Irish Eyes

Chapter 1: A Toast to Life

The light from the tavern illuminated the darkness of the fortress in the stillness of the night. Music and laughter echoed throughout the walls. Every night was a celebration for the freedom and prosperity that was hard earned for the people of Britain. Rome had relinquished its claim on Britain and though they had left the people for dead, they were finally free of Rome's oppressive ways. The Saxon's had been defeated and what ever was left of their army had fled the country. They had no time to recover from the devastation, for the following winter was unkind. Their crops suffered dearly and many people died of starvation and of illnesses. There wasn't a man, woman or child that hadn't been affected some way or another, and with as much grace as the situation allowed, Arthur led his people through the harsh winter, doing whatever necessary to save as many people as he could. They had paid for their freedom with many lives, but now it all seemed like a distant memory. The spring came and brought them new hope. And now, Fall Harvest had brought them much to celebrate, new life and more than enough food for the coming winter. Everyone bathed in the warmth of the celebration and each other's company save for one man.

His dark eyes surveyed his surroundings, wistfully wishing he could join in with his comrades. Everything has changed. He knew that he should be grateful; he and his fellow brothers-in-arms had survived another rough year and had finally found peace. And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to fit in. He was out of touch and out of place with his changing surroundings. Life slipped right past him and all he could do was watch.

Lancelot, always wishing to be the center of attention, sat at the largest table in the middle of the tavern, drinking ale with his left hand, while holding onto an almost indecently exposed blonde haired wench with his right. She could not help but giggle with delight and moan as he kissed her passionately. She was not ashamed of her lack of propriety, nor was he ashamed of his obvious lust for her. Luckily, no one around seemed to care, except for the other bar wenches who glared at Sylvanna with jealousy and hatred. She just merely smiled at them and waved as she leaned to kiss Lancelot on his cheek.

To his left, Galahad and Kayley, the only female knight to join the Round Table, the most trusted of Arthur's companions, sat at a small table in what seemed to be the middle of a slowly growing crowd.

"Alright little lady, lets see wot you've got." Galahad said.

"Who you callin' lady? You're the one wearing a skirt!" She retorted, causing the crowd to laugh.

"I told you it's not a skirt, and we're not going over this again!" He scowled at her. Changing the subject he said, "you know the rules, no breaks, no cheating, and no regurgitation."

"Alright and loser has to buy the entire tavern a round of drinks!" She said.

"Aye!" cried many of the spectators

"Well this shouldn't be much of a challenge," Galahad bragged. "Hope you've got enough to pay for a round of drinks because you're going to lose!"

"In your dreams!" She laughed

"Alas, the only one that could ever put up a good fight was Gawain, but he's too old now so I doubt that he would be able to keep up with me." He stretched out his arms and folded them behind his head as he looked in Gawain's direction. "Not like he ever could keep up with me… Ouch what the-" Galahad rubbed the back of his head where Gawain's empty mug had met its mark.

"While you were lying passed out, I was drinking to my own victory!" Gawain retorted, sending the tavern into fits of laughter.

Galahad just rolled his eyes and reached for his mug.

And so it began.

Gawain sat back and laughed as he put an arm around his wife Brevlan. He had matured a great deal since he married. Being severely wounded and near death had put his life into perspective. It made him realize how short life can be and it's not something that should be wasted on adolescent impulses. After the battle with the Saxons, Gawain was intent on finding a bride and starting a family. Brevlan was a healer among her people and later tended to Gawain. It was said that on the third morning since the battle, he woke free for the first time from a fever. The first and only thing he remembered was Brevlan sitting by his bed, in a white flowing gown as she gazed down at him. It was then that he fell madly in love with her and she with him. They were married on the first morning of spring on the cliffs of the eastern shore, towering over the sea as the sun rose to bring in the beginning of a new day and the beginning of their new life together.

And together they sat, laughing and enjoying each other's company. Gawain looked at Brevlan and she smiled. He kissed her passionately as he put a hand protectively over her swelling belly. They looked so different, yet they complimented each other so well. She was delicate and beautiful, with her long soft hair that smelt of lavender and her silky, pale skin. And though Gawain still kept his rugged appearance, Brevlan made sure he bathed regularly and was well groomed.

Softly, Brevlan tugged at Gawain's hair. And as if he knew what she was thinking he said, "My love, I would sooner kiss a pig before I let you cut my hair."

She merely laughed as he leaned in to kiss her again.

