Chapter 1 – Spiced Frankish Wine
Sir Percival swallowed the last gulp of his fourth (large) tankard of spiced Frankish wine. He blinked his eyes rapidly and shook his head, hoping such actions would clear his fuzzy vision and his straighten-out his muddy thinking: they didn't. Camelot's largest and strongest knight wasn't much of a drinker, but he'd been known to enjoy a flagon or two of ale now and again. And due to his considerable size, on a typical day, he imbibed without worrying about intoxication. However, this wine was potent, like nothing he'd ever consumed.
"Gwaine," slurred Percival, "what the hell was in that... that... brink, I mean, drink… You know what I mean!"
Sir Gwaine cackled, quite inebriated himself. The two friends sat on the floor, because somehow, sitting in Gwaine's dining table chairs no longer seemed necessary. Or fun. Or possible.
"It's good ol' Frankish wine, my friend," bellowed Gwaine. "The strongest in the known lands." He then tipped backward and lay sprawled-out on his hearthrug.
Somehow, Percival remained seated upright, but swiveled his head and stared at his prostrate best friend with unfocused eyes, then laughed hysterically.
"It is strong!" declared Percival with a drunken snort, which made both men laugh even harder.
Gawain dragged himself upright. "Well, the wine's gone; what should we do now?"
Percival clapped his hands on his friend's shoulders with a bit too much force. "I know what I'm going to do – I am going to go talk to a woman!"
This was quite the declaration coming from Percival, a man known to become so tongue-tied in the presence of ladies he could scarcely spit out a coherent sentence. Around women whom he was comfortable, he was fine; he didn't have a problem speaking with Queen Guinevere, his chambermaid, the kitchen maids, or many other women in the city. But when confronted with new ladies, or women he found attractive, he turned into a total prating mess.
A while back, when Princess Mithian had visited Camelot, Percival had inadvertently called her "Your Flyness," and he still hadn't lived down that blunder. And even worse, when he'd visited the tavern last month and had met the pretty new barmaid, he'd been reduced to near mutism. It had been a humiliating experience, but Gwaine had been there to cover for him.
"Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad idea, man," babbled Gwaine. "If you want a woman in your bed tonight, let me do the talking for you. Remember what happened last time?"
Percival waved his hand drunkenly in his friend's face. "I'm fine now. Feeling really good! And I don't want to go to bed with a woman, I just want to talk to one."
"You never want to go to bed with a woman!" said Gwaine with a roar of laughter.
"That's. Not. True," declared Percival, poking his friend in the chest as he spoke each word. "I just haven't found the right one yet, but I will. All great love affairs start with a conversation, don't they?" he asked, standing. He then stumbled and tripped over a chair, upending it. Yet he somehow remained on his feet.
Still seated on the floor, wobbling Gwaine asked, "Which woman, then? The kitchen maid? You know the one I'm talking about, that one who's about half as tall as you and weighs a good fifteen stone?" Gwaine could no longer contain himself and dissolved into a hysterical fit of drunken laughter.
"There's nothing wrong with her!" insisted Percival, steadying himself against the table. "She's a lovely and kind woman. But no, I am going to talk to the new barmaid. So there, Gwaine!"
Percival staggered toward the chamber door and flung it open.
"You'll never make it down to the tavern!" Gwaine bellowed after him. "Hell, I'll never make it down there. Don't do it, Percival!"
Heedless of Gwaine's warning, Percival stumbled down the castle corridor, his hand pressed against the wall to steady his steps. He'd show that damn Gwaine. He'd show all the knights he was more than a "hulking daisy," one of their favorite nicknames for him. After all, normal men spoke with women all the time. And half of the knights seemed to have new women in their beds each week! Percival had no idea how they managed that. He was terrible at approaching women and he knew it. None of his fellow knights knew that he'd been with only one woman – even Gwaine had no idea. And Percival's singular brief tryst had happened when he was seventeen; it was the woman's idea, and it had turned out to be quite the disaster. Percival didn't even want to think about it right now.
Well, if he was ever going to manage an actual relationship with a woman, he'd have to learn to open his mouth in front of her and not talk nonsense. Or become a mute.
"Liquid courage," he mumbled to himself as he wobbled along. "I'm going to do it! I will talk to her."
To be continued…