Tale of Four

Tristan collapsed on the floor and looked at Edmund, flashing his teeth in a small smile. Although the day before, he had outclassed Edmund in their spar due to fighting dirty, now that he was using a short sword provided by Wells, Edmund had the upper hand, as he still couldn’t get used to the weapon.

Tristan stared at Edmund as he looked down at the sword he used with an excited smile. Despite how Edmund was obviously scared by combat, Tristan noticed the difference compared to yesterday. Although he was getting used to the short sword, Edmund had still grown considerably, able to see through his tricks and even dodge them, only being held back by his fear of getting hurt.

Looking at Wells, Tristan showed with his eyes that he wanted to talk to him alone. Wells understood and clapped his hands, getting his son’s attention. "Edmund, I know you are tired, but during a war, you never know when you must march. Do two laps of the training field."

Edmund groaned and slowly rose, endlessly complaining, but he did as told, and slowly moved, looking at Tristan with a betrayed look at being left out. Tristan grinned and turned his head, pretending he didn’t see Edmund’s eyes. "You wish to talk?" Wells said once his son was far enough away."

"Edmund." Tristan said with a quiet tone, "He seems skilled. Not with the sword. Forgive my bluntness, but compared to the Prince and Princess, his skill with the blade is mediocre, like mine. But he seems to be quick at reading his opponent."

Wells proudly smiled, taking no offence from Tristan’s blunt statement, "You’re right. That skill of his, however, is born from a desire not to be hurt. It’s not soemthing you can train, however, so I let him learn naturally." Tristan nodded in understanding.

"What do you think his limit is?" Tristan paused and looked at the man, "Also, what about mine?"

Wells fell into deep thought, wrapping his hands around the top of his cane, "For Edmund, I think he will be average among knights in terms of skill. In terms of surviving, one of the best." Wells narrowed his gaze and looked at Tristan, "As for you, I shall be honest. Don’t learn how to fight like a formal knight. You have spent years fighting without it, and it will hinder your ceiling if you suddenly switch. If you don’t, and you train sincerely, you could rise to be better than the average knight. I can’t say to be a great warrior in my prime, so I may be wrong, but you lack the killer instinct all the best knights have."

Tristan smiled, and Edmund returned, collapsing on the floor. Wells chucked over the leather pouch of water to his son and turned around, "You boys talk. I have matters to attend to." Turning around, he left the two. Tristan took a seat next to the boy and smiled at him.

"Did you hear about the tournament the King is hosting? I know it was hinted at before, but the date is confirmed." Edmund’s eyes lit up as he nodded. Although there was apprehension in them knowing he would fight for real for the first time in it, he could see beyond that the childish want to stand out amongst the crowd.

"Yeah. Mother asked the king to let one of the king’s guards train me because of it." Edmund looked at his friend with glee, "I never thought I could train with one before." His eyes widened in shock, hearing Edmund’s words, but thinking about it, it made sense. Mary was known to be close with Anton, and from what he had seen and knew, her love for Edmund was fierce, always getting the best for him. As well, at such a time, Anton likely didn’t need to worry so much about threats; with his reputation still protecting him, he was sure the man could afford to spare one of his guards.

"You’re lucky," Tristan said, not hearing the bitterness in his own voice.

"You can join me when I get my lessons, you know." Edmund said, "I’m sure mother wouldn’t mind."

"I..." Tristan paused, "I shouldn’t." Although he desperately wanted to, it would draw attention. Looking at the pair of black eyes looking at him, he could see that Edmund thought he was crazy for turning down the chance.

"Why?"

"Because it isn’t my opportunity. The King offered it to you because of your mother. Not me." Tristan cooly lied and chuckled, "What will you ask if you win?" Wishing to change the topic, he asked. Edmund fell backwards and looked to the sky.

"It’s a bit embarrassing." Edmund said, his cheeks flushing red, " There’s a girl I like. Whenever she comes to the Palace or my home, we always talk. Sometimes we share letters. I might ask the king to let me marry her." Edmund held his hand over his face, unable to believe he said it out loud, "I just don’t know if she likes me."

’How dense.’ Rolling his eyes, Tristan said in his mind. If they were exchanging letters, the girl had some interest, even if it wasn’t love. ’You’re going to be a lord anyway. You don’t need the king’s approval.’ Not saying what was on his mind, he waited for Edmund to collect himself.

