Young Writers Society

If Prince Tristian hadn’t walked through the King’s Garden that day, nobody would have known about the bird.

Why would they? King Adrian never walked there. He was too busy running the kingdom to have time walking through a garden! Even the mere suggestion of him leisurely walking through a garden would have made him angry.

Nor did Prince Tristian’s two older brothers, Prince Reuben and Prince Jasper, ever walk through the garden. According to them, walking through gardens was something that princesses did as they languished about their future, not princes. Princes were supposed to defeat monsters and slay dragons and rescue princesses, not walk through gardens. Not unless they were saving beautiful princesses or, better yet, wooing them!

Besides, Prince Reuben would one day be king — a fact that he liked to remind Prince Tristian of at least twice a day, just in case Prince Tristian ever forgot. Which meant that Prince Reuben would have rather been killed by a horde of poisonous spiders than be caught wandering through a garden without a princess at his side. And, seeing as there seemed to be more poisonous spiders around than princesses who cared to give Prince Reuben any time of day, Prince Tristian could only conclude that it would be more likely to find his brother’s half-eaten carcass in a spider web somewhere in an ancient catacombs than to ever find him in the garden.

But Prince Tristian loved walking through the garden. It reminded him of his mother, the sweet Queen Isadora, whom he missed exceedingly. She had died five years ago after a bout of fever terrorized the kingdom and struck a third of the population dead, including the queen. It had almost killed Tristian too. He had memories of snuggling up in the arms of his mother, shivering from the fever, and thankful how hot her skin was he pressed close to her. His mother must have thought the same, for goosebumps lined her arms and she shivered just as badly. But she took him in his arms and kissed his forehead. Her last words to him were, “Tomorrow will be better, my love. Tomorrow, you will feel better.” Then Tristian had fallen asleep, only to wake up the next day with the fever gone — and his mother dead beside him.

Needless to say, that day was not a better day.

Tristian tried not to think about that terrible time though. Instead, he tried to think about the happier times when his mother was still around. She loved Tristian dearly, for he was her son that was most like her. While her other sons were more like their father, Tristian had a more sensitive soul, and she loved him for that.

In the early mornings, when his brothers were still snoring, she used to wake him up and take him to the King’s garden, which was her favorite place in their castle. There, she would teach him about all the plants that grew there. She showed him the Cook’s Corner, which was an extensive herb garden that the cook would cut from whenever he needed to flavor a dish to the King’s especially choosy flavor palette. There was a moss garden, filled with different types of mosses that she would invite Tristian to poke at and admire how soft and sumptious they felt. There was a rock garden too, which had beautiful rocks which gleamed in the sunlight — but also glowed curiously in the moonlight as well.

But his mother’s favorite place — and Prince Tristian’s favorite place by extension — was the royal orchard. And her favorite tree was a peculiar dwarf tree that barely stood as high as Tristian. And yet, every year it produced the finest golden apples that Tristian ever tasted. And the beginning of fall, when the rest of the garden began to die, the tree would bow over with delicious apples.

Whenever his mother bit into the apple, her face softened. “It tastes like home,” she would murmur, then she would tell Tristian stories about her homeland by the sea — about the beautiful orchards her old kingdom would produce, as well as all the people who would try to steal away their plentiful bounty. Then she would launch into tales of pirate invaders and armies from the inland marching in while Prince Tristian watched, spellbound.

His father, King Adrian, had been in one of those armies, Tristian knew. When his father saw his mother, standing in the ruins of what had been her home, he had stolen her away before anyone could harm her. Before anyone else could claim her.

He had rescued her.

Tristian had thought that it sounded like a terribly romantic way to stumble upon a marriage. After all, didn’t princesses want to be rescued? And yet he was surprised to see that his mother still seemed curiously sad about it nonetheless.

One time, when her voice faltered mid-story, he asked her, “Do you like it here?”

His mother only smiled at him. “It is a fine place. It has you.” Then she stroked his cheek and Tristian smiled at her touch. Then she turned to the tree and murmured, “Before I left my home, the only thing that I could grab from it was an apple. Once your father brought me to his home and married him, I had the gardeners plant all the seeds from that apple. This was the only seed which grew. And it has grown into such a tree! Though, it is a funny tree. Though it produces fruit, it does not produce any seeds.”

Then her voice faltered again and she stared at the tree in a strange way. “Boys are like apple seeds. When you see them, they are small and full of potential. And you want them so badly to grow up into who they were meant to be! When I had the gardeners plant my seeds, I hoped more than anything to have an orchard full of my homeland’s apples! But sometimes, even the best gardener cannot grow a seed into the tree. Sometimes, the seeds simply remain seeds and do not grow. Sometimes the seeds grow into saplings, but don’t grow anymore than that before they wither away. And sometimes it grows into a tree! But even then, you cannot control the tree. The trees in my homeland would tower over me! But this one is a small tree. A tree which produces luscious fruit, but no seeds…”

She turned to Tristian then and tried to smile. “When I am gone, you must promise to take care of this tree. Otherwise, it will die and there will be no golden apples left since it produces no seeds. Not unless you go back to my homeland…”
And then her voice faded away.

