"Before you slip into unconsciousness
I'd like to have another kiss
Another flashing chance at bliss
Another kiss, another kiss..."

It was half past two in the morning, and Gwaine felt great. He was running on zero sleep in three days. He was slightly buzzed thanks to Leon's generous pocketbook. He was thoroughly bruised and battered and sore—all over—but was in a warm state somewhere far past caring. He was singing one of the slow end-of-the-night songs, and was leaning heavily on the megaphone-stand. The injury to his right hand prevented him from hammering on the lyre tonight, but he'd be damned if, like Leon, he was going to miss out on yet another session of Friday Knights. Especially after such an ordeal: he needed it more than he needed that enormous trough of stew and nine pints of ale. He needed the distraction:

"The days are bright and filled with pain
Enclose me in your gentle rain
The time you ran was too insane
We'll meet again, we'll meet again..."

The crowning glory of the past few days had to have been pounding the living hell out of Leon after the smug bastard and his weaselly little accomplice had—well, okay, fine, rescued him—but that didn't make throwing him out twelve floors (the story grew in the telling) acceptable by even his own loose standards of acceptability. Ah, Blondie had it coming, although he seemed far too put out by it now. Gwaine would have to talk to him.

"Oh tell me where your freedom lies
The streets are fields that never die
Deliver me from reasons why
You'd rather cry, I'd rather fly..."

Being on the stage, in front of the usual crowd, with the usual companions at his back, was a comforting place to be also because Gwaine was really, really trying not to think about what had happened in Morgana's castle. Oh, sure, he played it off as another conquest to the lads—she got him a little bit tipsy, but it doesn't take much to reduce the walls of Sir Gwaine's inhibitions to rubble now, does it? It wasn't as if he told her any of Camelot's secrets, now, had he? And he'd gotten a good night out of it—Gwaine was lying when he said he remembered this, too. Sleeping with the enemy didn't bother him, oh, no, he was a red-blooded man, after all, not a wilty, sensitive soul like Leon or Lance, with, you know, standards and self-control and things, no, not Sir Gwaine! He did what he liked, damn the consequences!

Only, it did frustrate him reconciling who exactly had seduced whom...

"The crystal ship is being filled
A thousand girls, a thousand thrills
A million ways to spend your time
When we get back, I'll drop a line."

Gwaine almost staggered as he took his last bow and good old Stuart gave last call, but Percival grabbed him by the arm to keep him from falling.

"All right, Gwaine, that's enough fun for you tonight..." he said, guiding him back to the table where Leon and Merlin sat. Merlin was nursing a tankard of mead. Leon was nursing a black eye the size of Gwaine's fist.

Gwaine was plopped down in the seat next to Leon and, miraculously, thanks to some kind, kind, blessed, wonderful soul—Lancelot—dammit—another ale appeared in front of him.

As the other boys set to putting up the instruments the three were left alone, it seemed, for the first time since they had gotten back this afternoon. Leon glared at him from under the steak he was pressing against his face.

Gwaine grinned sleepily at him, bear foam coating his beard. "Oh, stop looking at me like a wounded girl, Leon. What's a few blows between friends?" he laughed.

"A lot," Leon replied dourly.

Merlin seemed either to be choking or pretending that wasn't funny. He covered this up by blurting out, "Well anyway it's a good job Morgana was so ill-prepared for the likes of us!" He grinned adorably.

Gwaine had some reservations about that, actually, though he didn't voice them just now. All he said, giving Merlin a queer look, was, "Yeah, good job..."

Merlin looked like a baby dear startled by lantern-light.

But Leon jolted, just then, as if remembering something he had forgotten to do—

"The King!" he exploded. "Merlin, I apologize for keeping you from your duties...we can send you with an escort first thing in the morning."

Merlin frowned, looking at his emptying tankard, trying not to let it show on his face how much fun he was having here and how disappointed he would be to be made to go back to third-wheeling it up when Gwen was perfectly capable of looking after Arthur... "You're right," Merlin sighed, duty-bound. "I should go back."

There was a thoughtful pause.

Gwaine was the first to snort, loudly. The idea was preposterous! And soon, Leon and Merlin were laughing, too, and all thoughts of Merlin leaving and going back to wait on the two Queens was soon washed down with the ale.

"All right, Merlin," Gwaine said, in a down-to-business voice he rarely used. "I think I need you to walk me home."

The I'm-a-cute-baby-deer-please-don't-eat-me look appeared again on Merlin's face. "Oh, I, no, see, rather, um, Gaius needs me to wash his turtle..."

"Merlin."

"Yeah?"

"Please take him off my hands, just for one night," Leon practically begged.

Gwaine winked gratefully at Leon, though he was pretty sure the other knight missed it (as, apparently, he missed most things). Even if just to Gwaine, Merlin had some explaining to do...

…

THE END

…

A/N: Thanks for sticking with us! Thanks to all who read, reviewed, favorited, etc. Thanks to my co-authors, B. A. Murdock (who wrote for Leon) and Caitydid (who wrote for Merlin). That's the end of this adventure, but you can read about the further adventures of Leon, Gwaine, Merlin, and the rest of the Camelot crowd in the next Friday Knights story where war is averted, Merlin and Gwaine have a Talk, and Leon and Lancelot meet some guy called Sir Galehaut. Will Merlin reveal his magic? Will Leon ever finish that Steward's Log he started? Find out in "The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship."