Title: Crowning Tristan
Author: Sedri
Rating: PG-13 / T
Summary: We've seen Tristan grow from a boy to a man, but how does that man become a king? A gapfiller between the end of the battle and the coronation. Movieverse, with elements from the book. Canon pairings. Discontinued; final chapters summarised.

Disclaimer: I do not own Stardust in any way. This is just for fun.

Chapter Two

A world away, deep in a dark canyon, three people stood in the grand but shattered hall of Carnadine. The silver steps and black candles were smooth in the poor light, and splinters of broken metal glittered in uneven piles. Glass crunched beneath their feet, mixed with bits of hay and the bones and entrails of many unlucky animals. The human bodies that sagged in three places gave off the strong, coppery scent of blood, and dust, flung everywhere by the pulverised mirrors, floated gently in the air.

No one noticed.

A faint echo still rang around the room and in the minds of the living. The last surviving male heir of the Stormhold bloodline. It's you, Tristan.

Tristan stared at the ruby while the facts tried hard to connect in his mind. Incomplete, they failed. "I don't understand."

"That stone will only ever acknowledge the blood of my family," said his mother. "It wouldn't be here if my father were alive. Now Septimus is dead, and if I know him, he's killed all of our brothers. That leaves only you."

"Wait... you're his mother?" Yvaine asked, smiling and glancing between them.

The other woman only had time to nod, smiling widely and clearly overjoyed, before Tristan asked, "He's your brother?" gesturing at Septimus, and then realised, "You... you really are a princess."

Her eyes dimmed a little. "Your father thought I was joking," she realised, not entirely surprised. "Yes, I am. And that makes you the heir to my father's throne." Her face broke into another smile. "Oh, Tristan, I've missed you so much." She stepped forward and hugged him again, and he returned it automatically, speechless.

Over her shoulder he saw Yvaine, who just smiled, happy for them. She wasn't looking at him any differently. Tristan, on the other hand, held his mother tightly as he tried hard to swallow what had been said. He knew that even his father had never known much about this woman – that she'd been fond of jokes was about all that Dunstan had able to share. Now, as they pulled apart, he had to ask a very awkward question. "Mother..." He hesitated, bit his lip. "Mother, what's your name?"

She looked shocked. He glanced down, away. "But your father – Dunstan, didn't he...?"

Her face was a battleground of sorrow and pain and Tristan, who hated to upset anyone, hurried to say, "He wasn't sure. He said everything happened so fast, like a dream..." A little bit defensive, Tristan added, "He did his best."

"But my letter – didn't I sign–? No," she scowled. "I didn't." She gave a long sigh and then looked up. She touched his face, staring right into his eyes. "Una," she said. "My name is Una."

"Una," said Tristan, tasting the name. He smiled, and it seemed lower all of her defences. "Mother," he said. "I missed you. We both did."

She stroked his hair. "I wanted so much to watch you grow up. But even if Sal had allowed it, I couldn't have kept you from your father, and if my brothers had found us..." She shook her head. "My father might have let you live, but you would have been such a different man. He raised us all with tales of how he murdered his way to the throne, and as soon as my brothers came of age, they started to die. To think of you being taught to kill for your crown..."

Una shook her head again, not seeing how Tristan had stiffened. "You were safe in England. It was selfish of me to ask you to come, but I'm glad you did." She smiled again and Tristan tried to return it as she cupped his cheek. "This is so wonderful," she said. "I feel like I'm dreaming. You're here, I'm free, the Lilim witches are dead, my brothers are dead, and you're going to be the first benevolent king in centuries." Una beamed. "I'm so proud of you."

But Tristan was shaking his head. "Mother, I... I can't be a king," he said. "Even if I wanted to, I don't know how. I don't know anything about Stormhold. You do it," he said, pressing the ruby into her hand. "If it wasn't for me you'd be queen anyway."

Una blinked, twice, then said, "Tradition just can't be ignored, Tristan. The noblemen of Stormhold are always seeking more power; they wouldn't just stand by and let me take over. A woman cannot rule, not when there's a male heir, and anyone who sees this stone will know a grown man is alive. There is no one else, Tristan. We need you."

