Chapter 51: The Wager

Lancelot watched in amazement as Gwaine polished off one tankard of ale after another, seeming unaffected by the tremendous amounts of alcohol he was consuming. He smiled endearingly at the blushing barmaid as he gently teased and then openly flirted with her, only becoming more charming as the hours passed, never less so.

It was only when he rose to his feet that it became obvious how much he'd overindulged. He teetered dangerously, nearly stumbling backward over his chair before Lancelot managed to catch his swaying body and hold him upright.

Lancelot, more than a little tipsy himself and not yet fully recovered from his illness, didn't exactly feel steady either, but he somehow found the strength to help the hysterically laughing man up the stairs and into bed.

"See what I mean?" Gwaine slurred at Lancelot as he kicked off his boots and stretched out on his back. "Everyone needs a little help sometimes. After all, what would I have done if you hadn't been here?"

"I'm sure that barmaid would have taken good care of you," Lancelot countered with a smile.

"True," Gwaine admitted thoughtfully. "But you see my point. I'm just saying that... that... well, nevermind. I'll remember it tomorrow, I'm sure."

Lancelot settled himself gingerly on the cold, hard floor, pulling a threadbare blanket over his shivering body as his eyes drifted closed. Gwaine had insisted upon him taking the bed until he was completely healed, but it seemed that his new friend was far too drunk to notice the difference. Lancelot was glad for it; after all, the man had saved his life. A comfortable place to sleep was the least he deserved in return.

"Who's Gwen?"

Lancelot's eyes flew open in shock. Gwaine, who he'd assumed must be well asleep by then, was leaning over the side of the bed, staring down at him with a guilty, yet inquisitive look on his face.

"What... how would you...?" he trailed off, struggling with the pain of hearing her name spoken aloud when he'd been fighting so hard to keep any thoughts of her at bay. Not that he'd been successful, of course, but having to acknowledge the reality of his loss to another person was something else entirely.

But more importantly, how would Gwaine even know about Gwen in the first place?

As intoxicated as he was, the other man seemed to sense Lancelot's bewildered distress. "Sorry," he said, sounding surprisingly sincere, despite the fact that the word was rather garbled. "You... that first night, I brought you upstairs. You had a fever, and you were calling for her. I just wondered... didn't mean to pry."

Lancelot took a deep breath to steady himself. "She... she's no one," he said, attempting to sound casual. "Why? What did I say?"

"Said you loved her," Gwaine told him, peering down into his face with bleary, yet increasingly curious eyes. With a sinking feeling, Lancelot realized there'd be no easy escape from this particular conversation.

"Well..." he started, feeling flustered. "I was delirious. Doesn't necessarily mean... well, you told that barmaid you loved her, didn't you? I'm quite sure that wasn't the truth."

"Oh, that's where you're wrong, my friend!" Gwaine proclaimed grandly, clapping his hand over his heart with a flourish. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and tomorrow, I have every intention of bringing her upstairs with me. Would have done it tonight, but you've obviously had too much to drink. Didn't want to leave you alone in your shameful condition."

Unable to help himself, Lancelot shook his head in disbelief.

"Don't believe me, eh? Well, tomorrow, you'll see."

Lancelot hated to be unkind, but he wasn't half as drunk as Gwaine was, and remembered what the barmaid had actually looked like. She'd been significantly older than the pair of them, a heavy set, rather dumpy woman with flat brown hair and even flatter breasts. Her face had been extremely plain, with a nose that was far too broad and lips that were so thin they might as well have been nonexistent.

And she'd had hair growing on her upper lip, Lancelot recalled with a shudder. Not just a bit of fuzz, but a thick dusting of whiskers that reminded him of his own stubble when he hadn't been near a razor in a week... or truthfully, more like a month.

"Don't worry," he reassured the drunk man, who was dangling off the side of the bed with a lazy, self-satisfied grin on his face. "By morning I'll forget you ever said that. Hopefully you will, too."

"I'll never forget!" Gwaine insisted passionately, his features twisting into something that might have been a scowl if he hadn't been seconds away from bursting into laughter. "I love... Mary? Was that her name? Suppose it doesn't matter. Tell you what, Lancelot. Since you don't believe me, how about I suggest a little wager?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue.

"If I wake up in the morning and do exactly as I've promised, you have to swear that you'll tell me the truth about Gwen. All of it."

Hearing her name made Lancelot cringe from the inevitable pain all over again, but even so, he stopped and considered the suggestion. As harebrained as the bet seemed, it might give him the opportunity to escape questions he really didn't want to answer... questions Gwaine obviously wasn't going to forget about until his curiosity was satisfied.

"And if you don't?"

"If I don't take her to my bed tomorrow, I'll never mention Gwen again."

"Never?"

