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Posted on October 26, 2011 at 02:01:27 AM by arthur & pendragon
Arthur chuckled from his place behind the long oaken table which ran horizontally along the top of the castle’s great hall upon a raised platform, his grey eyes fixed upon his son. The King lounged in his high backed chair, his legs draped over the left-hand arm in an unusual display of informality. Tristan grinned up at his father, from his own place on the hall’s main floor, surrounded by brightly coloured banners which adorned the walls, and towering suits of armour. Encouraged by Arthur’s good humour, the boy pressed on with his story, acting out his imagined confrontation with a dragon, with his wooden sword in his hand. Smiling indulgently, Arthur reached for the goblet of wine which rested upon the table before him, and took a sip of the red liquid within. He swallowed it hastily as Tristan performed a particular elaborate movement with his sword, which, for some reason in his child-like imagination, meant that he was able to get the dragon in a headlock. “Impressive,” Arthur grinned, much of his natural gravity temporarily banished from his face and eyes. He liked nothing better than spending time with his two young sons, and was disappointed by how little time his other commitments gave him to do so. When he was with them, he felt relaxed and completely at ease, consumed by a soul fulfilling warmth. The King enjoyed fatherhood. “Have you asked him if he will yield?” Tristan’s brow furrowed in confusion, “but Father!” he protested “he’s a dragon!” Arthur chuckled again, swinging his legs around so that he was sitting facing forwards. “Yes,” the King agreed, with a nod, “but we should not kill unless we can help it. You said it was a talking dragon, so that means that he can yield and agree to terms. You should ask him.” Green eyes glinting in the sunlight which streamed in through the castle windows, Tristan gazed back at his father. “What kind of terms do you offer to a dragon?” Opening his mouth to reply, Arthur stopped short as a knocking sound reverberated through the hall, and his eyes snapped towards the double doors at the other end of the room, his expression full of curiosity. Tristan, following his father’s gaze, and watched as a woman he didn’t know edged her way into the room. “Come in, come in,” Arthur smiled at Nine, gesturing at one of the seats at the table, and Tristan noted how his Father’s face had transformed into that of King Arthur, not the Father he was used to when they were in private. The King waited for the white-haired woman to seat herself, he did not demand that anyone referred to him as “Sir” or “Your Grace” but if the formalities were offered, he did not turn them away. His old life had made him too accustomed to their usage to think much of it. “Ask away,” he continued, turning slightly in his own chair so that he could look her in the eyes with greater ease, his heritage and lineage obvious in the angles of his face, the depth of his eyes and the tones of his voice. Tristan looked between the grown-ups, wondering if he was to be dismissed, but as soon as he caught his father’s gaze, he caught a subtle wink and grinned. His father wanted him to stay! just take a look, through my eyes image by One lucky guy at flickr.com |
Replies:
- he's playing hide and seek; - By nine October 28, 2011 at 07:01:33 AM
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