Author's Note: Yes…I have taken great liberties with the character of Tristran. He assures me that he is fine with all of it and I will not find him standing over me late one night, ready to exact revenge. Many thanks to my lovely, lovely beta reader, Ysolde.
As always, italics indicate thoughts.
I pinch the bridge of my nose between thumb and forefinger. I cannot recall ever having my head hurt this much, this often. Ever since…well, I cannot truthfully say, to be honest, when it all started.
I sigh and look around the mess at my brothers, wishing each one of them would just go away. Not permanently, but just for a day or two…or ten. Just so this headache will go away and I can get rid of these thoughts of killing them. Slowly. Painfully. Torturously. But there is no time for that now. I hear someone calling my name and know that they have some burden they feel the need to share with me. Oh, how I wish they wouldn't.
It's the 'terrible twosome' approaching. What could possibly be their problem tonight? I sigh, hopefully not audibly, and dread their coming dialogue. Their problems are always so inane and draining. They are as bad as two old married hags, I wince inwardly. Outwardly I show only the calm and cold exterior that my brothers have come to know, if not appreciate. They are bickering already as they approach so I know this is neither going to be quick or easy. I look around and spot Dag by the bar, looking bored and drowsy. Why can't they go to Dag? I know he hates listening to them as much as I do, but at least he wouldn't think of murdering them. I sigh again and await their arrival. This is what I get for being nice once in a while. Fort counselor. What did I get myself into? I resolve that I am never being nice again in the future.
"I am right…I am telling you, Gawain, I am right." Ah, the voice of Galahad, the boy who believes he has reason but really has about as much as the rock in my boot. I begin to wiggle my toes, trying to dislodge the stone, thankful for the distraction.
"No, Galahad, you are wrong. Just as you always are." Uh oh. Gawain iss beginning to slur his words, which means he is already at least on his fourth or fifth mug of mead. I shake my head at him, wondering why he must always feel the need to try to keep up with the resident drunk.
I fight the urge to hang my head in my hands and beg them to leave. Mostly because I know it will do no good since these two never seem to understand. I finger the ties on the sheath for the dagger I have stashed in my right sleeve. It would be in my hand before they get another step closer. But I quickly scratch that idea.They are my brothers, no matter how annoying, and I cannot bring myself to draw a weapon on a brother. Besides, I smirk to myself, perhaps I can come up with a story for them that will at least provide entertainment as they try to figure it out.
They don't wait for a greeting. Gawain is first to sit, or more accurately, collapse, into the chair across from me. He sets his mug down, spilling a good deal of the contents in the process. Galahad, for his part, is trying to keep his voice somewhat level but with or without his knowledge or intent, the volume is rising to a hysterical shout. I, of course, know that this means soon his stomach will be roiling and the quantity of mead and little food that it does contain will spill forth onto some unlucky soul's boots. "It better not be mine, king vomit," I whisper quietly, inaudibly. As he pulls up a chair, I try to maneuver mine a bit farther away without anyone's notice. Of course, that is not difficult given the state of my two new and uninvited companions.
"Tristran…" Gawain begins, only to be hushed by Galahad. Oh, this is going to be a lengthy discussion and I again fight the urge to cradle my head in my arms.
"Shut it, Gawain. You are so wrong, there is no point in you even saying anything." Wonderful. Now Galahad is beginning to slur his words and make wild gestures with his arms. Is the fount of vomit next or is he going to attempt to tackle Gawain to shut him up? I perk up slightly at the prospect of the two of them taking care of each other without my involvement but realize that will never happen and sink back into my chair, resigning to my fate for the evening.
"Galahad, I am warning you…"
"Gawain…you couldn't do anything to me if you wanted to."
"Oh really? Come here, boy, and I'll show you what I'll do, you disrespecting whelp."
I look up in time to see Galahad attempt to sneer at Gawain but it really comes across as a lopsided smile. Oh yes, Galahad, like that is going to intimidate anyone. Galahad the intimidator. I again smirk to myself.
Clearing my throat, I speak for the first time so that they can hear. "Is there something I can do for the two of you?" They seem taken aback, as if they have forgotten that I am even here. Well then why am I even here? Why did they stumble over and seek my counsel? I contemplate this a moment longer when a horrible sound brings me crashing back to the present. I know that sound…but I cannot place it immediately. Then the smell hits me and I realize how I know that sound. Galahad has puked. As I suspected, more mead than solid food and it has splashed everywhere. Poor Gawain. I notice that Galahad has managed to get a good quantity of it into Gawain's lap. Before I can say anything or move away, Galahad has reeled towards me and is making that horrible sound again. I stand, to dodge his approach, but for a moment my warrior reflexes leave me and I freeze in place. I now know how Bors feels when confronted with one of his vomiting spawn. Before I can force my body to move, Galahad has stumbled forward, grabbing at my waist to support him and puked yet again. The vile liquid is spilling down the front of my pants and into my boots. I resist the urge to knee him in the chest but only because Dag has witnessed the entire proceedings and is hurrying over.
"Tris," I hear Dag's low and calm voice begin, "you know the boy didn't mean it. I have him now. You go get cleaned up. Maybe take Gawain with you." I shake my head 'no' because if I am near either one of them now, it will be their life.
