Here it goes ! Please remember to tell me what you think! :)
*fifteen years later*
The tavern was as noisy as ever that night. Farmers, town's men and roman soldiers alike were all clustered between the tables in an attempt to escape de chill of the late autumn evening. Serving girls danced in between the tables, delivering mugs full of strong ale to the already drunk men. The place rang with laughter and the somewhat detuned melody of the clearly drunk musicians.
Devnet herself was one of the serving girls, balancing a tray with six cups towards the noisiest table in the place, where the notable sarmatian knights of Hadrian's Wall were currently throwing bits of their food at each other. Devnet rolled her eyes.
Boys will be boys.
-Oy! Devnet!-called a young roman officer from a table a few steps away to her right-When are you coming down from God's sweet heaven and into my bed, angel?-.
A smile played across Devnet's plump lips, as she swirled around gracefully, her wavy brown locks flowing behind her.
-You know I don't need to leave heaven to get into you bed, Quintus-she winked right back at the man, who lifted his ale in her direction with appreciation.
-That's my girl!-.
Laughing and rolling her eyes once more, she made her way to the knights table. She shook her head at how silly and full of themselves romans could be, especially when drunk. She'd bedded Quintus one night ages ago and the man still believed she was completely infatuated with him.
-Here you go, boys-she smiled, placing the tray at the centre of the table. They'd already stopped their childish food war and cheered her appearance.
-Here she is!-Galahad grinned in her direction, his blue eyes twinkling with a boyish light not even his beard would have been able to hide-The lady of ladies. The best woman on the fortress. The-
-One woman you've ever actually talked to?-finished Gawain, chorused by the laughs of his brothers at arms.
Devnet smirked.
-Now, now, Gawain. Don't make fun of Gallie, at least he hasn't retched in some girl's skirts yet-.
The blond knights went bright red beneath his whiskers.
-I…didn't…It was only a little cough…-he muttered, mortified. The men burst into laughter again, remembering Gawain's finest hour of mortification.
-Don't call me Gallie!-snapped Galahad on his part.
-It's either that, or Baby-face-.
Bors snorted to her right-Ugly-face sounds more like it-he muttered into his drink.
-You're one to talk. The only kids that don't scream in fright every time they to see you are your own-.
Bors attempted to smack the young knight with the side of his mug, but Galahad ducked before it reached him, making it spill wine on Gawain instead.
While Devnet shook her face and handed a cloth for her best friend to dry himself, a strong arm snaked around her waist, grabbing her by the belt of her skirts and pulled her on to a familiar lap.
-When will you quit playing with those roman fools and treat with real men?-Lancelot's voice was husky against her ear, burying his face in her thick hair. The knights whistled and snorted mockingly, waiting for some witty answer from the girl's part.
-I guess that'll happen when I actually come across one-she shot right back at him, with a self-sufficient grin. Lancelot smirked wolfishly.
-At this very moment, then-He leaned to kiss her neck, his brothers at arms cheering around them. Devnet lifted her eyes to the skies up above with a bored expression, pushing the curly haired knight away from the pale spot at the crook of her neck.
-As if-.
Lancelot bit at her earlobe with a growl, earning a determinate yet completely harmless slap at the back of his head.
-Changing the subject, before this two end up fucking or killing each other. Have y'all seen my child yet?-Bors was boisterous with the birth of his eleventh bastard, an adorable little girl barely a couple of weeks old that had completely stole the burly man's heart.
-Oh, she's a lovely one-sighted Devnet. She'd been helping Vanora with her children today, and her friend had allowed her to hold the baby and put her to sleep-Her father did a wonderful work-she acknowledged.
Lancelot swallowed the wine down his throat, already with an inapropiate answer at the tip of his tongue.
-Thank you, love-.
She hit the back of his head again, while he chuckled. Bors shot the dark knight the middle finger, glowering.
-I said the child was lovely- Dev pointed out-Anything that you fathered would be….how is it that the romans say? Oh yes. The spawn of the Devil-.
The dark knight frowned, pretending to be concerned.
-Why, love. Do not talk like that about our children-.
His statement was followed by a serious of childish slaps landing all over his head and shoulders, chorused by laughter all around the table while the girl cursed him with an almoust childish voice.
Devnet grabbed Lancelot´s mug and took a sip, looking around her as if searching for someone.
-Where's Arthur?-.
The knights shuddered, ignorant of their commander's whereabouts.
-Probably finding some responsibility to attend to, for the sake of not going mad. You know how he is-venturted Galahad, flashing a smile at a passing serving girl.
-Gods, I swear he's such a damn altruist it makes me sick-muttered Lancelot, retreaving his cup from the small brunette in his lap, much to her protests.
