Chapter 13 [Rising Sun Tavern—A Quarter Turn of the Hourglass Prior]
Even as the celebration struggled to keep its footing, a few more people congregated around the esteemed tavern. The torches flickered through its windows. A few dedicated regulars braved that most spiritually hazardous night of the year for their favorite brew. Their singing (albeit off key), laughter and banter could be heard several buildings away.
Despite Joy's presence in that place rather than in the castle, certain elements loomed in the darkness outside. Seemed not everyone was a party person….
A half dozen men slithered through the stygian shadows. Their chain mail glinted in Luna's and the stars' light overhead. Due to the aforementioned concern of potential spiritual threats, the group had an almost free access between the citadel and the tavern. All they had to do was keep away from the sentries' line of sight atop the walls. While going slower than perhaps they might have, they reached their place in a half of a turn of the hourglass.
Their target, Sir Gawain, had stormed out of the citadel. Anger and Indignation blinded him. Pain drove him toward the keg and pint. He'd had his fill of Meleagant's verbal barbs and insults. He couldn't deal with Arthur allowing Merlin to take garbage (again). On the night where ancestors were supposed to be honored, his father was disparaged unjustly and again. He hoped that his mates would pick his spirits up.
One particularly muscled knight cracked his knuckles. Douglas of Rawnesborough brooded over the overrated Camelot knights' reputation. While Arthur and his men paraded around Britannia and received renown, Hate and Jealousy dogged Cawdor's forces. The Camelot warriors more often than not got the benefit of popular opinion. Their aggression tolerated by their friends and neighbors.
After Uther's aggression, how could Meleagant be hated so much?
Douglas coughed. He looked to his comrades. "We'll go in. Make sure the pretty boy doesn't get out. The King wants him dead. Make sure!" He drew his sword.
Menace to them, however, didn't allow for their best laid plan any farther. A low growl drove chills up their spines.
"Certainly you all should be at the citadel at this hour, Sirrahs?" Britomart stepped into the torchlight. "Sir Douglas, your King could use your goodly company."
"You think so? Since when does the maid tell a knight his affairs?" Douglas grinned. "Boys, bring 'er with us. She'll make some fun 'fore…."
She shook her head. "Your Highness! Perhaps you'd all like to step out and be seen?"
"With pleasure." Percival stepped into view. His sword already at the ready glinted in the faint torchlight all around. "I am already in a foul mood. Do not make your King's errors in judgment worse. Step away and return with us. All will be overlooked."
"Listen to him," Ywain advised. "Sir Gawain has suffered enough abuse. He'd hand you back your pride badly mangled if you test him. That is if we let you through to him."
Malodius roared again behind the marauding Cawdorians. Emerald eyes glowed in the shadows. Claws fully extended from their paws. Anticipation glinted off of his fangs and with twitches of his tail.
"Now it is a maid's duty to clean. Is it not?" She drew her sword slowly. She beckoned Douglas forward. "If you wish to harm Sir Gawain further, come then. Meet me. I believe though, you find us more than a match." She swung the sword about in the air in front of her. Her eyes met Douglas'. "Take your men and return."
Douglas charged. His sword streaked through the flickering firelight toward its target.
She met his steel expertly with her own. Moreover she shoved him back. She snorted. "Your loss. For my Lady and Good Knight then! FORWARD!" She swiped with her own weapon cutting his exposed forearm. "HA! And with that, Princess Mithian's and Merlin's honor is avenged!" Blood dripped from her blade. Purpose sparked in her eyes.
"That, Sir Douglas, is first blood," Percival observed. "Do not have your men's blood on your hands."
The Cawdorians charged mindlessly. They knew what Meleagant would do if they backed down in that sense. They met the allies' blades with their own seeking their own advantage.
For their part, Percival and the Nemethians met the wave and pressed back. In the case of a certain magical lion, his claws began a deadly ballet of their own upon the marauders' flesh.
And so the fight began…..
[Inside of the Tavern]
Gawain stewed at a corner table. Sorrow weighed on his heart. Outrage burned in his stomach. A dark frown weighed on his face. He took a deep gulp from a pint and set it down on the chipped and worn table. The old grudge took its pound of flesh anew. Can't believe that crap! I mean really? He tapped his fingers.
