tristranthorn | Entries tagged with yvaine

It isn't very long (by normal standards, anyway) until the vultures return to the brig where Tristran and Yvaine are kept in captivity.

To Tristran, however, it feels as though he's been here in the same bloody position (his legs and arms aching, his nose itchy, his wrists stinging) for nearly three decades.

Conversation was made between the star and the half-faerie man, but even that became a little tiring when each Escape Plan was very soon promptly vetoed by the other. Not to mention, as the hours passed, so did the quality of their plans.

Generally workable, smart and clever plans soon filtered off into a series of silly, amusing 'What If' situations.

Take, for example:

"What if a flying pig crashed into the side of the ship wearing horse-shoes with blades underneath them that could cut through our ropes?"

"Why a pig?" asks Yvaine.

Which only garnered the answer from Tristran: "Because after the pig freed us, we could eat it. I'm starving."

And that only got the roll of eyes from the star.

Typical.

Current Mood: weird
Current Location: near a trade landing strip

The travel never seems to end, and already they've done so much of it.

Which, really, should mean that they are experts at this - with very little complaint and a whole lot of knowledge of what to do in all seasons and weather situations.

But while it can be said to be true that they know quite a lot about the weather and how to adapt to all its faces, the complaining bit hasn't changed too much. Occasionally, Tristran would get a little irritated with the lack of proper food to be found, and Yvaine would mutter about how uncomfortable the twigs sticking into her back are and how much better beds and soft pillows would be in comparison.

However, when everything is said and done, they actually (secretly) enjoy it all: the traveling, the alone-time, the utter freedom from any and all responsibility. They are hardly ever recognized in towns for who they truly are - sometimes not even when they reveal their names - and the ability to move about as they please is fun, leaving very little time to mope about.

When Tristran set off from the Thorn farm and household so many months ago to seek a fallen star, he never imagined that he would be here today with her, loving her and running away from his responsibility to govern an entire kingdom as a royal.

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: somewhere in stormhold

As every good traveler knows, there must be a destination for which to head towards - otherwise, there is aimless wandering which makes for wasted time, wasted resources, and a more or less miserable time.

But as any good observer knows, Tristran and Yvaine do not follow rules whatsoever.

So the two companions - still terribly (and pathetically) in love - are doing exactly what good travelers do not: they are wandering aimlessly, wasting time and resources. Whether they are having a miserable time remains to be seen, though it is unlikely that they are even able to follow that part of the rule, anyway.

"You know," Tristran starts thoughtfully, turning to glance at the star, "it has come to my attention that you haven't met my family yet."

Why this thought suddenly springs up in the young man's mind is a mystery, but now that it has taken precedence in the forefront of his thoughts, he believes it important not to let it go.

"Before we left, I told my father about you," he continues. "And I am positive that my mother - my other mother - and my sister want to meet you too. What do you think?"

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: In the middle of whoknowswhere & Wall

His shoulder and arm are - thankfully - healed completely at this point. It has been many weeks, but the help of pain medication, good stress-free rest, and delicious food helped splendidly in his recovery.

However, the time to return to Faerie draws near. On the one hand, Tristran is quite glad of it. It is their home, after all, and he is looking forward to really starting...well, things with Yvaine. But on the other, there is the ever-looming realization that he will soon have to inherit an entire kingdom and the responsibility of it all is somewhat staggering.

His shoulder is still a little stiff from the lack of use, but at least he is now able to do things with both of his arms. It is a very good feeling.

He glances over at Yvaine.

Now it is simply a matter of bringing up the whole ... going home thing - if she doesn't bring it up first.

Current Mood: anxious
Current Location: room 314 - milliways bar

The distinct smell of greasy fair food wafts in the smokey, heated air beneath the tents of the marketplace while the continuous chatter and bartering never ceases around them. It is a very busy, and very lively atmosphere and hardly a soul would notice you unless you were close enough to a stall with what might be assumed interest in one of the stall-keeper's products.

As it is, Tristran and Yvaine are taking a turn about the marketplace, hand-in-hand, walking past the gadgets and baubles with a detached sort of interest. They have more important things to think about - mainly to do with one another.

