Hey ! So here is the end, at last, of this not oneshot :) I have found inspiration in the royal affair recently, the Danish movie. I wonder if I'll post it next, or post another piece I have worked on before that. Compared to historical stuff, it seems pretty lame. But before that, let us get our epilogue.

— "Why the long face, love of my life ?"

His lips quirked up, reacting to the title. If he had been slightly depressed, Frances' affectionate call was sure to lift his spirits up. The young woman settled beside him at the table, her hand sliding across his back as she took a peek at the contract before him. Mere seconds passed before she exclaimed happily.

— "Congratulations ! I didn't know you'd had an offer already. You are so perfect for this job"

Her enthousiasm felt misplaced; she probably had not read the bottom line.

— "Did you read it all ?"

— "Yes."

— "I forget how fast you read sometimes"

Perhaps it was a trick of her studies, but he had long abandoned the idea to peruse an article with her without looking like an utter fool.

— "Does it not suit you ?", she asked.

He bristled slightly on his chair, wondering at her good mood.

— "Well. Part time, it brings only 750€ a month, but they can't afford more."

Working in social services certainly didn't make a man rich, but the idea to guide and support a group of youngsters into life was closer to anything he had done before. And he knew, somehow, that he would accomplish himself in such a role. Yet, it didn't contribute much to the household. Frances shrugged beside him.

— "That's good enough, right ? You've got your Tai-Chi classes. And the rent is not even 500€ here. We don't need more for the moment."

— "Are you sure ?", he questioned.

Tristan had been excluded from everyday concerns for so long that he had trouble adjusting to the normal expenses. Despite his poor wages, he had been housed and sometimes fed, clothes furnished and in need of very little things. It didn't fit a young woman's lifestyle, especially when it came to shopping or travelling. An income lower than 1000€ a month wasn't ideal, but Frances' eyes still twinkled with warmth as she grabbed his hand.

— "Definitely."

Her lips bestowed a slight kiss upon his knuckles before she explained her point of view.

— "Part time will give you balance, Tristan. Look how I struggle to keep a life ? It will allow you to go to church, practice Tai Chi, or do some chores without squeezing the life out of you. In two years I'll be working with an engineer salary and we'll expand our horizons"

Tristan nodded, considering her point of view seriously. Yes, it made sense. After all, Frances didn't spend much – expect on clothes and fabric – and didn't seem the jet setter type. She didn't go out, didn't drink, neither clubbed, went to the university cheap sports classes and enjoyed the outdoors as a treat. Perhaps it was good enough to make things works after all.

— "It's you I need", she concluded.

And a full smile bloomed upon his face when he responded with a kiss. When he pulled away, cupping her cheek with his long fingers, Tristan whispered:

— "Social worker it is, then"

She nodded with a smile.

— "I'm proud to be with you, my love. I'm proud of who you are, and that you chose me"

The feeling was shared.

So life resumed, with Tristan starting a new career. And despite the stupidity of French administration that sometimes made him crazy, he found a new purpose. The youngsters needed him for guidance, they needed him to play the older brother, the father they lacked. He was more than suited for the task with his legendary poise and natural authority. A few tried to bully him; the found such harshness under the smooth exterior that respect was earned without issue. A few Tai-Chi tricks, the demonstration of his unwavering grip, the stubborn will lurking beneath painted him as the sturdy, unbreakable man he was. Yes, Tristan thrived in his work, his co-workers in awe of the progress his group had accomplished in such little time.

Summer vacation was but a throw's stone away for Frances, yet she choose to remain by his side. Addicted, she said. Truthfully, they were not so ready to play the 'meet the family' game. So, as June passed and Frances' classes ended, they both enjoyed the extra time it gave them together. And thus, Tristan realized the true benefit of working part time. They basked in each other like a set of newlyweds, learning, adjusting, loving every single bit of time together. Someday, they would have to face the consequences and include the rest of the world into their little bubble. Namely her family and friends, and his father and sister.

Later… it could come a little later.

And even though they didn't travel to exotic places, Tristan remembered this summer as the best of his life.

Seven years later…

Tristan severed the last stump neatly, considering the violet flower that would compliment the growing bouquet he was gathering. His eyes squinted, taking in the arrangement of petals and foils – five and eight - that obeyed the Fibonacci suite. God seen in all things. God's maths. Perfection.

His mid long hair rustled in the gentle breeze, the wind creating a wave in the late spring field. Flowers bloomed in abundance, yellows, reds and more exotic colors mingling in the tall weeds. Today was a good day; the sun shone not too harshly, and the forest was emerging from its long sleep, vibrant greenery sprouting in every corner of the nearby forest.

— "What are you thinking, papa ?"

Tristan rose, calling his four years old son to his side as the bouquet was switched to the other hand. The boy's twinkling grey eyes told him an assault was near, and true to his foresight, he soon became a climbing spot for his little one. When the boy was settled upon his hip, Tristan watched him very seriously. Blueish eyes that bordered on grey, blond hair, fine features with a dimple and chubby cheeks and the most adorable expression upon his face. But most of all, what always touched him was the look of pure adoration upon the boy's face whenever he looked at his daddy. Love, and trust.