"You have my word."


Lancelot awoke with a pounding head and a foul taste in his mouth, surprised and slightly annoyed to find Gwaine staring down at him with bright, energetic eyes. It was obnoxious – not only did the man have the ability to drink like a fish, but he obviously didn't suffer from hangovers either.

"Thought you were going to sleep all day," he remarked with a cheerful grin. "Let's go downstairs and get something to eat. See what's to come of our wager too, eh?"

It was Lancelot who spotted her first, immediately deciding that he'd won the bet right then and there. She hurried over with what appeared to be soot stains all over her ragged dress, grinning up at both of them, but particularly at Gwaine, with a mouth full of crooked, almost rodent like teeth.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked in a thin, reedy voice.

Gwaine swallowed hard and looked a little pale, but just as Lancelot was preparing to congratulate himself on an easy victory, the other man executed a deep, graceful bow, then lifted the barmaid's hand to his lips, placing a lingering kiss against her sausage like fingers.

"One look at your sweet face should be all I need to sustain me," Gwaine declared, looking for all the world as if he were head over heels in love. "But as I am only human, I also need food to fill my belly. And some for my friend here if you don't mind."

A bright red blush spread across the woman's sallow cheeks. She stuttered, then nodded and hurried away to fetch their breakfast.

Lancelot watched incredulously as Gwaine flattered the barmaid with an endless stream of exaggerated compliments throughout the course of their meal. Dingy brown hair became golden shafts of ripened wheat, beady black eyes were likened to precious jewels, and all the while, Lancelot was certain she'd see right through the painfully obvious fabrications and order them out of her tavern.

She didn't.

Instead, she hung on Gwaine's every word, giggling and blushing like a young girl as she swatted at him playfully. Their cups never ran empty, their plates were piled high with sausages and fresh baked bread again and again, all with her insistence that she wouldn't accept a single coin in exchange for the lavish breakfast.

When they had finished, Gwaine rose to his feet and leaned much closer than was necessary to whisper something in her ear. She stumbled backward, looking a little dazed, then stammered something about needing to return their plates to the kitchen. "I-I'll be right back," she promised in a shaky voice. "W-wait here, please."

"You don't really mean to go through with this, do you?" Lancelot muttered under his breath as soon as she was gone.

"Of course I do," Gwaine replied nonchalantly. "Said I would, didn't I?"

Yes, but don't you think it's a little... cruel? I mean...?"

"For me or for her?"

Lancelot frowned, not wanting to be openly insulting where the woman was concerned. "Well, you don't actually want to, do you? And what about her? Isn't it... aren't you giving her the wrong impression by saying all those things?"

Gwaine gave him a surprised look. "What do you mean?"

"She might think you're interested in more than just..."

But it was too late. The barmaid had returned, staring up at Gwaine with a gleam in her small black eyes that reminded Lancelot of a feral dog on the verge of devouring a meaty bone. For a moment, he was afraid she might actually start drooling, but instead, she just giggled and prodded the hapless man toward the staircase.

Gwaine somehow managed to look incredibly amused and downright horrified at the same time. He shot Lancelot an uneasy grin over his shoulder, muttering that he should creep upstairs and press his ear to the door if he needed proof.

And then the oddly mismatched pair was gone.

Lancelot would've never dreamed of eavesdropping on something so private, but as it turned out, there was no need. A few minutes after the door above his head closed with a resounding thud, the ceiling began to vibrate with a steady, rhythmic pounding. He shifted in embarrassment, suddenly deciding he desperately needed a bit of fresh air.

When he returned from his walk over an hour later, there was still no sign of Gwaine. A different barmaid, a sweet-faced young woman with a tangle of yellow curls and soft brown eyes, wandered aimlessly around the tavern, staring up at the ceiling in confusion and then in alarm as the rickety bed gave off a series of loud squeaks that seemed as if they'd never end.

A high-pitched, distinctly animalistic howl echoed through the corridor above, and then all was silent.

Lancelot was just finishing up his second tankard of ale, drinks he'd only ordered to give the bewildered young barmaid something to do other than pace back and forth, when Gwaine finally stumbled down the stairs. His normally smooth brown hair was sticking up in different directions, and his trousers were laced so loosely that they looked as if they might fall off at any second. He seemed dazed at first, until he gave his head a shake and treated Lancelot to an enormous grin.

"I believe I've won our wager," he said with a breathless chuckle. "Several times over, to tell you the truth. And now I need a drink!"

"M- mother?"

Lancelot and Gwaine turned their heads to see the pretty younger woman peering at the older barmaid uncertainly, fluttering her hands as she brought forth a shawl to cover a dress that was ripped to the point of indecency.

"Mother, you should be ashamed of yourself!" she hissed under her breath. "Right in the middle of the day, and loud enough for the entire village to hear you! What were you thinking?!"

