Tale of Four

Getting up, Tristan didn’t have time to properly open his eyes when something slammed into his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. Lifting a hand, he stroked the soft white feathers and smiled. "You never wake me up like this, Annabell." Tristan looked down at the bird, staring into her pure white eyes, leaning over to place his head against hers. "What’s wrong?"

"I just wanted to hug you." Although sweet, Tristan could tell it was a slight deflection, making him raise an eyebrow and pull his head away. Looking down at her, he shook his head and didn’t press. If she didn’t want to tell him, he wouldn’t force it out of her.

’She probably did something last night and is embaressed.’ Thinking about what it could be, he chuckled and got up, quickly dressing himself in a black tunic and trousers, placing a golden pin of a star at his collar to hold the tunic close. Looking at himself in the mirror, he sighed and fiddled with his hair before grabbing a knife and a thick bar of soap. Fiddling with the soap in his hand until it was made into a thin paste, he evenly spread it across his chin and dragged the knife across, shaving off the little amount of hair that was forming.

With a smile to himself, he splashed some water from a nearby vial and walked off, following the halls. Annabell quickly flew off his head and began dancing around the chancelliers, singing and playing with herself whilst Tristan walked with a clear direction, his stomach grumbling, begging him to go eat.

It was a short walk, and entering the dining room, reserved for the Royal family and council members, he saw Vincent standing with his hands clasped behind his back, watching a chef, one Tristan didn’t recognise, making a light salad dish. His foot bounced uncontrollably, and every time the chef put down a piece of cutlery he was using, he would never pick the same one up again, grabbing a different one pre-prepared.

Tristan shook his head and looked at one of the servants. Nodding, they bowed and walked to grab the meals already made. It felt weird to Tristan. Although he had eaten in the room on numerous occasions before Anton became King, he never really liked to, finding the large dining room rather empty. It wasn’t just the room itself, but the table he was at. It stretched nearly the whole room, able to fit twenty-two people. The wood was carved with intricate animal designs. The tablecloth was thin cotton dyed in numerous colours, and ornaments of gold and silver littered about, screaming of unnecessary wealth.

Yet picking up his silver knife and fork, Tristan looked at it all. The table that would never have twenty Cosmatons at once, the places spread evenly apart to give enough room between diners to feel free, but far enough to feel separate. The cloth and ornaments that served no purpose nor belonged on a dining table. It wasn’t a table made to be used, but to be flaunted, a chance to show off how rich the family was. Tristan frowned and looked at the meal placed before him, a light meal of bread, vegetables, and a slab of dry meat.

With a thin smile, he cut in and enjoyed the bland taste, never being one to only eat the finest food. Vincent soon joined him, the chef placing the plate of vegetables before him. Reaching into his vest, he pulled out a small box and opened it, revealing a set of gold cutlery, and tapped the knife and fork together three times before taking a bite, wiping his mouth three times after.

It was painfully slow how he ate, and Tristan watched fascinated, unable to understand why he was doing it. "Uncle," Calling out, he got Vincent’s attention. The man squinted for a second before realising he was.

"You’re Tristan? Correct." Vincent asked, making Tristan bitterly smile. Even if his parents died long ago, it had been that long that Vincent didn’t even realise his own brother’s child. Placing a hand on his chest, he bowed slightly.

"Tristan. I am Walter’s son." Something stirred in Vincent, his perfectly crafted face crumbling ever so slightly at the mention of his dead brother. Looking down at his food, he tapped his knife and fork three times again and took a bite, trying to hide the emotion before wiping his face three times.

"Walter." There was a sadness in his tone, one that screamed of soemthing he dearly missed. "I remember he had a child. I had thought it died with him." Vincent said, almost shocked. "I had always assumed you were someone else’s."

"Really?" Tristan asked, unable to believe it, "But whose?" Vincent paused and took a deep breath, looking into the distance.

"I don’t know. I never really knew you existed until recently, after all." Saying it easily, as if the previous sadness never occurred, he carried on, "It’s a shame what happened to Walter; he was always good to me." Tristan’s hands clenched around his cutlery. Looking down at the bland meal, he couldn’t help but bite his lip and wonder if he would get this chance again. He could never ask Anton or Brandon; they were too distant, too cold to ever bring it up. He could have asked Mary, but she was gone now, the chance to do so lost.

"What..." Tristan paused, the words trapped in his throat. He had always tried to pretend he didn’t care about his parents. After all, they died before he could even remember their faces. He had come to peace with their death years ago, and had tried to push it to the back of his mind, but part of him had always wondered what they were like, wondering if they deserved to have died and been taken from their child when it was still a babe, wondering what they thought of him. "What was he like? What was my mother like?"

