Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.
AN: Kindly words for my kindly reviewers. I know that I updated late, so I forgive all of you who haven't reviewed yet. I hope you like both chapters. ;)
lilstrummrgrl527: Yep, although today comes the major portion of their arguing. It's so funny! (Does a happy dance) That's okay, I like the image of Galahad in a kilt too, so I'm glad you requested it. (Hmm, squishy Galahad thoughts. blink blink. I'm okay.)
:op: THANK YOU! She's much happier now. And Gawain, I'm sorry to say, has missed her. They're in my room together, right now…"catching up," shall we say? giggle giggle I'm glad you liked the chapter.
Babak: Today is the best part for your character! I love this chapter! It's my favorite. Well, almost favorite. But that's beside the point! I'm getting off point. The tavern! ;) I'll let you read and either kill me or praise me later.
Evenstar-mor2004: I'm afraid I feel bad for neither. They dish it out as the give it. And yes, Dagonet will have a child of his own. I hope "Michelle" won't mind. He has several, in fact.
ZELINIA: You're right. But I didn't want to go into the whole major mess of it. In the legends, Tristan plays the lyre –or as it was later known, the harp- and I wanted it in my story. So I put it in. Artistic license, thank you very much. (Big grin!)
Natalie: Glad you liked. Hope you continue to like.
Anyone I missed, I'm sorry and look forward to reading your reviews.
And so, without any further ado from me….
Chapter Fifty-Three
As the next two years passed, her "Final Project" continued to stubbornly resist their feelings for each other, while Tristan tried valiantly not to kill his brother-in-arms. About six months into the plan, the two were arguing again, rather loudly, over some minor infraction that had occurred. Bergisa had been keeping an eye on Viviane and her new little sister, Igraine -named for Arthur's mother- as Arthur and Guinevere enjoyed a responsibility-free night with just the two of them. Candles had been tipped over by accident and the flames had nearly scorched Lancelot as he and Gawain ran in to rescue the trapped woman and children. They had, in fact, given Gawain a burn running behind his shoulder and down his upper arm where a heated candlestick had fallen across his back. Bergisa had begrudgingly thanked Lancelot and received a snarky reply in return, thus sparking another fight. Morgaine, already concerned about her own husband, stormed toward them, shouting, "Enough!"
Looking bashful, their heads dropped as Morgaine sent her withering gaze at them both. "Listen to you! You're both acting like children. My gods! My Sanora is more grown up than the two of you. Bergisa, thank him for his help.
Bergisa started to protest, before rethinking it as Morgaine's eyes blazed. Speaking softly, she replied, "Thank you, Sir Lancelot."
Morgaine nodded and turned to Lancelot. "And Lancelot, Bergisa just thanked you for your assistance. What do you say?"
Lancelot kicked at the ground, looking remarkably like Archie when he was in trouble, before muttering, "You're welcome."
Morgaine nodded, "Excellent. Not a single argument. Nothing rude or inconsiderate said. Now, go your separate ways and think about how stupid you're being! I feel like your mothers!"
The two obediently disappeared down different corridors, as Galahad and Gawain melted from the shadows at Morgaine's left. The two followed her to the infirmary where Morgaine spread a thick green paste over the angry red mark on Gawain's body, soothing the burn and pain of the injury. Watching them, her curly-haired husband asked quietly, "Why are we doing this again?"
There was a pregnant pause as Morgaine considered an appropriate answer, her hands flying undisturbed as she bandaged the wound. Finally she gave up, snapping, "Don't ask stupid questions, or you can find somewhere else to sleep."
Chuckling at her response, or lack thereof, Galahad didn't question it again, deciding just to sit back and enjoy the show. And what a show it was.
Those two years of perpetual arguments and bickering were nothing, if not amusing. Lancelot and Bergisa fought over everything, the specter of their upcoming betrothal looming with every day, while Gawain wholly enjoyed being the bad guy that usually started a fight. He was constantly goading them, forcing them to admit that they did indeed agree on some things. And their reactions to their reluctant agreements were just as hilarious then as they had been that first day in the Great Hall.
On the anniversary of their release from Roman rule, the Knights generally traveled up to the old Wall and gathered around a table in the tavern there. This year, they took the women along as well. Bergisa, determined not to let Lancelot bother her even once, spent most of the evening sitting next to Morgaine. The Sarmatian Princess was with child again and the two friends were jabbering on about potential baby names.
