Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.

Author's Note: Believe it or not, but this chapter kind of came out of nowhere. Again, thank you to my reviewers. See, feed me reviews and I feed you not only responses but more story. Yay! We have a symbiotic relationship!

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Who Wouldn't Want A Sarmatian?

Chapter Eleven: Bets

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Galahad swung, grinning as his opponent blocked his swing. The girl he was sparring against gave him a cocky grin reminiscent of her brother and spun away, giving her more room to maneuver. He'd decided to see just how good this girl was. He'd watched this girl sparring with her friends, the way that she moved, darting, ducking, spinning and kicking. He'd watched her laughing at the tavern at some ribald joke and come back with her own, much to her brother's chagrin. He'd watched her hard at work and silent, brewing the voda that had become a staple at the tavern. And he'd watched her when they sat together, just being silent.

But watching didn't tell him what went on in the mind of Zaria of the Iazyges. So, being a warrior, he'd decided to use the most practical manner of getting to know another person: beat the crap out of them in battle. He parried a blow to his head with her staff and landed his own blow to her shoulder, knocking the blonde woman back a step.

Zaria checked her shoulder, satisfied that the skin was simply was going to bruise and was not broken, then restarted her attack. She allowed her brown eyes to slide to the wall where her friends watched with neutral expressions, flanking either side of an also seated Gawain. She could see the gears working in Nadège's brain. The eldest of them was still supremely overprotective and was sharpening the blade of her dagger while watching the sparring match. Whispering a silent prayer to whichever gods were listening that Nadège would not try to kill Galahad, she turned her attention fully back to the man who was trying to beat her into unconsciousness, and doing a fairly good job of it.

Stasja leaned back against the wall, relaxing the muscles that she had used in sparring with Nadège. "He's quite good," she offered, allowing her golden eyes to drift shut. When they'd agree to a bet with Gawain on which of the youngest would win, Nadège and Stasja hadn't realized Zaria's opponent actually knew his way around a staff. This would be interesting, she decided.

"And he's giving Zaria a run for her money," added Gawain, his tone teasing. He didn't add that it was lucky for the youngest knight that his sparring partner's brother was on patrol with Tristan.

The only reply from the elder woman was a grunt.

"You are not going to kill him," ordered Stasja, finally allowing her eyes to open and fixing a glare on her elder friend. "Even if we end up in gowns after this," she added with a grin.

Nadège winced and held up her hands in surrender. "He's not a Christian and he's not a priest, so I suppose you're right," she muttered, leaning back against the wall again. "But does he have to look at her like that?" she asked plaintively, arms crossed over her chest.

Stasja chuckled. "Nadège, she's a grown woman. You can't protect us forever."

Nadège sighed. "I can try," she replied.

Stasja shook her head, allowing her eyes to once again drift shut. "We're not the same women you found years ago, Nadège. We're stronger, meaner and better looking now. You taught us well."

Nadège didn't reply as she watched Galahad and Zaria continue to circle each other. She watched as Galahad started a flurry of hits that drove Zaria back several yards, her own staff moving to try to block his hits with little success. The dark-haired woman winced as one of those hits struck Zaria in the temple, dropping the blonde woman to the ground. Starting to rise, she felt fingers grip her arm and draw her back down. She looked at Gawain, whose fingers wrapped around her arm, then to the woman seated beside him, gaze expectant.

Stasja glared at Nadège, the look returned by the older woman. "Let them be, Nadège. They can sort this out themselves," she added.

On the sparring field, Galahad dropped to the ground beside the stunned woman he had just dropped. "Are you alright?"

Zaria rubbed her forehead, trying to clear the stars that twinkled before her eyes. "Fine except for the shattering headache," she muttered in reply.

Galahad leaned closer, eyes inspecting the bump growing on her temple. "I'm sorry," he offered softly, long fingers brushing lightly over the goose-egg that was rising on her head.

Zaria stared up at the dark-haired man who had just done a very decent job of kicking her ass and smiled. "My fault. Nadège keeps telling me I need to practice with the staff more. Says that I'm too dependent on my bow and sword," she admitted as he accepted his hand and his help in righting herself. Finally on her feet, she gripped his arm for balance, shaking her head to clear the stars still in her vision.

Galahad chuckled, then looked to the three at the wall. He could tell by the expression on Gawain's face that something interesting had transpired at the low wall. "She's alright," he called, hand still bracing Zaria's arm.

Stasja stepped to the golden-haired woman, amber eyes inspecting the bump on the youngest woman's head. No blood, just a bump. "You need to work on your staff work," she scolded, stepping back from the pair.

"Nice job, sir knight," offered Nadège before turning blue eyes on the blonde fighter. "Zaria, you're going to be doing a lot more practice with that staff," she motioned to the staff that lay on the ground. "Come on, Stasja, Zaria, to the tavern we go."

Galahad scratched his head and watched the three women stride off the field. "Did I miss something?" he asked, resting the staff on his shoulder as he fell in step with Gawain.

Gawain chuckled as he watched the three breech-clad women walking towards their quarters. "A little wager, brother. Thank the Gods you won," he added.

"Gawain, I'm a knight. If I can't win a simple sparring match with staffs I'd be the laughingstock of Castellus," Galahad replied. He then arched an eyebrow in silent question, waiting for his golden-haired friend to explain further.

"Zaria's the only one of them we've ever seen in a dress, correct?"

Galahad nodded.

"Ever wonder what the others would look like in one?"

Galahad shrugged.

Gawain chuckled. "Both of them will be wearing a dress to the tavern this evening." He brushed at some dirt on his breeches and I'm just glad that you won. I'd have looked horrible in a dress."

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The night had been relatively uneventful, Vanora decided as she wiped a glass down with a cloth, watching Nadège scrubbing the dishes in the water with a vicious motion. The eldest of the Sarmatian women had retreated to kitchen duty to cool her temper after nearly taken the arm off a drover who got a little too friendly in his drunken groping. Watching the man cradling his arm, a rag pressed to the long jagged cut that rent his skin from elbow to wrist, Vanora allowed herself a chuckle as she watched Tristan stalk silently up to the man. Moments later the drover was dragged out of the tavern, the scout making sure that his quiet words were clearly understood by the drunkard before the wounded man stumbled into the darkness.

Vanora watched as the scout reclaimed his spot in the corner and began to once again peel his apple. The scout and Lancelot had returned from their quick scouting mission and appeared at the tavern just as the lanterns were being lit to ward off the inky darkness of night.

While Gawain and Galahad teased Stasja for wearing a gown, they seemed to have enough self-preservation not to challenge Nadège. No, Vanora thought with a smile, that honor was left to her tribe member to do. The only reaction that Tristan had shown to Nadège's snug blue gown was a raised eyebrow. He'd then taken a bite of his apple, dark eyes following the woman as she made her way through the tavern.

Vanora leaned against the bar, sighing in satisfaction at the scene before her. As soon as Brigid's baby was born and the healer was cleared by her husband to start working again, the tavern's cook would be churning out her delicacies. The combination of Zaria's voda and Brigid's cooking would bring even greater fortune to the tavern.

Bors was deep in conversation with Dagonet, whose presence in the tavern was cause for much ale to be drunk. Lancelot, who had been ordered by Fulcina to spend time with his comrades and not her, was discussing something of great importance with Arthur. And Gawain and Galahad had settled into the exciting pastime of throwing their daggers at one of her stools.

Vanora sighed. One of these days, she thought, I'm going to have to tell them not to throw knives at my furniture. For once, all the men were safe and enjoying each others company. She couldn't bother them with frivolous details such as not destroying the furnishings of her tavern.