No Drinks Allowed

Summary: Morgana wants revenge... again. She comes up with what she sees as a completely foolproof plan... again. So she holds someone hostage... again. Only, this time, she's got Gwaine. And she chewed off a bit more than she could swallow.

Genres: Humour, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort.

Characters: Gwaine, Morgana, Merlin, Arthur and the other Knights of the Round Table.

A/N: This particular plot-bunny viciously attacked my brain after I read a certain drabble by Ultra-Geek (chapter 4 of One Hundred). Only my story doesn't have Gwaine/Morgana (unless you want it to be, I guess... I know I don't, ha). My plot bunny started as: OMG! What if Morgana does catch Gwaine? And he's held hostage! And Arthur and Merlin and the others have to save him! And the whole time he's making random cracks making demands for his ale! And… You get the idea. It grew. And grew. And grew some more.

It was originally gunna be purely a crack!fic. Then I realised it'd have to be slightly more serious for it to work. But it's still humorous. (Well, it's intended to be). But that means it has plot holes and inconsistencies which I'm not too bothered about 'cause I just kinda wrote this on a whim without going back and changing and editing things to make it perfect. It's a go-with-the-flow kind of story. So don't ask me where Morgana got all those guards or why she's staying … wherever it is. I honestly have no answer.

On that happy note, read on. This A/N was pretty long. Meet ya at the bottom!

.:':.

Chapter One

If anyone asked Gwaine if he ever worried about getting into serious trouble before he became a knight, he would have laughed and offered to get them a tankard of mead - which he most likely couldn't afford. If anyone asked him if he worried about getting into serious trouble with a crazed sorceress after becoming a knight, he would've reacted the same way - only this time he'd be able to pay for the drink.

But if anyone asked Gwaine if he felt seriously worried after he got kidnapped and held against his will in some mysterious place or other by aforementioned witch... well, he would have laughed still. Unfortunately, evil witch kidnappers don't offer mead or wine or cider or even pickled eggs to their hostages, so getting the person a drink was out of the question. Gwaine doesn't get worried, he would have said. He gets drunk.

Again, unfortunately, that wasn't possible. So he settled for the next best thing - annoying the hell out of his kidnapper. If he was to be held in a dull, boring, lifeless cell, he might as well have some fun, right?

.:':.

When Gwaine opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was all the grey. So he sat up and looked around and saw... more grey. That was odd, he gathered. He was pretty sure that the world wasn't naturally grey, and he wasn't colourblind, if he remembered correctly... But then again, Gwaine had had a fair amount of drinks at that odd little tavern (judging by the way the room spun when he sat up and the ground tilted in what he thought was an uncommon way) and his memory wasn't usually up-to-scratch after that.

Ow, was his next thought. Why did his head throb? It wasn't just the familiar throb of a hangover, he knew that much. In fact, it felt like someone had chucked a sledgehammer at his head and then proceeded to drag him all the way here by his feet so his poor, aching head could hit any dangerous objects on the road.

And there goes thought number three (this can't be good for his headache): where exactly was here? All he'd figured out was it was grey. And there was one of those huge, daunting, stone cell doors with a little barred window in the middle and no sign of a handle. On this side, at least.

Gwaine deducted that no handle on his side of the door must mean that he was on the inside. He felt proud at the deduction. He also felt hungry. He couldn't quite remember if he'd eaten anything at that tavern, though he didn't exactly try very hard. It was hard to think when one had a head like the inside of a drum and a mouth like a badger's armpit. Then Gwaine proceeded to laugh out loud and make a mental note to thank Merlin for telling him about that incident. When he saw him.

Which went back to the question: Where was he?

Then the sound of heavy boots marching towards the door reached him, and the knight managed to clamber to his feet (using the wall's helpful support, of course). His hand automatically went to the sword holster at his waist and grabbed thin air. He looked down to see why. His sword wasn't there.

Right. Of course. If he was kidnapped and held hostage by whoever-it-was, they wouldn't want him to fight his way out with his undeniable skill. Even if he did feel so drunk that he'd be lucky to know which side was the blade and which was the pommel.

He heard the clanking of keys unlocking the door (really, what was the point of locking it if there was no knob on this side anyway?) and stood up straight. He leaned back on the wall, crossed his arms across his chest, flicked his hair out of his face and put on his best grin. After all, they do say first impressions are often the lasting impressions.

The door swung open after what seemed like a lot of unnecessary metallic noises. (Finally. How bloody long does it take to unlock a door?). In marched what looked like a typical brainless, mind-controlled, all-brawn-no-brain, muscleman guard. He looked in, glared at Gwaine the best he could (the knight grinned wider) and beckoned him forward, all the while pertaining the air of someone who expected to be intimidated from.

"You're wanted," he growled.

Gwaine shrugged and sauntered to the door, choosing to ignore the man's forgotten pleasantries. He looked around the corridor and was disappointed. More grey! Couldn't these evil types go for a more inviting colour? What about light blue? Green?

