A/N: I hope you all enjoy this chappy! Starts after the last!
Tristan and Shyare walked towards the tavern. The sun was slowly setting, their shadows dancing against the stone wall. A set of panpipes could be heard, weaving its tunes between the loud laughter and occasional argument. Tristan gently pulled Shyare into his lap as he sat down in his usual corner. He casually brought out an apple and cut it into slices.
He offered a slice to her, she shook her head. Tristan made an exaggerated sigh. Shyare kissed his cheek, getting up, for she knew Vanora would be in need of her help by this time. The place was in full swing now. She was half way across the pub when she was pulled into another lap. She groaned inwardly, simultaneously rolling her eyes. Lancelot nuzzled her neck, arms securely around her waist.
"Be my good luck charm tonight?" he inquired seductively, his hands making their way upwards.
"Ah," she began, slapping his hands away, "Would it really be worth losing your life?"
Lancelot felt the Scout's eyes burning the back of his neck. Chills of fear went down his spine.
"Perhaps not," he said in a more appropriate manner, pushing her off his lap.
"That's what I thought," Shyare said sternly, making her way to the bar.
She began cleaning the glasses as usual. Vanora frowned at her outfit. She was still in her tattered, blood soaked clothing. Knives and daggers were worn in various places.
"No time to change?" the red head asked sarcastically.
"Actually," Shyare began honestly, "No."
The woman simply shook her head, off to serve another round. Shyare glanced up when Dagonet stood before her.
"How's your ankle?" he began in his soft voice.
"It will heal," Shyare replied, starting another glass, while handing the gentle giant a beverage.
"Try not to strain it," he warned while turning away.
"Like that would ever happen!" she called after him.
Dagonet rolled his eyes at her. It was a battle trying to keep her in bed after she was cut down in the tavern only a few months ago. She managed to have re-opened the wounds six times. He shook his head as he walked back to his usual table.
Shyare watched Danu with a smile, Bors's number six stood in front of her, offering a flower. Before the little girl even had a chance to accept, Tadg and Gebann picked the boy up by the arms and marched away, the little boy's feet being dragged across the floor as he struggled. It seemed they now thought it their duty to protect her, especially from possible boys. Shyare shook her head as she saw Danu stalk after them, an abandoned toy sword in hand.
It was nearly two hours later, nothing particularly exciting had happened. Shyare leant against the bar, watching tiredly. The place was dying down now, most being consumed by the ale. Achilles trotted in happily. He stood on his hinds, front paws on the bar, waiting for his bone. Shyare placed one in front of him. He sniffed it and nudged it away.
"Picky are we?" she asked with a laugh, passing him another one.
Achilles simply snatched it and walked off to find a comfortable spot. Gawain and Galahad drunkenly stumbled her way. Both had a mug in hand, ale sloshing out of it onto their shirts, they took no heed of course.
"Shyare!" Gawain called with a slur.
He sat on the stool before her. Galahad attempted to sit, but missed and crashed to the ground. Shyare leaned over to see him, pushing the dreadlocks away from her face. She shook her head with a chuckle...he was out cold.
"Never could hold his ale," Gawain said while shaking his head as well, "How have you been? Where's the new edition?"
"I'm fine, holding myself in a decent manner," she eyed him mockingly, "Unlike you. The new edition happens to be with a nanny tonight."
"Ahh..." he began, but never finished, he slumped forward against the bar, the same condition as his good friend.
Bors shook his head, dragging the knight off to his quarters, before any of the wenches got a hold of him. Shyare leant back against the counter. Vanora nodded at her, giving her the rest of the night off.
She walked towards Tristan. He sat in the same seat he had begun in, never moving, keeping an eye on all of his surroundings. Tristan had done this every night Shyare was working, ever since she had been cut down. She could always feel him watching her, she glance up and he'd look the opposite way. It was a silent game between the two, he avoiding her glances, she trying to capture his watchful eyes. He stood as she approached. Looking around, she saw no children.
"I sent them to bed," he explained, placing an arm around her shoulder.
Shyare wanted to respond, but a yawn came about instead. Tristan chuckled at her. She narrowed her eyes. They slowly made their way up the steps, but instead of going towards their quarters, Tristan pulled her down another hall and onto the wall itself.
"We need to talk..." he began in a more serious tone.
A/N: Dun dun Dun! So what does he need to talk about? Bad? Good? Well, please review! I hope you all enjoyed this! No flames!