Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle, another conversation was taking place.

After leaving the Great Hall, Percival had quickly remembered that the tavern would most likely be closed (in retrospect, there was a war in progress), so instead, Gwain had dragged them all up to his own chambers. Although Merlin was quite certain that they all looked extremely guilty (apart from Gwain, who probably couldn't even spell the word), nobody stopped them as they walked through the corridors and up the stairs.

Gwain's chambers were built in the same style as Arthur's, just a little smaller, and as they entered the other three looked around in interest. Despite being the most outgoing and sociable of all the knights, Gwain had always been very private when it came to the inner aspects of his life, both past and present. To Merlin's knowledge, Gwain had never allowed anyone into his rooms, including servants, maids, friends, and the 'night time companions' for which he was so famous for.

It did not surprise any of them that Gwain appeared to be hoarding a stash of alcoholic beverages large enough to flood most of Camelot, and the majority of the surrounding kingdoms too. What they did not expect, however, was the huge collection of artworks which were scattered carelessly over the table and chairs which stood in the centre of the room, as well as being stacked messily by the walls.

As Gwain walked over to a cabinet by one of the windows and opened it to reveal (shocked gasp!) more bottles of variously coloured liquids, Lancelot wondered over to the table and picked one of the pictures up. It was a landscape, beautifully captured in water-colour, depicting a long river winding lazily through a valley surrounded by soaring hills, capped with rocky outcrops. The valley itself was a wash of colour. Lush grasses mixed with bright poppies, cornflowers and wild daisies. A lone oak tree stood a little away from the water, twisted and majestic. Even though the painting itself was not all that big, the detailing was incredible. The oak was no larger than the upper joint of Merlin's thumb, and yet every leaf on the branches, every miniscule knurl in the bark, was visible. Upon the vivid blue of the river, two pin-head sized birds could be seen paddling side by side with the current.

Lancelot looked up as Gwain returned with four glasses and a barrel- in Merlin's opinion, 'big bottle' just didn't cover it- of what Merlin feverishly prayed was run-of-the-mill mead. Ha.

"Hang on a second. Here, hold these." Gwain dropped the barrel into Percival's arms and the cups into Merlin's, and began to push the pictures out of the way. Lancelot gestured to the one that he still held in his hand.

"This is amazing. I've never seen a painting so…real."

Gwain grinned. "I've got paintings and sketches from everywhere I've ever been." He took the glasses from Merlin and set them on the cleared section of the table, before beckoning to Percival to pass him the barrel. While he poured, the others joined Lancelot in flicking through the pictures. There were more landscapes, portraits, still-lifes, buildings, events and quick sketches, depicted in every style and media imaginable. The talent behind the art was un-believable, and despite the vast number of pieces, no two were alike, each one being as exquisitely unique as the next.

They turned back to Gwain and he offered them there drinks. Merlin eyed his suspiciously, before taking a wary sip. He couldn't hold back a small squeak as what was definitely not 'run-of-the-mill mead' destroyed the insides of his mouth and throat. From the expression on Percival's face, he was suffering the same torment. Manfully, Merlin managed not to fall to the floor clutching his stomach, but it was a near thing. Predictably, Gwain had downed most of his in one go, and was showing no signs of any discomfort. If Merlin hadn't been frantically wondering if even warlocks could survive with most of their internal organs melted to mush, he would have been impressed. As it was, he simply stood, clasping his mug tightly in both hands and blinking rapidly to try and stop his watering eyes from over-flowing. Across from him, Percival mirrored his actions. In later life, they would refer to this torture as the 'bonding trauma' that truly sealed their friendship.

(A/N: Sorry I have not written for ages. I actually forgot I was a member of this website, and that I had stories on the go. Oops. Anyway, the more you review -be it good or bad- the more likely I am to remember to write. So feel free to go wild. It's really up to you. )