Everything Frances had given him, and even more. When they got married, the ceremony officiated in the church that had seen their idyll, the young woman had insisted to leave her bouquet at Marie's feet. A token of her admiration for the figure who had, unwittingly, thrown them together. What she didn't know at the time was that this tradition also called for fertility. The result of which now sat upon his hip, content to hang around in the safe circle of his arms.

A father once more he had become; a true, down to earth father of flesh and bone. Tristan never regretted walking away from the church, but didn't regret either his years as a priest. This experience had made him in to the man he was. How could someone regret learning patience and tolerance, faith and devotion ? It guided him in his life; as husband, as a father, but most of all as a man. Tristan never lost his purpose, to serve.

But how, in truth, could someone also regret a child ? Such a beautiful, a magical mingle between him and Frances ?

— "I am thinking that you are a present from God"

The child scrutinized him with his penetrating gaze; one he inherited directly from his father. It felt weird, sometimes, to be the recipient of it.

— "Will my little brother be a present as well ?"

Tristan nodded earnestly.

— "Yes. He will be, and I want you to treat him right and show him in the way. He will need you. Are you ready to be a big brother, and teach him about plants and animals and everything you know ?"

The child nodded, his serious expression calling a smile to Tristan's lips. The former priest then nuzzled the kid's neck to make him laugh, and started walking uphill. His long legs covered the distance easily, the child's giggles more and more pronounced and he tickled his chubby cheeks. Tristan didn't bother covering his chuckles; there was no present like the laugh of his son.

He knew, now, what it felt to have a family. He could relate to what people felt when they spoke of their sons, their daughters, their wives. When they prayed for their salute and their health. Tristan was entirely devoted to his family; it was the only natural way. Protecting and loving fiercely.

As Frances came into view, napping upon the blanket, Tristan couldn't help but drink in her sight. Perfection, once more, in God's hand. It wasn't Fibonacci, this time, that rendered her curves so beautiful, so appealing to his eye. He loved her still, so much that his heart could burst. Her hand rested on her large baby bump, the natural pose of an expectant mother. Her long hair fell over her shoulder, the reddish ringlets too heavy to dance in the breeze. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted; a rosebud, high cheekbones… a beauty. His beauty, for she had never looked at another man the same way as she devoured him. Tristan blinked when his son blew in his ear playfully; he had not realized he had stopped walking.

Closing the distance, Tristan smiled at the sleeping woman upon the picnic blanket. Sometimes, he still had trouble believing that she had offered him a family without ever asking anything in return. So he loved her, and gave her his very best every single moment of his life. And while Frances stirred at their approach, Tristan deposited the bouquet at her feet before setting his son down.

No words were needed; her radiant smile said it all. The love in her eyes had only grown, her fondness now directed to the two men of her life… very soon three. As his little one babbled about all the things had had shown him in the field – a grasshopper, a mantis, several types of flowers, a 'trèfle' -, Tristan grabbed her arm to help up. He sat then, and she settled against him as if it was the most natural place in the world, grabbing his hand to put it over her belly.

— "The baby is restless", she told him, taking advantage of a pause in their son's speech.

Tristan kissed her temple, caressing the wide expense of belly that hosted his youngest son. Soon, a little blow answered his presence, then a heavy form came to nestle against his palm. Seeking his father on the other side of the womb. Something in his heart stirred; a spark that flooded his veins with a benevolent wave of happiness.

Such a simple thing… almost magical. A forbidden thought: magic were beliefs condemned by the church. But he couldn't help it; the way women hosted life, gave a simple little cell their body and their energy to nurture it to birth was magical. It took strength and dedication to bring a child into the world, from the concept to the first cry. Frances was such a woman, and he admired her for it. Revered her, even, for daring such a challenge, and doing it with joy.

Their eldest was now describing the lovely spider they had seen in a bush, how its long legs were securely fastened in its web. Frances' nose scrunched in disgust and Tristan chuckled at her expression, trying very hard to contain his mirth.

Too late, Frances was already craning her neck with narrowed eyes.

— "What ? What's funny ?"

— "You are courageous enough to give birth without an epidural, but speak of a spider…"

His chest rumbled as he laughed, vibrating through him to her so that she couldn't keep a straight face. But the faux-pas wasn't forgotten. His father's saying came to mind: 'Do not poke fun at a pregnant woman'. The glint in her eyes told him this wasn't over. Fortunately, his son came to the rescue.

— "You don't like spiders, mama ?"

His tone was so genuine that Frances melted instantly. Dress him like an angel, and his firstborn would probably be welcomed in the heavens.

— "No, sweetie. I am afraid of spiders"

— "Don't be afraid. They don't bite"

And the child proceeded to reassure his mother, spilling, word for word, what Tristan had taught him nary an hour ago. The former priest smiled; there was no better moment than the present. And right now, life was sweet.