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 Four

Two hours later, when Tristan had filled the bags, emptied them, taken out the oldest garments, repacked, changed his mind, looked for more bags, filled them, emptied them again, rolled his fragile belongings in several layers, emptied the drawers, dusted the wardrobe, swept the floor, straightened the furniture and there really was nothing left to do, he laid his bags on the bed, left his sword behind, and quietly walked downstairs.

His parents were chatting happily, halfway through making dinner. They looked up and smiled. "Tristan!" greeted his mother, "I'm told you make very good potatoes."

"Father's the only one who thinks so."

"That's because we don't have dinner guests often enough," said Dunstan. "Come, Tristan, help us. I want to hear all about this adventure of yours."

And that was it. Tristan had his family.

Una was just as interested in his story, having heard only bits and pieces of it from him and Yvaine. So Tristan told them it all, starting with his silly promise to Victoria and his errant thoughts while lighting the candle (for which he repeatedly apologised), then described in detail meeting the star and travelling with her to Wall (though, somehow, no chain was ever mentioned), going the inn and the witch, the Caspartine and the pirates ("Captain Shakespeare? And he helped you?"), what it was like being a mouse and that horrible confrontation with the Lilim witches, which Una expanded on. He avoided mentions of how he fell in love with Yvaine and deliberately said nothing about the ruby in his pocket or how the prince that chased them was his mother's brother.

Una noted the omission but said nothing. All Yvaine had told her after their halt at the pond was that Tristan needed time, so she had resolved to wait and say nothing about her son's future.

But Dunstan, unaware, brought them right to the subject. He'd fumbled with several dishes and nearly sliced a thumb instead of vegetables thanks to the distraction of Tristan's narrative, and at the close, when his son finally had the chance to eat instead of talk, he said, "It sounds like you had an incredible week. Wall must seem very boring in comparison."

"Definitely more... predictable."

A slow realisation came to Dunstan then, and he studied Tristan, who was eating with a sort of fidgety apprehension, and Una, whose eyes were fixed on her plate, trying to remain uninvolved. Dunstan looked back, and chose his words carefully. "Well, you always wanted to travel. I suppose London and Paris don't seem so exotic anymore."

"Not really, Father, no."

A pause, then:

"You're not staying, are you?"

The Tristan who left a week ago would have never faced him squarely the way this man did now. His eyes held concern and love, but no request for permission. "I never wanted to stay in Wall forever, Father, you know that. And now there's no reason to, except that I'll miss you if you stay behind."

"What about Victoria?"

"She's engaged to Humphrey," he replied with a shrug, and took a bite of the (actually rather good) potatoes.

Dunstan frowned. "Is that why you're leaving? You can't stand to see her get married?"

"No," Tristan said honestly. "It's all right, Father, I'm happy for them. I'm not in love with her anymore."

Dunstan looked sceptical. "For ten years you've worshipped the ground she walks on, and now, after barely a week, you're telling me all that is over?"

Tristan shrugged again, with a silly little grin, and toyed with his fork. "Well, it's... it's Yvaine, actually. She... she's nothing like Victoria, but she's..."

"Your star?" Dunstan asked. "You're in love with her?"

Tristan nodded slowly. "I asked her to marry me."

This was news even to Una, who looked delighted. "That's wonderful!" she cried, and leaned over to kiss his cheek. She glanced at Dunstan, who seemed astonished, and said, "Oh Dunstan, trust me, you'll like her. Yvaine's a lovely girl."

"I'm sure she is," he said. "This is just... rather sudden." He knew Tristan – or, rather, he had known Tristan – and it wasn't like him to change so quickly. Dunstan's son had always confided in him, even about the embarrassing details of his love life, so it was rare that he was surprised like this. But Dunstan was hardly one to give lectures about a whirlwind romance and well knew it, so he just asked, "You're happy?"

Tristan smiled helplessly and nodded. Dunstan shrugged and clapped his shoulder. "Then this is cause for celebration." He reached for the wine, brought out for an already special day, and refilled each of their glasses, raising his to toast. "To your happiness, Tristan, and to your Yvaine."

"Hear, hear," said Una, and their glasses clinked.

When he had swallowed, Tristan thanked them and said, "She wanted to come and see Wall, Father, but stars can't set foot outside Stormhold. That's why I'm going to live there."

Dunstan nodded, sipping from his own glass, but his face was serious. Always sensible despite his enchanting visit to Market Town, he was now a grown man and a father, and had to bring up the more practical concerns. "And what will you do over there, for work? How will you support her?"