-Ya know-Bors pointed a finger to no one in particular-I bet he's fooling us all, and actually brings a different wench into his chambers every time we're not around to notice-.
The rest seemed to actually considered the theory for a split second before bursting out laughing, Bors included.
-Who am I kidding? The boy's a bloody saint-.
-Interesting choice of words, Bors-Devnet teased-"Bloddy" and "saint" in the same sentence. That's appropriate-she sneered ironically-What of Tristan?-.
-Im right here, woman-.
They flinched in their seats. Devnet nearly fell backwards, but managed to lock her arms around Lancelot's neck as he caught her waist, straightening her back on his legs.
-Gods, Tristan! How long have you been there!?-she breathed, directing her gaze towards the dark corner where the scout sat calmly peeling an apple.
-I've been here all the time-.
Bors frowned-Really?-.
The tattooed man shrugged and slipped a slice of fruit into his mouth for all manner of answer.
Devnet asked Vanora for the rest of the night off, and stayed with her favourite men, joining them in their drinking. Since she had grown up in the middle of the group of sarmatians, she had been bound to learn how to drink, unless she wanted to endure mocks for her little resistence towards ale for the rest of her life. And after getting ridiculously drunk for the first time and having no memory of the night the day after, she was not willing to consent that again.
The whole time, she didn't move from Lancelot's lap, her hand absent-mindedly playing with the curls at the back of his head. Every few minutes he'd take it to nibble at her ear and kiss her neck, tickling her with his short beard. She would giggle and push him off gently, though not ceasing with their merciless flirting. The other knights weren't amused at all by their unusual relationship. They'd ended up growing used to it, though it was still confusing. One minute they seemed about to murder each other, and the next Lancelot was running his lips freely up and down her jaw and Devnet did not so much as flinch, almoust as if they were lovers, though everyone knew perfectly well that was hardly the case. Devnet would never go beyond that with the dark sarmatian. He had other women for that.
The men were teasing Galahad about a particular girl that had caught his attention now. She worked at the tavern with Devnet and went by the name of Prya. Devnet knew her. Though pretty, she was nearly five years older than her friend, and Devnet doubted there was much future in such relationship. Prya's mind was simply in another stage of life than Galahad's.
-Why would Prya be intrested in you, when she's already experienced real men like me?-smirked Lancelot, enjoying how his younger brother at arms gritted his teeth and cursed him. This time he ducked to avoid Devnet's slap at the back of his head, snorting into his cup with a grinn.
She instantly jumped into Galahad's defence, though more to get the opportunity to argue with the warrior that currently served as her chair than to defend her friend.
-Maybe that's actually the reason. Any woman would run off to someone as sweet as Galahad after being with an arrogant idiot like you-.
-You didn't seem to be complaining last night-he muttered, nibbling at her neck seductively.
-Aw, you dreamed I was in bed with you last night? How very…insulting-.
-I don't really know what's worse, Devy-Gawain grabbed the tiny hands of the wench who was currently massaging his shoulders, smirking at Devnet-To bed Lancelot, or captain Quintus-he snorted out the name with clear mockery.
-That was almoust a year ago!-.
-Well, lass, you know what they say about bad choices, they follow you forever-.
-Well in that case, I pity your mother. She's probably been believing all this years she actually got rid of you-.
Ale kept circulating around the table, as well as the jests and the laughter. The drunker the men got, the merrier their moods became, and the dirtier and idiotic their puns; until nothing could be heard above their loud voices and descontroled laughter. Devnet herself drank nearly as much as the rest, stealing Lancelot's cup from his hand and emptying it before he had the chance to protest. She amused herself by teasing her friends as much as they teased her, her crystal clear laughter ringing in the air.
However, she knew she'd had too much to drink when Galahad and Gawain challenged her to a knife throwing competition and they both beat her at it. Leaving Tristan aside, she was by far the best knife thrower in the group. If her two best friends could actually defeat her, everything pointed out it was time to call it a night.
She returned Lancelot his drink and slipped her hand away from the opening at the neckline of his vest, standing on her feet.
-Well, my dears. It is time that I take myself home-.
The knights groaned in protest, clearly not fancing her leaving.
-C'mon, petite-slurred Gawain, pulling her hand-We're havinf fun. If it makes you feel any better, Gal and I will let you win this time-.
She laughed, grabbing the shaggy-looking man by his jaw.
-Dear, if you're actually saying that you can let me win, then I absolutely have drank too much already-.
She straightened herself and kissed each man sweetly on the cheek, throwing her arms enthusiastically around their neck, giggling. It was the love she held for them…but also the wine in her system.
