As Grayson did a stunning impression as one of the carved figures on the fountain in the castle gardens, showering brandy the length of the tent, Tristan couldn't help but laugh. He was still chortling to himself as he accepted the bottle back. Cradling it against his chest he wiped tears from his eyes. It had been an age since he'd laughed quite so hard. The effort made his face hurt. He knew he was laughing more than the situation warranted, but once started, it seemed impossible to stop. His self control darted from his grasp. He groped after it, feeling tears bubble up behind his laughter.

No, no, no. Not now.

Tristan took a steadying breath and raised the bottle back to his lips. Regaining his composure he turned a smile on his friend, hoping he might not of noticed anything amiss, or had, at least, mistaken it for giddiness.

"I'll be honest," he said, leaning back and supporting himself on his elbows. "the appeal isn't really in the taste. You'd soon get used to it if you drank enough." Hadn't his father always had a glass of red wine in hand? or on his desk? He ignored Celidon's reproachful look and set the bottle on the ground by his left hand.

As Grayson started to stutter and stumble, Tristan picked it up again and put it down on the ground between them, just in case. Whatever his cousin was trying to say, Tristan could tell it was important but also...tender. He was the last person in the world right now who would be inclined to pry, but if Grayson wanted to get something off his chest, he would listen. He wished he had someone he could talk to. Someone who would listen without judgement or expectation. Everyone he knew, everyone who had followed him into the woods, they all believed in him. They all kept looking for something in him, that he wasn't sure was there. How could you divulge weakness to someone looking to you for strength? He couldn't talk to Mace. He was always watching him, waiting for him to turn some un-sign-posted corner and start living up to...to what? Thinking about it made him want to scream. They all wanted him to be something.

Grayson seemed equally shaken. Tristan reached out across the space between them and rested his hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to know everything at once," he said, trying to reassure his friend, "and if you do remember something I'm here if you need to talk about it, okay? But only when you're ready." He threw out his hands, catching the neck of the brandy bottle with his knuckles. It fell to the ground with a thunk. "This is a no-pressure zone," Tristan smiled, not un-touched by the irony. "Give yourself chance to heal, Gray."

Oh, how he wished someone had said those words to him. If only he had the same luxury of time.

Releasing Grayson's shoulder, Tristan righted the bottle again.

"There's..." he shook his head, steeling himself, "there's a lot I have to tell you too, but... Hell, Gray, I'm not sure I can even say half of it out-loud." Sighing, he searched his mind, trying to find the least painful way to convey what he needed to. He couldn't bring himself to say Arthur's name. There were four words still that he couldn't even think to himself. They lurked at the edges of his consciousness, stalking him like a beast in the dark.

"Mordred is king now..." Tristan managed at last. he took another long drink of brandy to burn the memory of the words from his tongue. "And I'm so glad you're here because..." his lip trembled. He bit down on it hard. "I've never felt so alone in my life."

Tristan