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Posted on January 27, 2012 at 01:24:43 AM by tristan & celidon
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“Padre,” Tristan repeated after Mallos had corrected him, trying to imitate perfectly the way the man said the word, applying the pointers that the deity had given him. The boy tried a second time, and to him, the last attempt sounded closest. “Better?” he asked, tipping his head a fraction to the left as he switched back to English his green eyes bright and enquiring. There were some people who Tristan did not mind being corrected by, his Father was one, his Grandmother another. If his brother tried though, then the younger boy was likely to lose his temper, his position as the little brother making him especially aware of any demonstration of smugness from Gawain. It also helped that he and the stranger were the only ones in the room, Tristan hated being corrected in public, especially if there was someone around who he was trying to impress at the time. He was still too young to have learned how to deal with embarrassment. “You know the guards would have let you in through the doors downstairs, don’t you?” the boy continued matter-of-factly, though as he finished his sentence a thoughtful expression flicked onto his face, “then again,” he continued with a grin, “I like climbing too, so I can understand why you didn’t want to use the doors. It is much more exciting the other way, don’t you think?” His grin however, soon became a frown when Mallos said that he was not a friend of Arthur’s. “I haven’t met many people who aren’t friends with father, before,” Tristan explained, “there was one time when a man and some monsters broke into the tower. He smelled horrible and his hair was all greasy. Father had to rescue Gawain and I. That man wasn’t a friend either.” Pausing, the boy took a few more steps across the floor in order to perch on a wooden desk which stood on Mallos’ right side, just on the inside of the window, so it had missed being soaked by the rain. Swinging his legs back and forth, Tristan pressed on, “you don’t seem very much like that man though. You smile quite a lot.” The part of the child’s mind which had been warning him to keep his distance, reminding him that the man could be an enemy had finally been completely smothered by the part of him that was convinced that the risk was probably worth it. “She has, now that you mention it,” Tristan pressed on, leaning back so that he was propped up by the stone of the wall, “usually when Father is playing something with us.” Tristan brought up his father in conversation with great frequency, and though he was not aware of it himself it was a reflection of how much he looked up to Shaman’s king. “When I grow up, I want to be a Knight and lead men into battle, just like father. Are you a knight?” Mallos’ final statement caused Tristan to frown in thought again, his mouth twisting slightly to one side, before he sighed and nodded. “Father hasn’t told me much about Shaman history,” the boy confessed, “only the important stuff so that I know who the dangerous people are. He did say he would tell me everything when I was older though, he promised that he would, and Father has never broken a promise before.” Of course, what the boy meant was that the King had never broken a promise to him before, but Tristan saw no reason to make the clarification. His father was a hero. Heroes obviously kept their promises. “Why? Are you someone important?” |
for we were made of stronger things, the memories of soldiers, the children of kings |
 original image by Stefan Tell at flickr.com |
Replies:
- él se fue con el invierno. - By mallos January 27, 2012 at 11:29:26 PM
- the children of kings - By tristan & celidon January 28, 2012 at 00:18:22 AM
- él se fue con el invierno. - By mallos January 28, 2012 at 04:05:56 AM
- the children of kings - By tristan & celidon January 28, 2012 at 00:18:22 AM
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