thought, as he nodded to Fearne to lead the way, Mallos made keeping people guessing something of an art form. Arthur hesitated in the doorway of the ward and turned to Morgana with a frown of concern. “Tristan?” he began, concerned that his son would display his usual resourcefulness and follow them to his grandfather. Morgana however rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder, “Mordred will watch him” she promised with a little smile, “Tris won’t know what hit him if he tries anything.” The king nodded, reassured, even if his brother’s resourcefulness was of a different kind to his sons it was still formidable. They were more than a match for one another, and Mordred had an uncanny habit for knowing what needed to be done without having to be asked. Arthur, Morgana and Fearne progressed their way down the centre of the room, passed the empty and occupied beds until they came to Mallos. Fearne’s description had been accurate. There was life...it just wasn’t quite the kind Arthur had been praying for. The king had seen mad men before; there had been a lord when he was young who had received a bad head wound in battle and had never been the same. When he had given alms to the poor there was often mad men and women there too, filling the streets with their arms entangled in those of hopeful relatives. Mallos wasn’t mad. His eyes were too bright and his face too composed. It was something else. He put Arthur in mind of an old man who had been staring into the fire for so long that the licking flames had begun to draw out long-forgotten memories of youth. Sometimes such men would laugh, and sometimes they would weep before coming back to themselves. Mallos’ expression gave Arthur pause. It didn’t suit the Spaniard. It lacked his usual subtlety. The king had never been on the receiving end of such a look from his friend before and it made him pause. He fixed his grey gaze watchfully on the original’s tanned face. “Mallos?” Morgana said from her brother’s left, taking a step closer to the bed. The Spaniard didn’t react and Arthur reached out to prevent his sister from progressing any further towards the bed. Mallos’ eyes were fixed on Arthur’s. The king gestured for Morgana and Fearne to stay where they were and, holding his father-in-law’s glare with a steady look of his own continued his march down the room. He moved quickly for someone who had spent so long in a coma, and was off the bed before Arthur had time to blink. The king dodged a sloppy punch and grabbed hold of Mallos’ arm before his father-in-law had chance to progress too far with his intended tackle. Arthur pushed the heel of his other hand hard into Mallos’ shoulder before knocking his feet out from under him with his right leg. The Spaniard went down with Arthur slowing his fall to the ground. He pinned Mallos in place with his knee and glanced up with raised eyebrows at Fearne and Morgana. Fearne looked alarmed, but Morgana was frowning. “Now what do you suppose that was all about?” she asked, deciding it was safe to get closer. Arthur had no idea. The Spaniard’s face softened visibly, the unusual expression of hatred replaced with equally unfamiliar puzzlement. When Mallos spoke, Morgana and Arthur exchanged grins. “I was actually rather enjoying myself,” the king commented mildly, climbing back to his feet and taking a backwards step before holding out his hand in order to help his father-in-law to his feet. “Welcome back, my friend.”  |
Replies:
- the dark side of the sun. - By mallos June 30, 2014 at 01:12:15 AM
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