[023] OOM - The truth about his birth

[tristranthorn]

Tristran can vaguely remember the Seventh Magpie being so crowded -- it's happened only once before in his lifetime, and he had been very young then. When he makes his way back through the bar, he has to move carefully, weaving his way past people -- Wall-folk and other strangers alike -- eating (lambchops, bacon, mushrooms, fried eggs, black pudding) and drinking (ale, mead, lager) to reach the exit.

The conversation had gone strangely. Or - well. It went a lot more differently than he ever would have expected it to have gone. His original vision of this fateful day was as follows:
He would get himself back into Wall with a celestial rock in his pocket and find Victoria at her house. Or maybe in front of it (it didn't really matter so much, so long as she was there). He would bend down on one knee before her and reveal the star to her in a gallant fashion like some grand hero. And she would beam and giggle and smile at him. She would wrap her arms around him and he would kiss her and ask her to marry him and they would live happily ever after from then on.

Now, everything is different. Now not only is that dream far away, but it is nonexistent. And the very thought makes him unimaginably happier than he would have believed many months ago. Imagine being stuck here -- in some place where he really doesn't belong -- with Victoria, knowing she would never truly be happy with him. And he with her. He realizes now, quite clearly, that he really could never be happy with all of the things he once wanted. It was all a dream, an ideal his foolish mind had woven because he was young and infatuated and silly.

He is now a man, and he is a man in love. It just so happened to go all -- well, wrong (unplanned), and unexpected (a complete surprise) and ... strangely, he doesn't mind at all. His heart feels lighter.

He wants to tell her. He wants to shout it to the world --

"Tristran."

As he whirls around, his eyes land on a man far older than him rising as they meet eyes. He comes over to younger man and clasps him on the shoulder without speaking.

It is Tristran who breaks the silence. "Father," he says. "You -- you look good."

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[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The man grins and lets out a low chuckle, hand still braced upon his shoulder and eyes bright with some strange sort of pride as he looks him up and down.

"As do you," he says with a firm nod. "So you made it back without hurt."

[tristranthorn]

Tristran cannot help but wonder whether he'd grown a little while he was away -- for some reason, he remembers his father being a bigger man.

"Well, I hurt my hand a bit," he replies a little sheepishly, lifting it so he can see.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

More than a little, perhaps.

The elder Thorn nods once more, but makes no further comment upon it, merely waiting and watching him for another moment or two - as though he were taking something back in.

Then, mildly, "Your mother has breakfast waiting for you, back at the farm."

[tristranthorn]

Tristran raises his eyebrows. Really?

"Breakfast would be wonderful," he admits with a very cheerful grin. "And seeing Mother again, of course."

There is something that's been niggling in the back of his mind, as well, though he isn't really sure how to bring any of it up to his father. It's about something Victoria happened to mention while she rambled on at him.

"Also," he adds, voice a little quieter, "we need to talk."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

Yes, really. Breakfast and crying - what is this world coming to?

Now stop with that obnoxious eyebrow-raising.

"You look taller," he replies with a knowing glance, draining the last of his tankard. "And you are badly in need of a trip to the barber's."

[tristranthorn]

He laughs as the two Thorns make their way out of the Seventh Magpie together and into the morning.

"I don't know," he says, "I thought it looked kind of...heroic. Or something."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Or something," he agrees with a grin as the door swings shut behind them.

They walk for a while in silence, over a stile and into one of Dunstan's fields, walking slowly through the meadow that would take them back home.

[tristranthorn]

He remembers playing in this very meadow as a boy. He'd had a kite once, a kite he and his father spent an entire afternoon crafting, only to bring it out a little too late in the day. And a storm had been brewing as well.

Could all of it be a lie? Was all he believed as a boy a great fabrication?

"Father," Tristran says, "I was wondering if you could answer a question for me."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

There is a difference, one would say, between a lie and a story that just hasn't been told quite yet. The line may be a fine one, but it is still there.

"I suppose," the man allows evenly. "That would depend on what the question was exactly, Tristran."

[tristranthorn]

Well, here goes.

"I've ... recently heard something that I cannot help but question," he starts, watching his steps carefully. He didn't think it would be this difficult.

"Victoria says I'm ... not from here. That it was my nature to return to Faerie. Is that true?" he asks. "Is mother ... really not my mother?"

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

The man sighs once, heavily, and looks ahead - and the motion is nearly enough of an answer in and of itself.

He pauses for a while, as if remembering, and when he answers he answers as honestly as he can manage - speaking slowly of the strange magic of the Market, and the even stranger magic of a girl with dark eyes and a bewitching smile.

The words come easily, faraway like some some fantastical tale meant for bedtimes and storybooks. But simple. A love story.

[tristranthorn]

And Tristran listens, soaking up every word from his father, understanding and yet not understanding, and feeling more like himself, and less like himself -- all at the same time.

