Arthur stayed for the rest of the afternoon and evening as Lancelot slowly recovered his senses. Lancelot was surprised to hear from the healer that it was Bors who had searched for and rescued him.
The next day Arthur, after talking to Bors, confirmed the events to Lancelot who then was ashamed of the way he had referred to Bors two nights previously. He had fought alongside Bors in many battles and found him to be trustworthy, loyal and reliable.
By that evening, Lancelot felt well enough to be back on his feet. His first job was to track down Bors whom, unsurprisingly, he found in the tavern, sitting at a table, surrounded by his cronies. Lancelot bought a jug of ale and placed it in front of Bors. Bors looked up at him.
"I believe that I owe you a debt of gratitude."
"Not really," replied Bors, eyeing the jug, "Any man would have done what I did."
"Not any man," replied Lancelot. "There is no man quite like you, Bors. You don't deserve harsh words from me. I have no right to judge you."
Bors was plainly uncomfortable by this humble display from Lancelot. He shifted in his seat and glanced again at the jug before him.
"The let's say no more but share a beer," he suggested hopefully.
Lancelot's face broke into a smile. "That is the best medicine I have been offered yet. Just remind me in the future, Bors, that when I need a sore head I should get it by drinking ale with you rather than by hitting a rock."
Finally Bors relaxed and also smiled. The smile turned into one of his guffaws that filled the room and made all his companions, including Lancelot, laugh too.
The End