Spiral Mistletoe
"Nuncle! Have you ever met Minoth?"
It's possible they have, at some point more or less recent. Minoth's met a lot of Titans, hanging down at the ports in Indol. Most of them don't talk, of course. Not that Indol inspires fluent, genuine conversation in the hearts of most, or any, but a port is a port. Something always flows, there.
So Minoth meets the great dragon's twinkling yellow eye, knowing that he's crotchety enough to cast approval or disapproval over anything in stony spoken word, rather than just ancient body language.
"Azurda," Minoth says at last. "Yes, I know you."
And Addam's grin, somehow, widens.
Addam's wife is a clever little thing; one who, if Minoth is an accurate judge, is quite pleased with being deemed as such, from the right people.
She makes Minoth a little nervous, he has to admit. Why that is, he'll never be able to know, because he loses the nerves when he looks over at Addam, sees how much the prince cares for him and wants him to have buoyant, positive interactions with every soul he can, if Addam can help it.
Addam loves Flora. Addam loves Minoth. Not so difficult, to make the connection, there.
"He's a handful," Flora says, conspiratorial.
"I've got big hands," Minoth says, inanely.
Looming large-britched over the Ardainian emperor has been Addam's suit for, what, four years now? Accounting for growth spurts, and the lack thereof. They understand. They accept it.
Hugo is quite small compared to anyone in Alrest.
Doesn't exactly make Minoth any less nervous.
He looks down at Hugo, but he doesn't look down on Hugo. And the thing is, he doesn't expect Hugo to do any more than look back up at him.
Hugo. A bold, strong name. Young, but stout. Truly a ruler for the people. A fine friend for Addam.
And why should Minoth be taking such an interest in Addam's friends? Feels terribly tumultuous.
"Addam has told me much. I am glad to see you together."
Indeed. Pressure, much?
Aegaeon's definitely an odd one. Everything he says is slightly stilted, everything he does half fluid and half robotic - but always wholly Aegaeon.
He's incredibly endearing. Minoth's glad he likes Addam well enough, because it's a flip chance that the devoted retainer of the precious young emperor wouldn't appreciate such a goofy uncombed head. Or the flyaway pineapple ponytail that comes with, to boot.
Cool blue fist goes to white-strapped chin. "Master Minoth...do be careful how you go."
Well, so maybe he could be convinced, if needed, anyway.
So Addam's a father, now, if Minoth's apprehended that right? But the coparenting, if that's to be done, is between Addam and Flora, not Addam and Minoth - or, Architect forbid, all three of them.
That's fine with this Blade. Milton seems like a perfectly appropriate brand of handful, all freckles and boyhood moods and a strong sense of right versus wrong.
And where did he get those from, d'you think?
Minoth'll have to show him some card tricks.
The Aegis is flatly unimpressed with Addam's mysterious nearly-two-meter cowboy sidepiece. Minoth can tell that she wants to like Addam, feels obligated to like him, or at least do more than just tolerate him, but can't, and implicitly outnumbering her simply doesn't help.
"He's not perfect, you know," Minoth tries.
Mythra eyes him. "You could just be saying that."
Could. But isn't. And loves, anyway.
Lora! Oh, Minoth likes Lora. Minoth's happy to know that Addam likes Lora, too. A family to fit into is much easier than a disconnected group of bandits thieving about in each other's packs for some good to come out of all this mess.
Addam peers at his Driverly friend, brows upturned, as she bounces on her heels and asks Minoth quasi-intrusive questions.
"Do you ever think about going back?"
"Have you been lonely, since you left your Driver?"
"Do you have anywhere else important to be?"
And Minoth takes it. The answers are no, sometimes, and no, but he would regardless of the toll, for Addam.
"Mikhail!" Addam calls out, and the little boy jumps, slightly, at the boisterous volume belonging to a voice that isn't Lora's.
Addam gestures for him to come closer. Confoundingly, Addam also grabs Minoth's hand.
"This is Minoth. I know you probably heard our conversation just there on the trail, but I thought since he saved us, you should meet properly."
Not horrible, in terms of accidental condescension. But why the hand-holding?
Mikhail stares at the join.
"Okay," he says at last. Doesn't make eye contact. "Thanks."
The wholly eager side of Lora's earnestness, Minoth finds, is reflected so adorably in Haze. The Wind Blade, robed as delicately and aspirationally strong-minded as you please, is afraid to take Minoth's hand, to shake, but is in all other aspects absolutely uncompromisingly bright.
"I'm sure Master Addam will be so glad to have another Blade supporting him!"
"Minoth is very important to me," Addam assures her.
So Haze's face falls.
Minoth isn't exactly annoyed to realize that he's got his work cut out for him, proving to her how and why she should pick it back up.
When introducing Minoth to Jin, Addam thankfully forgoes the hand-holding, instead laying his palm solo on the Flesh Eater's shoulder.
"I suppose you two have never met."
Jin makes no facial comment. "It's always possible. In the past."
Addam frowns. "Right, right... But you don't remember?"
"I do not."
"Well, Minoth is wonderful."
"I'm sure." And Jin does smile, then. It seems that's what Addam wanted.
Brighid is the last to receive visit of Addam's social-host courtesy. She's prickly, if definitionally refined, and almost openly suspicious of Minoth.
And why wouldn't she be? He's a rogue operator from Architect knows where, only determined by Amalthus in any clear context.
Well. But isn't he Addam's?
"Since he's going to be traveling with us, as my Blade," Addam says.
"Oh," says Brighid. "Well. In that case."
In that case, indeed.