A/N: I don't own Merlin. That was the luck of the BBC
Sorry guys, I know I've been AWOL for a couple of days, I just couldn't get the tone and wording right for this, so I've edited it quite a bit from the original that I wrote. We're getting to the 'emotional' chapters - Gwaine, Arthur and Merlin himself. It's not going to be pretty...
I'd like to thank every person that's followed this story and taken an interest, and a massive thank you to everyone who's reviewed - I'm so excited I swear I have a heart attack every time I see an email with a review.
Chapter 6
Not one to ever stay quiet, Gwaine knew his fair share of curses. Countless bar fights, fights with unpaid landlords, fights with fathers of pretty girls, and just general fights, had taught him a variety of words that would make his poor mother faint at the mere knowledge her son knew such filth. He had an honourable streak of course. He may be a drunk, granted often a penniless, homeless drunk, but he knew what was right and wrong. He knew not to curse in front of ladies and to not curse those who didn't deserve such harsh, cruel words. Even in one of many of his drunken stupors, Gwaine kept the worst insults for only the worst of people.
'Five minutes we've been back! What in god's name happened to you?' A knowing grin ghosted over the clean shaven boy's lips.
'The tavern, my friend. It's always the tavern.' An unashamed smirk swamped over the shaggy knight's lips.
Those were the last words he spoke to his best mate. From the moment he met the cheeky raven-haired servant, Gwaine knew he'd found himself a true friend. He hadn't known anything like their friendship before, everyone else passed him off as some useless inebriate. The prince's manservant had joined in a bar fight with him, tended his wounded leg, brushed off his hungover grumble and after all that still tried to convince him to become a knight. He had no idea what his mate had seen in him that no else ever had, but he was eternally glad that he had. In Camelot, Gwaine had found his family, they were a ragtag mix of a family sure, but he knew that without the boy's insistent friendship that he would still be nothing more than a drifting drunk. His friend was so unique, he'd never met anyone so pure, innocent, loyal, brave, trustworthy… Gwaine could go on for hours reeling off everything that made him so special. Arthur didn't deserve someone as extraordinary as his best friend, and he voiced that opinion often after raucous nights in the tavern. Arthur was an idiot for treating his manservant the way he did, even though Gwaine knew most of it was harmless banter, he saw the hurt in the boy's eyes to be called useless several times over, relentlessly. But that was nothing compared to the absolute despair he'd seen in his mate's eyes that day. He should never have died. Never.
Not one to ever stay quiet, Gwaine knew his fair share of curses, and an entire dictionary's worth were being flung at the King of Camelot right now, staring him down even though the mere sight of his lord revolted him, his heart heavy with agonising pain and grief and hurt as the flames danced an elegy around his brother's neck.