IP: 95.151.248.90
Posted on January 28, 2012 at 00:18:22 AM by tristan & celidon
|
“Have you killed anyone?” Tristan pressed, when Mallos confessed that he had indeed been a knight, on more than one occasion. The Spaniard did not see like any knight that the boy had read about in stories, but then, Arthur had explained that real knights were very rarely like they were portrayed in books. Was this what his father had meant. “I asked my Father once, and he said that he had, but he wouldn’t say any more about it anymore than that. It’s difficult to get him to tell you things sometimes, have you noticed?” Tristan took the brief break in conversation to look out of the window, the sky was still very dark, but the rain was not as bad as it had been. That was good, he might be able to go riding later after all. He hated being stuck inside all day. The Prince liked to be outside exploring as much as possible, and games were far more interesting when you had real caves to use as pretend dragon lairs. Wardrobes and alcoves just did not have quite the same effect. Tristan was just about to explain his thoughts to the stranger, but as he glanced back at the dark-haired man, he noticed that his facial expression had adjusted. He looked a bit put-out. The boy soon learned why. Important, very important (the difference seemed important to the library intruder.) Tristan’s brow furrowed, and ran through all the important names he knew. Epos, she was the Princeps, she was nice. Then there was Aura, and Gwythr, Joel, Adonis, and this man was certainly none of them. He was a little too old to be either of the male members of the recently elected senate, which left only... “Oh!” Tristan exclaimed suddenly, overcome by a wave of realisation which was followed very quickly by a great many other emotions which were understandably related to the man’s identity. This man (who looked of an age with his Father) was his grandfather. A grandfather who he had never met, and had been wronged by Gwythr. Tristan had been born after Gwythr had revealed his true identity, so Mallos’ name was not, to the boy, a name synonymous with any kind of threat. “I know who you are!” he told the man with a large grin, “and that’s why you remind me a little bit of my brother! You’re Mallos, aren’t you? You’re my Grandfather!?” His look of excitement quickly became apologetic, he had insulted his Grandfather by not recognising him, he thought, with a little sadness. It was not the best of starts. “I’m sorry,” he said, as humbly as was possible for a child like Tristan to whom concepts like humility came with a little difficulty. “I expected you to look more like Mother, I know about you, I know about the horrible thing Gwythr did to you, just...no one ever told me what you looked like.” The prince attempted a coaxing smile, “Father says that learning a language is not only about being able to converse with people in that tongue, it’s about having the patience, and discipline to sit down and learn it in the first place.” The boy was obviously quoting something he had been told a number of times and he pulled a face when he had finished. “I didn’t offend you really did I?” he asked hopefully, fixing his eyes upon Mallos’ face, “I wouldn’t like to think I did.” |
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 28, 2012 at 04:05:56 AM
Post a reply:
<--
-->