Chapter Text
Galahad’s probably a bit further into his wine than he ought to be, but it’s been a bad day. Woads too close to the wall, Arthur in a black mood after correspondence from Rome, and Lancelot taking Arthur’s bad mood out on everyone else.
He wants quiet. The peace he vaguely remembers from home. He wants to not have so many people crowding round him all the time; the other knights, the Roman garrison, the Britons who live and work in the fort and the innumerable traders and dignitaries who lurk, making everyone’s life that bit harder by being there.
So he drinks the world quiet. Everything muffles eventually so that even though there is noise, it’s just a hum, a murmur that he can ignore. Normally he’s careful, he finds the balance between having that barrier and being too drunk, but tonight the quiet didn’t come fast enough and he’s gone too far.
Vanora gives him a pitying look and takes the flagon of wine away, not replacing it as she walks past him and he pouts. She smiles at him like she does her youngest and pats him on the head. It’s Bors who finally carries him out.