here we go. chapter 2. since the first one is kinda short, i'll post the second one too. hopefully not too boring and/or predictable. enjoy!
Disclaimers & warnings still hold for story as whole.
Chapter 2: First day on the job
First evening of a new job always sent nervous shivers down Mirran's spine. No two pubs were alike, and even though she knew Magda and some of the other women, it was always the prospect of unknown customers that unnerved her.
"The knights should be in tonight. They almost always are." Falia said as she moved past Mirran who set down three full mugs for a group of newly arrived soldiers.
"That would be nice to meet them." Mirran replied, knowing her words paled in comparison to her thoughts. Arthur and his mysterious, skilled Sarmatian knights were what ultimately brought her northward. The only one she knew anything about really was Lancelot as the women spread rumors amongst themselves that he was the handsomest. 'As if they really knew…but he's still just a name.'' Her father had his mind dead set against Arthur, Lancelot and the rest and she wanted to find out for herself just what her father found so evil about them.
Business started out slow, as usual according to Magda, and Mirran frequently found herself glancing towards the door, looking for noble, respectable men. But then, business picked up and Mirran found herself on constant trips from the bar to tables, carrying mugs and plates, smiling, laughing and sharing her name with the locals who recognized her as being new.
"Here you go, gents—four mugs," she paused listening to their questions, "yes, I am new here—name's Mirran." She smiled graciously as one complimented her before turning to head back to the bar.
"Magda's found some fresh blood I see…." Her eyes locked on the dark brown eyes of a man with short curly black hair, dressed from head to toe in worn black leather. The look of his eyes was almost sinister, yet they belied a deeper sense of hidden care and understanding—and the look about him suggested he only lived for the physical world, what he could touch, what he could kill.
"And you are?" Mirran asked somewhat coldly, not able to think of anything befitting a response to his comment.
"You must be new here…Mirran is it?" He said, smiling welcomingly with a seductive edge to it.
"Lancelot, don't frighten her away her first day here." A gruff, feral looking man with crystalline blue eyes and long, dark blonde hair, some of it braided, said pointedly. 'Lancelot! These must be…but surely these men can't be…!'
"Sorry," a young man with a friendlier look to his chocolate eyes and black wavy hair said coming around behind her unexpectedly, "he's usually friendlier than that."
"Yeah," a burlier man with a round face and almost bald head said laughingly, "he pulls you into his lap first!" The men around her burst out laughing as she found a smile involuntarily creeping to her face.
"Listen to Bors on that one, Mirran—you're lucky not to be in his lap at the moment." Falia said, approaching the table with mugs of ale as the men cheered excitedly. "Good evening, knights!" She said cheerfully as she slid mugs down the wooden table. So these men were the Sarmatian knights she'd heard much about.
"Falia, my dear—" The youngest looking started to say before Falia cut him off.
"Stop with the words, Galahad—you only ruin them." She said good-humoredly, smiling as he wrapped a slender arm about her waist.
"Then you shan't hear another one from me all night."
"As usual…," Falia said laughingly, pecking his cheek before turning back to Mirran, "Mirran—this is Galahad, in case you were really not listening, rather then just pretending not to—"
"It's impossible not to listen—you hear conversations in this place without even trying." The long blonde haired man said laughingly, looking pointedly at Galahad whose cheeks were turning slightly red.
"And that's Gawain," Falia continued, motioning to the long blonde haired knight, "he's a bit quieter than the rest—but you won't find another man as quiet, mysterious, and frankly frightening as Tristan."
"Tristan?" Mirran asked, mulling the name over in her mind.
"Yeah, him at the end." Falia said as Mirran turned her head and saw a man with dark, mysterious eyes and long dark hair, some it braided, sitting at the end off to himself, watching the others. "And this is Lancelot," Falia suddenly continued, jolting Mirran from her thoughts, pointing at the man with dangerous looking eyes and dark curly hair, "Grenham," a nod from a man with short blonde hair and green eyes, "Bors," a hearty cheer from the big, almost-bald man, "Berkan," a nod from a man with straight black hair and questioning hazel eyes, "and this gents, is Mirran." Falia finished as Mirran smiled and nodded at the greetings from the knights. Involuntarily her eyes traveled down the table to Tristan whose face was unreadable, except for a hint of contentment across his face as he sat, taking a drink from his mug.
"Why does he sit off to himself?" She heard herself ask to anyone who happened to be listening.
"He's a scout," she turned her eyes to Lancelot, "he spends his days alone, so why shouldn't he spend his nights alone?"
"A most lonely situation if you ask me," Grenham said, "or another theory goes that because he spends his days alone he has no words and skills to interact with others." She glanced down at him, a silent challenge and a curiosity about him rising within her.
"I think I might just ask him." She said quietly more to herself, thankful that the other knights were too engaged in another conversation to hear her. She walked down the table, trying to study his face. Despite the stony, unreadable countenance, something about him to scream out desperate loneliness—as though he kept himself distant to spare pain. But she could not be sure, but whatever it was about him captivated her.
"Do you mourn, sir knight?" she asked, catching his attention and meeting his eyes, already knowing the answer.
"I do not. It is my preference to be somewhat alone." He answered shortly.
"No one deserves or should go through life alone," she suddenly said, "what is life worth living then?"
"Do not speak of things of which you know nothing." He spat, a hint of anger tainting his voice.
"What then do you live for?" He looked up at her, his brown eyes boring into her sapphire ones.
"For blood." He answered coldly, hoping to frighten this barmaid away as he was known for doing to others. Instead, a challenged look came into her captivating eyes and she sat down opposite him.
"So that's it—you live to take life from others—why? Do you hate yours so much?" she said, unwilling to believe this man had distanced himself wholly from the one thing that made him human, his heart.
