Disclaimer: As you have probably guessed by now based upon the other disclaimers, none of this belongs to me except the originals.
Note: Once again thank you to my reviewers. This time I also remembered what I wanted to say in my note, unlike on the last chapter. This chapter is mostly dialogue which isn't exactly my strong suite so tell me what you think of it!
There is some bad language in this chapter not a lot but I don't want anyone to get offended because I didn't warn them.
Chapter 4 Drugged
Arriving at the tavern, Tristan strode to the knights table where they still lay passed out, in puddles of their own ale and drool. Once reaching it, he brought one of the sickles down on the table top with such force that it made a four inch split in the wood. The entire table shook and those near the disturbance woke pitifully.
"wha…what is the … Tristan are you insane!" Gawain said jumping up when he realized that the blade was not three inches from his face. "Are you trying to kill…" Gawain couldn't finish his statement as his stomach rebelled on him as well and he was found running to the corner of the tavern to retch.
"Tristan, Gawain is right. What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked confused.
"Vanora," the scout called quietly. The beautiful red head was at his side in a minute, knowing better than to disobey him in one of his moods.
"What can I do ya, Tristan?" she asked gently.
"Something to ease their stomachs," he stated simply. Vanora nodded and was returning before anyone had a chance to miss her. She quickly poured some tea into mugs and placed it before each knight as she went around waking them. The knights, as they woke, understood why they had it in front of them and drank it before they met poor Gawain's fate. By this time all were sitting up, groggy and disheveled wondering what had happened to them.
Once everyone's attention was on Arthur and Tristan, Arthur began. "Tristan what is the meaning of this?"
"Drugged," was Tristan's terse reply. All of the knights looked at him as though he had lost what little mind he had left.
"You think that you all were drugged," Arthur tried to make heads or tails of what his scout was saying. It didn't help that Tristan was not the most fluent speaker of any tongue but that of the silent variety. He could communicate an epic with a glance but couldn't piece together a coherent sentence if he wanted to.
"Drugged," Lancelot stated incredulously. "You are telling me that some one danced in here drugged us and left? Tristan, even you drank more than you should have last night. Do not blame some poor nonexistent soul for the sharp head and weak stomach you have this morning," Lancelot became serious as he finished.
Arthur did not know what to think, Lancelot had a valid point, but even Tristan with his moods, could not change so fast as the British weather. "Tristan, why do you think you were drugged?" Arthur decided to humor his knight, mainly because of the sickle Tristan still grasped. Tristan didn't often remove his twin knives from their chest, never mind their sheaths, so Arthur felt the urge to see what had happened to his usually calm scout.
"There is an herb that will put you to sleep and leave you to wake with such symptoms. It is unused by healers for that exact reason and in turn most do not know of its existence. It is used by thieves and rogues to rob travelers between outposts. I have seen it work before my own eyes on a number of occasions," Tristan spoke using more than his usual monosyllabic phrases.
"And why, pray tell, would someone do such a thing to us. As you can see, none of us have been robbed," Lancelot stated as he removed several coins from his pouch.
"Tristan, I'm afraid that Lancelot is right for once. Your mind is just battle weary," Arthur sighed seeing no reason to continue this conversation while one of their comrades lay in the morgue waiting to be buried.
"Do you think I carry these for fun," Tristan questioned as he gestured to the sickle still embedded in the tabletop with the one he still held tight.
"Tristan, make some sense," Percival shouted growing more frustrated with his comrades inability to communicate with anyone but his damn hawk.
"My sword was stolen," Tristan replied in an almost inaudible mumble, but Dagonet heard it. To have one's weapon stolen was a disgrace, but for one with as much pride in his blade as Tristan it would be devastating. Within the blink of an eye, Tristan flicked the blade he was holding to dislodge the one stuck in the table. With a grace that the stealthiest of cats would envy Tristan snatched the twirling blade out of mid air while turning to leave the tavern.
