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For all that they can be troublesome and ill-mannered, Vanora cares deeply for each and every one of the Sarmatian knights. There are numerous reasons for this, but some of their better qualities do stand out more than others. For example, one reason she cares so deeply for Dagonet is because of his compassion; for Gawain it is his good humor and friendliness; for Lancelot it is his uncanny ability to lighten the mood when you’re distressed, miraculously making you forget what had been plaguing you.
She even feels a bit of fondness for Arthur; the genuine companionship and support that the cavalry officer has shown his knights over the years has helped keep them from losing hope for freedom, and despite everything Vanora can’t help but be grateful for that.
Then there’s Galahad; Vanora, like many others, has a soft spot for the youngest knight that reaches far beyond the fact that the boy is the only one younger than her. His bright smile is contagious, and his perseverance is admirable.
Lastly, though the man keeps well enough to himself, it is Tristan whom Vanora feels a strong sense of companionship toward. At first this was undoubtedly in part due to the fact that he had been the only one other than Arthur that had neither shown any semblance of romantic or sexual interest nor made a pass at her—jokingly, sincerely, drunkenly or otherwise—but overtime the reasons grew. Though she can’t place it let alone explain it, there’s just something almost comforting about the man’s presence.
In summary, Vanora is always pleased to see the Sarmatian knights; when not traveling, every evening the group enters the tavern without fail. Today is no different, and she immediately makes her way to their table, one arm cradling her newest child and the other carrying a round of ale. She places it in the center of the table before handing Tristan an apple, which he eagerly accepts with a small nod of thanks.
Dagonet, Galahad, Lancelot, and Gawain hurry to fill their tankards; all four are finished in one fell swoop.
Vanora sighs; she should’ve brought more than one pitcher.
Bors wraps an arm around Vanora’s shoulders and brings her in for a deep, passionate kiss in greeting. She’s so caught up in it, just like she always is, that it’s due to her mothering instincts alone that she maneuvers her body so as not to crush the little thing in her arms. The only noise the babe makes is a joyful little sound at the back of her throat, and Vanora can’t help but marvel at how little maintenance she is compared to her siblings.
The sound is enough for Bors to pull back and look down at Ava. He leans down and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.
“Aye, ‘Nora,” Lancelot starts, a cheeky grin on his face as he pulls out a blade and twirls it between his fingers. “Will you give me a kiss like that after I best the old man at knife throwing? It’ll only take one for you to realize what you’ve been missing.”
Bors leaps at him before she has the opportunity to react; she decides that’s just as well for her as she replies, “As if you lot have any chance of coming out victorious when playing against Tristan,” she laughs, and all eyes simultaneously turn toward the man in question.
“Are you in, Tristan?” Galahad asks with a small dash of hope in his voice.
Tristan grimaces minutely at the offer, and after a moment of silence Vanora decides to give the poor man an out. She is the reason Tristan is in this situation in the first place, after all. “Actually, I have some cleaning to do,” she announces pointedly as she maneuvers her three-month-old into Tristan’s arms. “He’s busy helping me so I can work.”
The knight blinks at her for a moment before looking down, obviously thrown by her actions; Vanora spares a quick glance at the rest of the knights, and they look just as surprised if not more.
After a moment, however, an almost soft expression makes its way onto Tristan’s face before he takes a long sip of his ale and places the bottle onto the table; Vanora finds herself helpless to do anything but smile when Tristan gently places the index finger of his newly freed hand into Ava’s much smaller one.
She then turns to look at Galahad, and the poor boy looks just about ready to combust.
“She’s my child,” Bors protests with a frown; he looks the closest to pouting she can recall him being since she turned him down when they were nothing but children themselves. “I can—”
“Tristan is perfectly capable, as you can see,” she interrupts gently before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her husband’s forehead. “He can join you later. Besides, him sitting out may provide our Galahad with an opportunity to finally win a throwing contest.”
Galahad finally tears his gaze away from Tristan at her words, and the yearning expression on his face shifts to one of outrage; Lancelot bursts out laughing.
Gawain smirks. “Watching you randomly appear out of thin air just to show Galahad up is always a wonderful sight to see, though I still don’t understand how you do it.”
“Aim for the middle,” Tristan remarks absently; his attention is solely focused on moving his his occupied hand in small circles, the vice-grip Ava has on the man’s finger not loosening one bit.
“That still doesn’t make sense,” Gawain mutters with a confused look on his face.
“Tristan just appears out of the blue, so they are not contests!” Galahad screeches suddenly, laughably delayed in his verbal reaction. “And he doesn’t show me up!”
