Lancelot finally slumped into a chair at the bar, waving a barmaid over and taking a mug of ale, sipping slowly so as not to aggravate his stomach
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Galahad arrived into the tavern some time later. He had been trying to groom his horse, a task made practically impossible by his broken arm couple with the horse's general irascibility.
He walked straight up to the bar and ordered an ale, scowling when the serving girl made some comment about how young he was to be drinking. Galahad was tempted to say that when someone has killed a man (more than one), he is more than old enough to drink.
The next time Lancelot looked up from his drink, a scowling, irritated Galahad was a little distance away, glaring at his drink and the girl that had just brought it to him.
His arm was still in a sling. And he didn't look happy. Something like Lancelot was feeling.
"What's up with you then, Galahad?" He asked, wanting to find someone to talk to that wouldn't tread around him as if he were made of glass still. "What's got you in a mood?"
Arthur limped into the tavern behind Gawain, brushing a hand over his hair to rid it of road dust. He knew he was filthy and sweaty but he didn't care. His leg hurt, he was tired, and extremely frustrated at the lack of information they had discovered in the empty town. He would eat something quickly, then make his way to the conference room and speak with the medicus and the other commanders. Someone was bound to know something.
He smiled at Vanora, and turned his head when Gawain indicated Lancelot and Galahad, who looked for the world like two pouting children. He had to surpress a laugh, and quickly put on a stern expression.
He trailed after Gawain, and sat at the table, gingerly lifting his leg with the sore ankle to rest it on the table leg underneath him.
He looked at Gawain, and nodded. "Thank you for your assistance today. I don't think I could have gone alone very sucessfully."
Gawain shrugged. "Well, it had to be done," he said; privately Arthur's insistence on treating them all like comrades made him a little uncomfortable at times. It wasn't Arthur's fault that he was actually a decent man, but the truth was that none of the Sarmatians had any choice in their being here, and they were bound to follow their commander's orders. Still, it could have been a lot worse; their commander might have wanted nothing to do with them, might have cared nothing for them and their fates. Arthur cared, and that was what made the difference; somehow Gawain didn't mind following his orders so much, because of that small fact.
"I must confess though," he continued, "I have no idea what our next move should be, given the circumstances." He fell silent, gazing intently at the tabletop, still intensely disturbed by the things they had seen.
"What did you do to your leg?" Lancelot asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he saw the shift in Arthur's weight. "Arthur? What the hell happened?"
He nudged Arthur's good foot with his own to catch Arthur's attention, trying to catch Arthur's eyes to figure out what's going on. "Arthur?"
Arthur sighed, hoping that Lancelot hadn't noticed he was limping.
"Something stupid and embarassing. Don't worry about it," he answered, trying to change the subject. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each man sitting there.
"I don't put much stock in magic," he said, "but Gawain's right in that we didn't get many more answers than we started out with. Dagonet took some things we found to the conference room. I'll be speaking with the other captains before I retire. We'll think of something," his eyes lit on Gawain as he spoke. "Right now, let me worry about the next move."
His eyes ticked over to Lancelot, who looked slightly white still and worn down.
Comments 41
He walked straight up to the bar and ordered an ale, scowling when the serving girl made some comment about how young he was to be drinking. Galahad was tempted to say that when someone has killed a man (more than one), he is more than old enough to drink.
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His arm was still in a sling. And he didn't look happy. Something like Lancelot was feeling.
"What's up with you then, Galahad?" He asked, wanting to find someone to talk to that wouldn't tread around him as if he were made of glass still. "What's got you in a mood?"
Reply
He put down his mug of ale to run his fingers through his hair. "When will the others be back?" he asked, sounding very impatient.
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"I'd like to know as well."
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He smiled at Vanora, and turned his head when Gawain indicated Lancelot and Galahad, who looked for the world like two pouting children. He had to surpress a laugh, and quickly put on a stern expression.
He trailed after Gawain, and sat at the table, gingerly lifting his leg with the sore ankle to rest it on the table leg underneath him.
He looked at Gawain, and nodded. "Thank you for your assistance today. I don't think I could have gone alone very sucessfully."
Reply
"I must confess though," he continued, "I have no idea what our next move should be, given the circumstances." He fell silent, gazing intently at the tabletop, still intensely disturbed by the things they had seen.
Reply
He nudged Arthur's good foot with his own to catch Arthur's attention, trying to catch Arthur's eyes to figure out what's going on. "Arthur?"
Reply
"Something stupid and embarassing. Don't worry about it," he answered, trying to change the subject. He looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each man sitting there.
"I don't put much stock in magic," he said, "but Gawain's right in that we didn't get many more answers than we started out with. Dagonet took some things we found to the conference room. I'll be speaking with the other captains before I retire. We'll think of something," his eyes lit on Gawain as he spoke. "Right now, let me worry about the next move."
His eyes ticked over to Lancelot, who looked slightly white still and worn down.
"And how are you feeling?" he asked.
Reply
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