It was late in the evening. Dinnertime had come and gone and almost everyone else in the castle was beginning to settle down for the night. But King Barron, his mind buzzing with thought, found himself neither full nor tired. Dinner seemed a lifetime ago and at the time he had been so busy pondering that he barely even noticed what delectable delicacies he was filling his stomach with. So he made his way down to the kitchens, as he secretly did every once in a while, with the idea of reflecting on the events of the day over something in the way of nourishment. It had been a most unusual day, both for him and Bambi.

When he finally reached the kitchen doors, he pushed on them to test if they were unlocked. He was not disappointed. The doors swung open and he walked into the kitchen. He could only help but feel nostalgic. Coming down here late at night always made him feel like a rebellious teenager again. He always had to remind himself that he had no parents to sneak past, no curfew to break and no last minute studying to do. Anyway, the royal chef, Bambi's friend Theodore's father, was always in a welcoming mood.

"Ah, good evening, Your Majesty," beamed the chef, who as usual seemed to be waiting for him.

Barron smiled and nodded his head once in greeting.

"Please, have a seat," said the chef, indicating a small table and two chairs that were placed to the side of the kitchen, slightly out of the way of the chef's work station. "What'll it be tonight?"

"I'll just start with tea, thank you," said Barron, taking a seat at the table.

"Yes, Sir," said the chef. He nodded and placed a kettle on the stove.

Barron waited silently for a few minutes. Then the chef appeared at his side with a tray that contained a china tea set and cups.

"Your tea, Sir," he said cheerfully, placing the tray in the center of the table.

Barron thanked him and poured himself a cup. He was just raising the cup to his lips when the kitchen doors swung open. There, grinning somewhat mischievously at him was Oswald.

"Old habits die hard, I see," he said, chuckling.

Amused, Barron sighed. He might have known he wouldn't have been the only one who remembered how his boyish, adolescent appetite used to draw him to the kitchens every other night.

"Well, it doesn't feel quite as rebellious as it used to," he said to Oswald. "I no longer feel like I have to slip you a coin to hold your tongue."

"Well, you certainly can for old times sake," said Oswald, teasingly holding up his outstretched hand.

The two old friends laughed. Then Barron indicated the empty chair across from him.

"Join me in a cup?" he asked.

"Don't mind if I do," Oswald replied. "Oh, and I wouldn't say no to a plate of biscuits," he called to the chef, who nodded in response.

Oswald joined Barron at the small table and poured tea for himself. As he added cream and sugar, the chef appeared at their side and set a plate of biscuits onto the table's center.

"Thank you, my friend," said Oswald, hungrily reaching for a biscuit.

"Always a pleasure, Oswald," the chef replied, and he walked off to attend to the kitchen.

Barron and Oswald each took a biscuit and for a few minutes they sat there in silence as they chewed them.

"So what's on your mind, Barron?" Oswald finally asked. "And don't say, 'nothing'," he added intuitively before Barron could open his mouth to answer.

Barron, almost annoyed but definitely amused, shook his head slowly. "Always one step ahead," he said, commending Oswald on his apparent ability to read minds. "How is it you always know when something's upsetting me?"

"Come now, Barron," said Oswald. "I practically raised you. I wouldn't be surprised if I alone knew you better than everyone else in the kingdom combined."

Barron considered this and then winced. "Fair enough," he said simply.

"Now, what is on your mind?" Oswald repeated, helping himself to another biscuit.

"Oswald, be honest. Am I…" At that moment he realized he was not sure what the proper word was. Abusive? Neglectful? Cold? Were those all too extreme? Or were they accurate to the point where he didn't want to say one of them for fear of Oswald saying yes? No, there had to be a better term. "… an incompetent father?" he decided.

Oswald, who at the moment was taking a sip of tea, paused and looked up at Barron with confusion in his yellow eyes.

"Pardon?" he asked, lowering his teacup.

"To Bambi, I mean," Barron explained. "Do you think I've been doing a satisfactory job raising him?"

Looking curious, Oswald set his teacup back down onto its saucer and asked, "Where did this come from?"

His confusion did not come as a surprise to Barron. He knew he could talk to Oswald about anything and he had gone to him for help and advice on plenty of things over the years. But the topic of parenting had never been discussed between the two of them. And now, here was Barron openly wondering if he could be doing as a father for his fifteen-year-old son. Small wonder Oswald was so curious to know what had made this subject emerge.

In response, Barron shrugged and casually said, "I think we had our first heart-to-heart talk today."

"Really?" asked Oswald, in a tone that suggested there was nothing casual about this news. "Do tell."

"Well, it turns out he's experiencing his first heartbreak," Barron explained. "Hence him failing his examination today."

