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IP: 82.19.140.112
Posted on September 19, 2012 at 11:10:30 PM by tristan & celidon



It had been a long day. He had been up early for a training session with his father, that had lasted to lunch time. By the time he had been relieved of his armour and had put his sword away his arms had already begun to feel as though he would never lift them again. He was almost relieved that the afternoon had involved studying, the first time he could remember actually being glad to see the words “latin verbs” written upon the cover of a book. Now, Tristan lay in the centre of his four-poster bed, on top of the goose-down mattress, and the embroidered tester, his arms and legs stretched out, and his green eyes fixed on the painted ceiling. The prince had chosen the scene himself, pulled it from one of his favourite stories, and one he had felt a great deal of empathy with. It did not consist of garish colours, the artist had done a wonderful job, creating the different figures out of varying shades of cream and light brown, the outline and detailing worked finely in gold.

Rain drops tapped lightly against the leaded windows, and the prince pushed himself into a sitting position against his pillows, his head leaning back against the blue of the wallpaper in order to watch them trickle down the glass. He had missed his room when he had been forced into the Labyrinth during the big freeze. It wasn’t just that the bed was far more comfortable than a sleeping bag on the floor, it was having a room that was personal to him. His favourite books were stacked on the case beside his desk, and his armour, mounted on a stand, waited patiently in the opposite corner. Two swords were mounted on the stretch of wall that separated the two windows, one beneath the other, both too fine to be of any real use in combat, but finely made and elegantly engraved. Arthur had commissioned them both especially for the purpose. Beneath them, standing on a table of its own, was a helmet. It was not like the one Tristan wore for training, it was adult-sized and so still too big for the nine-year-old, but he had found it in a book, and had loved the shape. It served as an ornament for now.

Tristan turned his head towards the door with a frown, when he heard the knocking. Maybe his father had been held up, and had asked someone to take the prince his dinner in his rooms? Sighing, Tristan slipped across the bed, taking some of the blanket with him by mistake, and made his way to the door. He pulled it open...and stopped. “Grayson!” he beamed, as he confirmed for himself that it really was his friend standing on the other side, “come in, the corridors are freezing at this time.” Tristan gestured at the fire crackling away in his fireplace, and, as his friend obliged, closed the door behind him. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” Tristan enthused, bouncing back down onto his bed in order to give Grayson the chance to look around if he wanted to. “What have you been up to?”



image by wackybadger at flickr.com






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