Chapter 5. Friendly Advice

yssa’s lies, yer mad going t’ Droknar’s Forge at this time ‘o year,” Mog Ruith said, chuckling, “I’d stay in the warm if t’were me.”

“You can talk,” Armand replied, “What are you doing in Cantha?  It’s warmer in Lion’s Arch.”

Mog stretched his enormous frame luxuriantly and ruffled his short ginger mane.  His angular features were rosy with drink and a good natured smile lurked on his lips.  His gangling legs currently took up the entire length of the overstuffed couch.  They were alone in the green sitting room sharing the warmth of a fire and sipping mulled wine.  A servant was nearby waiting to refill Mog’s flagon for a third time.

“’m enjoyin’ the culture, me friend.  Our most gracious host, Master Joe, said I could stay as long as I liked while yeh were recovering.  Far be it from me to reject an opportunity to help a friend in need.”

Armand snorted.

“If you’re going to freeload, at least get his name right, Mog.  It’s Master Bei.  And while it’s heart warming of you to think of me, you only visited me once the entire time I was bed-ridden.”

“I didn’t want t’ ruin the ambiance,” Mog said slyly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Armand demanded, flushing slightly.

“Yeh stink at lying, yeh always have. E’en a warrior could see through that one.  I’ve never seen Mister ‘I don’ need no one’ enjoyin’ a lady’s attentions before.  Who was I t’ get in yer way?”

“Brigit and I went through a lot together,” Armand said angrily, “I owed her some forbearance.”

“You’ve got that filly in hand.  If it were me, I’d slap on the reins and…”

“Shut up!” Armand shouted, glaring at the man, “Brigit is my friend.  Why do you have to be so crass?”

“Hey, if yeh don’ want her, I’m up fer it.  I can work my mesmeric charms on her,” Mog chuckled, “She’s quite the dancer.  Pity you were too sick for the knee’s up on Wintersday.”

Armand was nearly quivering with rage.  He knew Mog was baiting him and it further annoyed him that he had fallen prey to the man’s mischief yet again.   But there was something else smoldering within him, a possessive, even jealous streak of anger sparked by the merest suggestion that Mog fancied Brigit.  Mog ran his fingers through his coarse beard, sensing Armand’s fury.

“I reckon Brigit is also going to Droknar’s Forge and yer followin’,” Mog said sagely, pausing to take a long swallow of mulled wine, “Yer in too deep, lad.  Jus’ stop fighting an’ enjoy the ride.”

Armand was trembling now but his anger was fading.

“I’m being stupid,” he grumbled, “She’s not my type.”

“When Lyssa sees fit to scatter seeds at me threshold, yeh’d better believe I’m going t’ enjoy the birds that come flocking in.  Yer a fool to let this one flutter off.”

“You’re a pig, Mog.”

“Opportunist, Laddo.”

“I don’t have a clue what to do next.”

“Are you askin’ me fer help with the ladies?” Mog asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Not exactly,” Armand protested.

“When was the last time?” Mog demanded, “What’d she do to yeh t’ make yeh sulky fer all the years I’ve known yeh?”

Armand hesitated, swallowing.  The trouble with having mesmers for friends was that, well, they were mesmers.  He could no more lie to Mog than he could have lied to his own mother.  Who had also been a mesmer.

“There wasn’t a last time,” he whispered, feeling humiliated.

To his intense relief, Mog did not laugh or taunt him further.  The big man gazed upon him knowingly.

“Aye, Army, yeh won’t talk of it, but I know somethin’ nasty happened to yeh in Kryta when yeh were a young lad.  I’m all fer letting the past go, but it’s getting in yer way.  Now you listen to old Mog.  A nice gentle lady friend is jus’ the thing for yeh.  Yeh jus’ sidle up to her and tell her yeh want her and let her do the rest.  Yeh know she wants yeh bad. I can tell she’s thinkin’ ‘bout yeh from ‘cross the city.  She likes the cut of yeh jib fer certain.”

“Mog!”

“Don’ tell me yeh n’er noticed, neither.”

“Vulgar hedge wizard,” Armand spat.

“Carnie,” Mog chuckled.

Armand fumed, his blue eyes narrowing with rage.  Why did Mog have to be so infuriating?

“Enjoy yer trip, Army,” Mog said with a broad grin, “It’ll be colder than Grenth’s teats, but it’ll give yeh all the more reason t’ snuggle up.”

“Drop it, Mog.”

“Aye.  I’ll see the two of yeh off in the morning.  I’m heading back to Lion’s Arch meself in a few days.”

“Good, I’m happy for Master Bei’s wine supply.”

“Seriously, Army, let the lass have her way with yeh.  It’ll do yeh some good.”

Mog raised his flagon in a drunken salute before draining it.  He roundly thanked the servant when a new batch of mulled wine replaced it.  Armand smiled in spite of his best efforts to remain noncommittal.  His relationship with Mog had always been thus, infuriating but strangely gratifying.  He would miss the man to the same degree he would be relieved to be away from him and his antics.