"Ah," said Oswald wisely. "Even being twitterpated has its down sides."

"Indeed," Barron chuckled. "Anyway, I noticed he was having a difficult time handling it and then… I don't know how it happened. We talked about it, we laughed a bit, we hugged, and everything just seemed to come together."

Oswald stared back at him, with something close to amazement on his face. "Barron, I must say I'm impressed. You've been raising Bambi alone for, what now? Eight years? And in all that time, this is the first I've ever heard of you two genuinely getting along."

"My thoughts exactly," Barron replied, rather sadly. "And maybe that's exactly what's weighing on me. All night I've been wracking my brain trying to remember the last time I've even so much as smiled at him, and nothing resurfaces. As you say, he's been in my care for eight years and we've never hugged, laughed, or even talked until today."

"Why is that?" asked Oswald. "What happened today that brought those fatherly instincts to life?"

Barron considered this for a moment, and finally answered, "I suppose it was just seeing him looking so heartbroken. I realized that it was the first time he had ever expressed his feelings in front of me. And who can blame him? I admit I've never been as approachable as I should have been."

He stared down at the teacup clasped between his hands, feeling an unpleasant and unfamiliar combination of sadness, resentment, and confusion, all aimed at himself. Perhaps this was what was known as guilt. If so, it was as bad as he had always heard it was. He had never experienced it in his life, and why would he? There was no room for any such emotion in the proud and confident mind that a king was expected to have.

"I told him today that he could always come to me when he needed to," he continued. "But I suppose I've never given him much of a reason to."

Then he looked back up at Oswald, expecting to see him frowning shamefully back at him. To his surprise, the look on the older man's face was understanding and even sympathetic.

"Barron," Oswald began, clearing his throat, "let me tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a young, halfway decent looking prince."

Something about the way he had said "halfway decent looking" instead of "handsome" made Barron realize that this story was one about him.

"He was the heir and only child to his parents, who ruled over both their kingdom and their family in perfect harmony: his mother with kindness and patience, his father with an air that was strict but fair. A happier lad there never was than that young prince. But alas, his innocence was short-lived. While he was still very young, around thirteen or so, his mother fell ill. The physicians did all they could, but she was past saving."

Barron shifted somewhat in his chair.

"After she had passed," Oswald continued, "the now motherless prince turned to his father for comfort and support. But the king, embittered by the loss that he too had suffered, chose to grieve by distancing himself from everything that reminded him of his queen, including his own son. And so the prince, feeling as though he had lost both his parents in one day, was left to grieve alone. For years thereafter, father and son dared not even speak to one another except in matters of royal duties. No sooner had the prince turned twenty-one than his father suffered a sudden death and was also lost to him. They had never made amends."

Again, Barron shifted in his seat. It was all he could do to hold back tears.

"Though traumatized, the prince fulfilled his obligations to his kingdom. He assumed the throne and became king. Some years later, he married his childhood sweetheart and together they produced a son and heir. But to their dismay, his kingly duties almost always pulled him away from his family, leaving his young son to be cared for by the queen. Regardless, the little prince had an idyllic upbringing, that is, until the untimely demise of his dear mother."

Barron had to blink several times to refrain from letting tears escape.

"Like his father before him, the king was now tasked with overseeing both his kingdom and his son. But the single parent, having only ever met his son a handful of times, followed in his father's example and looked at the small boy as little more than his heir. And so father and son, ever indifferent towards each other, lived miserably ever after," Oswald concluded, looking as uncomfortable from telling the story as Barron now felt from hearing it.

"Based on a true story?" Barron asked, trying to make it sound as though the story could have been about anyone and not specifically him.

Oswald shrugged. "It doesn't have to be. There may yet be a chance to alter the ending. But that depends entirely on the person the story is about."

"Me?" Barron asked.

Oswald raised his eyebrows and made a sort of pointing gesture towards Barron with his head.

"But how do I…" Barron began.

"Barron, Barron, Barron, isn't it obvious?" Oswald asked, patiently rubbing a spot on his forehead. "If you truly regret your behavior towards Bambi, the sensible thing to do now is to continue what you started today. Continue to reach out to him."

"How though?" Barron asked. "He isn't always going come to me with relationship troubles."

He could tell Oswald was trying not to laugh.

"You can't just stand by and wait for him to come to you," Oswald explained. "He's a growing boy, and a motherless one at that. He needs you to always be there for him. You of all people should know what that feels like."

Barron said nothing.

"Somewhere underneath that regal exterior beats the heart of a loving father. He needs to know it's there," said Oswald encouragingly. "You've both been lonely and miserable long enough. Be a part of his life, and let him be a part of yours."