Now, this is not to say they won't have an enjoyable time at the market, of course. In fact, one can be certain that the two of them have never had more fun than they are having right now.

Current Mood: loved
Current Location: Wall - Marketplace

The sky begins to grow slightly darker and greyer by the time Tristran leaves his home. Feeling well-fed, happy, and anxious all at the same time, Tristran readjusts his coat and sets off, waving happily to his family, standing by the entrance of the door. Now that there are no other prior engagements, there is only one thing left to do - and admittedly, it is all he can think about anyway.

Tristran leaves the village and makes his way to the wall at a quick pace, passing people by without a word, bent on one path and one path only. When he reaches the gap, he looks distractedly for Yvaine, brightening immensely upon seeing her.

Practically sprinting to reach the star, he smiles, slowing to a stop before her. His hands are slightly clammy, and possibly even trembling as he holds them out.

"Hello, you," he says. Then in a teasing tone, "Have a good time waiting for me?"

Current Mood: loved
Current Location: Right over the other side of the wall

"Party name of Thorn? Tristran of that set?"

It is a little after sunrise when Tristran opens his eyes to see a large badger approach him on its hind legs, wearing a threadbare heliotrope silk dressing gown. It bends forward, peering at him self-importantly, awaiting his response.

"Mm?"

Oh. And there's suddenly a headache the size of all of Faerie, he imagines, clogging his entire head, making him feel like someone's hit him repeatedly with a grand piano. There is a foul taste in his mouth, one which feels dry and furred. He could easily have slept for another several hours, and yet he knows he cannot at the same time.

"They've been asking about you," the badger goes on."Down by the gap. Seems there's a young lady wants to have a word with you."

Tristran sits up immediately. Something rises in his chest, but something also sinks. "Oh?"

The badger nods.

He turns to touch the sleeping star on her shoulder. "Yvaine," he says.

Current Mood: cheerful
Current Location: the gap of the wall

It goes on for weeks.

In a bone-jarring, rattling sort of way, the caravan continues its path towards Wall, and towards the market fair. Any passersby whom they see -- which occurs very infrequently -- are met with confusing circumstances. While they can see Yvaine, the witch (as she is a witch) calling herself Madame Semele cannot, and shortly it becomes clear to anyone, including the star, that Semele could never perceive Yvaine's presence or even hear anything pertaining to her existence. (Which, really, would explain quite a lot.)

The sun is low in the western sky when they approach the little village of Wall many weeks later. It shines in their eyes, bathing everything in its light, turning the world around them into liquid gold. It is when they find a rather empty lot -- a grassy meadow -- that Madame Semele reins her mules in, and unhitches them.

Already there are others like her setting up their stalls and tents on the grassy area in preparation for the fair that occurs every nine years, hanging draperies from trees and hammering planks of wood together. There is an excitement in the air that seems to reach everyone, even the sour old witch (but it is very fleeting).

She returns to the caravan after hitching her mules to a nearby tree, and unhooks the cage from its chain. Then, carrying it to the meadow, she puts it down on a hillock of grass and opens the door.

"Out you come," she says, picking the sleeping dormouse up with bony fingers. She settles him down to the ground.

Tristran rubs his liquid-black eyes with his forepaws and blinks sleepily. The witch reaches into her apron and pulls out what appears to be a glass daffodil. With it, she touches his head. Where once was a mouse, there is now an 18-year-old man, blinking and yawning with sleep. He runs a hand through his unruly brown hair, then appears to snap back into reality as he stares down at the witch angrily.

"Why, you evil old crone--" he begins, reaching for his sword. But he is sleepy and weak, and he finds his legs too unsteady to support him. He falls to the ground ungraciously.

"Hush your silly mouth," the witch retorts sharply -- and not without the slightest bit of amusement. "I got you here, safely and soundly, and in the same condition I found you. I gave you board and I gave you lodging -- and if neither of them were to your liking or expectation, well, what is it to me? Now, be off with you, before I change you into a wiggling worm and bite off your head, if it is not your tail. Go! Shoo! Shoo!"

With that, she returns to building up her tent.

