The man gives him a puzzled frown and shifts further down the bench, away from him, but Gwaine has already had one drink too many tonight and isn't going to notice the subtle clues telling him that he's not welcome. Hell, he's so pissed he probably wouldn't notice if the other man drew his sword and whacked him over the head with it.
So Gwaine gestures for the innkeeper and orders two more flagons of wine for him and his new friend. "By the way, I haven't asked your name," Gwaine says, slurring a little. Just a little, he's not that drunk, really. He props his elbows on the table to avoid falling sideways. "I'm Gwaine."
"Lancelot," the other man replies. Gwaine completely misses the small pause before his answer and the coldness of his tone. Or maybe he notices them but decides they're not important. After all, their wine has just arrived, the innkeeper being very keen on serving tonight's best customer. Gwaine thanks him and takes a swig from the flagon.
And it's going to be bad for Gwaine if he can't get away before the innkeeper finds out that he's only got a few pennies in his pockets, but that's a problem better left to tomorrow morning. If Gwaine will still be able to walk and talk come morning.
Right now Gwaine is more interested in this stranger, this Lancelot, who's currently staring at him with an air of deep distrust. Gwaine doesn't mind, he's busy making sure that the wine makes it from the flagon to his mouth without too many detours towards the floor.
"So," he said, managing on his second attempt to swipe his chin with his hand. "Tell me all about her."
He gestures around with his flagon expansively, spilling some more wine. It's not his fault, though. The room is spinning. It's not his fault for making the floors dirty when they're swaying so much. If the innkeeper wanted his floors to be clean he should have anchored them better.
Lancelot frowns at him. "I'm sorry, who are you talking about?"
Gwaine taps the side of his nose knowledgeably, or at least taps the air in the close proximity of his nose. Actual contact requires precision and is difficult.
"The lady you're pining for," he says, as if it was obvious from the beginning. Which, to be honest, it was. "You're sitting in a corner by yourself all gloomy. That's like a crime in a good tavern as this one, it is!"
He'd know about crimes. And taverns. Yep, Gwaine's definitely an expert on these matters, and nobody is going to be gloomy in a tavern on his watch.
He glares at the stranger, who sighs and takes a swig from his own flagon, immediately wincing. The wine in this place tends to have this effect on people, at least on the beginning. Then you kind of stop caring. Gwaine's tempted to tell Lancelot, but the man will probably figure it out on his own soon enough.
"I love her," Lancelot says out of the blue, and for a moment Gwaine thinks he's talking to his wine. "I've tried telling her, but I just can't find the courage. I can't."
His face looks so pained it's almost funny. Actually everything seems funny to Gwaine right now. But Lancelot's dismal expression manages, if not to sober him up, at least to prevent him from laughing out loud.
"There, there," Gwaine says, vaguely patting Lancelot's shoulder. He ends up having to grasp it for support to stop himself from sliding off the bench. With his awesome powers of observation he immediately notices two things. First, Lancelot has very nice shoulders. Second, they were talking about courage. Third, his flagon is empty.
"What you need," he tells Lancelot, "is a little liquid courage."
He grins at him and then signals to the innkeeper for more wine. At least, he waves his arm around vaguely. The innkeeper can probably infer the meaning of his gesture. Gwaine hopes so, since he doesn't think he'll be able to get up and tell him directly. Then again maybe Lancelot can tell the innkeeper for him. It's nice to have friends.
His newest friend seem to be a little distracted though, since he just keeps sighing and staring at a blank spot on the wall.
"She's special," Lancelot says. "I think I've been in love with her since the moment we met. She's got this... this amazing smile," he adds. "And she makes a room brighter just by walking into it. I don't know how it's possible."
Gwaine nods politely, even though he has no idea what Lancelot is talking about. He vaguely recalls talking about women. Lancelot doesn't seem to be needing his drink, so Gwaine takes a swig from his flagon.
"My old mum always used to say that when I met the right woman I was to marry her before she realized that I was a total scoundrel," he says, not too consequentially.
This only has the effect to make Lancelot's face fell even more.
"I'd ask her in a heartbeat if I could," he said with another of his heartbreaking sighs.
Gwaine doesn't understand where the problem is. He'd marry Lancelot if Lancelot asked. Lancelot was nice and let him steal his wine. Which Gwaine had ordered but wasn't going to pay for, so actual ownership of the wine was a bit of a legal grey area. But Gwaine gets to drink most of it so no problem there.
Of course Gwaine doesn't actually tell Lancelot all of this. There are too many words involved, and words involve his tongue, and Gwaine isn't quite sure he's got a tongue any more. Instead he gives Lancelot a sympathetic look. Both of the Lancelots actually. He hadn't noticed that there were two identical Lancelots pining in front of him. He'd ask about that too, if it wasn't for, you know. Words.
Lancelot is still talking. Something about someone being in love with someone else. It's all a bit complicated and Gwaine thinks there are way too many words involved. He smiles at Lancelot and nods, then falls down on the table and starts snoring.