He also took notice of two stoic-faced, heavily-built men standing on either side of his door. Guards, he presumed. Or statues. Gwaine felt a curiosity towards which one they were, so as he passed by he waved a hand experimentally in front of one the guard-statue's face. He was glared at.

That settled it then, the knight thought cheerfully as he let himself be led away. They were certainly guards.

"So, where exactly am I wanted?" he asked casually as the muscleman grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him forward. It didn't do much to help his spinning head, but Gwaine didn't complain. No way would he give him the satisfaction.

No reply.

"Nice place you've got here. Very grey."

Nothing.

They turned a corner and went up some dark, winding steps. All the way, they hadn't passed a single room or door. Gwaine figured he was probably a special case, having gotten the only room down there. The stairs stopped at an intricate, not-grey door. It opened by itself and in they marched.

Correction: The guard marched. Gwaine stepped along quite willingly (he figured that as soon as the guard let go of his arm the spinning would catch up to him and he'd tumble to the floor – not very dignified for a knight of his standard or skill), still trying to figure out where he was, and a new question that had arisen to him: when and how did they catch him, and why didn't he remember it? He guessed he was very, very drunk at the time.

Funny how that was the answer to a lot of his problems.

That aside, he looked around the new room, which was much bigger and more colourful than the cell. That wasn't to say it was colourful, just that there was more than just grey in here. That was a relief to Gwaine. He was about to go mad from the sheer greyness of it all.

It was a wide, circular room, with not that much in it. There was a large window to one side, though, which was half closed off by a fancy, thick curtain; the half that was open showed signs of sunlight outside, which didn't surprise Gwaine completely, though it did unnerve him a bit that he had been knocked out for the whole night and the beginning of the morning. Along the wall on the other side were bookcases and shelves, all holding suspicious-looking items. Come to think of it, Gwaine noticed that the whole room held a varying assortment of shifty gadgets and plants and books. Dark magic, he realised.

Then the muscleman gave him a shove, predictably making him stumble forward a few steps (somehow managing to stay on his feet despite the urge to hug the ground). He looked up and saw her. Of course. Who else would it be?

"How nice of you to join us, Sir Gwaine," said Morgana, voice dripping with malice and eyes full of venom.

Gwaine smiled charmingly at her and did the hair-flip thing again. Funny; she didn't swoon like they all did. "Hey. I don't believe we met properly last time. You're the evil witch who blew up half the castle, right? It's a pleasure to finally meet you." Gwaine's amused grin grew wider and more mocking with each line. He knew staying quiet would be the smart thing, but... well, he is Gwaine. And if the smart thing would be not antagonizing your captor, then he did the not smart thing. There were enough witty remarks in Gwaine's brain to make the she-witch wish she'd never messed with this particular Knight of Insurmountable Skill and Devilishly Good Looks.

Morgana snarled and, with a flash of golden eyes, flicked her hand at him. The knight fell forward on all fours suddenly as the heavy chains and manacles that appeared around his wrists and ankles weighed him down. Gwaine sat back and studied them carefully. They seemed to be made of stronger stuff than your average chains. He looked back up at the witch, eyebrows raised.

"So, what exactly have you got planned for me?"

This time Morgana smirked (surprise, surprise) and slowly circled him. "I can't tell you that, now, can I? You just wait until your noble friends get here and we'll have a lot of fun." She stopped in front of the knight and added dangerously. "I look forward to it."

Gwaine groaned to himself. This was a trap for Arthur and Merlin, of course. What else?

"You'll be waiting a while then," he said conversationally, shooting her his second-most disarming grin that had lured in various people in the past. She still remained un-swayed. "I doubt Arthur's going to send out a search party just 'cause I've been missing a few hours. He knows me better than that."

Morgana adopted a superior look of 'oh but I know something you don't', which Gwaine did not like. "I'm sure as soon as he gets my message he'll come rushing in to help, along with your other little knightly friends… and of course, Merlin." She hissed his name with pure acid latching onto her tones.

"Right. You hang onto that little hope if it makes you happy," Gwaine snorted. In the back of his mind, he hoped his friends came and got him soon (and knowing them, they would), but he knew that it was dangerous for them all, thanks to this damned witch.

The damned witch in question looked peeved off by his retorts; she held her hand out at Gwaine again (he watched in unveiled curiosity – whether that was because he really was unafraid or just too hung-over to determine the damage she could do to him, he didn't really know), eyes flashing gold again, and hissed, "Astrice!" And the knight was thrown back against the wall.

Ouch.

Gwaine groaned and attempted to lift his head. He managed to get up briefly, before the weight of the chains unbalanced him and he fell again. He could feel the back of his head throbbing. If he made it out of this place with his brain and skull still intact, it'll be a miracle, he thought.

"That'll teach you to keep your mouth shut," Morgana snarled, dropping her hand. "And if it doesn't, then we can have some fun while we wait for those noble idiots."

"Well then, I'll go make myself comfortable for the wait," he told her, plastering on the best grin he could manage in his dizzied state. "You don't happen to have any mead, do you? We can't have fun without it."