The other woman turned to her with a blissful, self-satisfied smile. "Take one look at him and tell me you wouldn't have done the same in my place."

Gwaine was fully prepared when the soft brown eyes fell upon the table again. His mouth turned up in a charming grin, and he winked devilishly at the pair of barmaids. Their reactions were uncannily similar as two sets of cheeks turned pink and they each began to stutter.

"Well..." the younger woman started, then seemed to forget her point as Gwaine practically preened under their avid stares. "Well, nevermind."

"Take over for me, would you? I'm exhausted."

After the older barmaid had left to seek her bed, Gwaine waved the younger one over and ordered a round of drinks. He didn't seem embarrassed by what had transpired; on the contrary, he let out a sigh of contentment as she leaned over the table to serve them, his eyes lingering appreciatively on the swell of her breasts as they strained against the bodice of her too tight gown.

She seemed flustered when she caught the direction of his gaze, but then quickly recovered, giving him a coy smile before walking away with a noticeable swing to her shapely hips.

Gwaine whistled under his breath as he stared after her. "Looks like I picked the wrong one, eh? Well, no reason not to have them both."

"But you... you just finished," Lancelot said, gaping at him incredulously. "Haven't you had enough for now?"

"Ah, it's never enough, my friend," Gwaine responded with a suggestive wink.

"But you just bedded her mother! Even if she would, isn't it a little wrong to... I mean, you can't..." Lancelot trailed off, unsure of whether he should be amused or horrified. The man was completely shameless, but somehow, that only seemed to make him more endearing, not less so.

"Oh, I could," Gwaine said, pausing to take a long swig of ale before continuing. "But I won't. We have more important things to talk about just now, don't you think?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," Lancelot said evasively, knowing exactly what Gwaine was referring to. He cast a surreptitious glance around the nearly empty tavern, realizing there wouldn't be much hope for any delays or distractions in the sleepy room.

Gwaine flashed him a patient smile. "Are you really going to make me say it?"

"No," Lancelot said quietly. "You want to know about Gw... yes, you did win the wager. And I agreed to the terms."

Surprisingly, Gwaine shook his head. "Listen," he murmured almost gently. "I was only joking with you. I can't deny that I'm curious; always been a nosy bastard. But if it's really that hard for you, just tell me to stay out of your business and I will."

Lancelot stared at Gwaine from across the table, feeling as if he was really seeing him for the first time. This was a man who'd saved his life without question when he could have just walked away. He'd been gravely ill and Gwaine had stayed by his side the entire time, making sure he had food, medicine, and proper care rather than abandoning him to his fate.

But most of all, he'd made sure Lancelot wasn't alone during one of the darkest, most frightening times in his life. Was a little truthfulness really so much to ask in return?

No.

Lancelot would have made good on the wager either way, but looking into Gwaine's honest brown eyes, sensing the kind heart and good intentions beneath all the careless bluster, made it infinitely easier to do so.

And then he suddenly realized just how tired he was of being alone. Throughout his life, he'd always walked a solitary path, keeping his deepest fears and most painful heartaches safely locked away. He didn't know why; perhaps it was just his nature to minimize his own suffering for the sake of others, to always view their needs as more important than his own.

But it was different with Gwaine, who didn't seem to need a thing in the world beyond another refill. So without further hesitation, Lancelot took a deep breath and began to speak.

At first he only meant to give a few vague details, explaining that he'd wanted to become a knight only to learn that he couldn't due to the fact that he wasn't a noble, and that he'd met people who'd meant a great deal to him during his time in Camelot. He wanted to rush through what had happened in more recent times, glossing over the reasons he'd lost Gwen as he calmly reassured the other man that it was for the best.

It might have been easily accomplished with anyone else, but Gwaine was entirely too perceptive to be brushed off so easily. He listened quietly as Lancelot spoke, occasionally raising a skeptical eyebrow when he knew he wasn't receiving the full story. And as the hours passed and countless tankards were drained by both men, he seemed to learn more about Lancelot than perhaps he even knew about himself.

Unaccustomed to finding himself so vulnerable in front of another person, Lancelot wanted to blame the alcohol, or even the wager itself for the shameless, brutal honesty he'd never known himself to be capable of. But he knew that wasn't it. Something about Gwaine just compelled him to keep talking until there were no more secrets.

No more, save one that was not his own to tell.

When Gwaine finally spoke again, his voice was quiet and somber. "You've had a rough time of it, my friend," he said. "There's no denying that. But there's a difference between the things we cannot help and those we can."

Lancelot gave him a confused look. "What do you mean?"

Gwaine leaned across the table, softening his next words with a gentle smile.

"I'm saying that you're a bloody fool."