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Gwaine knew he’d made a mistake the moment the first punch flew. He ducked under it and swung back quickly with his own fist. Ale slopped over his shirt from the tankard still held in his other hand.
Twisting away from his opponent, he took a large swig, half of the ale missing his mouth and spilling down his chin as he was forced to stagger backwards to avoid another angry punch. Regretting the waste of his drink, he slammed the pewter tankard down onto the man’s head. The man collapsed, almost taking Gwaine down with him as he fell forwards.
Leaping out of the way, Gwaine tripped on someone else’s foot and suddenly found himself tumbling into another fight.
“Oi, watch it,” the big man he’d tripped into growled. He grabbed Gwaine’s shirt. Then bodily threw him into a table. Pain arced across Gwaine’s back.
Before he could get up, another brawler had shoved at the table, kicking it over with Gwaine still on top. He fell to the floor. Another body dropped on top of him, winding him.
The man on top of him ground his knee into Gwaine’s stomach, trying to punch at his face. Gwaine wriggled underneath him, forcing his head forwards to smash his forehead into the other man’s jaw. Then flipped them over so he could knock the other man out with a well aimed blow to the chin.
Scrabbling up, he grabbed the broken leg of a stool. He used it as a club to beat down the man who was running at him with a battle cry. Grinning, Gwaine tossed the club in his hand and snatched up another tankard from a nearby table, gulping down as much ale as he could before the cup was wrenched from his hand. He dodged as it was thrown at him.
“Now, that’s not nice,” he panted, diving under a table and bouncing to his feet the other side.
Several plates came hurtling his way. They smashed on the wall behind him, broken pieces cascading down around his feet. He let out a triumphant laugh that none of them managed to hit him. A laugh that was cut short when another brawler barrelled into him. They wrestled for a moment, each shoving the other, Gwaine trying to get enough space to get in a good swing with his makeshift club. In the end he just jabbed it into the man’s neck, making him stagger back, coughing and rubbing his bruised throat. A swift kick sent him to the floor.
Gwaine was ready to launch at the next opponent when a hand snatched at his hair. The hand pulled and Gwaine was stuck. He couldn’t move without ripping his hair out. He tried to twist around to see but the man shoved his head down. Kicking backwards, Gwaine attempted to stamp on the man’s feet.
While Gwaine was still struggling, the tavern door crashed open. The hand in his hair tightened reflexively. A loud commanding shout of “stop!” halted the chaos of everyone in the room. Gwaine just had time to see a furious Sir Leon step into the tavern, before the man holding him slammed him face first into the wall with a crunch.
Pain exploded in Gwaine’s face and he let out a shouted cry. Tears burst from his eyes as white dots obscured his vision. He collapsed forwards, slumped against the wall, his hands jumping to his face. All he could focus on was the screaming throbbing in his nose, the blinding, deafening pain that was spreading across his cheekbones and up his forehead. Even the pleasant buzz of alcohol was doing nothing to assuage it.
There was a commotion around him but he couldn’t tell what was happening. Couldn’t work out anything beyond the agony. He gasped, unable to breath through his nose. Firm hands were pulling him up, guiding him through the bar and he cried out when the cool night air washed across his face.
“For goodness sake, Gwaine,” Leon muttered, dragging him by one arm away from the tavern.
Gwaine whimpered, his hand cupped around his nose. He could taste the blood that had poured from his nose and over his lips, the sharp metallic of it coating his tongue.
Once the noise of the tavern was out of earshot, Leon steadied him with one arm around Gwaine’s back as he tilted his head up and prised his hands from his face. Gwaine could still feel blood gushing down his face. Leon swore. If Gwaine hadn’t been so incapacitated by the pain, he might have laughed, it wasn’t often that the First Knight sounded so informal.
“Has’t spoil’d my good looks?” he slurred nasally, wincing at the vibrations that talking caused.
Leon ignored him, frowning as he prodded at Gwaine’s nose, his fingers surprisingly gentle. Pain flared wherever he touched and Gwaine let out a colourful string of swearwords that made Leon’s lips twist.
“Broken, I think.” He sighed. “We’ll have to take you up to Gaius.”
Gwaine grunted, pulling back from Leon’s hands. As much as he liked the old man, he hated going to see the physician; it always seemed to involve drinking some sort of horrible herbal potion and a lot of judgmental raised eyebrows. At least Merlin might be there to cheer him up.
Leon finished his inspection. Once he was reassured that Gwaine wasn’t too terribly injured, his tone switched, the exasperated berating tone he usually used with Gwaine slipping into his voice.
“This has to stop, Gwaine,” he reprimanded. “You are a Knight of Camelot, you cannot just pick fights in bars anymore.”
“Tha’ was’t my fault,” Gwaine tried to argue, which only got him Leon’s reproachful stare.
He pinched his nose to try and stop the bleeding, but let go with a yelp when white hot agony stabbed through his face. Instead, he pulled the hem of his shirt up, holding it underneath his broken nose, alarmed to see how quickly the red spread across the fabric.
Leon hummed disapprovingly, but wound his arm under Gwaine’s again and helped him stagger forward.
“Come on, you vagabond,” he said, and Gwaine wasn’t sure if it was the residual ringing in his ears confusing him or if there was maybe a hint of reluctant fondness in Leon's voice.