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for we were made of stronger things
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Posted on January 2, 2012 at 08:22:07 PM by tristan & celidon







“No, Cel,” Tristan said firmly, as his familiar pushed a book into his face. He placed his hand on the green fur of the large dog’s chest and pushed him away the best he could. Celidon took a few steps backwards before gazing at his fairy with reproachful eyes, the green book (which happened to be a guide to Latin grammar) held firmly in his soft mouth. The boy folded his arms across his chest. “I am really not in the mood,” Tristan told the green dog, “I want to go outside.” Celidon tipped his head to one side and the Prince could feel his familiar’s puzzlement through their telepathic link. “It’s raining,” the dog said after a pause, “very much raining. We’d drown on dry land.” Tristan sighed. Cel was right and he knew it. He could hear the raindrops beating hard against the window pain. It had been falling for around ten minutes and showed no signs of letting up. Gawain wasn’t in the castle, at least, no where that Tristan was able to find him, and so he was stuck on his own with nothing to do but study. Normally, he did not mind so much. The Prince could finish the work his father set him each day in good time and then had the rest of the day to himself. Today however, he was feeling very restless. “Fine,” the boy sighed after a while, getting to his feet from his place on the wooden floor, “but if I’m going to read, it’s going to be something good. Come on.”

Eagerly, Celidon dropped the book he was holding, allowing it to fall to the floor where it landed with its pages splayed out beneath it, before following his fairy out of the room. Tristan took the stone steps which lead up to the next floor two at a time, and Cel ran off in front of him, his thin green tail hitting off the stone tiles in his excitement. Tristan knew he would never admit it, but Cel got just as impatient at being indoors as he did. The library was never locked. Tristan knew that Arthur left it unlocked in the hope that his sons would make use of its content, and on this occasion the boy knew exactly which book he was looking for. It was his favourite. He knew that much of it was inaccurate, that it skimmed over the grimmer aspects of history, but the hard-backed “Adventures of Alexander the Great” was one of the castle’s libraries biggest draws for the boy. It was just a matter of finding it.

Tristan opened the door with a push of telekinetic power from half way down the corridor, smiling to himself as he strode straight through into the room beyond without even having to break his stride. He was getting better. Celidon headed straight across the room to where a large number of cushions were scattered and flopped down onto a group of three, looking up at Tristan as his tail began to wag with increased enthusiasm. Dog and boy froze at the sound of a groaning floor board. The guards did not enter the library without permission, Tristan knew that, and he had thought that all of his family members were away for the majority of the day. “Stay,” the prince instructed his familiar holding up his hand in order to re-enforce the command as he crossed the room in order to push himself flat against one of the nearby bookcases. Carefully, he peered around its corner, his eyes falling upon the form of a stranger, dressed all in black, with a book in his hands. The man did not appear to be armed, so Tristan felt brave as he stepped out from his hiding place. “What are you doing here?” the Prince asked the back of the man’s head, “did Father let you in?”

Who Tristan’s father was, was obvious, if not because of where they were, then because of his appearance. He had the same pale skin, the same coloured hair, and there was certainly something of the King’s jaw-line coming through on the boy’s young face. Tristan’s cheekbones, which were somewhat more prominent than Arthur’s, came from his mother, and the wide, emerald green eyes from his grandmother. The Prince took another step closer to the man, his fingers hovering over the hilt of the dagger he wore on his hip, just in case. He doubted however, that assassins and kidnappers spent much time reading books in libraries, especially not from the shelves from which the majority of Tristan’s study books came. Coming to a stop in the middle of the floor, with his legs slightly apart, imitating subconsciously his father’s usual stance, Tristan waited for the stranger to turn around and introduce himself. Strangers in libraries were irritatingly puzzling things, and the Prince was desperate to discover the identity of the visitor.




tristan & celidon
for we were made of stronger things,
the memories of soldiers, the children of kings


original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com






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