"Don't be so gloomy." Thoros waved a bottle of wine, half empty, under Beric's nose. "It's your name day! We should at least try celebrating a little!" A drop of rain from the soaked tent's ceiling hit Beric's nose, then another, and Beric glowered at Thoros without saying a word. He pulled his cloak tighter together, then directed his glare toward the tent flap that barely kept the rain and wind out. Thoros sighed and shrugged, waited a moment, then just took a swig from the wine himself. "We'll find an inn or a tavern tomorrow," he said when he lowered the bottle. "And I'll make up for the spoiled name day once we're back in King's Landing, I promise."
"It's not the rain." Beric looked back to him and reached for the bottle. "And it's not spending my name day out here during a storm." Thoros let him have the wine and Beric took a pull before he continued. "I was a coward. Fate pitted me against Ser Gregor. I didn't speak up when you convinced the king to change the result of the draw. I idly stood by and felt only relief about Loras facing the Mountain instead of me." He took another swig from the wine, then gave the bottle back to Thoros. "What kind of knight am I if I run from a challenge?"
"You didn't run," Thoros firmly corrected. "I didn't give you a choice because I knew you were unprepared for this challenge and Loras was not. Would it make you a better knight if you were crippled and all his hard training had gone to waste?"
"No," Beric replied with an uncertain smile on his lips.
"Admitting a weakness isn't dishonorable or cowardly," Thoros added. "Knowing your limits is what keeps you alive."