Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own David Eddings or any of the characters that he created. Yet. My birthday is coming up. v_v
A/N: Sorry for the shortness. There's going to be a good few more chapters, once I get this thing going.
^_^ And yes, I am aware I write too many Bevier fanfics. ^^'* * *
Bevier couldn't help but roll his eyes. His companions were making a huge scene, and it was rather embarrassing. Ulath and Kalten were doing a duet on a table, dancing along to their own vulgar singing. Tynian was arguing somewhat loudly and fiercely with another bar resident, who was equally drunk. Young Berit had disappeared outside several minutes before, looking sort of green and unwell, and Bevier strongly suspected he was being very ill outside the tavern. Khalad and Sparhawk were, admittedly, not quite as drunk as the others, but they were intoxicated enough to be throwing random objects on the fire and laughing uncontrollably as they burned. These objects included letters, beer mugs, plates and bowls and other assorted cutlery, as well as the legs of a table that Kalten and Ulath had broken some minutes before.
Bevier sighed and sipped his drink. Though they had been in the tavern for several hours, he was only on his second drink, and wasn't planning to have any more. The others, however, were all at the very least on their seventh, and the knight thought that Ulath and Kalten were on their tenth, maybe more. He also thought that Berit had managed six or eight before his stomach became unable to hold the strong ale any longer.
Of course, a birthday is a reason to celebrate, and Bevier was celebrating, in his own way- usually he would have no more than one drink.
But seeing as it was his birthday, he had hoped that they would refrain from intoxicating themselves with too much alcohol. As it was…
There was a resounding crash that echoed through the room as Kalten fell off the table. Then there was an evil-sounding creak, a crack, and Ulath fell on top of him as the table finally gave way. Bevier watched them for a minute more before turning away and staring into his mug. Tynian's argument seemed to be getting more and more heated, although both men were so drunk the words were barely intelligible. Sparhawk and Khalad had joyfully grabbed the pieces of broken table and were pyromaniacally watching them burn. Bevier sighed.
"All alone?" a voice asked sympathetically. He looked up. A young lady stood there, a mug of something clasped in her hand. She wasn't a barmaid, he could tell immediately; she dressed more subtly, for one thing. Her hair was long, curly and dark brown, and her skin was olive- she looked at least half Arcian. She smiled, glancing at the drunken men.
"Are those your friends?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied, "when they're sober enough to talk rationally." The girl laughed then.
"I have friends like that," she said, her face lit with a wide smile. "Only… they don't usually get quite as drunk as your friends. Are they celebrating anything in particular?"
"Birthday," he answered flatly. The girl wasn't put off by his tone.
"Oh? Whose?"
"Mine," he sighed, and her expression changed.
"You have got to be joking!" she exclaimed. "Some friends they are!" She paused, apparently realising she might have offended him. "I'm sure they're nice enough, when they're sober," she added cautiously. "Do you mind if I sit here?"
He shrugged indifferently. The girl took it as an affirmative, and sat down.
"You're Arcian?" she asked, after there was a rather uncomfortable silence. He nodded. "They're not, I see. Did you all come here to Chyrellos to meet for your birthday?"
"Yes," he replied reluctantly. "I'll be going back to Larium tomorrow. They won't," he added observantly. "They'll all be in bed, nursing hangovers."
"I'll say," she agreed. "Do you live in Larium?"
"Most of the time. My home is a small fief called Ciranus, not far from here, but the Cyrinic chapterhouse is in Larium."
"Ciranus?!" she whispered with a gulp. "You're Church Knights?" she asked then, her voice alarmed. He nodded, slightly surprised by her change in tone.
"From all four orders. There are three Pandions here- that blonde one on the floor is one. The big one on top of him is a Genidian, and the one shouting in the corner is an Alcione. I'm a Cyrinic." He was surprised at how much the drink had loosened his tongue. The knight reasoned that it was because he was not used to alcohol. The girl, meanwhile, seemed be getting more and more agitated.
"You live in Ciranus?" she asked, her voice shaky and uneasy. He nodded, a slight frown furrowing his brow. The girl swallowed, hard.
"I… I must go. Now," she said, jumping up, her face turning very pale. "Goodbye." She said it very firmly as she fled, leaving the tavern, and her untouched drink still sitting on the table. Bevier finished the last drops in his tankard and looked at the mug that had belonged to the now-absent young woman.
"Well," he murmured, "waste not, want not."
He gulped the ale down.