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Tavern of the Year was a big thing in Camelot. Once a year the king would announce the winner. There was a purse of fifty gold pieces, and a lovely trophy, plus the added bonus of being favoured by the king. For a year, anyway.
Personally, Mary was starting to think it was a bit crap. She’d believed her tavern would be a dead cert after Prince Arthur and his handsome friend turned up, but no. Four years had passed and still nothing. Prince… no, King Arthur now… hadn’t returned. Nor had his friend, which was disappointing because he’d been a cutie. Not that she’d have kicked Arthur out of bed either. Especially not now he was king and everything!
It wasn’t that she’d been forgotten entirely. That nice Gwaine had turned up a few times. Well, more than a few times if she was honest. Gwaine was quite fond of ale. He’d bring along a bunch of handsome knights, all of them so dashing in their red cloaks.
There was never any sign of the king though.
“Maybe all you ‘andsome gentlemen could put in a good word for my little tavern?” she suggested every now and then, smiling hopefully at the knights as she filled up their tankards.
“The Hog’s Head has the best beer in Camelot!” Sir Percival declared, saluting her with his ale before downing it in one. “You’ve got my vote!”
Ooh, that Percival was definitely her favourite. Mmm… those strong, muscular arms. Even more muscular than Tom Oakey, the massive barman she’d employed to ensure she never got victimised ever again.
But still no sign of King Arthur.
“Don’t the king ever come drinking with you fine gentlemen?” Mary asked on another occasion.
“The king is very busy,” Sir Leon told her importantly.
Actually, perhaps Leon was her favourite. He was so polite with his softly spoken ways. She did like a man who had lovely manners. And those soft red curls. Noble in every possible way. Mmm… yes, definitely Leon.
Still, there was no sign of King Arthur and no sign of her award.
Next, Mary tried naming her newest beer after the king. Surely his knights would tell him about that and he’d be keen to come in and try it? And then he’d remember her little place and how he’d enjoyed his time there, and then The Hog’s Head would definitely get Tavern of the Year.
“So ‘ow d’you like the taste of King Arthur then?” she asked.
Sir Lancelot, who normally had manners that almost matched Leon’s in their perfection, sprayed a mouthful of ale all over the table, then started choking.
“Oh dearie me,” Mary slapped him on the back, trying to help. She liked Lancelot with his handsome good looks but rumour had it that he was deeply in love with Princess Morgana’s maid, so he definitely wasn’t going to be her favourite.
“You’ve named your beer after the king?” Sir Elyan, who was handsome and charming and had an adorable smile that could melt hearts, eyed his tankard warily. Then he gave her that smile again and she melted a little bit more. Yes, Elyan was totally her favourite.
“I ‘ave. D’you think ‘e’ll come down to my little tavern again?” she asked hopefully. “Nearly time for Tavern of the Year judging!”
“Um…” Elyan suddenly appeared to be very thirsty, swigging down the entire tankard in one go. “No idea, sorry Mary, I have to go.”
“Me too,” Lancelot told her.
Percival and Leon had also drained their tankards, though Lancelot had just abandoned his.
“Wonderful beer as always,” Leon assured her, already halfway out of the door.
Mary frowned as they left, then turned to clear the table.
“Shame to let that go to waste,” Sir Gwaine said, grabbing Lancelot’s abandoned tankard. Gwaine was still sitting at the table, his ale only half-finished. “Fine ale, Mary.”
Gwaine showed no signs of wanting to leave so Mary gave a heavy sigh and sat herself down on the stool that Leon had just vacated. “T’ain’t fine enough for your king though,” she replied sadly.
Gwaine swigged another mouthful of ale. “Tastes good to me! Arthur’s a bit boring though, being king and everything. Says he can’t get too drunk. One of these days me and Merlin are going to get him to tour all the taverns in Camelot, help him let his hair down a bit.”
“So… he doesn’t ever go to taverns?” Mary asked hopefully. That wouldn’t be so bad. “You boys could put in a word for me? Remind him ‘e’s been in ‘ere?”
Gwaine was suddenly very interested in his tankard. “Um…”
Mary snatched both the tankards away from Gwaine, sensing a rat. “Now what’s goin’ on, Gwaine? Why’s the king not comin’ back? An’ you can’t ‘ave these till you tell me!”