Around him, the usual gang of revelers gave him his space and then some. They clearly picked up on the dark clouds and acidic vibes around him. Consequently they massed toward the room's other side and the bar. They still talked and laughed. Still such activities remained muted and subdued. Their eyes would drift ever so occasionally in his direction. Paranoia and Fear kept them all on high alert. They knew he wore a comic mask. They understood he was holding something back.
That night could be the one where he'd blow his top….
Yeah whatever! Be that way! Gawain gulped down another draught. His attention remained riveted to Memoria's reminders. He could never forget his mother's tears as she and he were kicked out of their home. He still felt the fists from that reeve, Hengst, beating their cruel marks into his face and back. He could feel his clothes soaking from the incessant rains. His mother's increasingly rasping cough stung in his ears. His fingers could feel the mud caked on them. Tears still stung in his eyes; the image of his mother's grave wavering in the storm.
He bowed his head. He slapped the table. Disgust ate at him.
The tavern keeper glanced out the door. He stared wide eyed and stiffened at something. Then he hustled over toward the distraught knight. "Hey! Hey, Sir Gawain!"
"Rulfstan, I told you I wanted to be left alone. What part of that didn't you get? And…" Gawain shook his head. "Now what?"
"There are guys hanging around outside. This wouldn't have anything to do with you. Would it? Look. I don't want any trouble!" Rulfstan told him.
Gawain shook his head. He could well imagine that Meleagant sent his goons to beat him into gruel. "I'll meet 'em outside." He got up. His eyes glinted. He flexed his fingers.
Just before he got there, a monstrous roar threatened to deafen the people inside. The clanging of swords glinted iron on iron. The sound of fists landing against flesh reached his ears.
"Now what?" Gawain glanced around himself. The other customers had ducked behind the bar or for whatever cover they could find on short notice. Not another soul was in clear sight. "My heroes." He rolled his eyes. He drew his sword slowly and took a step forward. "Guess if you want to get something done, do it yourself." He grabbed an abandoned pint and guzzled it down. "Last one for the road…fight…whatever." He stalked out the door with his blade out and ready for anything.
Six knights in chain mail lay strewn out in front of the tavern. Some lay moaning. One grabbed his side where large gashes had torn through his armor, clothes and skin. Most though were unconscious.
In the midst of the area, Britomart bellowed something at a blonde haired Adonis type. Her eyes flashed green. She backhanded his semi-conscious face trying to get other information before he blacked out entirely. She'd point at Malodius who licked the blood from his paws.
"You just can't stop stirring things up. Can you, Gawain?" Ywain supposed from where he and Percival watched the unconscious soldiers.
"What can I say? Big Red so loves me. He and I go way back. Geez. Get you all some fun and you live down to your name, Whine, whine, whine," Gawain retorted without missing a beat.
"That was more than fun even for you," Percival disagreed. "Meleagant wants you dead."
"Really? I want his arse on my wall too, Percy," Gawain shot back. By now, the humor had drained from his voice. Fire and steel lowered his tone. "I want a piece of him, Brit."
"Get back inside. You're drunk," she instructed without even looking at him.
Gawain coughed. "I handle my stuff better than…"
"I SAID I HAVE IT!" She recoiled as the knight in question spat in her face. She delivered a right cross to his nose. Then she dropped the Cawdorian to the ground like a bad habit. "What is with you? Meleagant threatens you. You just hang out as if to say 'beat me'. Do you have a death wish?"
"It's Gawain. What do you think?" Percival clued her in. He inspected his former brother-in-arms. "You can thank us later."
"Send me the bill, Percy. I'll get the boots when I'm ready," Gawain retorted flatly. He smacked the tavern's wooden wall. "Bloody blazes! I…."
"Threaten my mistress, will they?" Britomart dusted herself off. She grimaced at the tears in her dress. A few cuts and bruises purpled her face and arms.
"And me too. Hello! I wanted my part of arse too! I…I…." Gawain slumped down against the wall. He quivered and shook.
"Now what?" Ywain asked.
She turned Gawain's head toward her. She saw his eyes glaze over. She noted the twitching and shivers. She grimaced at the sour ale breath. She grabbed onto him. "You're all right! You hear me? Don't quit on me, you Cabbage Head! COME ON!"
"Let get him to Master Gaius. He can tell us more," Percival urged.
"Sounds good to me." Ywain picked up Gawain's feet. He wrinkled his nose at the odor even through the boots. "He really needs a bath too."
"Good luck on that," Percival told them.
"Leave that to me. Now come on," Britomart directed while leading them back toward the castle proper.