Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.
Chapter 3: Dinner Revelry:
The first dinner back was always a loud and boisterous affair. A Cerys changed out of her day clothes in her small rooms, she could already hear the men, through her window, playing knucklebone at the tables outside the hall. She could hear The "Thwack, Thwack" of throwing knives hitting an oak round tied to a hitching post, and could picture Gawain and Galahad trying to best each other and impress the women who would, of course, be milling about. She could picture Bors cradling Lorina in his lap as he boasted about the 200 or more Saxons he had killed, while Lorina rolled her eyes and made horns above his head to make the men laugh behind their cups of wine. The laughter wafted up to her, and she revelled in the fact that her friends and cousin were home. Happy times such as this were to be cherished, for all too soon they would be gone again, back out to wage war on the hordes of Saxons trying to take over their country. Hmm... Their country, how easy she thought this way now.
She hummed as she donned a simple shift of linen, her favourite for hot weather. The hall got so warm with all the bodies in it this time of year, it was loose and able to let air flow to her body, the long skirts stirring air as she walked. Low cut at the front, it allowed her to wear a simple slim torque of silver, with a small sapphire set in the centre. A gift from Arthur when he was visiting her in the south, years ago.
She pinned her hair up and tendrils fell out, tickling her neck where they landed. Despite her small stature, she was a beautiful and graceful woman. Tristan often called her Gazelle, in his soft quiet way, then pop a sliver of apple into her mouth, sometimes joking that she needed to be fattened. Tristan was the quietest of all the Knights, and she would often spend time sitting with he and Isaac, learning to listen to nature from the top of the battlements, or on horse when the group was out hunting.
She lifted her small house torch to her water basin to check her reflection, stuffing a tendril out of the way behind her ear. As usual, her thoughts turned to work, thinking of what needed to be brought up to sit on for the evening, whether enough wine was brought up from the stores. It was going to be a full hall for dinner. She shook her head. She was mad, a mad woman! It was time to be happy, and to celebrate. Her staff had it well in hand.
A knock at the door turned her head. "Come."
Guinevere walked in, with lips pursed and a pensive look on her face. "Do need to preen yourself this much?"
If not for the jesting smile on her face, Cerys would have been insulted. In as much, this was also tradition. Guinevere, would come in, complain that Cerys was wasting time and be eager to get going, then would spend just as much time in the water basin checking her own image.
Guinevere pulled her over to the window so they could see who was about. From their vantage, she could see across the compound block at the entrance to the feasting hall. Perceval had Galahad and one of the younger footmen in a headlock, one in each arm, and was spinning, attempting to dizzy all of them at once. Cerys shook her head. Hardened men in battle could be such silly fools in play! Out of the dark, walked Lancelot. Hails and cheers greeted him, as did a young serving girl with a wine flask. Lancelot took the wine in one hand, the girls waist in the other, and walked further into the milling crowd. She could hear him make jokes with the men, and then hooting as he sat down to enjoy a good gamble with some of the men, girl on knee, jug on table.
"Shall we go? I need help to drag Arthur away from his maps to come join the party. You must help me convince him." Guinevere said, with palms upraised. "That man would waste such a good evening on MAPS!"
Cerys followed Guinevere to Arthur's chambers, where they found him passed out over the bed, one soft boot halfway on, and the other dangling from an outstretched hand. Maps littered the small table beside the bed, spilling onto the floor, charcoal drawing sticks in a clay pot overturned. He was truly exhausted from their latest campaign, as she had suspected in the courtyard. So much weighed on his shoulders, he took so much to heart. A King and knight in one breath. A heavy load for any man.
A slight snore echoed from him as his chest rose and fell. Cerys was loathe to wake him and she and Guinevere passed looks of understanding. Of anyone, he needed the rest the most. Guinevere stood beside her and sighed.
"He is so peaceful when he is asleep."
Cerys could hear the love in Guinevere's voice for her husband as she spoke. It would be prudent, Cerys thought, if she removed herself from the room.
"I will join the rest, we will see you soon." Cerys whispered as she tiptoed to the door. Guinevere nodded and sat softly beside her husband, a hand smoothing his dark hair from his forehead. Cerys closed the door behind her and set off for the feasting hall.
The common area outside the hall was bright with torches and brazier fire. As she approached, she could hear the men braying in laughter at something Bors had said. "Cerys!" was exclaimed from various areas and she could feel the eyes on her. A smile passed to her lips as she entered the halo of light. How she had missed their presence in the fort! The walls came alive with the energy they brought. Even with months on the road, they would greet each other as if only a day had passed. Thank the Gods that they still came home at all, she thought.
