He felt like a coiled spring as they walked hand-in-hand across the cobblestones. He wanted to take the tower steps two at a time, wanted to run up them at the same pace he’d come down, but instead he held steady. Her hand was warm and responsive, her touch sending a pleasant charge through his skin. There was need for restraint there too. Tristan glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as they rounded the corner, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. The sun shone through the glass of the window behind her, bathing her in a golden light, and her hand alone wasn’t enough anymore.

But then they reached the door.

Remembering himself, Tristan stepped in front of her and reached for the handle, opening it wide. He stood back to allow her through, and then followed after her, lingering a pace behind for as many strides as he could snatch. Then, falling into step beside her again, he gathered up her hand and led her along the corridor to her chamber door.

“Just you,” he told her, finding his voice as they lingered in the hall. “If I’ve got you, who else would I need?” Another smile. They came easily today, one following eagerly after the next.

“I can’t come in, I suppose,” he teased as her fingers hovered over the door handle. He held her eye, doing little to conceal his appreciation, drawn to the directness of her look. Tristan reached for her, unable to resist any longer, and ran gentle fingers over her shoulder and down her arm. His stomach clenched and eased, his breath catching a little.

She was different, as he was different. He ran his eyes over her again, half-hoping she’d see, and then watched as she disappeared, slipping into the room beyond the door, where she wouldn’t let him follow. Tristan stood for a while in silence, and then turned on his heel. He walked quickly until he was around the corner and then he ran, jumping up to smack a ceiling beam as he passed beneath it.

---

Celidon was waiting for him when he arrived at his own rooms, sitting sentry-like at the doors. Tristan smiled and ruffled the shaggy hair on the top of his familiar’s head. The Cu-sith wagged his braided tail, and bounded into the chamber beyond when the doors swung ajar, buoyed by his faerie’s mood.

Tristan had not yet moved back into his old room. He slept in a room on the floor below, with no adjoining chambers, reluctant to return to what he’d hand, and even more reticent to the idea of moving into the king’s chamber. He was tempted to lock the door on the latter entirely, to throw the key into a draw and let it gather dust. Tristan moved towards the bed, collecting a book of furniture from the desk on his way and sunk down onto the mattress. He thumbed through it idly, one ear on the corridor beyond the doorway, listening for the sound of light footsteps.

She did not keep him waiting long.

He rose to his feet as the door opened; drinking her in as she stood, fresh and beautiful, framed by the doorway. The book slipped forgotten from his hands, and he abandoned it, open on the blankets.

“You see why I needed your help!” he said, gesturing her forwards towards the table. He hovered near her as she began to examine the books, and then slipped in beside her, close enough for their elbows to bump as they moved.

“I thought I’d start with this room,” he explained, “and then work my way outwards. We’ll probably finish with the great hall when they’ve finished the repairs.”

He smirked, glancing at her again.

“I want to put some of my father back into the place,” he explained, more seriously, directing her attention to a book of red velvets.”

Tristan pulled a book from the middle of the pile and dropped it down on top with a pleasant thump. Taking her hand in his, he ran it across one of the fabric samples, leaning across her as much as he dared.

“What do you think of this one?”

you were never born to quit

TristaN

you gotta stand up, you weremade for this