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 Eleven

Dunstan Thorn was not the type to pry. Like everyone else, he had his own little secrets, inner thoughts and feelings that were nobody else's business, and with that came a deep respect for the privacy of others. It was not in his nature to gossip or speculate, and for most of his life, the only person whose troubles he really cared about was always willing to confide in him. Tristan had always been very close to his father, never shutting him out of anything important, and in return Dunstan had never felt the need to ask difficult questions.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this openness was ending along with Tristan's childhood.

He'd known Yvaine was upset, of course. It was hard thing to miss, particularly since they'd been sitting directly opposite one other at the dinner table. Had it been Tristan or even Una, Dunstan would have quietly asked if everything was all right, but Yvaine was something of a mystery to him. He liked the girl, certainly, and he looked forward to getting to know her better, but for now they had only just met, and whatever was wrong clearly had nothing to do with him.

So he'd said nothing when Yvaine demanded a private word with Tristan. He'd thought little of it, actually, save for remembering with fond amusement all the little dramas he'd seen young couples in Wall go through. He idly wondered what she'd been fretting about, but gave it no serious thought at all.

But then, quite some time later, the pair had emerged looking absolutely delighted. Tristan had a wide, silly grin spread across his face, and seemed fit to burst with joy. Yvaine, too, was smiling foolishly, gleefully; a stark contrast to her earlier tension. Dunstan still might not have worried about it, save that when the pair returned, they didn't say a word to explain themselves. They just sat together, constantly glancing at each other, sharing secret smiles, and Yvaine, he realised, was glowing.

It was a soft, subtle light, but enough to briefly distract Dunstan from his increasingly troubled thoughts. At first he thought it was the fire, but Yvaine's light was whiter, less flickery. Her hair shimmered, her skin was brighter, and the silverware near her hands gently sparkled.

Dunstan blinked. He knew what she was, of course, and he'd believed them when they said it, but actually seeing her glow was... surprising.

But stars, they'd said, couldn't shine when sad or afraid. Whatever had been said behind that door was enough to make Yvaine happier than she'd been in all the time he'd known her.

He shared a glance with Una; she'd seen it, too. Unnoticed by their son and his fiancée, the two shared an entire conversation by way of raised eyebrows and subtle changes in expression. They were both thinking the same thing, and neither was entirely sure what to do.

A month ago, Tristan would have told him, and there would have been no need to do anything.

As before, father and son would be sharing a room, so after plans and been discussed and they bid the ladies goodnight, Dunstan found himself in the awkward position of asking about something that, until Tristan chose to tell him, was really none of his business.

But these weren't normal circumstances. Tristan was royalty, and Stormhold had customs they needed to respect. If there was going to be a problem, better that it be sorted out now.

Steeling himself, Dunstan glanced at his son, who was unbuckling his belt and boots, still wearing that wide, foolish smile. He seemed completely unaware of it. Dunstan searched through his travel bag, looking for the washcloth that was very obviously poking out from under his spare vest, and casually mentioned, "I thought I saw Yvaine glow earlier."

Tristan looked up, eyes dancing merrily as he nodded. "She's happy," he explained.

"That's good," Dunstan said pleasantly. "Do stars usually glow all the time, or only when something special happens?" He hoped that wasn't too obvious.

Apparently not, for Tristan just shrugged and said, "I'm not sure. They shine all the time in the sky, I think, but sometimes Yvaine doesn't even when there's nothing wrong."

"So there isn't anything wrong?" he asked carefully. "Nothing... that I should know about?"

Tristan paused, halfway through unbuttoning his vest, and frowned as he considered the question. He thought about his nightmare and the enormity of what he was doing, about his mother and her plans, about Yvaine and the witches and even his dead uncles. Slowly, he shook his head. "...No," he said. "No, I don't think so." His eyes slid sideways and he tilted his head. "Is something wrong, Father?"

Dunstan hesitated. He opened his mouth to speak, then let out his breath and closed it, shrugging. "...No," he said. "I don't suppose there is."

Una, in the next room, was a little more direct. "Yvaine, are you with child?"

The star froze, hands suspended over the blanket she'd been arranging. Slowly, she straightened up, dropping a pillow, and turned to Una with a delighted smile spreading across her lips. Her glow brightened immediately, and her hands moved to her belly almost without thought, fingers curling slightly across her belt. "I – I don't... You think so?"

