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may it be, when darkness falls; mara
IP: 144.124.137.48
Posted on May 10, 2011 at 02:04:21 AM by tristan and celidon



Tristan sighed, running a hand through his brown hair his bright green eyes, so alike those of his grandmother peering through the smoke which issued from the fires below. He did not want to be in the castle anymore – he was bored and his father was ill! The boy did not like to think that he was sitting in the finely furnished stone structure being no use to anyone whilst Arthur was sick and possibly dying. Tristan didn’t know how bad it was, just that his Grandma had told him that Gwythr (who Tristan had decided was very bad indeed, because only a bad person would want to harm his father) had made the people left on the island very poorly. It had taken a lot for the small boy not to cry, especially when he was lying on his own in his bedroom, trying to sleep. His world was uncertain and he hated it. Tristan’s father was the boy’s hero, he couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to him! He would miss the jolly booming laugh and the feel of the cold armour against his skin when Arthur hugged him after returning from training. It was partly this however, which helped the child to bite back his tears, he was the son of a brave warrior, a great King, and he himself was a Prince! He had no business crying – he had to put on a brave face and take the world head on. He would be courageous too. He had to be.

It was with these thoughts flying around inside his head that Tristan had begun to climb the long spiral staircase which lead to the tallest tower, his familiar, the large green hound Celidon, trotting along at his young master’s side.
“He will be all right, won’t he Cel?” Tristan asked for the thousandth time, his generous mouth pulled into a tight grim line. The dog nudged his head against the child’s hand, his tail wagging encouragingly,
“Of course he will!” Celidon enthused confidently, “it’ll take more than Gwythr to take down your Father.”
“You really think so?” Tristan responded, the steps he took in his brown riding boots echoing all the way up the stairwell,
“I know so,” the dog said firmly as they arrived at the top, pushing the wooden door open with his large muzzle, whilst Tristan turned the lock with nimble fingers.

The breeze hit the pair full in the face, but there was something bracing about the chilliness of it which Tristan liked. It never did to be too comfortable when something bad was happening, because then you would forget to worry, and as soon as you stopped worrying bad news usually came galloping in. The boy stepped forwards, close to the battlements and rested his small hand on the cold stone of one of the turrets. Before Celidon could do anything to stop his young charge, Tristan had stepped onto the small ledged between the two protruding columns and sat down, swinging his legs off the tower. There was something about the danger in it which appealed to something deep within the child, something about the risk which made him fill up with exhilaration. He could not wait until he could fly like his mother and his father. It was the latter to whom Tristan’s thoughts went out as he fixed his eyes upon the distant horizon, ignoring his familiar’s worried growling.


tristan & celidon
second son of arthur and lilith, prince of shaman.








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