Post by Cameron Phillips-Astin on May 11, 2009 2:40:24 GMT -5
The conversation faded as the pair turned the corner, and Cinaed—his son still in his arms—turned his attention to his two oldest children. Katrina flushed again a little, not certain now that her father wouldn’t scold her. Tyroshaun just watched, his faint smile mirroring his father’s, and pushed his curly blond hair out of his eyes. Cinaed shook his head. “I won’t ask, Katrina, what had you so distracted that you lost track of your siblings like that.”
“I’m really sorry, Father. I swear I didn’t—”
Cinaed snorted. “I don’t mind. Hell, it probably did that girl a lot of good to get out. Only keep it under wraps, child. The less trouble we have to deal with, the better.” He smiled more broadly, at the sunny smile she gave him. “Besides, if I’m remembering those vases correctly, they were from my older brother’s grandmother, and absolutely hideous.”
His voice very bland, Tyroshaun asked, “So you wouldn’t mind if they were used as target practice?” At Cinaed’s narrowed eyes, he added hastily, “They weren’t. I was just asking if you’d mind.”
Cinaed raised his free hand to run it through his fading red hair, remembering at the last minute he was still wearing his crown. “Bah, bloody crown” he muttered. “If they weren’t used as target practice, what were they used for?”
Tyroshaun smiled impishly. “Maybe enemies in sparring?” Cinaed gave him a flat look, missing Katrina’s alarmed expression. “Honestly, Father, it’s not like I was here. I was watching the brat there, remember?” He ignored his brother’s incoherent protest. “I’m making things up. Probably someone stumbled.”
“…If you say so.” Katrina sighed almost inaudibly in relief as her father accepted that offering. “Katrina, go to your mother now, then get ready for dinner.” Katrina nodded and bobbed a little in an absent-minded curtsey. “And don’t do that, child.” His tone was faintly disapproving. “Even if it weren’t the most ridiculous practice I’ve seen, you’re my daughter.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“And…” Cinaed shook his head in defeat. “Just go on, lass. I’ll leave you to keep your siblings in line before and during dinner.”
“Yes, Father,” Katrina nodded and ran out, and Tyroshaun pulled himself upright, casually picked up his book, and started to follow when his father’s even tone stopped him.
“Tyroshaun.”
Tyroshaun’s body went still, recognizing the tone not of his father, but the king. “…Sir?”
Cinaed’s brown eyes were unreadable. “As amusing as your witticisms are, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would refrain from adding commentary to a situation in which I would act as at least something of an authority figure.” He paused, and then added a little more sternly, “Whether I am present or not.”
Tyroshaun remained still for another moment before lowering his eyes. “Of course, sir.” He began to push past his father when Cinaed grabbed his chin to force it up.
“How are you, lad?” His voice was softer, gentler; to Tyroshaun’s ears and mind it was a faintly reddish gold. “You’re mother’s been getting worried.”
Tyroshaun tried hard not to meet his father’s penetrating gaze. “It’s nothing, Father. I promise.” He tried to smile, an attempt which was doomed to be lopsided and humourless. “Just… one of those days.” He reached out to ruffle his brother’s hair. “I’ll make up for today by taking you riding with me tomorrow, brat.”
“’m not!”
Tyroshaun half-smiled again and went out, feeling his father’s pensive gaze as he started down the hall. “Tyroshaun.” The boy paused and glanced backwards. “If you’re well enough, I would appreciate your presence at dinner.”
He clenched his jaw a little. “I’m not ill, Father. I’ll be there.” His tone of voice betrayed his distaste. But he was not ill, no matter what either of his parents might think. He could finish his reading tonight, and—
“And lad?”
“…Yes?”
“You forgot your book.” He spun around to see his father holding the book up, his face entirely too serious to be so. Tyroshaun remained frozen for a moment before returning to his father’s side to snatch the book. “See your mother before you go to sleep, too.”
“Of course.”