"Are you taking part?" Edmund finally asked after a few seconds.

"No. I’m not good enough to." It was Edmund’s time to roll his eyes.

"You beat me in a fight, and I’m taking part. How can you not be good enough?" Edmund asked, making Tristan laugh.

"This and that are different. Besides, I prefer watching rather than being on stage." Tristan said, holding back, saying that he was scared to even attend the tournament in the first place, knowing he had to leave the Palace. Although he was more relaxed with that in mind, knowing he would have the entire King Guard escorting him with the royal family, that fear in his mind didn’t vanish.

"You should stand out more." Edmund sincerely said. "I don’t get you. I hate that I see it and feel this way, but I see how Father looks at you. He sees you’re smart. I can see that he thinks you’re smarter than me."

"Edmund..." Tristan said, making the boy shake his head.

"I’m not mad, even I know it. All those times when you guide me to the answer in my lessons. You obviously know what the answers are before me." Edmund sighed, "I don’t understand why you’re hiding it. Even if you can’t be king, you could still get a lordship with your brain or a role that advises one."

Tristan clenched his fists. "I don’t want any of that." After a moment of hesitation, he siad, believing he could trust him. He could see that Edmund was being honest. He had no hate in his eyes toward Tristan; in fact, he had slight admiration instead. "I just want to be like everyone else. That’s all I want. Maybe have a kid. Perhaps travel." Edmund stayed silent, looking at Tristan.

His gaze was strange, a mixture of disbelief at how little ambition he had, but also slight pity. Seeing that, Tristan felt his stomach curl, hating the pity in the gaze, but unable to blame it. Even he would look at someone like that if he heard them say the words he said.

They sat silently for a moment as a cool breeze washed over them, Annabell following it, landing on Tristan’s head. Feeling her soft feathers, Tristan carefully grabbed her, stroking her favourite spots, feeling the tightening in his stomach vanish. "Is that really all you want?" Edmund finally asked.

Looking down at the ground, Tristan thought for a moment and nodded, "I don’t see why I need anything else. It would make me happy after all." Edmund smiled and grinned.

"In that case, when I become the new Lord Wells, do you want to come to my lands and help me. I can give you a role, and in exchange, I will let you have what you want. You may not be able to travel if you do, but you can have a wife, a house and a role that you would be good at." Edmund looked at the Palace, his gaze changing, "You don’t have to live in this place anymore."

The hand stroking Annabell stopped for a moment. Closing his eyes, he thought about the command he had heard before his birth, the one that told him to survive. What Edmund offered could do all that and let him live how he wanted. It was perfect. With a thin smile, he carried on stroking Annabell, the dove feeling his happiness through his touch. "I’ll think about it."

----------------

"Brandon spoke to the Lord of Last Hope," Mary said to Anton, taking a seat. Anton looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Already. Surely not, sending a messenger would take months, even if he sent a bird, it’s too quick." Mary smiled.

"He got help from the Magi. He said it was too important to leave alone." Anton frowned, already able to see the favour he would owe the Magi because of it, but said nothing, trusting Brandon’s judgement.

"And?" Mary nodded and took out a scroll.

"These are the Lord’s words exactly." Licking her lips, she began, "Why would my lands be the source of a false God. We are believers in the Eldest One, the Primordial, the Creator and Dominator." Mary rolled her eyes, "It goes on for a while with all the titles, anyway." Quickly reading on, she skipped past the unnecessary parts, "Other than the Eldest One, the Old Ones do not have titles over dominos of life or roles in the world, being attributed to death is more in line with your faith. This heretical teaching is not ours, unless someone has grossly misinterpreted our Gods. Sighned, Lord Raven of Last Hope."

Anton sighed and leaned back, tapping the table with his index finger, "The teaching isn’t Northern then."

"Can you be sure?" Mary asked in confusion.

"The Northern Lords are not ones to lie about their faith. Give my thanks to Brandon. Whatever the Magi requests, tell him to bring it to me. I’ll pay it." Mary nodded and stood up, bowing and leaving her brother.

’Another foreign heresy after 400 years? Why now?’ Anton’s finger bounced as he thought.