The great hall was filled with a cacophony of yelling, singing, and clanging metal.
The knights had been summoned to a meeting by Arthur who had yet to make his appearance.
As a result of their inability to wait patiently and talk in subdued voices, Bors and Lancelot were in a shouting match over which of them would have more quickly dispatched the leader of the rogue Woad war party, had not Arthur gotten to him first.
Gawain and Galahad were in a heated, and loud, disagreement over why Gawain kept offering Galahad what he considered to be Gawain's castoff vambraces, as though Galahad was a child who needed Gawain's hand-me-downs.
Diego had dragged his chair over into a corner and was sitting there, singing songs of his homeland, in his native language which no one understood a word of. He sounded like a dying horse.
Dagonet was being chatted up by Glaevin. He was also getting a bit drunk on the wine that was stored under the side table, wine that was supposed to be used in a salute to the noble fallen. He had been going through a rough time and it didn't help that Glaevin was using his smooth, persuasive voice, trying to get Dagonet to "borrow" a small quantity of a particular type of herb that was used for helping a wounded man relax while being stitched up; an herb that when used in greater proportion in water than usual also helped any man "relax" to the point of feeling no pain from life and being very happy for awhile.
Tristran sat in his chair at the table getting more and more irritated with the racket. Finally, he pushed his chair back and pulled out one of the knives from his green hauberk, along with a piece of sharpening stone. He spit on the stone to wet it even though it was not truly his intention to sharpen the knife; it was merely a means to meet the end. Of course, with Tristran, having the means to sharpen a knife usually ended up with him sharpening it, no matter what he intended.
In a raised voice, well, raised for Tristran but it got everyone's attention anyway, he said, "Imagine what a lovely, quiet place the world would be if everyone had their throat slit."
The great hall became very quiet as everyone turned to look at Tristran, who calmly sat sharpening his knife. Dagonet and Glaevin returned to their seats, as did Diego. The arguing others had not yet resumed their arguing when Arthur entered.
"Well, this is a pleasant surprise, to have you all at the table and quietly waiting for me. I'm sorry I kept you waiting but the commandant does go on at times. Shall we begin?"
The knights looked somewhat embarrassed at Arthur's praise and stealthily sneaked glances at Tristran who had a tiny smirk playing across his face.
"And Tristran please put away your knife. You know we don't sharpen our weapons while at the table."
If looks could kill, Arthur would be in a pool of his own blood, with his throat slit, lying quietly on the floor.