Sir Gwaine

Yesterday, a hunt in the icy winter weather with the rest of the royal guard had seemed like a good idea. Even when his horse had bolted and thrown him into the cold stream, Gwaine had laughed along with everybody else.

This morning, however, he's less impressed. He's woken up with a headache and sore throat, and for once he knows it's not because of too much alcohol and drunken singing. Groaning, feeling sorry for himself, he rolls over in his bed and pulls the covers back over his head.

He's going back to sleep until someone drags him from his bed for his duties.