-Would you like me to walk you home, Little One?-Dagonet offered, noticing her current state. He hadn't drank as much as his comrades; usually assuming the role of the voice of reason and responsability while the others got rotten drunk. Besides, the safety of the tiny girl concerned him. Any man with ill intentions might find it easier to take advantage of her considering her drunkenness.
However, she shook her head, touching his cheek gently.
-That's not necessary Dag-she laughed-Really, Im not as drunk as I seem-she added when he looked unconvinced.
He smiled, shaking his head, and leaned to place a small kiss on her brow-Very well then-.
She smiled at them and walked out of the tavern, letting her hand slide seductively over Lancelot's shoulders before she left. He slapped her butt softly when she passed.
She flinched.
-Why you little…-
-Oh, Gods be damned! Cut it out, you two-snapped Galahad.
The curly haired knight smirked behind his cup-Don't be jealous, pup. Im sure I can use my charm to convince a few girls on pretending to like you-.
Devnet chorused the men's laughter without looking back, though she did shout at Lancelot over her shoulder:
-It's not like I fancy you anyway, so I don't know what on earth you're bragging about, Lancedork-.
Once she was away from the warmth of the tavern, she wrapped her woollen shawl tightly around her slim white shoulders, walking slowly through the main streets so as to keep her balance. The ale had made her slightly dizzy, and she wasn't about to make a fool of herself by stumbling in the middle of the street heads first to the mud.
The sky was clear, stars scattered over it like diamonds over a rich roman lady's dress. It remained her of the stories her mother would tell her when she was a toddler, about beautiful goddesses that dressed themselves in starlight to attract their male fellow gods. Her mother said that the same starlight shone in a woman's eyes when she wanted to catch a man's attention, and it was that glow that made men fall in love. A pretty story, but apparently my eyes aren't that shiny she reflected bitterly. Immediately she scolded herself for thinking something so foolish. As if she wanted the idiot to fall in love with her anyway. She snorted to herself and fixed her eyes on the road again, before she tripped.
Her feet lead her inevitably towards the stables. She'd practically grown up there, running recklessly between the horses' legs, unaware of the danger it supposed. Her father had taught her how to ride at the tender age of two; and by the time a year had gone by, she had already been perfectly capable of riding a horse on her own. She felt like there was some deep connection between her and this animals. They were, in many ways, very similar to humans, to a point were rider and mount could actually come to understand each other.
All the horses in the stables recognized her, and welcomed her by turning their heads in her direction and nuzzling their noses against her extended palm. She had tended most of them since they were wobbly foals, and had trained them as well. They followed her whenever she passed, with unconditional adoration to whom they considered their pack leader. Horses were the biggest and most important legacy her father had left her, and in away, what kept his memory so vivid within her. He would always remind her of an old sarmatian legend that said fallen knights came back to life in the shape of great horses.
She was deeply convinced that her father had reincarnated on her own stallion, Cian, to watch after his daughter even after his death. He was a magnificent animal; with marbled skin moulted with grey down his legs. His dark mane shone beneath the torch light. He had big and expressive brown eyes, and so full of wisdom and familiarity, she believed they were just another prove that she was actually looking at the eyes of her father.
-Hello, lovely-she scratched his ear fondly. The horse snorted softly and rested his head over her small shoulder. Devnet flung her arms around its powerful neck and inhaled deeply its scent. Leather and wilderness. Her father had smelled like that too.
She continued her round, caressing soft velvety noses, refilling some water pails when needed, and slipping a sugar cub every now and then. In the far end of the stables were the compartments of the powerful horses belonging to the knights. She sighted melancholically. There was more horses that riders. Twelve, and yet there was only six Sarmatians left. She'd seen so many of the men she'd grown to consider brothers, leave on a patrol or a mission, only to return dead. Fourteen knights had fallen, fourteen members of the only family she had left. The last to fall had been Percival. The hopeful look full of promise he gave her the last time she ever saw him alive still hunted her in her dreams, thought half a year had gone by. Her six remaining Sarmatians were the most important thing in her heart.
She rubbed the horses' heads, wondering at their bravery and loyalty willing to follow their owners to the very heart of danger. She'd trained them so, all though she would have wished a brighter life for such noble creatures.
She was particularly fond of and amazing war-horse, a Frisian, black as night with long silky mane and tail, and feathered hair covering its powerful hooves. Lancelot's mount was almoust as hot tempered as his owner, but with her, the intimidating beast turned as sweet as a kitten.
-How you doin', big fella'?-she runned a hand softly along his head and slipped and apple into his mouth-Good boy, Vahe. Good boy-she leaned and placed a small smooch over the stallion's nose.
As she made her way out, the torches started going out violently one after one, blown by someone hidden in the darkness they left behind. Before she had time to react, Devnet was swallowed into the pitch gloom.