“When I grow up, I can take you back to your homeland,” Tristian offered. “We can go together and see the sea, and have adventures, just you and I. I’m sure Father would allow you to go with me! Then maybe we can taste the golden apples together, and perhaps bring back more seeds and plant a real orchard, just like in your homeland.”

But his mother smiled and shook his head. “No, my home is here now. You must find another companion to share your adventure with, for it will not be me. I will never see the place of my birth again! But you can go to my homeland, if you want. For you are a boy who must grow into a man. When the time comes, you must prove yourself and go on an adventure! And perhaps your path will lead you there to the land of golden apples.”

Tristian smiled at the thought.

“But until then, take care of this tree,” his mother said. “It is a special tree to me. Let no misfortune fall upon it! And I promise you that I will always look after you.”

“I will,” Tristian promised, and kissed her cheek.

And his mother was partially right. She never made it back to her homeland. She died before she could and left Tristian alone to wander the garden by himself and hide away from his brothers.

But she wasn’t there to look after him.

And when his mother died, Tristian felt as if he were a withered sapling. There were days that he would lose himself in the garden and wonder if perhaps it would have been better if he had been the one to die instead of his mother. For he was a prince, and yet he had no desire to face a monster or slay a dragon or even rescue a princess. While his brothers did all that, he was content to hide away and languish in the garden.

Nor did he want to find another companion to adventure with. Who could he go with? His father was too busy for him. His brothers called him Princess Tristiana to his face and treated him with disdain any time they met. And all the other servants were too busy scrambling around the castle to go with a boy such as him. The only person who didn’t seem to mind him was the head gardener and the head seamstress, both of whom were too elderly to go on any adventure. Otherwise, he was alone.

And so Tristian bit his tongue and did whatever princely duties that his father required. After all, it was easier not to fight his father. He took lessons in jousting and boxing and swordplay. He learned how to balance the money records, read books about the royal economy, and learned about his responsibilities as a future feudal lord and vassal of King Reuben. He learned about horseback riding and the proper rules of chivalry and learn how to properly start and finish a duel, as well as how to woo a noble lady.

Then, when he was done with all his duties, he would sneak away into the garden and tend to the plants that his mother loved. And when he went, he would always visit the apple tree that she loved so much and think of her.

For he never forgot his promise.

Then Tristian's voice faltered and he felt ashamed. He looked up at his father, who regarded him strangely.

“Why are you upset about the tree?” his father asked quietly.

Tristian shrugged. “It is a special tree.”

“I know the story of the tree,” his father said simply. “It was I who commanded the master gardener to help your mother plant the tree. But why is it special to you?”

Tristian shrugged helplessly. “It just is.”

His father grimaced and turned away from him. Then he sighed. “You remind me of your mother sometimes. There are many things about you that remind me of her. The way you speak. Your eyes. Even the way you move. Sometimes, I feel that you are her ghost that haunts the castle.”

Tristian wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he didn’t.

His father sighed again and stood up, glancing at the golden feather in his hands. “It is good that you want to hunt and better that you want to hunt extraordinary creatures, like the bird that you saw today. Perhaps you will find glory and fame through your skill one day! But, this is not a good prize for you to earn as your first kill. If you go after this bird, I fear that it will destroy you. Let your older brother go instead and kill the bird.”

Tristian sprang up suddenly, his face red. “You don’t think I can do it?”

“I don’t think you should do it,” his father said flatly.

“Which means you don’t think I can do it,” Tristian said, his face getting redder. When his father only regarded him silently, he said, “If you make Reuben do it instead of me, he will think of me as a weakling. He shall call me soft and Princess Tristiana and I shall never be able to live in peace again!”

“This is not a matter up for discussion,” his father said sternly.

“Why? Do you think I can’t kill the golden bird?” Tristian said, tears coming to his eyes as he spoke. “I can do it! It is only a bird. I’ve killed hundreds of birds when I’ve hunted in my lessons before. I can kill this one as well!”

His father gritted his teeth. “You can barely keep your tears in check now! You are but a boy. I tell you, you are not ready for this bird! It will destroy you if you try.” He walked to the door while Tristian watched him furiously, trying desperately not to cry. When his father opened the door he paused and turned back to Tristian. “I will talk to Reuben now. I will also notify the master gardener and let him know to expect Reuben to come at dawn instead of you.”

“But—” Tristian protested.

“It is an order,” his father said. “As your king, you will obey me.”

Tristian flinched and hated his father more than ever. In a bitter voice, he said, “So you will treat me as merely a lowly subject now and not your son?”

“If you will not listen to me as your father, then perhaps you will listen to me as your king,” his father said sternly. “Stay in here in your room! You will not be the one to kill the bird. Do you understand?”

Tristian grimaced and looked at the floor. “Yes, my king, I understand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jasper said dismissively. “We will not have a war! I will not fail. I will get the bird and our enemy will realize that we are strong and will not bother us anymore.”

