The Dark Tower

Chapter 15 - Returns and Taverns

Gwen and Arthur came to meet us as we arrived in Camelot. It was good to see them again, especially Gwen although it seemed to take forever for us all to catch up.

‘Home at last,’ I said, dropping my bag on the floor in my old room and sitting on the bed.

‘Is this where you think of as home?’ He dumped his bag, pulled off his tunic and stretched.

I watched the finely honed muscles, the delicious stretching of skin over them and his ribs, a man in perfect physical shape. ‘Aha. What about you?’

He shrugged. ‘As good as anywhere.’

‘Gwaine, what ARE you going to do now? You’re not going back to the inn, are you?’

‘Probably not. But I’ve got you to think of now.’

‘Well I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to be perfectly honest.’

‘Do? But you’re a lady. You don’t have to do anything.’

‘Ah. Well. That’s not really me. I’m not really one for not doing anything.’

‘Well, you’re a healer, I suppose.’

He walked over to the window, leaned on the sill and peered out over Camelot and I had a sudden lurch of déjà vu from the TV programme. His first episode.

‘And you’re a knight.’ Another shrug. ‘Gwaine, there’s no point denying it. It’s who you are and what you do. Percival might be able to go back now to The Crossed Swords with Éowyn because he’s a brilliant cook and it works for him there. You tried it and . . . well, you weren’t happy there, were you?’ He turned towards me, a pensive look on his face. ‘Were you?’

‘Not really, no. But you’d be happy with me being a knight?’

‘Would you be happy not being a knight?’

 He flung himself casually on the bed and looked up at me. ‘If I’m honest, no. But where does that leave us?’

‘You being a knight. And me trying and keep you alive.’

He smiled, looking more relaxed than I had seen him for a very long time.’ Sounds like a good deal to me.’

‘What say we go out tonight? Away from the castle? You can show me one of your taverns.’ I began to change into fresh breeches and a clean tunic, tying my hair and knotting it into a bun. ‘Come on then.’

‘You’re going like that?’

‘Yes! Why not?’

‘Oh nothing,’ and he pulled a clean shirt on.

We walked out of the castle gates and into the main part of the town. He was hurrying me through one of the less desirable areas of the town near the city gates when his name was called. He turned, waved, and went to move me on.

‘Gwaine, it’s a tavern! Let’s go in there. They obviously know you.’

He said nothing, just steered me in to the inn with the unlikely, and rather confusing name of “The Squirrels Nuts”.

‘Well, well, well,’ said one of the girls working there. ‘If it isn’t Gwaine. Or Sir Gwaine now, isn’t it?’

He nodded at the girl, dressed in the traditional cream blouse with corset over a long skirt, and a mass of blonde curls. She was pretty, and well aware of it as she led us to a table.

‘Ale, Sir Gwaine?’ she asked.

‘Please.’

‘I’ll have the same,’ I added.