Disclaimer: I own nothing save characters not appearing in King Arthur. This story is not meant to insult, impugn the dignity of, or otherwise cause difficulty for the reader. Flames will be used to heat my house, constructive comments will be welcomed and used to improve the story.
Author's note: So it ends. At least this story. I'm already working on the sequel. Bless my husband for putting up with me while I'm writing. And thank you to my wonderful readers for reading and sending feedback.
VISIONS OF DEATH
Chapter Sixteen: New Beginnings
Bors blinked at the men sitting at the table closest to the kitchen. Dagonet was smiling into his breakfast, eyes periodically going to the men seated across from him. Gawain sat between Tristan and Galahad, all three men focused entirely on the breakfasts piled on their plates. Stepping the final step down from the staircase to the above chambers, he shook his head.
"Good morning," breezed Brigid as she swept past Bors, planting a kiss on his stubbled cheek. "Take a seat and I'll bring you breakfast," she promised.
Bors caught her arm gently, nodding towards the table with the knights. "What happened to 'em?" he asked.
Brigid giggled. "They smelled," she whispered conspiratorially before heading back to the kitchens.
Bors shot an incredulous look at his best friend and headed towards the chuckling Sarmatian. "I know that I'm missing something."
Dagonet shrugged and took a sip of the tea that Brigid had brewed as a cure for hangovers. As remedies went, it tasted surprisingly good and seemed to soothe the aches from his body without clouding his mind. "I found the four of them in the fountain," offered Dagonet with an amused smile.
Bors turned his confused eyes to the three wet knights.
Gawain swallowed the eggs he had been chewing and nodded. "No breakfast if we smelled."
Bors looked at Dagonet, raising an eyebrow in realization. "Morning sickness?"
Dagonet nodded, pride in his eyes. If he'd had doubts that his woman was pregnant, finding her crouched over a pot emptying her dinner had cleared them. "Who knew that the smell of ale made her ill."
The fortress was filled with Woads. Which meant that the tavern was filled with Woads. Men and women drank, argued and wondered at the upcoming wedding on the morning. In just a few days Briton, Roman, and Sarmatian would be bound by the marriage of Gueneviere and Artorius Castus.
Brigid leaned in the doorway to the kitchens, the fires of the ovens long since banked and the food for the evening already ready on tables to be served to Vanora's customers.
"Brigid," spoke Merlin.
The healer glanced over her shoulder at the leader of the Woads. "Ah, Old Man. Enjoying what you have wrought?" she asked, a smile in her voice if not on her face.
Merlin nodded and stepped closer to the seer. He watched at the way her hands rested protectively on her slightly rounded belly, the way she watched the six knights and their future king with a fierceness. "You have been good for him," he offered, eyes on the tallest Sarmatian who was at present talking with Bors as the soon-to-be father bounced Nine on his knee, much to her squealing joy.
Brigid shrugged but blushed at the compliment. "He's good for me, Old Man," she countered.
Merlin smiled at this woman who would always be the slip of a girl who once had made him tell stories of great warriors and their women before being hustled off to bed by the older priestesses. He had fond memories of his time on Ynys Môn, had even found his lady wife and mother to Gueneviere.
This woman before him had changed in the best ways.
"What do you see, priestess?"
Brigid smiled and allowed her eyes to unfocus. The priestess was silent for long moments.
"What do you see?"
Brigid turned grey eyes to her old friend, the dim light hiding the sparkle of unshed tears in her eyes. "The future, Old Man."
The wedding was beautiful. Arthur looked regal and just a little intimidating. The intimidation factor was helped by the fact that there were six very intimidating Sarmatians attending. Merlin was mysterious and blue. And Gueneviere was strong and powerful standing beside her husband.
Brigid leaned against Dagonet's chest, listening to Bors's bastards talking with Lucan while the "dark magician" of the Woads intoned a blessing. Her hands rested on the paws that rested on her belly protectively.
"Now I'm really going to have to marry your mother," grumbled Bors to Eleven.
Brigid chuckled as Vanora took Eleven from Bors. "Who says I'd have you!" Vanora snapped back.
The smirk on Bors face said it all.
Who wouldn't want a Sarmatian?
To My Wonderful Reviewers:
homeric: Somehow I couldn't make Gawain whimper like a girl. And if I wasn't married, I'd be right there with ya toweling him off. I'm glad you liked the perspectives on their relationships, especially Bors and Vanora. I hope you like the sequel.
Saxongirl1345: As promised, here's another chapter. Of course, it happens to be the final chapter of this story. But I'm so glad that you thought I did a good job portraying the knights.
Samantha: Thank you! I'm so glad that you enjoyed that chapter. I enjoyed writing all the different perspectives of the knights and their women. As for the ale incident, would you want to feed them? Okay, so, yummy knights but still, the smell!
shariena: I'm glad you enjoyed. While this story is done, the sequel is now getting churned out. Thank you for your reviews and thank you so much for reading.
Arden Skysender: I'm glad that you enjoyed the story. And I'm glad that you enjoyed Tristan not being a murderous thug. We'll see more of his lighter side in the sequel.