Perceval was with her in a moment, offering her wine from his cup and lifting her by her waist to spin with one arm firmly wrapped. She laughed and kissed his cheek, praying he would put her down before he broke her back. These knights, she thought, did not know how strong of muscle they truly were.
"Cerys you have worn our favourite dress! How kind!" He exclaimed as he set her down at the table where Bors, Lorina and Perceval were sitting.
"Perceval, you say that about all my dresses! It makes the decision on what to wear very easy."
Lorina stretched out a hand with a goblet, and Cerys accepted gladly. Bors filled it brimming with red liquid, and encouraging her to drink up quickly. She sat on an empty spot around the table and they all toasted a happy reunion. Cerys drank deeply, breathing in the aroma of spices and sweetness. It was good wine, much to easy to drink quickly and have a fuzzy head to pay later. Chatter filled the air as they talked of nothing and jested with one another. Cerys rested her chin in her palm and listened, wanting to soak it all in.
Cerys then scanned the crowd, looking for Lancelot. All at the table knew who she was searching for. All understood the friendship she had with him, and all could see the need they had for each others company. Only Jols, the stable master ever mentioned it to Cerys, but never with any indication that he suggested love. That, he believed, was up to them. He told Cerys once, in another conversation, about gentling war horses, that it took time to create a battle ready beast, and only when the horse believed in himself, could that horse look a rushing warrior in the eye and stand firm. Cerys had never fully caught on to what he had truly meant, but felt that he had some hidden meaning. For that reason she would jest sometimes and call him "warhorse".
Tristan came up behind her on silent feet. "He is in the hall." He said softly in her ear, and sat just to her right. She looked over at him and patted his thigh in thanks. Nothing was ever said, just understood. Cerys treasured that about Tristan. Of all the knights, he was more than friend; he had long also been teacher and brother.
"I think I shall make sure we have everything ready to eat and claim a seat!" She exclaimed
a "Gods yes I'm so hungry I could eat the Sout' end of a boar travellin' Nort'!" Echoed from Bors, and she rose and walked into the feasting hall, listening to him begin to brag about how much he could eat in a sitting. Gawain, leaning near the door, picked her sleeve as she passed him. She stopped.
"Cerys, you are lovely tonight." he said slowly, half-lidded and swaying. In the drink heavily already, he was concentrating to get the words out with some semblance of respect. Cerys embraced his shoulders and kissed his cheek. There was only one reason Gawain would drink heavily, and she knew that Galahad would wake from his screams later on when both retired to the chambers they shared. He was so sensitive, yet so strong, she wished she could ease the pain for him, make the battle nightmares leave. So it was true, they had not been long out of battle when they returned home. That meant that the Saxons were closer. Cerys brushed the thought from her head. She would find some of her valerian tincture to give to Galahad later.
She wondered how many of the men had the same dreams afterwards, but never asked. Some things were better left unsaid, especially when it came to the men and their brave reputations.
"Gawain, as always your compliments make me blush, it is good to hear them come to my ears again." She replied. Such a sweet man. When befuddled in his wine flask, he wore his thoughts as close as his tunic sleeve and as loud as his laughter.
There were many people already sitting, most drinking, some already sleeping where they fell. Those who fought hard, she mused to herself, could drink just as hard.
Again, she floated her eyes over the crowd. Lancelot was not here. She bit her lip and craned her neck over the crowd close by. Perhaps he was already seated? A hand on her shoulder startled her, and she whirled in time to see a soft black tunic covering broad chest, baritone rumble of laughter so familiar that it was part of herself.
"You bloody Ox! You just about made me drop my wine!" She exclaimed, with one hand now on his chest, the other holding her goblet of wine, arm out flung to protect it from falling. She could feel his heart through the warm leather tunic, beating softly, steadily. Her mind whirled for just a moment, unexpectedly. She looked up, and there were his laughing eyes, looking down to her, mischievous, daring her.
"My apologies my Lady, for I would never want to waste good wine." and with that he took her hand on his chest, pulled it to his lips and kissed it, then scoffed her goblet and drained the wine in a single gulp, never once moving his eyes from her face.
"And what of startling young ladies?" She said, daring back with eyebrows raised. Their formal tone was tongue-in-cheek to inappropriateness, but suited her fine. His sarcasm and jesting nature nourished her soul, and on this evening, she craved a battle of whit's with him.
