Um...yeah. My brain broke and it made my fingers throw up on the keyboard. So this is totally OOC, mostly crack...funny, admittedly...just...read. No spoilers, imaginary knight at the end...I'm sorry?

The second assassination attempt was much clumsier and far less exciting than the first. In fact, it wasn't even on Terence—some faction had heard of Gawain's marriage to Lorie and sought to…well, what the faction wanted to do once they got Gawain was never entirely determined. They managed to get someone to sneak into Gawain's chambers, but Terence walked in first and received a face-full of…something meant for his master. Gawain had been behind him at the time. Gawain picked up the short, blue, would-be assassin with one hand—the terrified faery babbled his apologies and begged for mercy—and tossed him out the tower window.

Whatever he was, he bounced when he hit the ground. He bounced into the Squire's Court, where several squires shouted in fear and bludgeoned him into unconsciousness with the swords they were supposed to be sharpening. Gawain wasn't paying attention by then. He'd already turned back to his squire, who was slumped against the wall with a most startling grin on his face.

Thankfully, Morgan had been at court at the time. She walked by the Squire's Court, saw the blue faery man, wrenched him from the grip of the squires, woke him up, heard his confession, and sent him on his way to Avalon's dungeons. Then she marched up to Gawain's chambers, where a sweating, giggling Terence was lying on Gawain's bed, trying to carve the mortar out from between two stones in the wall with his fingernails, while Gawain tried to bring his temperature down. She examined the squire, but she did it with a smirk that suggested she already knew what was wrong with him.

"It's not dangerous," she said, leaning back to watch the Duke of Avalon chew on a blanket. "It was meant to incapacitate while the faery took you elsewhere, not to injure or kill. He isn't hurt. I could give him something, but it would take a full day to make and I won't be here that long. Not that it would matter much, since the fit would be half over by then."

"Excuse me?" Gawain asked, yanking the blanket away. "What do you mean, half-over?"

She sighed, running a damp cloth over Terence's forehead. "He'll have a light fever for the next week or so, but for the most part the spores will be out of his system in two days. Today will be the worst. He's not in any pain, just delirious. He can't speak, not really anyway, and he won't be in his right mind. You'll have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't hurt himself. Like that."

She nodded at Terence's hand. He'd found the dagger under Gawain's pillow and was waving it toward his own ear. Gawain grunted and snatched it away.

"And tomorrow?" he asked.

"Have you ever seen Terence drunk?" she returned with another smirk. "Because if you haven't, that'll be your chance."

"Do I get hungover Terence the day after that?"

She nodded, the smile growing. "Beyond that you'll just have to wait 'til the fever fades. He'll be fine."

"Oh really?" Gawain caught Terence's wrist as a hand swung up toward his face, nearly bopping him on the nose. "And how will I explain this to everyone else?"

Morgan shrugged and left.

Gawain enlisted Eileen the first day, knowing she would be more than willing to help, but the second day she turned her cooling cloth over to him and said she was going to go to her room and pass out now, thanks. Apparently the spores made it impossible for Terence to sleep as well. Gawain told Arthur that Terence was ill, which was true to an extent, and he would be in his chambers tending his squire until he was well again. He resigned himself to a day of boredom and loopy, pointless conversation. Terence was a coherent, slap-happy drunk.

For the most part, anyway.

"Milord. Milord Milord Milord Milord."

"What, Lad?"

"D'you know what I love? What I really, really love?"

"Eileen?"

Terence froze with his mouth hanging open, as though the name had thrown him completely off track. "…That's a who, not a what," he said, sounding a little scolding.

"I'm sorry. What is it that you love then?"

Terence sat up and clapped his hands together in front of him. "I love it when people face me. When they look at me, look right at me. When they look me in the eye and say…"

Gawain waited a moment, then turned from polishing his armor to look at where his squire sat at the table. "…And say what?"

The squire looked at him, face blank. "What?"

"You love it when people look at you and say…"

"Say what?"

"Exactly."

"…What?"

Gawain sighed, closing his eyes and counting to ten. "Terence, you were telling me you loved something. What is it that you love? When people look you in the eye and say…"

"Oh, right. I love it when people look straight at me and say there's no such thing as faeries." He grinned at his master. "The irony is magnificent. I can't get enough. Every time…"

"Does that happen often?"

The squire shrugged and wiped the sweat from around his mouth. "A few times a year. Last time was Sir Roderick. It was hilarious."

"I can only imagine."

Terence looked at him blankly. "Imagine what?"

"Imagine…You know, never mind."

"All right. Hey, milord, you want to know what I really love?"

Gawain sighed again, the back of his neck turning red.

He was going to kill that blue man, he really was. If he didn't kill his squire first.