Una glanced between them, but Tristan didn't need urging. Though reluctant, he reached into his pocket. "There's one other thing, Father... it's about Mother."

"My family," she added.

Tristan opened his hand and Dunstan's eyes widened at the brilliant red gem. "Where did you get that?" he breathed.

"It belonged to my father," said Una. "Dunstan, I really am a princess." His head turned sharply and she shrugged. "I shouldn't have expected you to believe me, but it's true. My father was the king of Stormhold. Now he's dead, and all my brothers are dead, and the crown can only pass to a male heir."

He understood immediately. "My god..." he breathed. For a long moment he sat still, resting his face in his hands. "Well... I always did have high hopes for you."

Tristan smiled faintly.

"You really think you can rule a country?"

Softly, he said, "I don't know. I don't want to."

Una hated to see him so unhappy, especially as it was – however indirectly – her fault. She held his hand tightly. "I know, Tristan, but I think you can do it. You have a lot to learn, yes, but I'll help you. I'm sure you'll manage."

Tristan looked at his father, who was equally overwhelmed. "I take it there's no other way?"

"Not without risking a very bloody civil war," said Una. "I didn't plan this," she added earnestly. "I never thought you would have to face this, Tristan. All I wanted for you was to live in peace. No one knew but me, and I never thought all my brothers would die. I am sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said, clasping her hand.

But there was no chance for Tristan to ask his father's opinion, or even for Dunstan to organise his thoughts to form one, for at that moment a series of bangs and shouts were heard outside and soon there was a loud knock on the door. "Town meeting!" cried a boy. "Town meeting at the Magpie! Mr Thorn? Mr Thorn, you there?"

Dunstan stood and answered. The knocker was one of the village's younger lads, whose playmates were alerting the houses nearby. The few times it was required, boys that age were deputised as the town criers. "I'm here, Tommy."

"Mr Thorn they told me to tell you that you have to be at the meeting and said to knock 'til you answered 'cause its very important," said Tommy quickly, sounding out of breath but very proud of himself. Dunstan clapped his shoulder.

"Good lad. Tell them I'm coming."

Tommy ran off at top speed. Dunstan closed the door and looked at his family. Tristan was solemn. "Mr Edwards?" he asked tiredly, not really needing an answer.

His father nodded, returning to his seat. "I'm sure of it. If they're worried enough to call a meeting, they must know something serious has happened. Sam came to see me this morning for an explanation. They know I crossed once, but told me not to breathe a word and try to forget it." A wry smile and a nod to them both indicated the likelihood of that.

"So they're going to ask a lot of questions," Tristan concluded with a sigh. He'd hoped to avoid that.

"How much do we tell them?" asked Una. Dunstan looked at her and smiled slightly.

"You'll come with us?"

"Of course – if you want me to. This is my fault, and I'm the only one who can answer all their questions. That is, if you think they should know about Stormhold."

She was looking at Tristan, who hadn't seemed to realise that she was giving him a chance to lead. Dunstan kept quiet and leaned back in his chair, watching, interested. Tristan had never needed to be involved in village politics before, and he had no idea how well his son would do.

"I don't want to lie to them," he said. "They're afraid; it's perfectly understandable. We should tell them the truth."

"How much truth, Tristan? Do you really think they should know why witches were after Yvaine's heart?"

"No, but..." He looked at his mother. "Is this what a king does, then?"

She smiled, caught. "Sometimes. Why don't you lead us at that meeting? You decide what to tell them, and I'll just fill in the details you ask of me."

"Well, why don't you lead so I can see how you do it?"

"That's a good answer," Una grinned. "Mine's better: Because you know these people and can judge how they'll react."

Dunstan said, "She's right, you know. I don't know enough to answer their questions. If you're seriously thinking about being a king–" and the concept was so alien that Dunstan paused a moment just to shake his head in astonishment. "Well, you'll have to start somewhere."

"But they respect you, Father."

"I think they'll respect you now," he replied. "You're very different from the boy who left last week; anyone can see that. And if not, you'll earn their respect tonight."

"Or you should demand it," said Una. "I know, I know," she said as they frowned, "it doesn't sound nice. I just mean that you should behave as their equal. Don't let them talk you down. As king there are some rules of etiquette that would help you, but here..."

Dunstan nodded, continuing for her. "Charlie Banks likes to ask all the questions, and he'll lead any meeting if you don't stop him. Try turning it around to what you want to say. Don't just answer their questions and wait for the next one."