It was so obviously not the case that Una winced, and it was difficult for her to say, "No. ...I was just curious."

Yvaine deflated, dimming, and sat down on the bed with a far-away look in her eyes. After a moment she looked to Una and asked, "What's it like? Having a baby, I mean."

Una gave a bark of dry laughter. "Painful," she said. Then, a warm, nostalgic smile touched one cheek and spread slowly to the other. Gently, she amended, "Wonderful."

Crossing the room, Una reached for Yvaine's hand and took a seat beside her, smiling at the girl who would be her daughter. "You want to have children?"

The star bit her lower lip, grinning. Her eyes were bright. "Until yesterday, I wasn't sure we could," she admitted. "I do. I really, really do. I can't explain it. I just keep imagining..." Her arms folded into a cradle-like shape, and she gazed absently toward one elbow. She looked up. "Does everyone feel like this?"

Una raised an amused eyebrow at Yvaine's hands, now sliding to the natural curve of her belly, then quirked a smile and replied, "Men might not feel quite the same way."

It was meant as a joke, but Yvaine's smile wavered. "Do you think Tristan would... want children?"

Glancing away, Una took hold of Yvaine's hand again and squeezed. Her voice was curiously empty, eyes a little far away. "I don't know. It's not the sort of thing we talk about."

Yvaine's brow furrowed and she tightened her grasp in return. Una looked back at her and gave a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Well," she said briskly, "I would love to have grandchildren, but I do hope you're planning to wait for a while."

"I don't think I'm ready yet, anyway," assured Yvaine. "I've barely gotten used to living down here. It's so... so much more physical."

Una raised her eyebrows and her lips pressed together, a smile fighting to escape them. Yvaine blushed again. "That's not what I meant."

"Of course not," the princess said merrily. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

"Before I fell," Yvaine pressed on hurriedly, avoiding the question, "I never realised just how hot or cold or tired you could be. It's not like there's no weather up there – the stellar winds are amazing, and dangerous, too – but still, it's..." she paused, trying to describe it. "It's like there's less of us."

Una shook her head, confused, and Yvaine gestured sharply, absently, looking for better words. "When I landed, I felt heavy and slow and..." and a lot of pain, she thought, hand idly brushing her leg. "I could feel the blood in my skin and my breath was so... it was like I needed to work harder to breathe. Until I got used to it, at least. We do have bodies, but they're less... substantial." Her fingers clicked in triumph. "We sort of float around, and our light shines more easily than through this," she added, poking the flesh of her hand.

Una was fascinated. "So when you fell, your body actually changed into something more solid?"

"I really don't know," Yvaine admitted. "It must have – I've never felt the cold like that before – but how or why..." She shrugged. Then her expression changed, her brow furrowed a moment, and suddenly she stood. "My cloak; I left it downstairs."

"We can send a guard," Una replied, a little surprised by the abrupt change in topic. Yvaine rolled her eyes, smiling sardonically, and reached for the doorknob.

"I can walk," she said, and if there was a trace of annoyance in her voice, Una politely ignored it. Yvaine left.

The princess waited a moment, wondering if she should knock on the other door while she still had the chance, but then Dunstan – who must have heard Yvaine leave – conveniently appeared in her doorway. He didn't come in, but waited at the threshold, eyebrows knitted together in concern and clearly hoping that she'd had better luck. Una smiled and shook her head.

Dunstan's shoulders slumped and he let out his breath. "Good," he said softly. "This would have been a very bad time."

Una, now standing and walking toward him, could only shrug. "He didn't say anything?"

"He didn't realise what I was asking."

Both parents shared a grin at this, but it was cut short when Yvaine's angry voice reached them all the way from the common room. "We're inside," she snapped at someone. "Inside a place you secured. It's safe. We're safe. I'm safe. I have two legs, I can walk down the stairs without an escort."

"Be that as it may, m'lady, prudence dictates that–"

"That you follow me around for the rest of my life?" barked the girl, her thumping footsteps halting a moment as she spun around to face the soldier.

"Well... well, no–"

"Good. Go away."

Yvaine reached the top of the stairs, green cloak in hand and stomping blindly past the other soldiers, ignoring them all. Una nodded a polite thanks to the man who tentatively followed, and Dunstan took the chance to make a discreet exit.