“Um…” Gwaine eyed the tankards sadly, then gave a sigh. “Oh I might as well tell you. It’s because of his manservant, Merlin. You might remember he came in with Arthur some years ago?”
“Aw, that’s his servant? Well, ‘e’s an ‘andsome fellow.”
“Yes, you did tell him that. In front of Arthur.”
“Oh.” Mary bit her lip, seeing her mistake. “Ah, thankee Sir Gwaine, I see what I did. Should’ve told Prince Arthur ‘e was the ‘andsome one.”
“That would have helped a little bit,” Gwaine looked hopefully over at the tankards.
He’d been helpful so she passed one back to him. “Well ‘ow was I to know Merlin was ‘is servant? Looked like two friends out drinking!”
“Merlin’s the king’s personal servant.”
“Oh, ‘e’s important? Posh, like?” That was a shame. Mary had just started to get her hopes up again, thinking Merlin might be a peasant like herself.
“No, but Arthur’s quite possessive and he doesn’t like people flirting with Merlin. Trust me, I’ve tried it and I’ve got the bruises to show for it.”
Mary frowned for a moment, then her eyes widened as she realised what Gwaine meant. “Oh! Personal servant! I see what I did!”
“Yes.” Gwaine held his hand out for the other tankard. “He complains about it regularly. That mad woman in the tavern who fancies you, Merlin. That’s what he says.”
“Bit rude.”
“He’s the king. Also, like I said, possessive. Merlin isn’t allowed to come in here with us. If you want Tavern of the Year, you’re going to have to do a bit better than just naming your ale, Mary. You’re going to have to convince the king you’re not trying to steal his man!”
That wasn’t good. Mary’s favourite part of her job was flirting with her customers. She was excellent at it too. Still, Gwaine had at least solved the mystery for her. All she had to do was work out a way to make amends.
“Sir Gwaine, you know ‘ows you’re my favourite and all?”
Gwaine looked pleased at that. “Of course.”
“What would you say to free ale for…” she did a quick mental calculation, bearing in mind how much Gwaine drank, “…a day?”
Gwaine, unsurprisingly, was up for that.
Belatedly she realised that she could probably have got away with offering a single free pint.
---
Mary didn’t know what he’d done or how he’d done it, but somehow Gwaine had persuaded the king to visit The Hog’s Head. He’d turned up with all the usual knights, and Merlin too.
Mary gave the most graceful curtsey she could manage and tried not to look even remotely mad.
“King Arthur, tis an ‘onour to ‘ave you in my tavern again.”
It was a bit disappointing that Arthur wasn’t wearing his crown. That would have made the whole thing a lot more kingly. Perhaps he wore that when he was dishing out the Tavern of the Year prize, Mary wondered.
Arthur gave what Mary thought was a very regal smile, and nodded to her. “I trust all has been well since I saw off those thugs for you, Mary,” he said.
Strictly it had also been Gwaine and Merlin, and even Mary herself, but she wasn’t going to point that out to the king. “We all sing your praises in here, Sire. Very proud to have had the king his self visit and save us. I always tell everyone what a handsome fellow you was and so brave too. Good King Arthur, that’s what we say in here.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was my servant that was the handsome one, Mary.”
Mary glanced at Gwaine, who quickly shook his head. “Ooh no, Sire, that were my little joke.”
Merlin scowled at her.
“I mean not that all your fine court isn’t handsome. All your lovely knights come in here all the time…”
Gwaine was shaking his head again. Leon was looking quite horrified.
“Um… when they’re off-duty of course. Not all the time. But… very handsome when they do. Not as handsome for our fine king… um… Three cheers for King Arthur!” she called, then led a rousing cheer.
Arthur was looking slightly more pleased by the end of it.
“And we’ve named our new brew King Arthur’s Ale in honour of you, Sire,” Mary told him. “Tis right popular. We do a Battle of The ‘og’s ‘ead special in here and tell everyone about our brave king.”
“And his brave friends who helped too!” Merlin put in.
“Hush, Merlin, let the good lady speak,” Arthur urged. “Tell me about the special, Mary.”