Now feeling, if it was possible, even more anxious than before, Tristan nodded and followed his parents out.

It was a cool spring night with no wind. The moon and stars were bright and Tristan smiled, wondering if Yvaine's sisters were watching them now. The streets were empty, as usual, but most of the houses they passed were very still and silent, though light came through windows and smoke from the chimneys. Almost everyone was at The Seventh Magpie.

The village pub wasn't designed to be a town hall, but became so in the absence of one as it was the only space large enough to hold a lot of people, yet not half of what was needed. So, as tonight was so nice, Mr Banks had brought everyone – including poor, frazzled Mr Edwards – outside. Mr Bromios had allowed people to drag a few of his chairs into the village square (probably with strict orders to pay for any damage), and someone had arranged them to face the central gazebo, where the ten men who made up the village council sat waiting under the eaves, with a space cleared below them. Most of the townsfolk were already there, making a rippling, murmuring, dark sea of heads and shawls with extra lamps and torches set up to light the proceedings.

Their approach did not go unnoticed. Perhaps it was the rumours, or just the moonlit gleam of Tristan's white coat, but conversation quickly died out and a path was cleared before them leading right to the centre.

Every face Tristan saw was familiar; they had names and families and funny stories and a lifetime of memories, but at that moment, he didn't feel welcome. Some people called out greetings and questions, but others... they kept their distance, looking him over warily. For this tiny, tight-knit community, Tristan was suddenly a stranger, not one of them anymore. Still, he'd always been a well-liked boy, and they certainly didn't mean to be unfriendly – most had been honestly worried about him. But despite a love of gossip, the villagers of Wall weren't used to surprises, and the day's rumours had unsettled them. They found no comfort in the strange woman, or this strange new Tristan.

Then Frank Monday's curly head popped up and he gave a wide smile, waving frantically. "Tristan!" he called. "Where've you been? You all right?"

Frank pushed his way through the crowd and came out beside his friend, clapping him on the shoulder. Tristan grinned and said, "I'm fine, Frank. It's... it's a long story."

"We'd be interested in hearing that story, Thorn," drawled Mr Banks. He sat loftily in his seat among the council men, dressed in an expensive red suit. He looked a lot like Humphrey, save that his grey hair was swept back from a slightly wrinkled forehead. Sternly, he asked, "Where have you been?"

They reached the clearing. Frank stayed close. Victoria and Humphrey were standing nearby and she gave Tristan a small, relieved smile. Dunstan leaned over to Una and whispered, "That's Mr Edwards," and pointed out a few other people. Una nodded but said nothing. She kept her gaze steadily forward and walked with the measured, elegant steps of a princess.

Tristan was biting his lip and taking deep breaths, but when he faced Mr Banks his voice was steady. "I left to find my mother," he said, and offered her a hand. Una took it and stepped forward. "This is my mother, Una," he announced. "She comes from Stormhold, the land across the wall."

There was an uproar. The rumours had been wild enough to begin with, and even though Mr Edwards had mentioned his crossing, somehow no one had actually connected Tristan with events across the wall, nor had they ever considered it to be a place he might have come from. Now they stared at Una with everything from awe to horror, and she bore it silently. Dunstan made a show of standing by her and staring down his scornful neighbours, of which there were many – generally the older folk, or those for whom tradition was set in stone. But others cheered and one even cried, "Good on you!" and to them, Dunstan smiled.

"And that's where you've been?" Mr Banks demanded over the clamour.

"That's where I've been."

Some glares then turned on Mr Edwards, and several people berated his carelessness until the old man shouted, "I didn't let him! He tried to cross last week and I didn't let him! I don't know how he did it!"

"He didn't let me," Tristan confirmed.

"Then how did you do it?"

"Mother left me a... tool," he said, "to help me find her." Suddenly realising he was letting Mr Banks lead, Tristan asked, "Did you really call the whole town here just to talk to me?"

"No," said Mr Comfrey, Victoria's grandfather, who sat beside Mr Banks. "Mr Edwards has petitioned us to repair the wall."

There were murmured protests at this, mostly from those people who either hadn't heard or hadn't believed the rumours, as well as some loud cheers of approval. Mr Comfrey held up his hands for silence.

"Mr Edwards tells us that there are dangerous people on the other side," he said. "This morning he saw two women battle to the death with magical powers that we could never hope to fight. He says we must seal the gap for our own safety."