Tristan said nothing, just looked away. Una watched him. Yvaine watched them both, her keen eyes seeing better than either of them that Tristan just wasn't ready for this – it was just too much, too fast. Una was used to being royalty, but to Tristan it had to be as unreachable as... well, a star. When he'd met Yvaine it had taken quite a while for him to accept what she was without that irritating (if rather sweet) small-town-boy awe. Now the crown was coming to him as well, and it was too sudden. He wouldn't take it, not like this, but Una didn't look ready to back down either – she just didn't understand why not. To see them on the verge of arguing soon after finding each other was painful to watch.

Yvaine was tired of watching.

"I hate to interrupt," she said, not sounding sorry at all, "but this isn't the time to talk about it. Your brother is bleeding all over the floor."

They turned to her, and the tension broke. "Yes, of course," said Una, and she walked over to where Septimus lay ignored. Tristan followed, but not before Yvaine took his hand and offered a reassuring smile. He squeezed hers in return.

Septimus lay crumpled on one side under pieces of a chandelier. Whatever spell the witch had cast with that doll must have been broken, for he lay limp and bled like any other man. Yvaine fought down an urge to gag; she'd seen a lot of bloody battlefields, but had never been so close to death. The stench was overpowering and the gaunt, white face was eerily still. Una wasn't at all upset – in fact, she was relieved and grateful. Had Septimus lived, he would probably be trying to kill Tristan at this very moment. Or have already managed it.

"We should bury him," Tristan said quietly.

"Not here," said his mother. "It's traditional to bury everyone in the family tombs to prove they're actually dead, but for now we'll have to take him to Market Town – we'll never reach the citadel in time. Sal had a preservation charm that should work well enough on him."

Yvaine made a face. "We should wrap him in something."

"Prince Primus had a lot of luggage on his carriage," suggested Tristan. "He said he wanted to be prepared. There might be something there."

"Primus?" Una sounded surprised. "I wondered why the witch had my father's carriage. You met Primus?"

Tristan nodded as they surrounded Septimus, lifting away the debris to reach his body, which lay in a pool of dark blue blood. Eager for anything less morbid to think about, Tristan described meeting Primus as they hauled the body outside. "He seemed decent. He let me ride with him and talked about his quest – said he didn't want to kill anyone. He warned me to stay away from Septimus."

"Good advice even at the best of times," Una grunted, adjusting her grip on the prince's leg.

They reached the doors and Una let go for a moment so she could pull them further open. Yvaine gave him an odd look and quietly asked, "You ran into a moving carriage?"

In a hushed a voice Tristan replied, "I'm not the one who confessed true love to a mouse."

Yvaine kicked him, blushing. It didn't hurt.

Once outside, they put Septimus down on the stone path and Una, taking a moment to sigh, continued where she left off. "He was the worst of my brothers. I'm sure he's the one who killed Quintus; he was only fifteen, and Quintus had made some nasty joke that insulted him. The next day there was an axe in his head."

Yvaine grimaced and Tristan turned a little paler. He climbed up to the driver's seat and began opening cases. Sensing his mood, and pleased that he was so unused to death and treachery, Una added, "Primus was always the good one. I liked him. How did he die?"

It was Yvaine who answered, and her brief description led to Una ask about the inn and the witch and how they got away, and in the meantime Tristan found a blanket and a number of handkerchiefs in one trunk and climbed down. They spread out the blanket and lifted Septimus onto it. They stuffed his wounds with the smaller cloths to keep the rest of his blood from leaking out and folded his arms into a more serene position. Then they wrapped him up, talking all the while.

"Una," Yvaine asked suddenly, "how did you know crossing the wall would kill me?"

Una raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's common knowledge that magical tools don't work on the other side, and that highly magical creatures can't survive there. I learned more from my tutors at the palace. There are some ancient scrolls about stars preserved in our archives, too – I used to love reading them." She smiled slightly and added, "My tutors liked to think that they're proof of the old legends about the star who fell to Earth to teach us magic."