"On the contrary, my lady," he started softly, seeing she was different than the rest, "my life is what is it—I cannot say what would be better or worse."
"Yet you claim to live only for one coldhearted thing…" she trailed off, knowing there was more, and finding herself immensely curious to know what it was.
"Not entirely." He cracked a barely noticeable smile watching the firelight dance in her sapphire eyes.
"My name is Mirran." She said forwardly, regarding this mysterious, dark, even disturbing knight curiously.
"Tristan." He nodded ever so slightly towards her. An awkward silence fell between them as they each tried to sort the other out. Something about him seemed to hold her like a spell and she wanted to know what all coursed behind those dark eyes of his. "I have not seen you here before." He suddenly said.
"No, no one has. I arrived earlier this morning." She stopped, unwilling to explain farther.
"And those you traveled with do not disapprove of your being here?" he suddenly asked, surprising himself. She said nothing but looked pointedly at him, a coldness seeping into her eyes. "You traveled alone." He said, easily reading her face. "I thought no one deserved or should be alone?" he said, watching a spark of anger ignite as he turned her words back at her.
"That is as it should be—that does not mean it does not happen." Her voice was a mixture of anger, sadness, longing, and Tristan suddenly found himself drawn in by the raw truth in her voice. It was something deeper than she was making it seem—an overwhelming sense of curiosity about this woman sitting across from him plagued his mind and he wanted to ask her more, but said nothing, seeing no point to it. A silence fell between them as she tore her eyes from his towards the table to, willing herself to not to linger on the direction their conversation had taken. He suddenly rose.
"Good night, my lady." He said respectfully and distantly.
"Good night, sir knight." She said softly, keeping her eyes from his. He walked on past her and out of the tavern. She turned around towards the bar, rising from the table, finding herself involuntarily drawn to this enigmatic knight and wanting to know him. Something, as tonight seemed to prove, would be rather difficult.
"Don't tell me you two actually had a conversation?" Berkan asked her curiously as she walked by.
"Is it really that unusual for him?" She asked a sarcastic note to her voice, a gentle smile across her face.
"As Berkan pointed out, it most certainly is a surprising thing when Tristan actually carries on a conversation once what needs to be said is said." Bors agreed, before taking a swig.
"You must hold some power Mirran, to get him to talk so." Gawain said warmly, meeting her eyes. A light and knowing surprise came to her eyes as a smile she tried to hide crossed her face—all of which Gawain curiously noticed.
"Excuse me gents—there's work to be done." She said suddenly, smiling and leaving the knight's table to head back to the bar to continue working, trying to ignore the glares from Halaga and forget that look in Gawain's eyes.
Time raced by, time which Mirran would have much rather spent closer to the knights' table, but as Gawain had said about it being impossible not to overhear conversations, she heard much of what was said as she bustled about the other tables doing her job. After dropping off six full mugs of ale and two plates of food, she stopped a minute to breathe and a yawn passed from her lips before she could think to stifle it. Her hand lazily traveled to her neck and she rubbed it gently as she slowly made her way back to the bar.
"You know its unspoken tradition here," she heard Lancelot say as two hands wrapped about her waist pulling her down to his lap, leaning her back against his chest, "for the new barmaids to come home with me." He placed a teasing kiss against the soft skin of her neck.
"I'm not that kind of barmaid." She said determinedly, freeing herself from his grasp and rising.
"Never once?" He asked surprised.
"What business is it of yours to know?!"
"To have worked in a tavern, as you obviously have before, and remain as you claim seems quite a feat." Grenham casually stated as a blush crept to her cheeks, her eyes widening.
"You must possess quite a knowledge of self defense as well." Gawain joined in as Mirran's embarrassment at the situation was growing as more knights joined the conversation.
"At times," she quickly answered, "but most of the men I have encountered have been chivalrous enough not to take women by force—"
"Then you did not come from a Roman commanded fort," Grenham stated wisely, "Roman soldiers are known for their lack of…morals regarding women."
"And what of you knights?" She suddenly asked, a friendly pointed edge to her voice. She saw slightly embarrassed grins cross the faces of the listening knights as she shifted her eyes between them.
"Despite our outward appearances," Gawain said calmly, his smile belying some of the shared embarrassment at such a question, "our hearts are quite honorable."
"Not counting the Roman soldiers…or Lancelot on occasion." Galahad joked, causing the others to laugh and Lancelot to roll his eyes.
"Only once—now I make sure I know a woman's background…" Lancelot said defensively as the others continued their laughter and Mirran's curiosity grew.
"What happened?" She asked smiling curiously.
"Believe me," Lancelot stepped in, cutting off a most eager to explain Galahad, "you do not want to know."
"Maybe I don't." Mirran said wisely, rolling her eyes at their boisterous laughter and heading back towards the bar to get more rounds for newcomers.
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It was only later in the silence of her room that she could again hear her own thoughts. All in all, she thought them a good group. What her father found so vile about them she couldn't see. Maybe it was just that they weren't Britons…who could honestly say? Even through Lancelot's womanizing, devilish exterior, she sensed the good heart and intentions that she felt all the knights she met shared. Even Tristan—Tristan, who had constantly been in her thoughts since he'd left the pub earlier. She could not even begin to place what about him gnawed at her so…it just did. She tossed under her covers, desperate to put her wondering to rest, but finding it never ceasing. If only her father could see her now. 'Mirran—you do not even know the man, so how can you think so incessantly on him?!' And honestly, she could find no answer. Slowly she fell asleep, eager to see him again, eager to learn more about him.
chapter 2. hopefully not too out-there and somewhat believable. review with comments, helpful criticism, whatever you like, if you want. reviews are most appreciated and helpful as they help me to determine whether to continue posting the rest or just pull it quietly off. we'll see. next chapter should be up soon.