There was truth in Oswald's words; there was no denying it. However much Barron hated to admit it, or even hear about it from someone else, he had had his own issues with his father as a boy. And now, it seemed he himself was doomed to making his father's mistakes because he had experienced similar losses.

Or was he? Sure, he had been hard on Bambi, and admittedly aloof towards him, for all these years. But he seemed to have redeemed himself that afternoon. He and Bambi had reached out to each other and admitted their love for each other. But was it enough? Was that one instance enough to make up for years of essentially shutting Bambi out of his life?

No, he decided. Oswald was right. That moment they had shared that afternoon was a good start. But it was just that: a start. They, both of them, had to continue to develop their relationship. He as the father needed to show his son that he cared for him. No one else was going to, that much was certain. He was Bambi's only surviving parent. He alone had to let the boy know that he was still loved as a son. Maybe, just maybe, if he continued to prove that he was capable of showing that love, all that had happened in the past would matter less to both of them.

Barron took another sip of his tea, feeling a great deal more confident about both the past and the future.

Close to an hour later, Barron made his way to Bambi's bedroom with the idea of saying goodnight to him. He reminded himself that there was probably no point in doing so. The castle hallways were very quiet now. Almost everyone was asleep. There was no guarantee Bambi would be one of the few still awake, especially considering what an exhausting day it had been for him. Still, Barron held on to hope. If he was going to heed Oswald's advice about reaching out to Bambi, he thought he could at least start by saying goodnight to him.

When he finally reached the door that led to Bambi's room, he couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive. He had only ever been in that room once, and it was to put seven-year-old Bambi to bed the night he had lost his mother.

He knocked quietly on the door. Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. That was enough to confirm that Bambi was asleep. Far from being disappointed, Barron decided maybe he could still say goodnight without waking his son. As quietly as he could, he turned the knob and pushed the door open. Looking into the dark room, he could just make out Bambi's head poking out from beneath the covers of the bed. Barron walked inside and crossed the room to the bed.

Looking down at his sleeping son, Barron had to suppress a chuckle. He remembered Oswald saying that Bambi was still just a boy, but didn't realize how right he had been until now. Bambi looked more a boy than ever in sleep. Though he was in fact fifteen, right now he looked no older than twelve. Safe and curled up beneath the bedspread, the left side of his face buried into his pillow, not a care in the world.

He was dead to the world. And who could blame him? The last few days had been long, exhausting, and emotional for him. Barron imagined he couldn't wake him if he tried. And anyway, Bambi looked so tired and comfortable that even daring to wake him would seem a crime against humanity. So rather than verbally saying goodnight, Barron sat down on the edge of the bed and ran a loving hand through the untidy brown locks that he had long since given up attacking with a comb. Part of him (the kingly part) had always resented how that monster his son called hair could never be tamed. A prince had to always be well groomed and presentable, after all. But the other part (the fatherly part) decided not to dwell on it. Bambi was good looking enough without his hair being plastered to his head. Anyway, it suited him.

Barron sat there for a few minutes and quietly thought things over. So much had changed for him and Bambi today, and all in one sitting. Could it really have just been earlier that afternoon that he (Barron) was reprimanding Bambi for failing an examination? That seemed so silly now. Bambi was a smart lad and far from a troublemaker. One exam was not going to change that. But until today, that had been the foundation of their relationship: Bambi fulfilled his duties as prince, Barron didn't scold him. Period. Bambi had the makings of a good prince, but the one thing he lacked was confidence. Maybe, Barron decided, that was one of the first things he could have done better at as a father. Maybe all Bambi needed to boost his confidence was more praise for his accomplishments and a little fatherly affection.

That, of course, could wait. For now, the lad needed his sleep. Barron pushed a bit of hair out of Bambi's face, leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Then he pushed himself up from the bed and, before he'd taken even two steps towards the door, a tired voice spoke.

"Goodnight, Dad."

Barron froze in his tracks and turned to see Bambi smiling up at him through tired eyes. A slight pang of guilt came over Barron. What had woken him? The hair ruffling? The kiss? Had Bambi sensed him sitting on the side of the bed?

The guilt didn't last long. Bambi, though undeniably tired, didn't seem to mind being woken. Besides, this meant Barron could say goodnight to his son with the latter's knowledge. Clearing the guilt from his throat, Barron managed a smile.

"Goodnight, Bambi," he said in a quiet, gentle voice.

Bambi smiled again and rested his head against the pillow, drifting back off to sleep.

Barron walked slowly out of the room, feeling a great deal better than he had all night. As he closed the door behind him and made his way to his own bedroom, he had a very strong feeling that this would be the start of a beautiful relationship between him and his son.