Jasper spoke so confidently that Tristian had no doubt that he would be successful. He grinned at the thought. “Very good!” he cried. “I am sure that a sorcerer would not be able to trick you so easily!”

Jasper smiled despite himself. “Yes, you are right. My mind is stronger than Reuben’s ever was. I will not fall for simple tricks so easily.” Then he leaned forward and said in a low voice, “Then, since Reuben is gone, that means when Father dies, I will be king. And when I am king, I will clean up my court of all those who do not value me as they should.”

At his words, Tristian stepped back, suddenly afraid. “I apologized! I was wrong to attack you. I am very sorry for what I did!”

“Yes, you will be,” Jasper said coldly. Then he gave Tristian a salute. “Until next time!”

Then he turned and walked out the door.

also wait, do Reuben and Jasper die?? then the irony with Jasper talking about cleaning up his court and how Tristian will be sorry,,,, >_> XD

Not sure if you've read any version of this fairy tale, but this is definitely one of those fairy tales that the youngest son rises above his older brothers, haha. The endings vary... I still have to figure out this one, lol.

So, some context...

At the Temple, Adelore hands the wrong note to the priestess when he's trying to get inside and be Alainna's helper. When Alainna sees how embarrassed the priestess seems to be upon reading the note, she gets curious... and also wonders if maybe it's a love letter since the priestess seems really embarrassed. So, while Adelore is distracted looking for the real note intended for the priestess, Alainna grabs it and reads part of it while Adelore isn't looking. So she (and, more importantly, the reader) gets a feeling of how embarrassing the letter really is.

The letter reads...

Dear Adelore,

Let me be perfectly clear about my intentions:

I do not like it when you attack Alonso. He is my son.

I do not like it when you go off to drink.

I do not like it when you end up in jail after drinking.

I do not like having to bail you out of jail when this happens.

Do you understand?

You may be angry at Alonso for humiliating you, but he wouldn’t have been able to humiliate you had you not thoroughly humiliated yourself first. You are only angry because you thought you were not able to hide it from me this time. Then, when you saw me, you realized how humiliated I was to see you in such a wretched state, and were humiliated yourself.

Let me be clear: I have always been humiliated whenever you came back to me drunk. But you were always too drunk to notice or care about my thoughts or feelings. Now that you notice my feelings, do you care?

You say that what you do doesn’t hurt anyone and so I shouldn’t care what you do. Do you still believe that pretty lie, even now?

If you persist in this behavior, I will stop caring for you entirely and cast you away to the streets. Does that sound harsh? Consider that there have been times that you have chosen to sleep in the streets rather than face me. Why should I care for anyone who would favor a gutter for company over me?

I am tired of explaining myself. You have—

LOL wow that letter is very scathing indeed XD
GOOD LUCK!!

Tristian hadn’t ever slept outside in his life. He didn’t see the point of it. He was a prince and princes slept in castles. He had no idea why anyone would eschew the comforts of a home, especially if their home was a luxurious castle in which all their needs were waited on by an army of servants. The only exception to sleeping in a castle that he could think of was sleeping in times of war or travel, but even then he assumed that servants would bring a luxury tent for him to sleep in.

And so, when Tristian sat up in the garden during the first night, it was no problem for him to stay awake and keep watch for the bird. It was bitterly cold outside in the autumn air and he couldn’t get comfortable. Not that it mattered much. There were so many strange sounds that he couldn’t have slept if he tried.

Still, for all the strange noises, he did not hear the bird.

Then, for the second day, he stayed up most of the night. There were still strange sounds and it was bitterly cold, but after staying up all night the night before, he was exhausted and felt the pull of sleep. Still, he was able to resist it. However, by the third and fourth days, watching for the bird at night became a torture. He was so tired that his very bones hurt. By the fifth night, he could barely keep his eyes open. His face felt like it was sagging off, and he wondered if this was his body’s attempt to trick him into falling asleep. After all, if his eyelids sagged enough, perhaps Tristian would be forced to close his eyes! By the sixth night, the master gardener kept having to nudge him awake every couple of minutes, just to keep him awake.

And still there was no bird.

By the time the seventh day finally came, Tristian was feeling very wretched indeed. He could barely see straight and wondered how he was supposed to shoot a bird when he kept nodding off every couple of seconds. It sounded like a bad idea, and he began to feel secretly thankful that there was no large retinue to watch him. Otherwise, he was sure that he would accidentally shoot someone in his current state.

That morning, the master gardener dismissed Tristian for several hours so that he could to take a bath and a nap. The thought made Tristian so happy that tears came to his eyes at the very thought. After thanking the master gardener profusely, Tristian rushed into the castle, grabbed his army of servants who, upon seeing him, realized that he desperately needed a bath, and hurried up to his room. Half of his servants gave him food to eat while the other half prepared his bath, putting kettle after kettle of steaming water into his bathtub while Tristian watched, half-dazed. Then, after having a luxurious, scented bubble bath, he donned his robe and jumped — literally jumped! — into his bed, so happy was he to finally go to bed. He wrapped himself with his soft silk sheets and velvet comforter and closed his eyes.

And that’s when a knock came to his door.