March to the Scaffold

To those who hadn't traveled with Blades all their lives, didn't work with their Drivers as partners and protectors day in and day out, the concept of bestowing such a title was...nebulous at best, flimsy at worst.

Yes, Addam could say he'd be honored to act as Minoth's Driver, but what did that really mean? Surely the burden of proof lay upon Minoth, as the ornery oncomer, to accept the title of Blade to Prince Addam Origo, Driver of the Aegis, Lord of Aletta, and so on and so forth, let's all have a party and pat ourselves on the backs for inventing such honors.

Surely Minoth didn't want this, couldn't stand this, wouldn't lash out against it but wouldn't hold it close to his heart even as he held it close to his chest.

Surely Addam was the overbearing, overly eager human, who thought these things frivolous and simplistic.

He acted like it, of course. His only desire was to make it as easy as possible for Minoth to step into battle and rest alike alongside him. How could the Driver of the Aegis raise complaint against fostering a companion so disciplined, so noble?

Addam gave of a well he did not possess, in fact. Mythra already completely overwhelmed him, as he attempted to navigate the path of leadership studded with Core Chips sharp enough to rend the soles of his shoes. Gleaming brighter than the sun and constantly eclipsing both herself and all around her, she demanded total concentration without faculties of her own to command it in context.

Meanwhile, the bundle of nigh-unblameable flaws that was Minoth felt far too delicate for Addam to even so much as cup in his hands, suddenly porous despite their blunt flesh density.

Minoth wanted - no, craved, hungered and starved for, lived and died by - security. Perhaps he would deny it to himself. Perhaps to establish self-persecution with the simple rule: no dependence, not a single drop. But still he wanted, needed, required. Something he could come back to amid all the screams that you were not, as one who rejected your Driver, permitted to choose new company with which to fulfill your broken soul.

So when Minoth cracked, "Hey, at least I'm easier on the eyes than our little slice of heaven here, eh, Prince?" Addam couldn't allow a wholehearted laugh - it would be at all three's individual and collective expense.

"You are not easy, Minoth," he replied. "Not in any way, I'm afraid."

And Minoth's face tightened, because beyond the grail of complexity, there squirmed the central pulse of all those who have been abused: let whatever comes next love me easier; let me be easier, because I am thoroughly exhausted of being difficult.