Rather hurriedly I make my way back to my room. I cannot believe that weak stomached whelp puked all over me! How in the name of the gods does one reach this age and still vomit like a child? He is so fortunate that Dag was there…so fortunate…and his brother too, because I cannot even begin to think of either of them as my brothers right now. I snort at this last thought. I wish I could just kill them both. Snap them like twigs and leave them for dead. Or maybe I'd listen to them scream and whimper, while watching them writhe in agony. Or maybe, maybe I'd simply cut their throats – given the current circumstances, that would prove just as gratifying. My thoughts are broken as I reach the Knight's quarters and go inside. I can hear Bors behind me escorting Gawain and I want to get inside my room and shut the door before they try to speak with me.
Once inside, I quickly slide my boots and breeches off. The breeches I will not even try to wash tonight. I will let the wash girls tend to those. But my boots…my boots…those I need. I slide into a new pair of breeches and make no attempt to hide my disgust at what Galahad has done to my boots. I am, after all, alone, save for the company of Hawk who has chosen to join me on the windowsill. "Can you believe this?" I ask her and hold out a boot for her inspection. Apparently she is as appalled as I because she dances a few steps away from the awful stench.
"Do you know what I am going to do to him?" I ask her, putting down the boot and holding my arm out to her, which she accepts. She toys with my hair as if to ask which one of the twosome I am speaking of. I stroke her breast and softly whisper, "King Vomit." She bobs her head in understanding and flies to sit on the back of a chair as I sit on the bed to begin cleaning my boots and detailing my plans for revenge.
"First, Hawk, first I am going to make certain he is alone and it is dark. He does not like the dark. But you know that as well as I. So…I will make certain it is dark. Maybe I will wait until he lies down to sleep. Yes…until he is asleep. I am going to enter his room and loom over his bed, like the spook he thinks I am. He will wake and I will be looming above him, as though I am waiting like death to claim his spirit. No fuss. No blood. Just death." I look over at her on the chair. She cocks her head and looks at me as if to say is that the best you can manage, Tristran?
The best I can manage? I shoot a scathing look back at her. Yes, she challenges back, that is little above average. Something I would expect from, well, Lancelot. Were it possible, I think my eyes would leap from my head with as wide as they become. "You dare insult me? You dare challenge me?" I am speaking directly to her now, not bothering with our silent communication. "You want to know how terrible I can be to my brothers?" I have begun rising off the bed without even realizing it, moving towards her as I lower my voice. "Fine. You want to hear? Then listen closely." I resume my spot on the bed, picking up my left boot, the one worse soiled by Galahad's inability to keep his stomach under control.
"Which one would you have me begin with?" I ask nonchalantly, looking over to her for an answer. She cocks her head to her left wing, which I know means Galahad. It is something I have taught her – a signal for each Knight so I will know who is approaching.
"Ah…Galahad…King Vomit. The whelp responsible for the stench and stains that most likely will not come out of my damn boots!" I am truly aggravated now with scrubbing and am considering making Galahad eat my boots. "Let me see…Galahad…what would be fitting for him?" I mull over my options before deciding. "I would take him out scouting, since Arthur has been bothering me about training new scouts. I'd find a spot deep in the woods where no one would hear him screaming and pleading, not for his life, but for me to end his life. I would make him beg for release long before I would give it to him. When I decided to let him have his death, I would tie him to a tree then slice him open, left to right…straight across his stomach. Leave his guts hanging out for the birds and bugs to eat. He will taste being a living corpse, rotting and being fed upon by all manner of creature. Then I'd find a nice tree and hang him from it – with his own intestines."
Hawk shifts her perch on the chair, looks at me for a moment and bobs her head in approval. She then cocks her head to her right wing, which indicates she is ready to hear my plan for Gawain.
"Yes…Blondie…he will be a slight challenge because of his size and strength, but that will not save him. He will be tougher since he is not eager to go scouting with me. But I can manage to have Arthur order it. After all, you and I know that Arthur owes me." A smug smile crosses my face at that memory. "I think it would be worth calling in that favor for this. I would again take him out into the woods. You see, the trick with a big man such as Blondie is to take his power from him…I would cut him at the knees…take his legs, take his power and leverage and he is useless. From there, he would be at my mercy. Again, I would make him beg for his death. Of course, he would fight me. I do not intimidate him as I do Galahad, so he would provide a bit of resistance. I would, most likely have to break his shoulder to get him to release his axe. Once I have done that, I would cut his tongue out so he is silent for once. Take his sword from his horse, bend him back and stick it straight through his throat into the ground. Impale him on his own sword."
Hawk again shifts and I can tell she approves of my figurative dismantling of my brothers. She looks plaintively at me and inquires, when will you begin?
I sigh and shake my braids. I have now cleaned both boots and move to put them on the windowsill to dry. "Thank you," I whisper as I go to her and stroke her feathers. "You always know how to settle my spirit." She simply bobs her head and accepts a bit of dried meat I offer from the small strips on the table, knowing that she has saved my sanity yet again tonight.