Back in their room, Yvaine flung her cloak down with far more force than necessary. It hit the floor, and Una, who had closed the door behind them, bent down to pick it up. Seeing this, Yvaine sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "Here, let me..."

"It's all right," said Una. She offered a little smile. "I have two hands, you know."

Yvaine returned it, but sighed and asked, "Will it always be like this?"

"Completely lacking any privacy?" asked Una. "No, it won't. We're travelling the countryside with a minimal escort, and that makes the captain nervous. He's responsible for protecting the entire royal family all on his own and I'm sure he has the men on a short leash. Don't be too hard on them, Yvaine, they're trying. In the palace it will be different; soldiers secure the entire building and no one can reach the royal tower without wings – there won't be anyone following you there."

Yvaine nodded, relaxing a bit, and sat to take off her boots. "Is there actually any danger?" she asked.

Una shrugged. "Nothing obvious," she said. "I doubt the men will need to protect us from anything more than petty thieves, and they can be easily discouraged just by seeing so many soldiers. It's always possible, though; there have been times when the people attacked travelling princes unexpectedly – usually for some political reason, or taxes. ...I very much doubt it, Yvaine," she finally answered, "but there's no harm in caution."

Tossing her shoes at the wall, Yvaine just sighed and accepted it.

The next day, Una's history lessons changed a bit. As she described the reign of Galdon's descendants, she went into more detail about politics and traditions that still existed and would affect them personally. Galdon's family were good kings, particularly in the beginning, and Dunstan noticed that Una seemed truly proud to talk about her first ancestors; she laughed without reservation at some of the more interesting stories.

"At first, you see, the king's children had normal names, and only took a number title when they were crowned," Una explained. "So the son of First King Primus was crowned 'Secundus, the Second King', and his son was re-named Tertius, and so on. And it worked, for a while, but when you take such a long name as Tridecaseptimus–"

Tristan choked back a laugh, and grins broke out on Yvaine and Dunstan's faces. "You must be joking," he said.

"I'm not," said Una, smiling with them. "He was the thirty-seventh king, and he decided that this particular tradition had gone on for quite long enough. Personally," she grinned, "I think he was tired of everyone stumbling over his name."

"I can hardly blame him," Dunstan said lightly.

"Neither can I. But he didn't want to ignore tradition entirely, so he named his sons Primus, Secundus, Tertius and so on, and when he chose a successor–" She paused, then went off on a tangent to clarify: "Back then, the king would name his heir by judging which of them would be the best ruler for Stormhold. It wasn't until later that it became a–" bloody, vicious "–competition."

"So the eldest son doesn't have first right to the throne?" asked Tristan. Una's brow wrinkled and she shook her head.

"What guarantee is there that the eldest will be the best leader?" she replied. "No, that was never our way. Is that what they do in England?"

Tristan nodded.

"Interesting," said his mother. She considered this a moment, glancing between him and Yvaine, then turned back to her story. "In any case, Tridecaseptimus named his fourth son heir, so he was crowned Quartus the Second. He, in turn, chose his ninth son, who became Nonus the Second, and so on. It makes it harder to remember the sequence, historically, but it's so much easier to say. Otherwise my father would have been Octodecaprimus, rather than Decadus the Fifth."

Dunstan chuckled, glancing at his son. Tristan had a pained look on his face. "Good," he said. "I really wouldn't want to be called Octodeca...duo? Duos?" He paused, searching for the word. "What would it be?"

"Secundus," said Dunstan. "Octodecasecundus; eighty-second. They're ordinals, not cardinals." He tilted his head and chuckled. "You don't remember your Latin lessons at all, do you?"

Tristan squirmed a little, but shook his head and admitted, "No, I never paid much attention. You know I hated them."

"Oh, I know," said Dunstan. "You said it was pointless because you would 'never actually use it'." He allowed himself a grin, making Una laugh. Tristan just shrugged.

"There are other ways to tell your ancestors apart," said Una, drawing them back to the lesson. "Many kings had extra titles; it was a way to seem grander and be memorable. There was Quintus the Just; Nonus, Guardian of the Mountain – he fought off trolls who meant to destroy the city – Unodecus the Dragonslayer, and Quartodecus, Master of the High Crags. I'm not actually sure what he did," she admitted, "but later one, some of those titles were adopted by kings who wanted to seem more impressive, and eventually they became inherited along with the crown. You," she said to Tristan, "will be called by all of them."