Tristan glanced around, hearing the worried chatter, trying to think of what to do. He did not want that wall fixed – if it was he would never be able to return, never visit his friends or even his father, who as yet had said nothing about coming with them. But from the look of it, people here were scared, most ready to agree immediately; how could he change their minds?

Una watched him carefully.

"Tha's rubbish!" bellowed George Brown, one of that family's older sons. He had quite the reputation for drinking, and staggered a little as he climbed up to hang from a post and wildly pointed towards the wall. "They can't come through! No one ever comes through!"

"I came through," Una declared loudly. "So did my son."

The muttering quieted, and attention returned to their small group. "Tell us, then," said Mr Comfrey. "Tell us what's on the other side. You must know. Are we in danger?"

He looked at Una, but she surreptitiously poked Tristan and he said, "There are witches and warlocks in Stormhold. Lots of them." Catching himself, he hurried to add, "But they're not evil, they're just people. Everyone there uses magical things. It's normal. It doesn't hurt anyone."

"What if those people suddenly decide to invade England?" demanded Mr Banks, and people shifted uneasily, new fears forming in their minds.

"Most of them think our world is just folklore," Tristan replied. He had the feeling that it was unlikely, but was running out of useful information, and knew it. "My mother can tell you more." He stepped back and whispered, "Can you convince them they're safe?"

She nodded.

Una took a moment to make herself comfortable on the chair someone kindly offered. She smiled her thanks, then began. "Stormhold is an ancient magical kingdom that will not fit on any of your maps. It is made up of what you call 'fairy lands'; places your people no longer believe exist. Many thousands of years ago, magical barriers were built to hide our world from yours, to protect my people from you. The only reason you can even see that wall is because it's broken."

"All the more reason to repair it," said Mr Comfrey, and he was supported by wordless murmurs from the crowd.

"You can't," Una said flatly. "There's more to it than stone. You'd need very powerful magic to seal it completely, probably fifty witches and warlocks working together – and a royal decree, as all borders are under the king's jurisdiction." Her glance flickered to Tristan, then back to her steady watch of the council.

"At present, England is under the rule of Queen Victoria," said Mr Banks, "but it is quite understandable that you didn't know that."

"On the contrary, I know exactly what I'm talking about, and your queen has nothing to do with it. The wall is under the jurisdiction of our king; the King of Stormhold."

There were scattered mutterings at this, but the crowd stayed largely quiet, curious – and worried. Reverend Myles, who sat on the council by default as a representative of God, noted Mr Banks' irritated look and said, "Of course, ma'am. We know no more of your world than you do of ours."

Una gave him a polite nod.

"Will you tell us, then," he continued, "why your king hasn't mended the wall? We know it's been here for centuries, but there's no record of anyone crossing from your side. Why leave it open?"

"I told you," said Tristan, "most of them don't believe England exists."

"And those who do – such as the king – have no real interest in it," said Una. "You must understand, it's well known that there is a wall here. Everyone in Stormhold has grown up hearing bedtime stories of adventures in a world of strange inventions where magic doesn't work – and yes, I assure you, people have crossed before – but as my people depend on magical items to run our lives, there is no appeal in a world where magic fails us."

"So there's nothing to worry about," Tristan assured them. "The ordinary people who live on the other side aren't afraid of magic."

"Not afraid of it?" cried Mr Edwards in a shrill voice. "I saw two witches with enough power to destroy our village and you tell me the people over there aren't afraid of it?"

"Well... no. A-And most people there are just like us; they can't fight magic either..."

Una saw him falter, and smoothly – if reluctantly – took over again. "No witch or warlock is born knowing how to use their power. To learn they must join a sister- or brotherhood, and there are magically binding rules. The witches you saw had a personal vendetta, but there are limits as to what they can do, magically, to a person who has done them no harm – if not for those ordinances, our kingdom would be ruled by whatever magician is the strongest."

That made sense; Tristan had never thought about it before, but it made sense. His mother had spoken briefly of how she'd been captured, and it had to do with some sort of agreement she'd made with the witch – a purchase or a promise with loopholes, like his own negotiation for passage to the wall. He knew now, in retrospect, that he had been very lucky.

But the people around them were unconvinced. The noise rose again as villagers argued among themselves, repeating their convictions.

"Makes no sense..."

"How'd she know that?"

"Maybe for them–"

"All witches are evil."

"Oh God... oh God..."

"It's blasphemy! They're bewitched!"

"Their rules won't apply here."

"The wall should never be crossed!"

"It's unnatural–"

"God help us! Father Myles, tell us what–"

"What can we do what can we do what can we do?"