Mary was happy to do that. Good lady, the king had said. Not madwoman or anything. It was all going very well.
She gestured to her barman, indicating he should to bring over ales for the king and his party who were now all seating themselves around a couple of tables.
“Oakey’s fetching you all our ale. And we’ve got a fine stew to go with it.” She put a bowl of the new menu item down in front of Arthur. “This ‘ere is the Merlin stew. Goes nicely with the King Arthur beer.”
“Merlin stew?” Arthur exchanged a puzzled look with Merlin, then eyed the stew suspiciously. “Is it made from actual merlins?”
“Oh no, don’t you worry your head ‘bout that, your majesty. It’s made from our plumpest chickens.”
“It’s delicious,” Gwaine put in. He’d been taste testing. He’d taste tested the ale as well, thoroughly. “And there’s the best part still to come.”
Mary brought out one of the apple pies. “These are the Sir Gwaine pies.”
“Best part of the menu,” Gwaine added.
“Second best after the King Arthur Ale,” Mary put in quickly before the king’s feelings were hurt again. “We’re a tavern. The ale’s the most important thing. That’s why it’s King Arthur Ale and not King Arthur pie or stew.”
“Hmm…” Arthur tasted a spoonful of the stew. “Not bad. Of course, as Merlin is a complete chicken this stew is quite appropriately named.”
Merlin narrowed his eyes.
Mary, who had seen Merlin magically throwing plates around during the Battle for The Hog’s Head and knew he was a pretty powerful warlock, decided to change the subject. After all, she didn’t want her tavern wrecked by an angry sorcerer who was feeling insulted.
Strange really that after Arthur had legalised magic the previous year he hadn’t raised Merlin up as court sorcerer or something. But then keeping a secret weapon was probably a good move.
“Maybe you gentlemen would all like to try some Merlin stew?” she offered to the knights. “Very tasty.”
Arthur looked daggers at her.
“Um… I mean chicken stew,” she amended. “Merlin stew is only for the king.” Even though it was the exact same thing. Honestly, what a possessive child the king was.
“So… it’s King Arthur ale, Sir Gwaine apple pie… and chicken stew?” Merlin queried.
“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur told him. “Two brave warriors and a chicken who, as I recall, opened his big mouth and got us all into that fight in here!”
Merlin frowned. His eyes flashed gold for a moment.
Mary held her breath, fearing the worst. But nothing seemed to have happened. Perhaps that was just what happened with magic users, she supposed. Like some sort of magical ejaculation if they got too worked up. Nothing to worry about then.
“Oakey, bring everyone more stew!” she called to her barman, and didn’t think anything more about the magic.
The knights all settled down with their tankards of ale and bowls of stew. If nothing else Mary knew she was going to make a fine profit that evening.
“This is good ale,” Percival told her, holding his tankard out for more.
Was it her imagination, or was he slurring his words slightly? Sir Percival never did that, he could drink like a fish and never appeared to be affected by it.
“Besht ale everrrr,” Sir Lancelot agreed. He had a dopey smile on his face as he held up his tankard.
That wasn’t all that odd. Lancelot was a complete lightweight and had been helped home by his friends after just a few pints, usually waxing lyrical about some girl at the castle.
“I lurrve Gwen,” Lancelot sighed.
Yep, there he went. Mary smiled, patted him on the shoulder and moved on to Elyan.
“Tha’s my shister,” Elyan grumbled.
Interesting. Elyan had only had two pints, she was sure of it.
“I’ve got a sister,” Gwaine put in. “You wanna hear a song about her?”
“No,” Elyan told him but Gwaine started singing anyway.
“Oh my shitty sister sells herself to every mister
She takes them in all any way she can
Her husband sells his arsehole
Down at Caerleon Castle
They’re the biggest pair of…”
“Enough!” Leon called.
Gwaine smirked, took a long swig of his ale then held the tankard out to Mary for more.
“This is good stuff!”
“Unlike your singing,” Leon grumbled. He didn’t sound as sloshed as all his companions, but he’d only had the one tankard of ale so far.
“I know other songs,” Gwaine told him. “We should all sing along. Who knows the one about the queen of Mercia’s chastity belt?”
