The Swan of Tuonela
"He's Quaestor Amalthus's Blade."
All the tension had drained right out of Addam's chest the moment he saw that purple bullet smite the Jagron, and then just a touch of it creeped back in when he felt himself fumble for the familiar retort to his old friend.
Now, watching Minoth's stance out of the corner of his eye, Addam saw the right knee twitch in. Not good - Minoth's footwork may have been next to none, but Addam's own was about to take a turn for the worse as they both stood rigid alongside each other.
Damn. What a way for things to begin. But Jin and Lora would take the fore, and surely there'd be time to win his friend back over later.
Architect, he was so in sync. Jin's stance was all set jaws and imperceptible twitches. Minoth, meanwhile, didn't give you time to watch anything but those smooth, smooth lines.
By this point, even oblivious Addam knew what it meant to see a shoulder jerked, or an idle heel thumped.
Minoth tried to conceal his emotions. Rather, he'd been trained into it, so that he very nearly had no choice but to, and he was very, very good at it. So when a silent movement was the only way, it was the only way.
"Minoth?"
Crossed arms. Shoulders high (even the bulky jacket didn't completely obscure that). But Minoth turned, slowly but just moderately enough to be normal.
"Prince?"
He still didn't know how to read that epithet. Was it good, bad, familiar or distant? Was it just a method of annoyance, or instead an element of ostentatious subtlety exactly as not-exactly-mysterious as it appeared?
Certainly, Addam knew it was important. Either the word itself or the intent behind it. But he had to shelve that for now.
"You, ah...you were very admiring of the way Lora and Jin fought."
"As are we all," said Minoth, dismissively - but! not unkindly, or so far as to be unfriendly.
"Well, of course-"
"No, I saw you." Addam blinked. "Glancing at me every time they jumped together."
"So, then," started Addam without thinking, "you were looking at me, too."
With a shrug, Minoth fixed his eyes on Addam's. "Sure - here's me looking at you looking at me looking at you."
That shrug. What nonsense.
"Minoth."
"Addam."
"I would be honored to share your weapons in battle."
What followed was all interiority. No feigned shrugs, no wandering eye contact, no exaggerated sighs.
As he reached his right hand into the corresponding holster, Minoth let his left arm drop. The remaining weight was pressed into Addam's hand, and with shoulders low, suddenly Minoth looked taller and freer than Addam had ever seen him.
Was that all it took?