"No more crossings!"

"Seal the gap! SEAL IT!"

The noise was grating. Tristan looked around, overwhelmed and frustrated by those people for whom Stormhold was as abstract as it was foreign.

Then Mr Edwards, who had been squinting curiously at Una, suddenly cried out, "You were there! You were there, across the wall, with the witches! I saw you–!"

"I was a captive–" Una explained, but her words were lost in the sudden panic.

"What?"

"This morning?"

"With the fire?"

"She's one of them!"

"She came through the wall!"

"What have you done?"

"–cast spells on us!"

"Already enchanted Dunstan–"

"Unnatural!"

"–trying to trick us–"

"Oh, God!"

"–black magic–"

"–what's really over there–"

"You're a liar!"

"Liar!"

"Witch!"

"WITCH!"

"STOP IT!"

Tristan had just snapped.

He was tired. Very tired. The fight in the canyon had exhausted him and it had been a very long day since. The shock and sudden worries about his heritage were weighing heavily on him. He was completely inexperienced, his weariness had caught up to him and suddenly, he forgot every rule of common sense.

"Don't ever say that! Mother was their captive, that's why she wasn't here. We're trying to help – how stupid are you? You're not in danger, you never were, and there's nothing you can do to seal the wall anyway! Don't you EVER talk to my mother like that again!"

Tristan knew he was only making things worse, but for a moment he just didn't care. He'd always thought of these people as his friends, and to hear anyone talk like that...

Then he saw his parents – Dunstan, every muscle tense, and Una, a confused mix of shock, gratitude, and fear in her eyes, and suddenly Tristan realised exactly what he'd done.

He'd failed his mother's first test.

On the other hand, he had silenced the mob. Tristan knew he had to speak, now; he had to fix this. If his parents took over again he would never earn the respect of his village. Or his mother.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know you're scared, and this is a lot to take in, but you have to trust me. Nothing's changed in Stormhold just because I accidentally led two witches to the wall – and they're both dead. No one over there knows or cares about Wall any more than they did last week or last year, and I... I..." he paused, searching for something, anything that would convince these people of their safety – anything, as long as it was true.

"Look," he said, "I promise you that – that the king of Stormhold is planning to send guards..." He glanced around, trying to gauge their response, and saw his mother's eyes light up. "Guards for the other side of the wall. They'll be able to stop anyone who might bring danger to the village."

"Why doesn't he just fix it?" someone demanded.

"I... I don't know," stammered Tristan. "Maybe he will. Maybe... he wants to make friends with England – a peace treaty, or something. But he does care – about you, about this village. He doesn't want anyone to get hurt. Not if he can help it."

He looked around. Many people watched him silently, others whispered, but the mood had changed. Perhaps it was the idea of royalty, which was so far out of their reach, or perhaps it was the subtle sincerity in Tristan's words, but something about his speech had touched them, and the panic was fading away.

Una was beaming.

Mr Banks, his commanding airs somewhat snatched away, demanded, "How can you promise anything in the name of a king you've never met?"

"I – I have met him," said Tristan, too flustered to be more creative.

Una could see the problem forming and hurried to control it. "My family is old and respected and we have some influence in the royal court. The king likes to know his people, and was kind enough to speak with us. He is very interested in Wall."

Tristan nodded, catching on, and said, "He asked us to talk to you, and if you want he'll send guards as soon he can. But I really don't think you have anything to be afraid of in Stormhold. I'm not, and I'm going to live there."

Their hasty half-truth wasn't a perfect explanation, but any chance to find holes in the story was lost in a sudden uproar of protest. Later, Dunstan would wonder if Tristan had done it on purpose.

"Enough!" bellowed Mr Comfrey, who instantly rounded on Tristan. "What do you mean, you're going to live there? You're already in trouble, young man – no one crosses the wall."

"I belong there," he retorted. "I'm not asking your permission. My mother lives there, I was born there, and I'm going to marry a woman who's waiting there. I belong there."

Forgotten behind them, Frank asked, "You're not coming back?"

Tristan turned to his friend, looking sad. "I'd like to visit," he said softly. "I'm going to miss you – all of you. I want to show you what I've found. I don't understand why you're all so afraid... but I'll accept your decision," he told the council. "If you say no one is to cross again, ever, then I won't come back. I'll tell the king, and his guards won't ever let anyone through again. But I am leaving."

He paused and added, looking at Frank, "I'm sorry."

And then there was nothing more to say. Tristan turned, and walked away.