"What happened," Galahad asked, not being close enough to hear Tristan's words. By this time Tristan had stormed out of the tavern, knives in toe. Once the scout was out of ear shot, Dagonet reiterated what had been said. Galahad blanched at the thought of the most alert and deadly of the knights being stolen from like a common drunkard.
"He was drunk last night just as the rest of us," Bors stated, "he probably just miss placed them. They'll show up. No one's been bloody robbed."
"Not Tristan. Those weapons of his get locked up as soon as he returns once he has cleaned them. If they aren't in their chest they are either strapped to him or his horse," Kay stated, dashing Bors idea.
"But it's even less likely that he, out of all of us, would be robbed," Gawain said trying his hardest to comprehend what was happened because his head was still swimming.
"Not if he was drugged." All of the knights turned to see that it was Arthur who now spoke. "Vanora said that you all passed out within ten minutes of each other and that she had never seen Tristan struggle so much in leaving. It would explain a few things," Arthur reasoned to his men.
"But who…"
Galahad was cut off as Arthur continued. "I will need to send Tristan out to scout after the burial, but I fear he will be of little use without a sword and in his current sate."
"I will speak with him," Dagonet said as he rose from the table and left the tavern without another word.
Once Dagonet had left and the others had comprehended the situation, bedlam broke out among the knights. "Robbed…Robbed! We get no bloody respect around here," Lancelot shouted.
"Next thing you know they'll be having us fight their wars with sticks, gods forbid we carry weapons we might actually injury something," Kay shot back.
"Bet the bloody Romans took his sword. Always fought with him anyway," Bors threw in.
"Damn Romans couldn't even pull their heads out of their asses long enough to think of stealing his sword or drugging us never mind actually doing it," Gawain put in as he began to feel more like himself.
"Bet it was that whore Abby that's been hanging onto him for the past few weeks. She was a shifty bitch if you ask me," Galahad put in his two cents.
"Abby?" Lancelot said disbelief. "Abby hasn't gone near Tristan since she arrived three weeks ago. You're just jealous because she turns you down every time you ask her to warm your lap."
"And how would you know," Galahad shot back in anger.
"I know because she's been sharing my bed ever since she arrived. And trust me once they've…" Lancelot was promptly cut off by Gawain who had just begun to feel better and did not need to be ill again by listening to Lancelot.
"I for one don't care who did this. Whether it was a Roman, a wench, or a peasant all I know is that when I find them, I plan on killing them. That is if Tristan doesn't get to them first," Gawain said in a menacing tone. "If they get away with this who is to say they won't just slit our throats next time? I, for one, like my throat the way it is and don't like waking up to Tristan's blades inches away from my face. If that means killing a filthy thief, then so be it."
Everyone looked at Gawain as though they were afraid of his demeanor. Gawain was usually the most lighthearted of the knights. He rarely raised his voice in anger and was almost always smiling. However, when something did anger him he had a temper like a demon. Galahad had once joked that he had seen horns sprout from his best friend's head when he had been enraged at a Roman who had attempted to rape one of the village women. Galahad had been thoroughly smacked for the comment by Gawain who saw no humor in the poor girl's situation.
"Sorry Gawain, I think that there isn't going to be much left of this person once Tristan's finished with them," Percival said as he stood up and began to head for the door. "Maybe he'll let you watch, but right now Lamorack is waiting. I may have failed him in life, but I'm sure as hell not going to let his body sit there and rot while we contemplate the scout's actions," with that Percival disappeared into the flow of villagers in the street to go prepare for the funeral.
"He is right, my friends, we cannot do anything about this now. We have other duties to attend to, the first of which being Lamorack's burial. Go prepare and we will meet in the hall before we go to the cemetery," Arthur said in a resigned tone. All of the knights quietly nodded and disperse to their respective rooms to ready themselves for yet another emotional funeral. Each one seemed to be harder to bear than the last because the fewer men there were the tighter they became and the more likely it was that they would be next.