Tristan watched them with envy and turned away. He spotted Dagonet sitting at the bar listening to Bors as he bragged about his eleven, soon to be twelve children. No matter how hard he tried to distract himself, everything seemed to remind him of what he wanted the most, a family of his own. After seeing so many lives end before him, he wanted to see life beginning, to hold something so beautiful and innocent as a child, his child.

Tristan sighed. No, he would never have children of his own. No woman seemed to catch his attention, and even if they did, they were always intimidated by his presence. He was destined to be alone and he had accepted that.

Hadn't he?

I am a warrior, a weapon of war, what is my place now that there is peace?

Since the crowning of King Arthur, Britain was becoming a prosperous and powerful nation. Thanks to Arthur's military knowledge, which had been acquired through his extensive studies, Britain had obtained a highly skilled military force that nearly rivaled the Roman Army. They had also earned from the woads many skillful and reliable scouts, which made Tristan feel like a relic, both useless and of the past.

"Ye want more Tristan?" Tristan looked up at Vanora and silently cursed himself for being so deep in his own self pity that he didn't even notice that she had been standing there.

Tristan laughed at himself. Look at how weak I have become.

He just shook his head and Vanora looked at him a moment longer, as if debating whether or not to say something. Finally she said "Are you alright? You seem a bit more strange than usual."

"I'm fine." He lied.

He could tell that she wasn't fooled by the way she lifted her brow. She opened her mouth to say something but quickly decided against it. She wasn't going to press the matter. The scout rarely opened up to anyone and she new that by forcing the matter, she would not get a word from Tristan.

Vanora nodded her head and quickly disappeared. Tristan watched her as she went. Bors' lover was the exception. She saw more than they did and read more into a person's thoughts and actions than any of the knights were able to. Maybe it was because she was a mother, he didn't know. She was an admirable woman, brave and strong. She wasn't afraid of anything, or at least she made is seem that way. Men that were much stronger and more dangerous than her didn't intimidate her. If she didn't like the way they treated her she'd let them know. Bors was a luck man.

Tristan took one last look at his fellow knights and got up to leave.

In the distance, a female voice shouted in victory as her male opponent fell to the ground, defeated and as usual, no one seemed to notice as Tristan left the tavern.

Arthur and his older sister Morgain sat in his room by the fireplace laughing and remembering days of their youth. She had spent many nights like this in the past few months hoping the ease the pain and chase away the ghosts that haunted her brother.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, each in their own thoughts. Arthur began to laugh.

"What's so funny?" Morgain asked him.

"Remember when you set Bishop Germanus' robes on fire?" Arthur asked.

"It was an accident!" she cried, the light from the fireplace illuminating the laughter and tears in her eyes "It's not my fault he sat on my candle!"

"An accident? Dear sister you slid it under him!" he laughed.

It's good to hear my brother laugh again. Morgain tried to keep a serious face but failed, "It was a sight wasn't it?"

"Yes it was. Especially when he started to run around, screaming his head off!" Tears began to line the corners of his eyes. As a child Morgain had despised the Bishop and he as well hated her. She refused to listen to him or any other clergy man as they spoke about God and their religion. She didn't believe that you should force someone to think like you do. So she did everything possible to drive him completely insane and hopefully chase him and his followers out of Britain. Each time it usually ended with Morgain being sent to her room without supper or more chores but neither discouraged her.

"And then you tried to put out the fire by fanning it and only made it worse!" Morgain continued. They burst in fits of laughter. She remembered that day well. The Bishop had re-entered his chambers after supper where of course, Morgain was waiting for him. Arthur had been on his way to ask the Bishop more questions about the scripture that he was to learn when he heard him yelling. He burst into the room only to find the Bishop running around the room. When they had finally managed to suppress the flames, he reached behind the bed and hauled out Morgain.

"Yes," Morgain sighed, "he kept yelling at me and calling me the devil's child and was going to whip the demon out of me when you stepped in front of me and demanded that punishment be bestowed upon you a well." She reached out and ruffled Arthur's curly hair, much like she did when they were younger. "Such a brave and noble boy," she smiled softly, "Things were so much simpler then; little did I know what you were to become."

Morgain looked at her younger brother. He looked very much like a king, tall and proud, but humble like a mortal man should be. And still he held in his eyes something pure and good that made him a stronger man, a better man. She smiled sadly. He's been through so much, she thought.