It was about halfway into the night, when a handsome young soldier called Melinus joined them at their table. Galahad immediately felt antsy, move to get up so he could rescue his wife, before settling back as she shook her head with a small smile. Galahad watched her curiously for a second, before Bergisa's laughter floated through the air and Lancelot's face across the table became set with jealousy. He caught it immediately. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, chuckling into his jug.
Gawain and the rest of the Knights looked up at him, their cards forgotten for the moment. "Excuse me?" Gawain asked, tossing in a coin to raise the confident Tristan at his side.
Calling him, Galahad tossed his hand of Full Colors, the highest you could get in this particular card game, onto the table to a chorus of groans. Scooping up his winnings and stuffing them into the pouch at his waist, he looked up at Gawain. "Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked politely, before grabbing his best friend and retreating to the shadows.
Gawain watched him as his best friend leaned against the wall, sipping on his ale and watching their wife. "Can I inquire what that was all about? Damn it, and will you stop winning!"
"I'm just starting to get lucky," Galahad remarked casually, before gesturing with his head at the table where Morgaine still sat with Bergisa and her obvious admirer. "What do you see?"
Gawain watched the scene, "Nothing. People getting drunk." Pausing, he saw it, "And our Lady, plotting again. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head. I thought she had a sign marked, 'Lancelot's Bride' stamped on Bergisa's forehead. What are they doing with that soldier?"
"Nazneen does have 'Lancelot's Bride' stamped across Bergisa's forehead. Look at Lance," Galahad ordered, the jug hiding the bottom of his face as he struggled to hold in a grin.
Gawain choked at the jealously that colored Lancelot's dark eyes almost black. "Oh, well played, Lady, well played indeed."
The two started to laugh then, unable to help it. Staying where they were, they were provided with the perfect view of anything that Lancelot chose to do. And based on the growing fury on Lancelot's face, it wouldn't be long before he did something. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore. Throwing down his cards, he got up and stormed past their table. Grabbing Bergisa by the upper arm, he dragged her protesting from the tavern and into the night. Tristan got up to go after them, but Morgaine's hand on his shoulder as it pinched a painful nerve kept him in his seat. Her blue eyes flicked to the corner where she knew her Knights were standing. Gesturing toward the door with her head, she got a short nod from Galahad.
The curly-haired Warrior finished his ale and then followed the two unseen into the night, Bergisa's screams and angry threats giving him a hint as to where they were headed. Gawain stayed where he was, keeping an eye on the Dark Child in case she needed help with Tristan. Though, from where he was standing, it looked like she had everything under control.
Bergisa finally managed to break away from Lancelot's grip, her right hand coming back and almost connecting painfully with his face. Lancelot hand came up, quicker than a shot and caught her wrist before she made tactile contact. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. You are not to talk to that man again," he ordered, before turning back toward the tavern.
Bergisa glared, her temper boiling. Her hands clenched and if she had been filled with water, there would have been steam gushing from her ears. "Oh really? And who are you, Mr. High-n-Mighty, to tell whom I may and may not talk to? You're not my father or my brother or my husband. I'll have you know that Melinus is a kind and courteous young man, nothing at all like you! And Morgaine seemed to have no problem with me talking to him. I had a chaperone, thank you, I don't need your permission to talk to a perfectly pleasant young man."
Lancelot turned back to her, "I said don't talk to him again."
"And I said, I don't care what you say, I'll talk to whomever I please. Why do you care anyway? You can't stand the sight of me. I'd think you'd be happy to hear that I would marry someone from here, move out of Camelot and out of your hair."
The very idea that she would marry anyone but him came as a shock, followed on swift wings by a startling sense of possession and jealousy. Grabbing her arm, he hauled her up so that they were nose to nose, his lips tantalizingly close to her own. "I said, don't," he growled, before pushing her away and moving toward the stables.
Bergisa watched him go, before muttering to herself, "If I didn't know any better," she mused, before reminding herself sternly, "-which I do-" Trying to forget her original thought, she berated herself firmly for a moment, before she slipped back into a hazy daydream, murmuring, "I'd almost say…." there was a sigh and she watched after him longingly, "I'd almost say he cared."
Galahad, from his place of concealment on the battlements, had heard the entire exchange, as well as the muttered Sarmatian professions of frustration and desire Lancelot had confided to the night-sky as he stormed away. Dropping into a crouch, his elbows balanced on his knees, he watched a happily humming Bergisa, wrapped in what she thought was unseen thoughts about Lancelot, walk back to the tavern unaccompanied. Standing with a small smile, he brushed the dirt from his hands as he mused, "This could get…..eventful."