Vincent looked at him with shock again, wondering if Tristan truly didn’t know anything. After all, it made no sense. He was a princeling, someone carrying the same name as him. For him to be oblivious about his parents made no sense. Yet when he met Tristan’s gaze, Vincent could see he was lost, desperately begging for some closure. Vincent took another bite of his salad, doing his ritual, giving himself time to think. After a moment, he smiled.

"Your father, Walter. He was a good man." Vincent said with a nostalgic tone, wishing to go back ot that time, "The only one who ever treated me right. Mary tried, but she was Anton and Brandon’s sister, not mine. Only Walter really saw me as a brother." He let out a light chuckle, "He wasn’t strong, and he made our father’s life a living hell, but he was a good man who lived by his own will." Vincent said and laughed, remembering soemthing, "There was one time, he made Ester cry by cheating in a game of tag, by climbing a tree. She didn’t know how to after all."

Vincent laughed, his smile real and beautiful. Covering his face, he looked down at his gloved hand for a moment, horrified, seeing some liquid from the salad get on it. Taking it off, he threw it to the side and pulled out another, slipping it on before wiping his face three times. Despite the ritual, it couldn’t break his good mood as he swirled a glass of wine three times and took a sip.

"Our father had wanted Walter to marry some lady from the Forestlands, as a way to have an alliance with them. Anyway, Walter didn’t want that. He had fallen in love with another woman, your mother, at some point." Vincent laughed again, one from the depths of his soul, "So he got her pregnant." Pointing at Tristan, he carried on after calming himself, "Now, House Greenfield couldn’t have a Lady of their house be tarnished, and Walter, before the court, said he made a mistake and would marry the lady to restore her honour. Nine months later, they had a boy." Vincent smiled, "Tristan. Named after Walter’s friend who died in childhood. I think. He said soemthing like that anyway."

Tristan’s hands reached under the table, grabbing the ends of his trousers. Despite the emotion in his heart, he smiled to himself, hearing the story, creating an image and story in his mind of how it all transpired, knowing no one else would know, wishing to believe that they fell in love at some banquet. His eyes didn’t water, the sadness of the lost all spent, but he felt himself close to it.

"My mother?" Tristan asked. Vincent looked at him and shrugged.

"I don’t know much. She was a beautiful woman; how Walter managed to court her is beyond me." Vincent could see the answer wasn’t what Tristan had hoped, and smiled, "I will tell you this. When she gave birth, she was ecstatic. I congratulated them after, and she had this nickname for you. Little gem."

Tristan’s lip shook hearing that. His crafted face, which he always wore, broke, desperately trying to restore itself, but failed to do so as a tear rolled down his cheek, bringing out feelings he had locked away. Vincent gave him a moment and went back to eating. Looking at Tristan, once he fixed himself, he shook his head.

"It’s a shame how they died. An accident on the road. Considering she was pregnant again, I don’t know why they did it." Tristan froze, staring down at his plate. The emotion that had overwhelmed him suddenly seemed to cease. Statistically, he lifted his head and looked at Vincent, who looked back, confused. It dawned on him when he realised what he had just revealed. "Did you not know?"

"I..." Tristan took a quick, shallow breath. "I could... no, you’re lying." Vincent looked away and sighed.

"What reason do I need to lie?" His voice was quiet as he replied. Unable to look back at Tristan, he ran a hand through his hair and clicked his tongue. "I’m not lying. For some reason, they decided to travel when she was pregnant. I had assumed you went with them and died in the accident. I was devastated when it happened." His voice was filled with sadness recounting it, and finally looking back to Tristan, he shrugged, "But these things happen."

Gripping the ends of his trousers again, Tristan stared into his eyes. "Did they at least say what the names would have been?" Closing his eyes, Vincent thought for a moment.

"The boy was one of our ancestors; I can’t remember really." Vincent paused again and looked to the sky. It was like a flash of inspiration as his face lit up. "Aurora. Apparently, your mother had wanted to name her that becuase it reminded her of the sunrise. She felt that Cosmaton’s name would have been a fitting match for it."

"Aurora. Dawn and purity." Tristan looked up to the ceiling, his hands never losing a hold around his torso. With a cracking smile, he saw Annabell dancing around the ceiling in a world of her own. His hand subconsciously reached up and grabbed the pin on his tunic. Fiddling with the star, he took a deep breath and smiled. "Fitting."

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