He let out a breath, neither resigned nor reluctant, and said, "I suppose I should learn what they mean, then."

Una nodded, giving him a proud smile. "It'll only be on formal occasions," she promised. "Well then, 'Keeper of the Citadel'. It was first earned King Duodecus..."

The stories behind each title were moderately interesting, and although Una's memory – or tutors – sometimes failed her, Tristan learned enough to understand their historical significance and keep them more or less straight. His mother then went on to describe some other important traditions and the stories behind them, including the tale of Tertius the Fourth, whose cleverly faked death was the reason why such pains were taken to return the bodies of dead princes. It was interesting, if morbid, but Yvaine wasn't the only one pleased to hear the soldiers call a halt for lunch.

It was just after noon, by Dunstan's watch, and the day was bright and warm. They had stopped beside a little pond lined with tall grasses and tucked between two low hills which protected it from the wind. A spattering of large rocks lay nearby, and while the family sat on a large picnic blanket spread beside the water, the soldiers who weren't standing watch or tending to the horses sat by those rocks or against the hill, breaking out their own food and talking amongst themselves.

Well, most were talking. One, a young man named Corvin, was chewing absently as gazed across the water at the beautiful woman who smiled widely as she threw bread to some ducklings; she looked as delighted and curious as if she'd never seen them before. Corvin's smile was dreamy, his eyes distant, and as her wonderful laugh echoed across the water, he let out a long sigh.

She'd smiled at him earlier; he'd been sent with another junior soldier to spread out the blanket, and when they were done she'd thanked them – not the offhand, insincere words they were used to, but bright, genuine gratitude and a sunny smile that was fixed forever in Corvin's mind.

Watching her now, seeing her pale hair shimmer as she flipped it from her face, watching her long, thin arm reach out to the basket, Corvin sighed again. He was completely, utterly, hopelessly in love.

Behind him, someone snorted. "Keep dreaming, boy," said a rough voice. "You've not got a chance."

Ears burning and face red, Corvin turned back to his companions. Every man in the circle was grinning, some kindly, others not. "I know that," he muttered. Looking up, and seeing that their amusement had not waned, he added, defensively, "I wasn't doing anything wrong."

"No, you've just been staring at her for the past hour," Lieutenant Eldon said lightly. "And helping her out of the carriage, volunteering for the night shifts, carrying her bags..."

"'Oh, let me, ma'am!'" Sergeant Rollon mocked in a high, squeaky voice. "'Do you need anything, ma'am? Oh I'm sorry, I mean... Yvaaaaaaaine...'"

The others laughed heartily.

"She wants us to call her that!" Corvin defended, now thoroughly humiliated. "She said so – you were there, sir! She hates being called 'Highness'!"

Eldon conceded this with a nod, but then Rollon, who did a much better imitation of Yvaine's tones than Corvin's, said, "'I have a name. I like my name. Please use my name.'"

The men laughed again, a good-natured sort of chuckle that wouldn't disturb the family who sat just out of earshot. "Never heard of a princess who didn't like her title," mused Lantor, an older, burlier guard.

"She's not a princess yet," Eldon pointed out, but it was waved off by a general murmur that she would be, soon enough.

Eldon nodded again, then carefully asked, "So, ah, does anyone... know who she is?"

The circle ripped messily with shrugs. "Not any noblewoman I've heard of," said Lantor. "Strange name for one of that sort."

"Strange girl," declared Rollon. "Very strange. So's the prince, for that matter."

"Mind your tongue," warned Eldon.

"Didn't mean anything," Rollon replied with a shrug. "He's of the blood, he'll be our king – no one's arguing that. But he's not like the others."

"Certainly not," snorted another man. "But Princess Una was always a bit different, too."

"He always says 'please'," added Corvin, who had overcome his embarrassment – and his longing gazes – enough to join in again. "He always asks, never orders. It's always 'If you don't mind', or 'When you have a moment'."

Lantor nodded. "I like that," he declared. "Humility in a king can only be a good thing. If our new prince can look at a servant and see a person, then maybe he'll see to it that people like us get some respect."

Nods and murmurs; "Hear, hear!" they replied, lifting their bottles in a vague attempt at a toast. There was a heavy round of half-hearted clunks.

"While we're on the subject," said Rollon, leaning back against his small boulder, "has anyone figured out how we could have overlooked a real blue-blood all these years?"