Leon groaned, but that didn’t stop Gwaine, nor most of the tavern joining in.
After that things went downhill, although everyone agreed it was the best night at The Hog’s Head ever. Even King Arthur seemed to be enjoying himself although that was mostly because he was sitting right up close to Merlin and had pretty much draped himself all over him.
Things were looking quite hopeful, Mary thought.
Actually, Merlin was one of the few people in the tavern who didn’t seem to be completely plastered. Even Sir Leon started joining in with the songs after a while. He was arm in arm with Gwaine and Elyan, standing up on one of the tables, singing some bawdy piece about King Cenred and his leather britches. Percival was up on one of the other tables, harmonising with Oakey (who seemed to have taken up drinking the ale instead of working but he had a great voice so it probably didn’t matter).
Lancelot had fallen asleep in his bowl of stew.
Mary was fairly certain none of them had drunk more than four pints at the very most. Sir Leon had definitely only drunk two, and most of that second one was being sloshed all over the table. She remembered Merlin and his golden eyes.
The little shit had cast a spell to make the ale extra-strong, Mary guessed. That wasn’t a good thing at all. Ale needed to be watered down so that customers took a long time to get drunk and bought lots more rounds. And, she thought, eyeing Oakey resignedly, so that her staff didn’t get so drunk that they were no use at all.
Right on cue, Oakey fell off the table. He didn’t seem to have hurt himself (probably due to the drink) but just lay there laughing and singing.
Mary looked around, wondering where Merlin had gone. She wanted him to remove the spell or she’d never be able to get Oakey home. The man weighed a ton.
Merlin had vanished. So had the king.
No point in continuing with the evening then, Mary supposed. She clapped her hands together.
“Come on now, me lovelies!” she called. “Time to be headin’ home. An’ which of you fine gentlemen is going to ‘elp me with old Oakey ‘ere?”
All of them, it seemed. Well, except for Sir Lancelot.
“I’ll lift him,” Gwaine announced, and promptly failed to shift Oakey even an inch.
“Weakling,” Leon declared. He tried, and although Oakey seemed to move very slightly, it wasn’t happening.
“Shtand back!” Percival ordered. He did manage to get Oakey off the floor and onto a bench, but that was about it.
“Perhaps if we all tried?” Elyan suggested. Sensibly he’d not actually attempted to lift Oakey himself.
“No! We need a winner! We should sing!” Gwaine yelled. “That makes you stronger!”
And so the first Carry Oakey contest took place. In the tavern, and then all down the street to Oakey’s house. Mary knew the neighbours were going to complain in the morning.
Still, it all turned out for the best. As she walked back to her tavern, she met up with two familiar faces. Merlin, and King Arthur.
Actually, it wasn’t King Arthur’s face that she could see. And she could barely see Merlin at all because he was crouched down. Perhaps they thought they were hidden there in the shadows, down the side of the tavern? Not when Mary brought out her lantern they weren’t.
“Oh, dearie me!” she exclaimed. “Oh, this be so embarrassin’!” She didn’t lower the lantern. The king really did have a fine arse. “What a sight t’see!”
Arthur looked quite sober. No doubt spells could be reversed if it suited the sorcerer. And he also looked worried as he struggled to pull his clothes together.
“Mary, I’m sure we’re agreed that you didn’t see anything.”
“Well, I don’t rightly know…”
“Obviously the winner of Tavern of the Year would need to be very discreet.”
“Oh yes. All year,” Mary emphasised that last part.
Arthur’s face fell as he realised it was an annual award. “And… the official royal tavern would have to be permanently discreet.”
Mary beamed delightedly. “Why thankee, your majesty! I’ll even get it renamed in your honour. The King’s ‘ead! Perfect!”
Merlin narrowed his eyes at her.
She dabbed the side of her mouth with a finger. “You’ve just got a little somethin’…”
---
Tavern of the Year wasn’t that big a thing in Camelot any more. Once a year the king would announce the winner. There was a purse of twenty gold pieces, and a mediocre trophy, and not a lot else really.
Mary, owner of the Official Royal Tavern, thought it was a bit crap, really.