“I’m afraid I do, little one,” Tristan says gently, a teasing smirk on his face as he briefly flicks his eyes up toward Galahad. Vanora can’t help but notice the light flush that appears on the boy’s cheeks at the endearment.
“I will have Tristan bring you all another round later,” Vanora swiftly adds as she moves to usher the rest of the knights away. “I’m putting Dagonet in charge of watching Lancelot and Bors, because I will not allow this tavern to become a murder scene. Gawain, how about you try Tristan’s knife throwing trick, maybe you’ll beat Galahad with it instead of Tristan this time. I’m sure that’s more than enough to keep the lot of you occupied, is it not?”
Galahad opens his mouth as if to protest but Lancelot wraps his arm around his shoulders and drags him away before he has the opportunity; Dagonet grabs the pitcher with a cordial smile. Once they’re finally alone Vanora wipes down the table and sits down on the bench beside Tristan with a sigh.
“I thought you had things to do,” Tristan remarks after a moment, his tone faintly confused rather than accusatory.
Vanora scoffs at that; as if she hasn’t been successfully working with a baby in her arms for years. Men. “Now give me a bit of credit, Tristan. I can work just as well empty handed as I can with a babe in my arms.”
The scout simply nods in agreement, and they sit in a somewhat companionable silence for a moment before a gleeful laugh pierces the air. The two of them turn towards the noise to see Galahad looking at Gawain with a genuine, thousand watt smile.
“He’s a good lad. Pure at heart,” Vanora finds herself saying as she turns to look at Tristan. “For all his ill-temperament, I don't think there’s a bad bone in his body.”
There's a hint of longing on the man’s face as he stares across the room at the young knight, and he quickly averts his eyes once he notices Vanora’s contemplative gaze on him. “He is,” Tristan mumbles in agreement.
“Really, Tristan,” she begins chidingly, “how much longer do you plan on torturing him?”
“I’m not torturing anyone,” he grumbles, tone unconvincing.
Vanora sighs. “You love him, do you not?” she asks, despite the fact that they both know the answer.
She is almost positive that if she had approached Galahad with such a blunt and straightforward question, then the boy would have made some kind of scene; Tristan remains quiet.
The older knight’s reaction is not at all surprising, especially considering the fact that Tristan is much sharper than he seems; though he has never said as much to any of them, Vanora knows that the man is well aware of the fact that both his fellow knights as well as Vanora herself are cognizant of his relationship—or, to her ever increasing frustration, lack thereof—with Galahad.
What Tristan doesn’t know, however, is that to claim that the tension between the two knights has never been verbally discussed isn’t technically correct: his relationship with the boy had been spoken about explicitly a few years ago in this very tavern. The tavern had been empty sans herself and a certain few drunk Sarmatian knights—Lancelot, Galahad, Gawain, and Bors—when Lancelot had inquired, deceptively innocent, when exactly Galahad was going to grow a pair and finally ask Tristan to make a man out of him.
(To this day Vanora is willing to bet that her husband's roaring laugh mixed with Galahad's screech of indignation was heard throughout the entirety of Britain, what with the sheer volume of it.)
In response she had roughly smacked Lancelot on the back of the head before turning toward the young boy; though his facial expression had been one of outrage, she will always be able to recall the flash of fear in his bluish-green eyes. Vanora had immediately moved to stand in between her husband and Gawain so as to smack them as well before pointedly looking at Galahad.
She remembers the look of understanding that appeared on their faces and the speed in which they hurried to placate him vividly.
Even though the tenderness of the moment had been broken the moment Lancelot announced that he was willing to hit Galahad with a strong enough breeze that his skirt would fly up as soon as Tristan returned, Vanora knows that the three knights’ assurance that nothing would change the fact that they were brothers—especially not when that something was love—has stayed with Galahad ever since.
Vanora pauses for a second then to think about what Tristan's reaction would be if he ever did find out about that conversation, and she barely manages to keep herself from shuddering.
What the man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“I know that you do, answer or not,” she settles on.
She knows that the shrug she receives in response is as close she’s going to get to an agreement, so Vanora decides to treat it as such.
“Then tell him!” she demands as she turns to look at him. “He truly looks at you as if you hung every star in the sky.”
“You know why I can’t do that.”
She knows why he thinks he can’t do that, not why he truly can’t. She decides to say as much. “Actually, I have no idea why.”
“You said yourself just moments ago that the pup is pure at heart, not to mention our difference in age,” he sneers at her. “Isn’t that answer enough?”