Current Mood: sleepy
Current Location: Wall

There are times when Tristran cannot help but wonder desperately how Yvaine can stand to live without food. Surely, eating the darkness isn't enough to fill a stomache? Surely, not, because he is hungry. Ravenous, really. And he finds himself hungry often, more often than he'd really like.

So, Tristran is hunting for breakfast. There isn't very much in the way of things-to-eat, but there are definitely no signs of any magical doors anywhere; unfortunately, he is left to his own devices. He finds some young puffball mushrooms and a plum tree covered with drying, pruning fruit -- barely eatable, really -- and gathers them into his arms. He is about to merrily go along to another tree up ahead for something he thinks might be apples when a brilliant bird catches his attention.

It is as large as a pheasant with bright and colourful feathers in shades of reds, yellows and blues, and looks very much out of place in the slightly drably coloured meadowland, all earthly and green and brown. Dropping the few wrinkled plums back to the ground, Tristran carefully tries to approach the bird, slowly stepping with one foot then the next. He isn't particularly sure why, but it starts up in fear, hopping awkwardly and crying sharply in distress when he draws near.

"I won't hurt you," he murmurs gently, dropping to one knee, quite close now to the beautiful bird. He reaches out, noticing a silver chain -- all twisted and tangled around a particularly stubborn root -- attached to the bird's foot, making it very difficult for it to move.

Carefully, and with the expertise only a boy who's worked with animals can provide, Tristran unwinds the silver chain -- the bird quite calm now -- unhooking it from the root. His left hand gently strokes the bird's colourful plumage and he murmurs, "There you go...you can go home, now."

It makes no move to leave him. In fact, it looks up, piercing eyes staring into his face as though it can read his thoughts. It makes him feel self conscious, but he clears his throat. "Look," he says, "someone will probably be worried about you."

He reaches down to pick the bird up but before he can even straighten to his knees, something hits him, forcing him off balance for a moment.

"Thief!" cries a cackled old voice, moving to hit him again. Tristran dodges out of the way this time. "I shall turn your bones to ice and roast you in front of a fire! I shall pluck your eyes out and tie one to a herring and t'other to a seagull, so the twin sights of sea and sky shall take you into madness! I shall make your tongue into a writhing worm and your fingers shall become razors and fire ants shall itch your skin, so each time you scratch yourself--"

"There is no need to belabour your point," Tristran says to the old woman. "I did not steal your bird. Its chain was snagged upon a root, and I had just freed it."

She stops, mouth still slightly open, glaring at him suspiciously from below a mop of disheveled (and slightly greasy) iron-grey hair. Then she scurries forward without another word, mouth clamped shut, and picks up the bird. Tristran watches her the entire time, watches as she holds it towards her whispers something, and straining his ears to hear what exactly she said, only makes out the musical chirp of the bird.

The old woman's eyes narrow back to him. "Well, perhaps what you say is not a complete pack of lies," she concedes very reluctantly.

"It's not a pack of lies at all," Tristran confirms, but the woman and her bird are already nearly halfway across the glade. They seem to have completely forgotten his existence.

With a slight sigh and a shrug, he bends down to pick up his mushrooms and the wrinkled plums, before making his way back to the spot where he'd left Yvaine.

Current Mood: confused
Current Location: glade

In Berinhed's Forest Tristran outfaced on of the great, tawny eagles, who would have carried them both back to its nest to feed its young and was afraid of nothing at all, save fire.

Stardust, p.168 (Graphic Novel)

The star asks him where they are going, where they were. This is the only way Tristran will really know the names of places -- if someone asks him directly. He has no idea how he knows, but he knows.

"Up ahead is a forest," he answers her, "Berinhed's. We are on the path leading directly towards it; you can already see the trees."

He readjusts his shoulder-bag, getting lighter and lighter as the days pass by, and shrugs. "Unfortunately, I am running out of provisions. I do hope that there is a village somewhere on the other side of the forest."

Current Mood: awake
Current Location: berinhed's forest

"You'll be closer to Wall," the Captain starts, puffing on his pipe. His clothes are covered in a fine layer of ash (and when he isn't smoking it, he is chewing at the stem, or excavating the bowl with a sharp metal instrument, or simply tamping in new tobacco). "Still a good ten-week journey, though. Maybe more. But Meggot's got your friend's leg up to snuff. It's already been taking her weight again quite well. Her impeccable dancing proved such."

