 “Is that all you’ve got?” Tarquin hissed as he removed his helmet and threw it down in the dust of the arena floor. Tristan grinned as he removed his own and dropped it into the sand at his feet with a dull thunk.
“You wish,” he retorted, adjusting his grip on his sword, “I still owe you.” The older boy began to laugh as he shook his head holding out his arms in an exaggerated shrug.
“I don’t get it, Tris,” Tarquin said, “did you get overly attached to your charity project or something?”
“I can only assume,” Tristan replied with his smile still firmly in place, “that you know he’s worth ten of you and you just can’t stand it.” Tarquin’s resultant laugh was a little too hearty and he mimed wiping away tears of mirth with his free hand.
“That’s a good one, in what universe?”
“Every fucking universe.”
The teenagers’ swords collided with a clatter of steel until they gave one another a sharp shove backwards. Tristan forced his heels down into the floor in order to secure his stance before rocking back onto his toes and aiming another blow at his opponent. Tarquin dodged to one side, allowing the blade to slip off the plate armour which encased his right shoulder and aimed a forward thrust of his own at the Prince’s chest. Managing to withdraw his sword arm quickly enough to catch and deflect the assault, Tristan took a stride forwards as he made his response. This forced Tarquin to turn. As they both pivoted around to face one another, their positions reversed, Tristan struck out and caught the back of Tarquin’s head with the pommel of his sword.
“You shouldn’t have taken your helmet off,” the prince laughed as the master of arms called practice to a halt with two blows on a copper whistle.
Celidon pushed his way through the crowd as the gate to the enclosure was opened and bounded over to his fairy with Tristan’s dogs on his heels. Leaving Tarquin rubbing the back of his head, Tristan quickened his stride to greet them. He scratched the cu-sith behind the ears before crouching down to do the same to the much smaller shepherd dogs. Cafall licked his master’s chin, his tail wagging enthusiastically, whilst Hodain took the gesture with his usual steady calm. The prince was one of the last to leave the arena, his canine companions trotting along a few paces ahead. Quite unusually, he thought, he found himself brought to a sudden stop as someone very short tried to poke him in the stomach with a ladle.
Tristan lowered his gaze a little, but the action did little to solve his predicament. The prince found himself staring down at an old saucepan which wobbled precariously on top of what Tristan could only assume was someone’s head. There was a hole in the pan at the point where the side curved to meet the base, and a tuft of light-brown hair poked through it.
“Um...hello?” Tristan tried, unsure how else to approach the situation. His interactions with younger children were at best minimal and they had a habit of throwing him firmly out of his comfort zone. His discomfort was increased as the ladle was suddenly raised higher and narrowly avoided his nose.
The little girl peered up at him from under the saucepan and Tristan smiled back at her for a moment. He took a tactical step backwards to put some distance between himself and the ladle and took note of the rest of her ‘armour.’ Tristan had never had to make-do with pretend equipment, unless you counted the wooden swords he and his brother had been given when they were very young. Happy to indulge her, Tristan allowed his grin to broaden before drawing himself up to his full height and putting on a grumpy expression.
“I am the crown!” he boomed as he planted his hands on his hips. The prince tipped the little girl a playful wink and another smile, breaking character for a moment. “You had better tell me what you are doing here impersonating a guard or I will set my dogs on you!” Tristan gestured in the direction of his familiar and pets who were sitting side by side in a row a few feet away with their heads tipped curiously to one side. They didn’t look very threatening at all.
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