 “Take a seat” Arthur said looking up from his papers and gesturing at the empty chair directly across from him. Puzzled, Tristan obeyed, taking the steps up to the dais two at a time with his dogs, and familiar on his heels. As the prince settled himself the two dogs scrambled under the table and Celidon stretched himself out behind his fairy’s chair. Tristan waited for his father to finish by absently drumming his finger tips against the table top and staring out of the nearest window. He knew that Arthur was usually very busy and often needed to arrange time for them to spend together in advance, but he had never needed an appointment before. That fact alone would have been enough to make Tristan suspicious, but it was exacerbated significantly because their last private conversation had been a rather uncomfortable affair. Was he in trouble again he wondered? The prince racked his brains trying to think of something but, unusually, he was coming up blank.
“Cafall,” Tristan hissed under the table giving his foot a shake, “stop it.” The dog had started to chew impatiently on his master’s boot. At the sound of Tris’ voice he looked up with guilty amber eyes, whined and pinned his ears back by way of an apology. “I’m watching you,” Tristan warned his pet as he withdrew his head back above the table top. His shoulders sagged a little as he discovered that his father had put down his quill and was watching his exchange with the dog with an amused expression.
“Sorry,” Tristan grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, “we’re working on the chewing thing.” Arthur chuckled briefly.
“You get taller every time I see you,” he commented proudly, nodding at Tristan’s frame with its seemingly ever-lengthening limbs.
“Taller than you,” Tristan laughed in reply, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Arthur grimaced.
“If Shaman has taught me anything it’s that that’s not especially difficult.”
Arthur poured them both a generous amount of wine into their favourite goblets and pushed Tristan’s towards him across the table. The prince raised it in a salute before taking three quick gulps and replacing the goblet back down on the wooden surface with a soft clink.
“We have a few things to discuss,” the king said in a voice that made Tristan cringe.
“This isn’t going to be like the last time you said that is it?” he enquired tentatively feeling colour flush into his cheeks at the memory, “because if it is, I’d rather give it a miss.” Arthur shifted a little uncomfortably but managed to smile.
“No,” he supplied reassuringly, “this is about us altering your educational commitments.”
“Oh,” replied Tristan taking another sip of wine, “all right then, I guess.” Arthur seemed to consider him for a few moments with those piercing grey eyes of his which made Tristan feel like they were seeing more than most people ever did. It was a relief when his father spoke again.
“I think you need to get some practical experience to compliment the theories and skills you’ve been learning with your tutors. You can read about leadership skills until you’re blue in the face but it will only take you so far. I want to assign you some duties and responsibilities, Tris, and whilst I could just tell your what to do, I’d rather like your input.”
---
It had been a long time since Tristan had last climbed a drainpipe. Last time he had tried it he had still had his plant manipulation which had made the task significantly easier. Fortunately he had also grown stronger and had a longer reach so was managing to make steady progress up the side of the castle. His dogs lounged around in the sun below, apparently oblivious to their master’s folly. Celidon on the other hand was sitting on the ground with his muzzle pointed up at Tristan’s position against the stonework. The prince ignored him; he was nearly there. His fingers curled around the metal pipe and he pulled himself up another few inches. He’d deliberately worn supple-souled boots to help with grip and he was glad that he had. Finally Tristan reached the top window and stretched out to rap sharply on the lead-lined glass.
When the window was thrown open Tristan clambered through, jumping from the windowsill down onto the floor. He had not seen his grandfather for ages and when he straightened up he looked the Spaniard up and down with a broad grin. He had worked out which window led to Mallos’ private hospital room the previous afternoon.
“I’m supposed to be going on patrol with Captain Morris,” Tristan explained, dusting dirt from his palms, “I don’t suppose you fancy playing truant instead?”
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