"Do you know what happened to her?" he asks, when his father finishes with his story. He can see their farm-house up ahead and he suddenly wishes they hadn't reached it yet.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"No," he replies, and then. "Though I would like to think that she is still - still somewhere."

Still alive, really. It has been eighteen years, after all.

The silence is heavy for a moment and then the front door is opened and the form of Louisa is grinning at them from the front steps, bonnet abandoned and curls falling around her face as she waits.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

When the meal is finished, and Daisy and Lousia are off to the other side of the kitchen tidying up, Dunstan rises easily from his seat.

"Coming?" he asks and grins at the blank look he receives in return, eyes crinkling and face looking suddenly younger. "You don't want to see then?"

He laughs at the sudden, scrambling attention and with a nod to his wife (a nod of understanding) he leads the way down the hall and up into the attic. The one the children hadn't been allowed into.

'Just a pile of old junk,' they had always said, and perhaps it was true - but in and among the dusty old boxes, in some far-off corner, tucked away and carefully kept, lies a worn wicker basket.

It's at that corner that he stops and seats himself with care - and, perhaps, the slightest creaking of bones - gesturing for his son to join him.

[tristranthorn]

"What's this about, father?" Tristran asks confusedly, bending forward and watching his head (to avoid the slope of the roof) as he joins his father in the small and constricted space. "Why have you brought us here?"

He takes a seat opposite the older man before glancing around at what looks like some useless junk - a rather disappointing outcome of what he'd always believed to be the home of magical beings.

"I never thought I'd ever get to see this place, but I've got to admit, I'm a little let down," he remarks, jokingly.

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"It was better when you thought we were harboring fugitives, huh?" he replies, still grinning. "Or was it the time when you decided on dragons?"

It, unfortunately, remains dragon-free and relatively filled with a pile of junk no matter where one looks.

"I'm continuing the earlier topic of conversation, Tristran. As it is not something your mother particularly fancies discussing," he remarks dryly, then shrugs. "Unless you were done with it."

[tristranthorn]

He'd been a knight once, he remembers. Saving the fair princess from a gang of dragons who used to live up here. Louisa insisted on being the princess, though, so it wasn't very fun afterward.

Tristran shakes his head immediately after letting out a laugh at the memory.

"No," he says, sobering quickly, "no, go on."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

It was mostly surprising enough that Louisa wanted to play - but she was often easily persuaded into things that allowed her to dress up in her mother's old things and flounce about commanding things. (So perhaps it wasn't that surprising, all things considered.)

His finger catches at the basket's handle and he swings it lightly, dumping it neatly into his son's lap.

"There," he states. "Hard to believe you were that small, but there you have it."

[tristranthorn]

Tristran looks down at the Moses-basket, frowning in confusion.

"What --"

The questions quickly filling up in his head (like water rising) are more than he can make sense of right now.

"You didn't pick me up at the riverbank, did you?"

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"You were delivered, actually," he returns. "Rather like groceries. Only a great deal noisier."

The blanket is soft, probably unusually so, and everything has been tucked inside with great care. They're important things - for a number of reasons.

"If there is anything you want to ask, you may. I hadn't really intended on keeping it a secret forever, it is just - well, you bloody well know how the people are here and -"

[tristranthorn]

Tristran nods, knowing full well how the people were in Wall.

"What did you tell mum?" He means, of course, the woman in the kitchen, efficiently clearing up the table and the dishes. "When I ... was delivered."

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Um," he blinks, looking rather flustered, and for a moment it's very clear exactly how much he resembles his son. "Well, I didn't - we both didn't, really. Not for a while, at least. There were more than enough things to keep us occupied - what with you and then with Louisa so soon after and -"

He sighs, then leans back a bit before replying.

"Mostly I just think she knew."

[tristranthorn]

"Mum always sort of knew things, didn't she?" Tristran says, a slightly amused look on his face. "And I guess something as big as this..."

He supposes that sort of makes up a big part of why she'd always treated him so differently from his sister - possibly with a little more wariness.

Quietly, he looks down at the contents of the basket, fingers lightly touching the soft blanket. There are things beneath it, things that are likely of great importance in regard to his birth, and of course, his real mother. And admittedly, he's a little hesitant to reveal them.

"Do you still think about her a lot?"

[nosequels.livejournal.com]

"Yes, of course," his lips quirk slightly, gaze far away for a moment. "They can steal your heart, you know. I don't even think you can help it."

It's not even that he doesn't love his wife, and of course he loves his children - the both of them - but he lost some part of himself, and he can't precisely say that he even minds having lost it.

[tristranthorn]

Tristran smiles, looking up to glance at his father, seeing that same look he's likely been sporting for a while now. He doesn't have to wish he could feel like that, to look like that.

"I think I know what you mean," he says, voice soft, fingers tightening slightly around the blanket.