"I thought he lived across the wall," said Corvin, who hadn't really given the matter much thought. Now that he did a few ideas clicked together in his head, and his eyes lit up. "You think he comes from that place?"

"Don't be foolish," snapped Eldon. "He's one of us. You saw the blood."

"Yes, but–"

"I've no doubt that Princess Una sent him there," said Lantor. "It's the only place he would have been safe. There's no way he could have grown up in Stormhold without somebody finding out about him, and we all know what would've happened then."

Memories of their royal commanders, the harshest and most hated of which was locked in a coffin behind them, gave all the men reason to pause and shudder. Corvin rubbed the elbow where he still bore a nasty scar from one of Prince Sextus' famous tempers – Prince Tristan might not be good enough for someone as lovely and kind and sweet as the Lady Yvaine, but he certainly didn't deserve that.

The conversation turned to other matters, and Corvin tuned out. His eyes were drawn back across the water, to the laughing girl. He smiled.

By dusk they reached the town of Hop, which for all intents and purposes was just like Market Town, though smaller and lacking a sense of impermanence; all the buildings in Hop were stone, and every business was there to stay. The local garrison was housed near the gate, and Captain Oltran brought them there first, walking all over the local captain to add more men to the royal escort and, strictly following Prince Tristan's orders, sent others back to Market Town to help with the fledgling Wall Guard.

Una, meanwhile, was determined to make their presence known, and so she led Tristan – and two bewildered local soldiers – into the shopping district in search of a jeweller and a new chain from which to hang the royal ruby. There were several able craftsmen, all of whom fell over themselves to serve the Princess, but she eyed their samples critically and shook her head, politely but firmly dismissing them.

Tristan frowned. As they walked away he asked, "Mother? What was wrong with them?"

"The quality just isn't high enough, Tristan. You're going to be wearing that ruby every day as a symbol of your authority; it can't be anything less than perfect."

He quietly disagreed. He had no desire to wear any jewellery at all, let alone a stone that was worth more than his old house, but said nothing. What would be the point?

Soon enough, once the villagers began to point and whisper every time they passed by, Una declared that they were ready to find an inn. Yvaine, Dunstan and the other soldiers joined them, and as a single solid mass they approached Hop's most respectable inn, The Laughing Dragon, and marched in.

To say they made a grand entrance would be something of an exaggeration. Captain Oltran went first, hand on hilt and wary of danger, followed shortly by his lieutenant and the family. Other men followed, but as there was nothing strange about soldiers coming in for a drink, no one inside took any notice of them. In fact, most people didn't even look up; there was no noise or fuss, nothing to attract attention.

Some heads did turn, of course, and more followed when they saw the loveliness of the ladies or the odd tension in the unfamiliar soldiers, but there was no great upheaval until one young man – a lanky, rather dirty redhead – looked up from the bar and cried out, "You! You're the fallen star!"

Instant commotion. Drinkers spun round on their seats or shot to their feet, chairs scraping and beer mugs clunking down. There were shouts of surprise and scoffs of disbelief, but everyone turned to look. Some craned their heads while others just glanced at each other, and a few had greedy, ambitious gleams in their eyes.

No actual threats were made, but the sudden start put Oltran on edge, as did the new information that he, as their protector, should have known. He backed up to stand between Yvaine and the redhead, who was standing shakily and obviously drunk, still staring. By this time Tristan had done the same, loosening his sword and standing in front of Yvaine and his mother. Una fell with practiced ease into the midst of her protectors, pulling Yvaine, who was squinting curiously at the redhead, along with her.

Then, quite suddenly, a tall and sturdy figure appeared from the darkness on the far side of the bar. He was grey and fast moving, and in a moment had grabbed the redheaded drinker by his collar, hauling him away from the guards and snapping something about keeping his large mouth shut.

Oltran instantly stiffened and drew his sword. "Corvin! Fetch backup! You!" he addressed the grey man. "You are under arrest!"

He stepped forward pompously, as though determined to make this arrest go precisely by the book – after all, Their Royal Highnesses were watching. As he did so, Tristan suddenly had a clear view of the large grey man.

It was Captain Shakespeare.

Author's notes: The Latin numeral names aren't exactly right, but as "Octodecadus" is a little easier to understand than "Duodevicensimus", and it's almost impossible to work out that "Undetricensimus", for example, means "twenty-ninth", I've streamlined them.