The two of them, Tristran and the captain, sit together, side by side.

"Your hand's better?"

"A lot," Tristran says, "thank you." Even though it still looks far-from-perfect, he doesn't feel as much pain as he used to. Meggot's salve had really done wonders for it, taking the pain and speeding the healing process significantly.

"You know, it wasn't entirely fortune that we found you," the captain says, voice low. "Well, it was fortune that we found you, but it'd also be true to say that I was keeping half an eye out for you. I, and a few others about the place."

Tristran frowns. "Why? ... And how did you know about me?"

With his finger, the captain begins to sketch a shape in the condensation against the polished wood.

"It looks like a castle," the boy says.

The captain winks. "Not a word to say too loudly," he says, "even up here. Think of it as a fellowship."

Tristran stares. "...You wouldn't happen to know a little hairy man with a hat and an enormous pack of goods, would you?"

The captain taps his pipe against the side of the ship. Quickly he wipes the image from the wood. "Aye, and he's not the only member of the fellowship with an interest in your return to Wall, you know. Which reminds me, you should tell the young lady that if she fancies trying to pass for other than what she is, she ought to fake a bigger appetite from time to time. Tobias has taught her well, but she's a stubborn one."

Tristran smirks, but there's something else... "I never mentioned Wall in your presence," he says in realization. "When you asked where I came from, I said 'Behind us'."

The captain merely smiles with that knowing sort of look he's become quite accustomed to over the past two weeks. "Exactly," he says. "That's m'boy."

"Capt'n," one of the crew-mates approaches them.

Alberic looks up, pipe still in his mouth. "Hmm?"

"We're about ready to land, capt'n."

"Aye."

As the crew-mate returns to his post, Alberic stretches. "Well, this is it, lad," he says, helping Tristran up. He puts a hand on his shoulder in a way that reminds Tristran of his father. "You ought to go find that star of yours, hmm?"

"A-aye," Tristran says.

Current Mood: sad
Current Location: harbour tree

Life on the Perdita, Tristran finds, is very different from anything he's ever experienced in his life. For one, they are above the ground, many miles up, where the only thing they see is cloud. This is nothing like his stable-life in Wall, where everything is very much grounded -- literally.

The folk aboard the Perdita is also another thing. Every last one of Alberic's crew has their own unique quality or quirk. He's never met a bunch of men (and woman: Meggot) more colourful than them. Each one of them has a story to tell and throughout the two weeks of their journey with them, he's learned a lot -- about things he never could have imagined, about places he's never even dreamed of, and people he could never hope to meet.

Wall, Tristran decides, is a very closed, rather self-indulgent little place in comparison (not to say he doesn't love his home). Even with the likes of the fair as some pathetic attempt at being open-minded, it couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of the worlds upon worlds surrounding it.

In any case, Tristran has been enjoying his time on the pirate ship, but as a fortnight quickly passes (bar-time included), he expects this part of the journey is about to come to a close.

That evening during dinner, Alberic announces to his crew and the couple, that in less than twelve hours, they should be near a harbour tree -- a convenient enough landing port for Tristran and Yvaine to get off and continue their travels on foot back to Wall.

"We'll be needin' to replenish our supplies," Alberic booms, swishing his glass of wine around. "So we can let you off at the same time."

"Thank you," Tristran responds, politely. "We are very grateful for all you've done for us."

"Not to worry m'boy." Alberic grins. "You've but one thing to promise me though."

"What's that?"

"Keep practicin' with that sword of yours. You've a lot to learn yet, but you'll do fine."

Current Mood: calm
Current Location: the free ship perdita

Tristran finds himself thinking of everything at the top of the spire of cloud he sits upon. There is a sense of perspective, sitting here. Everything is so simple, so...straight-forward, so...small from up here.

His stomach growls and he can't help but think that while adventures are well and good, there is certainly a lot to be said for regular meals and freedom from pain, like the pain he feels right now. He wishes he had his rucksack, or somehow they could open some mysterious door to Milliways again, if only so he could get something to eat. He doesn't need anything elaborate. He'll even take a plain loaf of bread. His hand throbs with heat and pain, and he wishes there were something he could do to stop it, but it's useless, no matter what he thinks.