Yvaine stopped folding and furrowed her brow. "Selena?" she asked. "But... if she knew, why didn't she tell me?"

Tristan looked puzzled. "Who's Selena?"

"My sister – one of them. She fell a few thousand years ago. I asked her to tell me about it when she returned. She built the wall; she must have known."

Yvaine was frowning, sitting back on one of the large boulders that littered the canyon floor as she looked up at the sky. Una, though intrigued by all this, brought their attention back to a more practical problem. "Where are we going to put him?"

She was looking from the wrapped body to the carriage, particularly the luggage rack, which was already full. "Inside, in the foot space?" said Tristan. "It's the only way he won't fall out."

Yvaine said, "I'm not sitting next to him."

Tristan chuckled. "There's room for two on the bench, and I can ride the horse."

As it turned out, all three of them could squeeze onto the seat without too much discomfort, which gave the two unhitched horses a chance to rest – they had, after all, run at full gallop for quite a distance without rest or water. Tristan tethered their reins to the back of the carriage. But as it was difficult to navigate the steep, narrow path up the canyon walls, Tristan spent most of the journey in front anyway, guiding the horses on foot.

So it wasn't until they'd reached the grassy plain and he'd rejoined the women that there was a chance to say, "I know we're going to Market Town, Mother, and you want to go to the city, but I have to go back to Wall. Father will be worried."

"I'd like to see your father again," said Una. "Would you mind if I came with you?"

"No, I'm sure he'd love to see you. But... Yvaine?"

The star looked at him with a guarded expression. "I don't mind waiting a while, Tristan, unless you're planning to stay there. And you're not, are you?"

"No," he promised, taking her hand. "I never wanted to stay in Wall all my life, and now I have a reason not to." He smiled. Yvaine glowed and leaned closer.

"So you will come to the city with me?" Una asked, blissfully unaware that she was ruining the mood.

Tristan looked away again. He sighed and pulled the ruby from his pocket, staring at it. "Mother, I don't want to make things difficult for you, but I can't be a king. I just don't know how. I don't even know how big Stormhold is, much less what's in it, or who's in it, or it's history or how everything works or... Mother, before this week I never even left home. I want to live on this side of the wall, yes, but you can't ask me to be something I'm not."

"I wouldn't ask if I had a choice," said Una, gently now. "The fact is that I don't. If I go back without you, even if I marry and have a son right away, there will be no one to rule until your brother is grown. Our laws forbid me to be anything more than a regent, and every nobleman in the kingdom will fight – and kill – to become my husband. It's even possible that they'll challenge my claim. Tristan, it could start a civil war." She looked at him, very serious, almost ignoring the reins in her hands. "I'm your mother, Tristan, and I love you, but I have a responsibility to my people and I don't want to see them caught in the middle of that sort of bloodshed. I can't make you come and be our king, but I am begging you to."

Tristan closed his eyes tight and turned away. Yvaine, who sat in the middle, squeezed his shoulder. Tristan held her hand, drawing comfort from it. "What you mean," he said to Una, "is that it's my responsibility, too."

"My mother used to say that those who have the ability to act have the responsibility to act." Una sounded a little resentful. "I know it's unfair to ask you, but yes, I think it is."

"Mother..." he looked at her again, hand gently closing around the stone. "Mother, I have no great plans for my future. I always wanted to travel beyond Wall and I've done that, and there's so much more of Stormhold to see. Living here would be wonderful, and if I can help anyone, I'd do it. But that doesn't change the fact that I don't know how."

"Oh Tristan, I'll teach you," said Una, and Yvaine took the reins from her before the horses, unattended, could wander too far off track. "Did you think I'd just throw you in to see if you could swim? I'll help. I'll be there every step of the way. I'll make any decisions you want, but you have to be the figurehead; you have to be the one they believe is in charge. It's all about image, Tristan, and no one will think it odd that you ask me for advice. If it takes you years to learn, that's all right too."