Vanora scoffs. “Using your difference in age as an excuse is undoubtedly a moot point. The two of you are consenting adults as it stands now, age difference or not. Besides, whether you think it's deserved or not, you and I both damn well know that Galahad loves you just as much as you love him.” She pauses as she contemplates how to continue. “And yes I did say that he’s pure at heart, but doesn’t that pureness only further prove that the boy deserves to be with the one he cares about?”
“The selfish part of me wants to hide him away from any and all prying eyes, and thought of him so much as touching another makes me… ache,” the man confesses, before shaking his head quickly as if to rid himself of the thought. “But that doesn’t matter, in the end. I'm not good for him.”
“Not good?” she repeats incredulously. “You’ve done everything in your power to protect your boy since the moment you met. Despite Galahad's lamentations otherwise, I know the reason you have always been so hard on him, especially when you were all still trainees, was because you were worried. And don’t forget that it was I who tended to your wounds all those years ago.”
When Tristan says nothing to that, Vanora gently reaches out and takes the hand Ava had been so fascinated with before she had succumbed to sleep and places it on her lap, palm up; the jagged scars adorning the skin still a bit visible despite the passage of time. “The Romans ground your palm into a pile of broken glass after you confessed to breaking it in Galahad’s place. You cleaned it all up before you came to me so that there was no evidence for Galahad to stumble across, before practically begging me to tell your fellow knights that the injury came from helping me at the tavern. Do you remember that?”
Other than huffing a laugh, Tristan still says nothing. She rolls her eyes fondly. “Hours later you went onto best Galahad in training, where you proceeded to gruffly point out each and every single thing he did wrong,” Vanora sighs, the memory still crystal clear; it was that day that she realized the true depth of Tristan’s regard for his fellow knight.
“The pup has always been much too self-assured for his own good. Barely strong enough to steadily hold a steel sword and yet he was constantly boasting to the Romans that he could easily best them in a fight,” Tristan recalls with the small yet genuine smile that Vanora knows is reserved for their youngest knight.
“A confidence no doubt gained from you,” she replies with a small smile. “It is all thanks to your advice as well as your constant sparring that the lad is finally talented enough to live up to the words he spouted so confidently all those years ago.”
Tristan looks at her for a moment, considering. “You’re much too good for Bors.”
“So Lancelot keeps telling me,” she responds with a laugh. “And yet I love him all the same.”
Vanora stands abruptly at that, heading to the kitchens and returning with a full pitcher of ale. She places it on the table and holds out her arms for Ava immediately upon her return; though Tristan hands her over without protest, it’s obvious to her that the man is holding his tongue to in order to remain silent.
The two of them are silent; the knight looks up to hold her gaze again, and Vanora takes the opportunity to study him. When her eyes meet his, she finds herself shocked at the sheer amount of emotion reflected in his eyes: the insecurity, the trepidation, the wariness.
Vanora smiles, soft and reassuring. “That boy has been enamored with you for as long as I can remember, and with the lives that all of you knights live, time can be something precious. The two of you have wasted enough time,” she encourages.
She can almost see the remaining tension bleed out of Tristan at her words; he stands abruptly at that and purposefully stalks toward the table, barely remembering to bring the ale along with him. She sees him slam the pitcher on the table in greeting before he approaches Galahad, and he only stops when the pair of them are mere centimeters away. Whatever Tristan says to the boy causes his eyes to light up with a cautious sort of hopefulness, and he nods his head eagerly.
The scout seems to need no other invitation as he immediately reaches down to grasp Galahad’s elbow and all but drag him out of the tavern. The rest of the knights simply turn and stare at the door in bewilderment.
“Men,” Vanora scoffs quietly as she looks down at her daughter, “can't live with them, can’t live without them.” She halts for a beat, contemplative. “Or maybe you’ll take after your uncles and chase one of the same sex.”
Ava lets out a giggle, eyes shining, and Vanora nods in agreement. “I approve of the idea, too. There are much too many men in the family.”
For the next few minutes she finds herself lost in thought as she rocks her baby in her arms, content to simply gaze upon her and listen to the sounds of merriment echoing around her. “Have you seen Gal or Tristan?” a voice asks from behind her, and when she turns around she’s met a curious looking Gawain. “Tristan dragged him outside, but they aren’t there. I don’t know where else to look.”
“I wouldn’t check either of their tents, if I were you,” she whispers conspiratorially.
Gawain stares at her for a moment, uncomprehending, before his eyes widen and he beams. “Gal’s finally managed to seduce Tristan!” he shouts victoriously as he turns to face the crowd, and the announcement causes almost all of the tavern’s residents to cheer. “He’s becoming a real man as we speak!”
Vanora shakes her head in amusement before turning to walk back to the kitchens with a smile.