"Wake up, sir! Have you no shame? Wake up!"

Gwaine began to be aware that someone was kicking him. It was a woman, and she wasn't kicking him very hard, but the kicking was waking him up, which was annoying.

"Where is your honor, sir? This is disgraceful! You should be ashamed of yourself."

Gwaine saw that he was lying curled up in front of a door in a courtyard. He hadn't the foggiest recollection of how he had gotten there, but for Gwaine this was not a terribly unusual sensation. He shaded his eyes from the morning sunlight and looked up at his attacker. A very young and pretty nun was relentlessly kicking his posterior.

Gwaine tried to obey and sit up, but found it hard to move, and he felt as if his head were made of lead. This, too, was a familiar sensation. He rolled away from the woman and tried again to sit up.

"Good heavens!" she said. "You smell like a distillery, and I have no doubt that you've drunk enough to pickle an entire field of cucumbers, but look at you-you're bleeding." Gwaine slowly sat up and looked at his shirt. It did, indeed have blood on it. Upon further inspection he was able to verify that it was his own, from a moderate gash on his abdomen. He hadn't yet noticed the red and purple welt across the left side of his face.

"Owwwww," he said.

"Wait here," said the nun.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," he said with a grimace. He then immediately laid his aching head back on the ground, since it seemed to be the only thing not spinning at the moment.

About two minutes later the pretty nun returned with what looked like a stable boy and a friar. The two roughly helped Gwaine to his feet.

"Bring him in here," said the nun, opening the door against which he had been sleeping. She led them into a dimly lit and scantily furnished room. Gwaine felt himself being placed on a cot and noticed someone pulling his boots off before he lost consciousness again.

(Break)

"Is there nothing more that the Bishop can do?"

Gwaine woke up hearing voices, and immediately thought it prudent to feign sleep for a little while.

"I'm sorry, sister." This was a man's voice. The friar? "There isn't even a priest in residence at Cenred's anymore. The Bishop has no jurisdiction there at the moment, and certainly no sway with the king. It's not looking at all promising. You'll have to think of another way. I'm sorry."

"I understand." That voice was the pretty nun's. He noticed that she spoke with a slight accent. "Thank you for bringing the message so swiftly. Goodnight." The front door closed.

"You must not despair, Sister," This was an old woman's voice, with a similar accent. "God will provide a way."

"I know," said the young one, not sounding certain at all. "A way will surely be provided."

"Isn't that stray rogue awake yet?" asked the old woman.

A hand shook Gwaine's shoulder gently, and then curtains were opened, spilling bright sunshine on his face.

"Sir," said the young woman, "You've been asleep a long time. It's time you were awake."

Gwaine sat up carefully. He could feel bandages tugging on his sore torso, his face hurt, and he noticed with surprise that he was wearing a clean shirt and trousers.

"Are you not hungry?" Gwaine immediately realized that he was ravenous. But he had a more urgent need than food.

"Please go visit the privy behind this house, and then fetch a bucket of water from the well and wash. When you return you will have something to eat."

Gwaine obeyed. And minutes later, when he returned to find the ancient nun holding a plate of bread, cheese and fresh grapes, he was severely tempted to kiss the old woman's cheek. He sat at a little table and fell to eating with great relish.

The younger nun sat down across from him. "May I ask your name, sir?"

"Yes maam. My name is Gwaine." He couldn't resist - he turned on the charm. "Thank you for your hospitality." He winked at her.

The nun did not give him the reaction he was accustomed to getting from flirtatious winking. She smiled, but in a serious, piercing way that made him feel a bit nervous. "Gwaine," she said his name with that slightly German accent he had noticed before, "You seem remarkably nonplussed for having woken up in a strange bed." She was all smiles and innocence. Almost. "Is this something that happens to you often?"

"Not as often as you might think," he said, sensing power and feeling ever so slightly wary of this creature. But the urge to try again was irresistible. "It's usually barns, gutters, ditches…" She continued to smile at him, but she was definitely not smiling at his joke.

"I am Sister Hildegard, and here is Schwester Jutta… I mean, this is Sister Judith." She motioned to the old woman wrapped in a shawl, who was now napping in an armchair by the far wall. "We are here for five years, helping provide for the poor and the fatherless." She continued to stare at him, and he noticed himself resisting a ridiculous impulse to duck under the table. "And Gwaine, what kind of work do you do?"

Gwaine's mouth was unaffected by her impressive stare. "Work? I try my best not to."

Sister Hildegard was not amused. "So you do nothing, then?"

"I wouldn't say 'nothing'."

"How do you fill your days?"

He actually felt sheepish. "Do really you want an honest answer?"

"Yes, absolutely."

Looking at Sister Hildegard's blue eyes, Gwaine felt amused and uncomfortable at the same time. "The answer will not please you," he said.

She waited, and he was somehow forced to speak honestly. "I drink, fight, run, steal, loiter and woo, mostly."

She looked at him seriously. "And does this answer please you?"

Gwaine considered her question. "Not when I'm telling it to you," he admitted.

She looked deeply into his eyes. "Why do you choose this life?"

Gwaine was surprised by his own answer. "Because it angers my stepfather."

"And why do you want to anger this man?"

"Because I am angry with him."

"I see."

"And with myself."

"And how long have you lived this life of anger?"

"Ten years. Perhaps more."

Sister Hildegard said nothing. She stood and walked across the room. At last she spoke. "You have long been a prisoner of this anger. Perhaps the day has come for your release."

"There is no way out for me, Sister," laughed Gwaine.

"You are wrong. Our Lord's blood was spilled to open every prison. Even yours." Gwaine stared. How could someone so very young be saying such things? To him?

The girl had come to the center of the room. Sunlight was pouring in through the lattices of the window, lighting her figure with unearthly radiance. "I feel strongly that you were brought here for a divine purpose. I feel you were brought here to free captives, and by freeing them, you yourself will learn to be free."

Gwaine wanted to laugh. He wanted to make a joke of her words and lighten the seriousness of their conversation, but he found he could not. Hearing this strange, beautiful young woman, he felt shaken. She seemed to be speaking in some incandescent, divine language, and he did not dare defy its power with his irreverent foolishness. For a reason he could never explain, he knew she spoke the truth.

Sister Hildegard came and sat beside him, suddenly every bit a mere young woman again. "Gwaine, there is a novice in the convent whose parents passed away two months ago. Her younger brother and three younger sisters have been made servants in King Cenred's household. He refuses to release them, in spite of our best efforts to persuade him. We have exhausted every possible option. There has been nothing left to us but prayer for these children," Sister Hildegard's innocent blue eyes pleaded with him. "…Until now."