He laughed and took her arm. She laughed then too, and they walked together around the outside of the large round table, famous throughout Britain for its size and signifigance. Not only a feasting hall, this was the counsel room, staging room and where such ceremonies as knightings and weddings took place. Cerys herself polished the solid surface when the staff were too busy, and had numerous times danced across its top in revelry. Guinevere had once confessed to Cerys that Arthur had even bedded her on it, late in the evenings. It was both table and symbol for everyone in the fort. But tonight, it was just their table at which to eat. And perhaps dance on later...
Somehow Lancelot refilled Cerys's goblet, and found his own sitting at their customary place, near the south doors to the hall.
Cerys reached for her cup, which he held out of her reach. He eyed her questioningly, backing up to their sitting cushions slowly, taking small bird sips with each step.
"Is all ready for our dinner?" He teased as he sipped, "Have you double-measured all the serving platters to make sure they will all fit on the table? Have you counted each apple? Where are your tally sticks?"
He made motion to poke at her skirt pockets, looking around her to see if she was carrying anything. What a cad. She made the most frustrated face she could without laughing and swatted at him.
"Oh Hell Lancelot, give me my goblet or I swear I will find your most bruised spot and twist!"
"And what spot would that be?"
"Your arse if you don't give me my wine."
"Give it a try."
"Don't tempt me, you know I will..." She made motion to kick him.
He laughed at that, plonked himself on a cushion, and handed her the goblet once she had settled her skirts about her. Again, the easy silence enveloped them as they watched the crowd. Cerys could sense that he was tired, and that the night would be short if she did not provoke some sort of further mirth from him. He rubbed his jaw with his hand, blinking.
"Lancelot?" she said, softening from their jest.
"I'm fine, just a bit tired is all, I will be better spirited with food and drink." He replied, a sigh escaping from him as he rested back on his elbows.
"More drink? My boy I will drink you back under this table so far you will need a rake to claw your way out!" Bors roared and clasped Lancelot's shoulder as he stepped past to sit with the growing crowd.
"Ah, with the way you eat, the rake will be just to get through the slop you leave behind." He threw back, daring Bors to begin the battle.
"I need my food for energy. It's not easy keeping this machine in tune, y'know. I have to have strength to fulfil my lady's command. Which I do very well..."
Lorina squeaked as he pinched her bottom.
"When do you think Lorina will grow tired of your boasting and take up with a real man, who can do as well as speak?" Lancelot laughed back, wiggling his eyebrows at Lorina, who had removed her husband's hand from her bottom and sat. She rolled her eyes and threw a chunk of bread at him. Lancelot smiled into his cup and sat back to watch the crowd roll in. It was evident that he loved these exchanges. Cerys knew he loved Bors like a brother, and truly, the barbs were their way of telling each other so.
And so the evening progressed. When Arthur and Guinevere entered, everyone who could still stand stood. The cries of "Arthur!" echoed from the men and "My Lords" from the myriad of men that made up the cohort. They each pulled their forelocks as he passed to sit with his Kinghts, and each knight in turn bobbed their head in silent greetings. Mannerisms learned on the road were so hard break when at rest, Cerys remarked to herself. She could see them sitting around a fire, all making the same motion when each would come to rest after seeing to their horses.
His arms rested comfortably on his knees, he looked around him. Guinevere settled quietly at his side and rested her head on his shoulder. She was always very clingy for the first day or so that he was home, and for good reason. They were in love, and she was always tortured when he was away. He dipped his head to listen to something Galahad said, and they both laughed. He seemed to simply relax for a moment and let the revelry soak into him, not moving a muscle.
Cerys handed him a full cup and motioned "Up" with her hands. He needed to start dinner soon or the men would fall asleep in their drink. He nodded and took a quick sip to coat his throat, no doubt still dusty from the roads, hoarse from battle cries.
"Arthur! Speak! Speak!" a few people chanted as he slowly raised himself back to his feet again, wincing as he put strain on a shoulder. Again, Cerys made mental note for the list to talk to Dafydd tomorrow. He could look in on Arthur and make sure.
"My men, my Knights, my ladies," He said as he turned to take into account everyone in the room, "Let us rejoice that we are home again!"
Cheers and pounding on the table drowned him out for a moment. Arthur raised his hand to quiet the hall.
"Each of you should be proud. We have fought well, and fought hard. Let us drink to those who could not be here tonight to celebrate our good fortune."
More yeahs and hurrahs echoed, and each man drank deeply from their goblets. Cerys could see Arthur's eyes cloud over, just for a moment, and then regain their sparkle as he hid his thoughts away. She would have to coax that out of him later, if she could. He felt the loss of life so deeply, as if he was the one responsible for each of their deaths himself.
With the nod of his head, he motioned that it was time to eat, and the burble of conversation and laughter returned to the hall.