He relaxed a little bit, nodding, but something important was still bothering him. Squashed together on the bench, Yvaine could feel that every muscle in his body was tense. Suspecting that she knew why, Yvaine announced, "I'm hungry."

They looked at her, baffled.

"Do you think your brother packed food?" she asked politely.

Una blinked. "If he thought Septimus might poison him, probably."

"Let's stop and find out."

It was glaringly obvious that Yvaine wished to speak with one of them, and she didn't even try to be subtle when they came to a halt by a small pond, to which the horses were led for a drink. She took Tristan's hand and pulled him out of sight behind the carriage, and Una kept her distance.

She wasted no time. "What are you afraid of?"

Tristan sighed and leaned against the wheel, and Yvaine felt guilty as she realised just how tired he must be. She slid her arms around his chest, and smiled as he held her. The tension drained from him. "I'm afraid I'll fail," he said at last. "I'm afraid I'll make a mistake and somebody will suffer for it. I'm afraid... mostly, that I'll disappoint her." He was embarrassed by the last, but it was true.

Yvaine turned her head to look straight at him. "And?"

"And..." He stepped back, spreading his arms wide. "Yvaine, you know me. Look at me. Can you see me giving orders and wearing jewels any more than you think I could kill someone? I'm from a village of farmers and I know nothing about magic. How can I rule a magical kingdom?"

"You're not a shopboy, Tristan. You were never meant to be a shopboy."

"Just because my ancestors–"

"It's not that you were born into that family," she said scornfully, "it's who you are. Remember what I said? People aren't what they seem. Look at what you've done this past week – you've saved my life, twice, and helped defeat some of the worst witches in history. You're a hero."

"I was just trying to do the right thing–"

"And what's life except an endlessly attempt to get things right?" said Yvaine. "Tristan, I've watched people down here for a long time, and I promise you – no king or emperor that ever did good was always sure of himself. Some of the greatest leaders were never trained for anything but they turned out to be the best for the job. I think you can do it."

His eyes searched hers. Very serious, he asked, "Really?"

"Well," she said with exaggerated thoughtfulness, "I think it might be difficult to be a worse king than your murderous uncles."

Tristan laughed, and Yvaine smiled.

"Yes," she told him. "I think you can do it. Just promise me you'll consider it."

Maybe it was just something about her presence, but Tristan suddenly felt lighter. He nodded. "I promise," he said. "I'll think about it." Then he held her close, and leaned over to kiss her.

But Yvaine didn't let him. She leaned away and blocked his mouth with her hand. "There's one more thing," she said, and there was an edge to her tone that made Tristan nervous. He opened his eyes. "If you were in love with me all along, then why, for heaven's sake, did you run off so early this morning?"

Tristan straightened, brow furrowed. "I left a message with the innkeeper..."

"Something along the lines of 'going to see Victoria because you've found your true love and want to spend your life with her'?"

With the distinct feeling that he was missing something, Tristan nodded. "That sounds about right."

Danger signs were everywhere. Yvaine glared at him. "And you didn't think that was the slightest bit ambiguous?"

"Well... now that you mention it–"

"You IDIOT!" she erupted. "I thought you were going to marry Victoria!"

"No!" Aghast, Tristan raised his hands in full surrender. "No, no, no, Yvaine, I meant you." He took hold of her shoulders. "I meant you. I want to marry you."

"You idiot," she said again. "Why didn't you just ask?"

"I'm... sorry," he said helplessly.

"Moron."

Flustered and apologetic though he was, Tristan had to ask, however carefully, "Is... is that a yes?"

She glared at him again, exasperated. Then she burst out in frustrated laughter, falling forward to hit her head against his shoulder. "Yes that's a yes, you idiot." She whacked his arm, just hard enough to sting. "Dunderhead," she added.

"I'm sorry," he said again, and she allowed him to hug her. "I just didn't think. I love you, Yvaine. I went to see Victoria to say goodbye. I thought it would be cruel to bring you with me."

"Oh, cruel to who?" she asked. "Her or me?"

"All of us," he said flatly. "Mostly me."

Yvaine laughed and kissed him. They returned to Una hand-in-hand.