Still, he is grateful to be alive with the wind in his hair and the fantastic view spread out before him, so wide he could never fully take it all in. The sky is so blue, so different from the way he might have viewed it from earth, and everything felt different to him from all the way up here. There is a sense of nowness.

Most of all, it is terribly quiet in a peaceful sort of way and it makes him want to ... disturb it. Just because. Standing upon the cloud spire, he calls out, "Halloo!" several times, belting it out as loudly as he can. It feels strangely exhilerating.

He wants to laugh. He wants to feel that pulse of adrenaline run through him and act like a fool. And when he does, he feels ... free. It's a nice sort of feeling, even if he does it by himself (not that he isn't used to doing things by himself, as that was what his childhood mostly consisted of). As he clambers down the length of the spire to return to the 'ground', his footing slips and he falls at least ten feet, landing shortly after into the misty softness of the cloud.

And then he laughs quietly to himself.

Current Location: The Free Ship, Perdita

Seeing the illumination from the inn fills Tristran with a feeling of happiness and wonderfulness he hasn't felt in a really long while -- not since he'd left Wall so many days ago, and perhaps even the coziness of Milliways, all distant memories now.

The carriage pulls up to the little cottage-like building, and while Tristran immediately begins to unhitch the horses (which he knows must be absolutely exhausted), leading them one by one towards the stables located on the side of the inn, Primus bellows for assistance.

There is a white horse, asleep in the furthest stall, but Tristran is far too busy with other things to pause and inspect it -- the horses are obviously tired and hungry. Even moreso than he is. Anything else can wait.

"I'll groom the horses," he tells Primus. "They'll catch a chill otherwise."

The tall man rests one large hand on Tristran's shoulder, a quiet and subtle smile reaching his face. "Good lad," he says, "I'll send a potboy out with some burnt ale for you."

Tristran nods before Primus disappears, no doubt to organize the details of their lodging, thinking distantly of the star as he brushes down the horses and picks out their hooves. Somehow, in the same strange way he seems to know directions and distances of things he had never seen before in his life, he knows that the star is close by -- he'll see her soon. The thought alone is a conflicting one, bringing both comfort and a sense of nervousness (though he isn't sure why). Once they are reunited, what will he say? What will she say?

His thought is interrupted by the silent entrance of a potgirl, carrying a tankard of steaming wine. "Put it down over there," he tells her. "I'll drink it with goodwill as soon as my hands are free."

The girl obeys, placing it upon the top of a tack box before leaving just as silently. Tristran doesn't have a chance to ponder the girl's silence before the horse in the end stall begins to kick against the door, nearly making the young man jump in his spot.

"Settle down, there," he calls. "Settle down, fellow, and I'll see if I cannot find warm oats and bran for all of you."

Tristran finds a large stone in the stallion's front inside hoof, and with care, he begins to remove it, his thoughts straying back to the star.

Madam -- this is how he thinks he might very well start off their conversation -- please accept my heartfelt and most humble apologies.

Yes ... it sounds polite. Proper. And of course, she would respond with something like, Sir, that I shall do with all my heart. Now let us go to your village, where you shall present me to your true love, as a token of your devotion to her --

There is more clattering -- louder and more powerful this time -- from the end stall with the white horse. Except, Tristran realizes quite immediately, that it is not a horse at all but a ... monster! Or some great beast coming to charge after him, horn lowered. Instinctively, Tristran throws himself down into the straw by the floor, covering his head with his arms, waiting in frozen patience for a moment before slowly looking up. The monster is no monster at all, and is in fact a unicorn.

Tristran watches, slowly getting to his feet, as the unicorn stops before the tankard and lowers its horn into the mulled wine, still steaming and bubbling. And it occurs to him then as he studies the white beast (from some long-forgotten fairytale or a piece of children's lore) that a unicorn's horn is proof against...

"Poison?" he whispers, eyes widening a bit. His heart is pounding in his chest as the unicorn raises its head, looking into his eyes, even through him. No, it...can't be.