Morgana stared at him, obviously wondering why he wasn't at least asking her to leave the others alone and deal with him instead, or moaning about not wanting the torture. Then she scowled and waved her hand at the silent guard to drag Gwaine back to his lonesome grey cell. He didn't put up a fight.

.:':.

Back in Camelot, the other Knights of the Round Table were getting ready for practice, first thing in the morning.

Arthur frowned as he surveyed the four knights in front of him. "Where's Gwaine?"

The question made them all look around as they realised that their friend was missing.

"He was going to the tavern last night," Merlin put in helpfully from behind them, where he was setting up their training equipment. "Maybe he slept in."

"And you didn't see fit to remind him he had training this morning, did you Merlin?" asked Arthur heavily.

Merlin chose to ignore his tone of voice. "He knew he had training. He even said he'll only get a couple of drinks so that you don't eat him alive if he shows up with a hangover."

"If Gwaine says 'a couple of drinks', he generally means 'a couple dozen drinks', though," Leon told him, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. The young warlock paused and looked at him.

"Well... he's probably just a little late."

Arthur rolled his eyes and told the four other knights to get into position. "We're starting without him. If he hasn't turned up in ten minutes, Merlin, you will go to his room and drag him here, drunk or not," he ordered.

His manservant shrugged and nodded, then watched his friends train.

Less than ten minutes in, however, they were interrupted by a messenger running towards them, waving his hands for attention. Arthur stopped mid-strike and lowered his sword, watching warily as the man caught up with them, another man in tow.

"Excuse me… Sire… a message for you," the messenger panted, leaning forward on his knees for breath. The man with him – who Merlin recognized as the innkeeper of the local tavern – stepped forward, bowing in front of the prince. The other knights crowded around, curious.

"What is it?" asked Arthur with a sense of foreboding.

The innkeeper took a breath and relayed what had happened the night before. "Last night, Sire, one of your knights was at my tavern as usual – Sir Gwaine."

The sense of foreboding battled with a sense of exasperation as Arthur wondered briefly if Gwaine had gotten himself in another troublesome brawl.

"A strange man was sitting with him after he had had a fair amount of drinks and they appeared to have gotten into an argument. Then the man knocked Sir Gwaine a heavy blow to the head and called in ten other men like him – all dressed in black... We had no chance to stop them."

Arthur cursed silently. He had a fair idea just who was behind this and he didn't like it one bit.

"The man cornered me and told me to inform you Sire, that… that the Lady Morgana has Sir Gwaine."

He paused as the prince swore out loud this time, looking aggravated at the news. Merlin also detected the betrayal that always showed up in Arthur's eyes at the mention of his traitorous half-sister.

"What else did he say?" he demanded the man, who averted his eyes from the scowling prince.

"He said that La- she gives you until sunset today to get there or Sir Gwaine will… suffer consequences. He gave directions to the place they are holding him, Sire." The innkeeper handed Arthur a folded piece of parchment and bowed again, stepping back.

Arthur opened the note and skimmed over it, eyes dark. He nodded to the men in dismissal then turned back to his knights, who were for the most part looking concerned for their fellow friend.

"We have to go to him as soon as possible, Sire," Lancelot spoke up, saying what was on the rest of their minds. "There's no knowing what she will do to him in the meantime."

Arthur nodded again and marched straight towards the castle, the others in tow. He gave the knights orders while he went to inform the Council quickly of the problem.

"Lancelot, Percival, get six horses ready. Elyan, Leon, you two come with me to the Council." He glanced back at Merlin as he jogged up the steps into the castle. "Merlin, make sure the horses are fully equipped and we're not missing anything. I'll meet you all at the gates in fifteen minutes."

"How far is the place?" Merlin asked him before he went off after Percival and Lancelot.

Arthur shook his head with a grimace. "At least six hours' ride from here from what I can figure."

Merlin frowned as he sprinted towards the stables, glancing up at the sky as he did so. They would be lucky to get there just in time… He hoped Gwaine was alright.

.:':.

A/N: So? How's that for a beginning? So I was re-reading this bit and I realised – gasp-shock-horror-blasphemy! Gwaine didn't do his hair-flip! :O Absolute BLASPHEMY I tell you! So I fixed that up. I am now happy with this. :) See? Happy face! You know what else makes me happy? Reviews! Then I'll be :D :D :D! Triple-y times happy! Cool, right? *hinthint*

Gwaine's character might have been a little off, but yours would too if some evil bad dudes knocked you on the head pretty hard while you were heavily drunk. Give the guy some slack. And, yes, I am aware that Morgana is kinda OOC and cliche-villain-ish. Morgana's supposed to be like that. She's pissed off. And stuff. And evil bad guys (er – chicks?) are all tough n' stuff n' all that. And don't think their plans through well enough. You get the idea, I'm sure.

And a BIG special thanks to both Dodo and Rei for reading over this and telling me what they thought! (that's Dodo.123, and Renae Shnucumbs). (And Rei - yes, I know I didn't 'oomph' it up. It didn't work out well. *shrugs* Thanks, though.)

Gwaine is epicness.

Peace out, dudes and dudettes~

izzy.