Breakfast.

[steadfast_one]

Once Arthur had left them, Gawain decided that breakfast would be an excellent idea. He had not had anything to eat for longer than he could remember, and he didn't mind betting that neither had Galahad. The bath-house could wait; for now he planned to go to the tavern and see if Vanora could give them some food.

Comments

[hadrians_whore]

Faint smells of burning sausage drifted to Vanora as she sat in the dusky light of the tavern, but she cooed the toddler that had approached her with a scraped knee and tears in his eyes, and ignored the telling scent. If she caught that damned maid ruining the food again, the girl would be out on her ass without a penny to call her own. So she preferred to not catch her.

She kissed the boy, pinched his cheek, and instructed him to return the favor to whatever bully had pushed him. The toddler, his face marked by her eyes and Bors' healthy nose, nodded and flew out the backdoor.

Bors. She smiled softly and wondered if he'd met with Arthur yet, and when he would tell her the men were off once more. The warning usually came moments before they road out. That was not to say, however, that his warning was the first she always heard...

She hummed softly and picked up the sewing she'd abandoned for her child, only to look up several seconds later as men's voices drifted to her through the yellow morning light.

[steadfast_one]

Gawain paused just inside the door of the tavern, letting his eyes become accustomed to the dimness. He spied Vanora, head bent over her sewing so that the sunlight from the small window dappled her hair with gold, and smiled. He'd always been fond of Vanora; she was a welcome voice of calm in this place of war and conflict.

"Good morning, Vanora," he called. "Any chance of breakfast for two hungry knights?"

[hadrians_whore]

"Depends" she said, grinning as the men made thier way inside, "have you suddenly developed a taste for burnt sausage?"

The boys -- men, she must always call them men -- looked tousled, and the splint on the Galahad's arm did not go unnotice. Better a wound there than elsewhere she reminded herself, if only to quiet the rising worry in her breast.

A second glance revealed something that should have startled her, but merely made her blink. Was that Gawain's tunic that Galahad wore? She remembered mending a shirt of his only several weeks past that bore resemblace...but, then again, shirts were shirts, and all the knights' clothes were much mended and threadbare. Still, the thought stuck with her.

"What can I get you, Sir Knights?"

[steadfast_one]

Gawain grinned back. "At this moment, anything would be welcome. I can't remember when we last ate."

He thought he noticed Vanora looking quizzically at Galahad, but dismissed it. Just his imagination; it was too dark in here to be seeing anything clearly. Drawing up a chair, he sat down at Vanora's table.

[artoriuscastus]

Arthur approached the tavern, conscious of Lancelot's nervousness as the man trailed slowly behind him. He was almost dragging his feet.

"Come on, friend, I promised I would look after you, didn't I?" he whispered to the other man.

Smiling, he slid into a table unnoccupied at the edge of the seating area, and waved at Vanora, who was talking to Galahad and Gawain. He nodded at the two knights, and raised his eyebrows at the sight of Galahad's arm in it's sling.

[songs_of_war]

Lancelot slipped into the seat next to Arthur, back to the wall, nervous as a kitten out on its own for the first time. He had to consciously keep himself from jumping at every slight noise - the banging of a plate, the screech of a chair - and tried to relax.

He gave Arthur a hesitant smile, before his walls came up - behind which he could hide all his insecurities.

How long can you keep them in place?

Long enough.

[artoriuscastus]

"Relax," he said under his breath to Lancelot, one hand dropping under the table, squeezing the knights fingers briefly, then back up to the table top.

He looked around the place, which wasn't as crowded as normal...but it was slightly early, after all.

He grabbed the ales a passing barmaid flung at them, and handed one to Lancelot.

"Drink it slowly, or you will be drunk rather fast," he instructed, then shook his head, shutting his eyes, a self effacing smile on his face. "...and I have truly become your mother."

[songs_of_war]

"I hope not," Lancelot joked, covering up his anxiousness. "Then what we're doing wouldn't exactly be legal