Merlin's feeling pleasantly full and just the slightest bit wine-addled as he makes his way towards Gaius' tower with a plate of choice pickings from the feast. The old physician had taken to bed with a bad back earlier, his way of tactfully bowing out of awkward encounters with magical folk still bearing grudges against his complicity during Uther's reign.
Then he finds himself ricocheting off someone in the corridor, and wonders if he is, indeed, as much of a lightweight as Arthur and Gaius claim. He blinks up at…
"Er, Lady Morwenna, my apologies. I didn't see you there. Can I be of assistance?"
Her smile comes on slow and sweet. "Indeed you can," she says, reaching for the dropped plate as Merlin struggles to his feet. Miraculously, not a morsel's out of place. And now there's a flagon of mead, as well.
"You can enjoy this, Lord Emrys. It is a gift for your part in returning magic to these lands. It is brewed from the waters of our sacred well. We are certain it will bring you joy."
Merlin grins. "Oh, um, thank you," he says, nodding as she slips past him down the corridor. He thinks he hears her giggle, and wonders if she's off to tell her fellow priestesses that the mighty Emrys is a bumbling sot.
Then he gets a whiff of the stuff in the flagon and decides he doesn't care. It smells like honey, yes, but also - wildflowers, fresh-baked bread, his mother's peat fire, Arthur's fresh sweat. He doesn’t think to be suspicious until Gaius takes a whiff and practically flings the flagon across the table.
"Sacred it may be, but mead it is most certainly not," Gaius says, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Forgive me, my boy, but that smells like piss, and I can’t imagine it tastes much better. You'd do well to avoid it."
Unfortunately, by this point Merlin's already drunk several cups.
"Sodding sozzeressez…" is the last thing he remembers saying before passing out.
Merlin's feeling pleasantly full and just the slightest bit wine-addled as he makes his way towards Gaius' tower with a plate of choice pickings from the feast. The old physician had taken to bed with a bad back earlier, his way of tactfully bowing out of awkward encounters with magical folk still bearing grudges against his complicity during Uther's reign.
Then he finds himself ricocheting off someone in the corridor, and wonders if he is, indeed, as much of a lightweight as Arthur and Gaius claim. He blinks up at…
"Er, Lady Morwenna, my apologies. I didn't see you there. Can I be of assistance?"
Her smile comes on slow and sweet. "Indeed you can," she says, reaching for the dropped plate as Merlin struggles to his feet. Miraculously, not a morsel's out of place. And now there's a flagon of mead, as well.
"You can enjoy this, Lord Emrys. It is a gift for your part in returning magic to these lands. It is brewed from the waters of our sacred well. We are certain it will bring you joy."
Merlin grins. "Oh, um, thank you," he says, nodding as she slips past him down the corridor. He thinks he hears her giggle, and wonders if she's off to tell her fellow priestesses that the mighty Emrys is a bumbling sot.
Then he gets a whiff of the stuff in the flagon and decides he doesn't care. It smells like honey, yes, but also - wildflowers, fresh-baked bread, his mother's peat fire, Arthur's fresh sweat. He doesn’t think to be suspicious until Gaius takes a whiff and practically flings the flagon across the table.
"Sacred it may be, but mead it is most certainly not," Gaius says, nose wrinkled in distaste. "Forgive me, my boy, but that smells like piss, and I can’t imagine it tastes much better. You'd do well to avoid it."
Unfortunately, by this point Merlin's already drunk several cups.
"Sodding sozzeressez…" is the last thing he remembers saying before passing out.
* * *
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