Tristran runs towards the stable door, then freezing in his tracks, he pauses for a moment. He fumbles quickly in his pocket, looking for something in particular. From his right pocket, he pulls out the lump of wax (which is all that remains of the rather sad, pathetic candle) and the dried copper leaf which sticks to it. Peeling it from the wax carefully, he takes in a breath, and raises it to his ear.

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: The Inn

"Well, I really think we ought to be moving along once more," Tristran says as he begins to pick up the mess of things left in their room -- socks, dirty plates, cups, and other things of the sort. "We've been staying here for far too long."

He's been dreaming of home lately. As soon as he regained the ability to breathe properly and move about as energetically as he used to, he's been feeling restless for the journey ahead of him.
At first he didn't think much of these dreams, but soon he was dreaming of Victoria again, and of the day he returned to her -- with the star.

A sock hangs off the end of their bed, and he scoops it up, turning to Yvaine with a slightly serious expression on his face. "And we haven't had the chance to check on the unicorn either," he adds. Perhaps if he appeals to Yvaine's fondness for the unicorn, she will be more likely to cooperate with him. "I'm sure he must be eager to move around in Faerie once more."

Now, he manages a slight smile of a sort as though to say, 'Hmm?'

Current Mood: restless
Current Location: Room 314

[recap: After playing in the snow, Tristran gets sick.]

When Tristran wakes up the next morning, he feels like he hasn't gotten nearly as much sleep as he would have liked. Not that it matters very much anymore, however, as his stomache is growling very, very loudly in protest.

He is motionless for a long moment, his wide eyes staring at the objects across from him blankly, while no single coherent thought runs through his head. In fact, the only thing currently running, is his nose, and he sniffles in order to do something about it. When he turns over a little from his stiff side-position, he finds a series of loose-leaf papers strewn about the bedspread, filled with strange sketchings -- mostly stick figures that scarily resemble him in some rather disagreeable situations (such as the one of stick!him getting hit with a rather large rock of some sort).

He shifts a little more and turns his sore head to his other side, noticing the star looking very much asleep, and very much unconscious to her surroundings. Watching her for a moment makes him forget about his own predicament, filling him with an odd (and increasingly uncomfortable) sense of peace, but it is soon rudely interrupted by the growling of his stomache, and that overwhelming discomfort as he feels his face growing warm once more.

This warmness is obviously due to the fact that he is sick. Obviously.

Current Mood: sick

[note: there will be more book copying and modifications of said book copying in this post]

It's true that Tristran did not get as good a night's sleep as he had hoped, but...he wasn't in Milliways anymore, and thus: no beds. It wouldn't have bothered him much either if he hadn't been so cold upon waking. When he'd opened his eyes, he was more or less lying on the grass, crawled into a ball, some short distance away from the star and the unicorn who had both curled up against each other, keeping each other warm.

He wasn't going to make a point about that, though. No. After all...what would be the point?

Presently it is the morning, and Tristran and Yvaine are walking -- past the clearing and back into forest, though this time the forest isn't so thick and full of swinging (and surprising) branches. All the while, Tristran pays attention to the way the star limped and hobbled and stumbled along the bumpy ground with its twigs and upturned roots. He tries to help her the best that he can, but there is only so much he can do.

On the one hand, Tristran knows that in this situation the unicorn can help them -- help her -- but it feels somehow sacrilegious to ride such a special and blessed beast. After all, the unicorn is not a horse and did not hold to any ancient pact between Man and Horse. There is a strange wildness in its black eyes and a sort of twisting spring to its step which, Tristran feels, is somewhat dangerous and untamed. But then, he knows that in some strange way -- perhaps in the way the unicorn nudges its big forehead against the star's shoulder on the occasion -- that it cares for her and wishes to help her. This being despite the fact that the wounds on its dappled flanks, which had previously been red and quite bloody from the lion's sharp claws tearing into its back are now dried to a deep brown and have scabbed over but are probably still quite painful.

"Look," he says, turning to the star, "I know all that stuff about frustrating my plans every step of the way and all, but...if the unicorn is willing, perhaps it would carry you on its back, at least for a little way."