As if sensing her sorrow he added, "and what of you dear sweet sister?" He playfully tugged at a strand of her dark, untamed hair. "High Priestess of Avalon." He smiled at her and for a moment, things were as they should have been.

A knock on the door drew them out of nostalgia and into the present.

"Enter Jols," Arthur called out.

"Sir, a message for you."

With urgency, Jols handed Arthur the letter. The lines on his face grew tense.

"What is it Arthur?" Morgain asked as she scooted closer to him to try to read over his shoulder.

He folded the letter with haste. "Tell the men that we meet in the Fortress Hall immediately."

"Arthur, you cannot be serious!" Lancelot laughed heartily. The smile faded from his handsome face when his eyes met with the stone hard gazes from his commander.

"I want peace Lancelot and right now with the constant raid from Irish rebels we cannot afford to lose such an alliance from the most powerful clan in Ireland." Arthur said. "Besides, I've heard that Lord Abram is a generous man."

"Yes but how generous?" Galahad asked, his head hung low between his hands. Thanks to Mogain's tonic his hangover was nearly gone. He was coherent but suffered a shearing headache. "How far is he willing to go to achieve peace? Would he make a false treaty and stab you from behind the moment our backs are turned to gain the upper hand?"

"What else did the letter say?" Kayley inquired. Her brown eyes held so many questions, questions that were probably inappropriate, but she refused to voice them. If there is one thing that she has learned is follow orders and to keep quiet when necessary, a quality that Galahad refused to practice. Galahad stared at her from his place at the Round Table. He noticed that she was completely sober and he envied her for that. He turned his attention back to Arthur.

"As a sign of trust, Lord Abram is sending his two daughters to be wed into high ranking families from the two leading countries," Arthur continued, "The eldest daughter shall go to Rome to wed General Ulyses Vasto Romus, and the other shall go to Briton…" He didn't continue. He didn't need to, for they all knew who the youngest daughter was meant to marry. After all, it was always a wise choice for a king to take a wife so that he may have an heir.

"Arthur," Morgain interrupted, "She is more likely to slit your throat while you sleep than to honor such a pact." Murmurs of agreement came from the Knights of the Round Table. The Irish were known for their tempers and their savagery in battle. Tales from traveling bards told of betrayal and murder of their leaders. There had been many attempts to unite Ireland under one banner, but all have failed.

"I know what it is you want Arthur, we all do," Lancelot said, "You wish to create a 'better world'." He stood. "But at what price? Your life? Your happiness? Your very soul?"

"Guenivere is dead Lancelot, I won't love again." The pain on his face and the harshness of reality was almost too much for them to bear. He had grown to love Guenivere, as she loved him. They had endured many hardships and had remained loyal to one another. Their duty and loyalty to one another soon turned to love and they were both overjoyed to find that she was with child, but when she died giving birth last winter, all dreams of happiness had died for Arthur.

Lancelot sighed. No point in arguing now. "If you are intent on going through with this then I will go with you to make sure that no ill befalls you."

Arthur smiled, relieved that he would have the help his closest friend and faithful companion. "Thank you, my friend."

"I will go as well!" Kayley shouted. Arthur smiled at the youngest knight. She was extremely loyal to Arthur and trusted him almost to a fault. She never questioned and was always one of the first to volunteer for a mission.

She smiled back at him. She was forever grateful to Arthur for rescuing her from the Saxon army. Kayley had been working as a spy to track their progress when she had been caught by two wondering soldiers. He had nearly beaten her to death when, as luck would have it, Arthur had come to the rescue. He had just finished his meeting in the woods with Guenivere and Merlin, when he heard struggling among the brush and came to see what it was. When she was well again, she pledged her life to serve him and his knights and had proven to be a good ally and a trusted, loyal companion. They had grown to love her and treat as though she were the sister they never had.

"I will follow." Dagonet said.

"As will I!" Bors shouted over his mug of ale.

"I am with you," Gawain added, "Galahad as well."

They all turned to the young knight. "What? I would have agreed to go anyway." He grinned.

"Tristan?" Gawain asked. He had been silent as usual, taking in all the information before he made his decision. He was always the last one to commit and the last one to stand down once he gave his word.

The scout merely nodded and said, "Who else is going to keep your asses out of trouble?"

They all laughed heartily at the scout's words and made their way to the tavern, each in a lighter mood. Let the worries of tomorrow hold, for tonight, they would celebrate life.