“Amish,” Tristan said, turning the page of his book without looking up, “we’re really going to have to have a chat about doors.”

Finishing his sentence, Tristan stretched the ribbon marker between the pages, closed the book and set it down on the window seat beside him.

“Even if the building is on fire, I’m going to need you to knock,” he continued, as the treasurer puffed and panted, “people close doors for a reason.”

He paused, considering, as the guards thundered down the corridor at Amish’s back.

“The building isn’t on fire, is it?”

Amish shook his head, finally managing to get his message out.

“Oh well,” Tristan sighed, “silver linings I suppose.” He rose slowly to his feet as the guard entered, glancing up at the clock on the wall. “We were overdue a bit of excitement.”

Pausing in front of the mirror, Tristan re-laced the collar of his shirt and retrieved one of his new fitted long coats from the back of the nearest chair, shrugging it on as he lead the guard back out into the corridor. When playing diplomacy with the divine, it was probably best to look the part.

As they neared the door to the antechamber, Tristan gestured for the guard to wait, and slipped in through the door. There was little to no acknowledgement of his arrival, and Tristan took the opportunity to scan the room, noting Gwythr’s attire, his face, which was just begging some ancient sculptor to cave it in marble, and his...assistant? lacky? employee? toadie?

Take care of what, I wonder?” Tristan thought, as Celidon slipped in through the door behind him, his ears perked.

He gestured his familiar to the perimeter of the room, remembering what had happened the last time Cel and Gwythr had met, and approached the table. Gwythr settled himself in Tristan’s usual chair. Approaching the armless seat on the god’s left, Tristan stayed standing, leaning forwards against the back of the chair instead.

“Welcome back to Shaman, Seba'iqer” he said with a smile, noting the familiar symbols swinging from Gwythr’s chest. They were not all accounted for.

“I hope you will forgive the more modest venue, my hall got a bit...blown up.” He’d spotted Gawain in the chapel a couple of times since they’d returned home, and on each occasion had asked his brother if he’d been talking to God, or apologising to Arthur about blowing up his castle. He suspected it was both.

“I’m getting there,” Tristan smiled, inclining his head in thanks, “I think getting back into the swing of things is something you and I have in common?” Gwythr seemed to be managing beautifully with the transition which had resulted in a sudden influx of distressed refugees on Shaman’s beaches. “I appreciate you coming to speak with me.”

Tristan shifted his weight onto his left foot, and listened as Gwythr elaborated, rolling out a beautiful set-piece of propaganda. It was beautifully crafted; of text-book worthy quality.

He blinked against the brightness of the light when another of Gwythr’s associates suddenly materialised, but otherwise passed no comment.
One down, Cel, Tristan noted, as Aura’s pendant was handed over. He was going to hate having to tell Thoth, and was suddenly very glad his friend had decided to escape the castle for a few hours. For once, he was less likely to get into trouble outside the castle than in it.

Waiting patiently, he watched as Gwythr dismissed the woman, and returned his attention to the matter at hand. In a gesture, the faces of four of the original faeries materialised in front of him. Tristan tried not to let his gaze linger over Mallos longer than the others, and turned his attention back to Gwythr with a nod.

“My priority,” he said slowly, “is the safety and well-being of the people of Shaman, and to maintain Shaman’s position as a sanctuary to those who find themselves in need of it.” Tristan straightened up, clasping the back of the chair with his hands. “Provided neither of these things are threatened, I will not impede you in your current course.”

put all your faults to bed

TristaN

you can be king again