As he resumed his walk down the hall, he heard his father say behind him, “Come on, Aidan. We’ll go play in my study for a little, and then you’ll say good night to your mother and go to sleep.” He heard his baby brother’s sleepy agreement, and with a sigh he clutched the romance novel closer to his chest and ran back to his room.
“I’m really sorry, Father. I swear I didn’t—”
Cinaed snorted. “I don’t mind. Hell, it probably did that girl a lot of good to get out. Only keep it under wraps, child. The less trouble we have to deal with, the better.” He smiled more broadly, at the sunny smile she gave him. “Besides, if I’m remembering those vases correctly, they were from my older brother’s grandmother, and absolutely hideous.”
His voice very bland, Tyroshaun asked, “So you wouldn’t mind if they were used as target practice?” At Cinaed’s narrowed eyes, he added hastily, “They weren’t. I was just asking if you’d mind.”
Cinaed raised his free hand to run it through his fading red hair, remembering at the last minute he was still wearing his crown. “Bah, bloody crown” he muttered. “If they weren’t used as target practice, what were they used for?”
Tyroshaun smiled impishly. “Maybe enemies in sparring?” Cinaed gave him a flat look, missing Katrina’s alarmed expression. “Honestly, Father, it’s not like I was here. I was watching the brat there, remember?” He ignored his brother’s incoherent protest. “I’m making things up. Probably someone stumbled.”
“…If you say so.” Katrina sighed almost inaudibly in relief as her father accepted that offering. “Katrina, go to your mother now, then get ready for dinner.” Katrina nodded and bobbed a little in an absent-minded curtsey. “And don’t do that, child.” His tone was faintly disapproving. “Even if it weren’t the most ridiculous practice I’ve seen, you’re my daughter.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“And…” Cinaed shook his head in defeat. “Just go on, lass. I’ll leave you to keep your siblings in line before and during dinner.”
“Yes, Father,” Katrina nodded and ran out, and Tyroshaun pulled himself upright, casually picked up his book, and started to follow when his father’s even tone stopped him.
“Tyroshaun.”
Tyroshaun’s body went still, recognizing the tone not of his father, but the king. “…Sir?”
Cinaed’s brown eyes were unreadable. “As amusing as your witticisms are, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you would refrain from adding commentary to a situation in which I would act as at least something of an authority figure.” He paused, and then added a little more sternly, “Whether I am present or not.”
Tyroshaun remained still for another moment before lowering his eyes. “Of course, sir.” He began to push past his father when Cinaed grabbed his chin to force it up.
“How are you, lad?” His voice was softer, gentler; to Tyroshaun’s ears and mind it was a faintly reddish gold. “You’re mother’s been getting worried.”
Tyroshaun tried hard not to meet his father’s penetrating gaze. “It’s nothing, Father. I promise.” He tried to smile, an attempt which was doomed to be lopsided and humourless. “Just… one of those days.” He reached out to ruffle his brother’s hair. “I’ll make up for today by taking you riding with me tomorrow, brat.”
“’m not!”
Tyroshaun half-smiled again and went out, feeling his father’s pensive gaze as he started down the hall. “Tyroshaun.” The boy paused and glanced backwards. “If you’re well enough, I would appreciate your presence at dinner.”
He clenched his jaw a little. “I’m not ill, Father. I’ll be there.” His tone of voice betrayed his distaste. But he was not ill, no matter what either of his parents might think. He could finish his reading tonight, and—
“And lad?”
“…Yes?”
“You forgot your book.” He spun around to see his father holding the book up, his face entirely too serious to be so. Tyroshaun remained frozen for a moment before returning to his father’s side to snatch the book. “See your mother before you go to sleep, too.”
“Of course.”
As he resumed his walk down the hall, he heard his father say behind him, “Come on, Aidan. We’ll go play in my study for a little, and then you’ll say good night to your mother and go to sleep.” He heard his baby brother’s sleepy agreement, and with a sigh he clutched the romance novel closer to his chest and ran back to his room.