"So... a Viking, Englishman, and an Arab walk into a tavern..." began Sir Gregor, his face half hidden behind the massive stein of ale he was drinking while across from him the two young Princes, Alfred and Aragorn of South Haven sat sipping with much smaller glasses of watered down wine.

"I.. think I've heard this one Uncle..." the younger darker haired boy said looking sideways at his older brother with an expression that indicated no little bit of this old fart is crazy aptly conveyed.

"No, no lad, wait for it!" He barked another laugh, "They each have enough money for a single drink...so the barman looks up and asks what they'll have right? The Englishman orders a beer, which is brought out good and proper. But the Arab replies, 'I cannot drink spirits' and is given a cup of water, my money I will give to the greater glory of Allah. The barman finally turns to the viking and asks what he'd like and he says... I'd like to order the Englishman another drink. Everyone is stunned right? The Englishman thanks him... and the Arab applauds him for his generosity... the barman walks over to him and leans over. 'So tell me, why did you do it?... are you friends with this Englishman?' The viking smiles and says.."

Alfred and Aragorn exchange glances for a moment and then reply in unison, "No, I've got his wife tied up on the back of my horse and I'd like a head start."

Gregor exploded into laughter once again while the two young Princes just sighed a bit and drank more of their wine.

"Ah... kids these days.. no appreciation of good humor." He finally got out as he wiped his eyes free of the tears that had been forced out.

"What I would appreciate," Said Alfred as he let his eyes drift around the tavern that was located along the road from Valencia to Bearn, "is to be out of here and back at the castle."

The older knight shrugged a bit and eyed the young man critically. He could see Charles in him, he had the same lordly stick up the ass that he'd had when he was younger but without the ability to actually enjoy himself. The boy simply took no joy in anything, not wine, not women, not fighting... he was a bitter cynical youth and what that might mean about the man he'd grow to become did not bare thinking about. His younger brother was a different story, he had more of the swagger and less of the airs, but was he too arrogant? Things came to the young man with the famous name almost too easily.. be it letters, or sword, or riding he excelled as if he was destined for great things... and he made sure everyone knew it.

"Well. Your father agreed that it was high time you both had some responsibility of your own, you're not far from being tasked with taking arms for Spain... high time you start earning the title of prince. You act as though we've traveled to the end of the world! This is but a jaunt escorting Father Paul around a few of the major churches of the realm. The Bishop of Barcelona believes it is more important than ever for us to be seen as unified at this time."

"But the tourna-" began Arg but he was forestalled by a hand raised to cut him off.

"You'll be back in time to take part in the revels. After all our people also have the birth of your brother to celebrate."

"Half-brother," Alfred stressed, his upper lip curling back slightly in an almost sneer.

"That as may be... but a brother still."

"No one held a tournament for my birth," the youth returned with a hint of a challenge in his voice.

"No..." Gregor thought, remembering Charles reaction when he his then young friend had discovered that a casual dalliance with the local millers daughter and resulted in very real consequences... "I don't suppose they did at that. But they they do not hold celebrations to honor the child...however much they might say so, they do it to curry favor with the Rey! Which... your father most certainly was not then! ...The very idea," He laughed a bit, "Why if you'd told me..."

"Whatever," Alfred stood up and walked away from the table leaving Gregor and Arg alone at the table exchanging glances at his retreating back.

"That lad is going to be trouble," sighed Gregor.

"Look at the bring side, Uncle," Arg flashed a cocky smirk that only a thirteen year old sure of himself could muster, "You still have me."

"Saints preserve me..." Gregor rolled his eyes.