| |
––––––––
THE SHARP CHILL WINTER wind seeped through the castle walls, the torches in sconces gave both light and a glow of faint warmth as King Ergott passed by them. Ergott walked along the hallway corridors, standing tall with two Black Guards following behind him.
As much as he wanted the Barons to rule Camelot's citizens, it often bothered him to have these two, in particular, follow him like dogs everywhere he went in the castle, and on Jackseye's command, no less. Ergott supposed he needed an entourage, anyway. But not here.
Ergott turned to them, giving them a deep frown. “You are dismissed, Guards; your presence won’t be needed for the time being,” he said flatly. The Barons looked at each other; their masked faces were unreadable. It infuriated him how their identities were hidden from him, the king.
"Leave," Ergott barked, and the two Barons bowed to him, moving off silently back towards the stairwell.
Right, now that that's dealt with...
Ergott continued his way downwards, approaching another set of stairs leading further down into the castle floor. The torches seem to poorly light the way down like they were dying to the cold winter’s presence. The humidity made his hand-held torch sputter, the flame dimming and twisting.
The stairwell ended with a doorway; a large iron knocker centred on the wooden door. Seating the torch in its sconce, he lifted the knocker and banged it to the wood three times and two more times after a short pause.
"Open up, woman," Ergott growled to himself.
He banged the knocker another three times, getting more impatient by the minute. The woman does nothing but sleep and read down here; what was keeping her from answering? He glowered darkly at the door and went to bang the knocker another three times.
The door swung open ominously with a creak, wind whooshing out through the doorway. Ergott stepped into the room slowly, looking around the dimly lit chamber from the top of an altar stairwell. A table set with unlit candles sat in the centre of the room, a white cloth seated beneath them.
“You can come out, Vivien,” he called out, hearing the echo fading into the abyss while he walked down to the dusty carpet.
"Why, hello, my King," a feminine voice purred from behind him.
Ergott looked back over his shoulder. “You need to learn to answer the door,” he looked towards the empty space, scouring the wall.
"Oh, but I still did," Vivien chuckled softly, her voice to his left. "Excuse a girl for resting peacefully."
“The Knights have left Camelot,” he said, looking around the room to spot her.
"I've heard the news. The speech said before their departure was extraordinary, don't you think?" Vivien said lightly.
“What speech?” Ergott asked.
A female figure emerged from the shadows, long slender legs poking through her short cut dress, brown hair pulled back and tied over a shoulder, complimenting her pale skin and freakishly yellow eyes. "Sir Samqueel Torona is quite the motivator," she purred, fiddling with her hair. "Half of Braynor has already heard of his words, and the plan to attack Catarina is no secret."
“What did you call me for that was so urgent, Vivien?" Ergott scowled. “I have royal issues to attend to.”
Vivien walked to the table; the candles flickered to life with a wave of her hand. The room lit up in orange hues, the corners fading into the shadows, a pile of hay and dirty blankets heaped against the far wall beneath a vent. The flames made her eyes glow a pale yellow; their citrine depths turned to him with a mad glint. "I know of the boys' destiny," she said.
“Arthur?” Ergott asked with an eyebrow raised.
"Indeed so."
“Arthur has no destiny to fulfill,” Ergott snapped. “We discussed this numerous times.”
Vivien smirked like a cat, her voice velvety smooth. "And each time, the same visions come to me, a King with hair of spun gold and a sword of legends with the strength of his ancestors fueling his will. You, King Ergott, are not included in the things I see."
“Enough," he dismissed. "This sword of legends, where can it be found?” Ergott asked with a small frown.
"The Blade of the Blood Ties has already been claimed by its heir," she prowled closer.
“Arthur has the Sword?” Ergott frowned deeply.
She smirked devilishly, her red lips parting to reveal sharp teeth. "The heir to the throne cannot be denied their birthright, no matter how hard life tries to intervene."
“How did he get it?!” Ergott lashed out. “Where did he find it?!”
"The spirits of those once living have strong wills," she whispered.
“Spirits? What spirits?” Ergott asked furiously.
"The souls of His ancestors, the connections to the castle run deep even in death," she laughed.
“Benjamin,” he growled. The stubborn bastard still managed to rule over him without him knowing. Typical of him.
"Indeed so," she said delightfully, clasping her hands together.
Ergott turned to her, his eyes narrowing. “How do you know this? You know our deal,” he said.
Vivien trailed her fingers across a piece of his cape along his shoulder, her eyes trained on the fabric. "The visions," she said simply. "Our deal outlined that I report what I see, even if it did not satisfy you."
“Our deal was that you can remain here underneath my castle to help me with my achievements; you cannot leave this chamber,” Ergott reminded her.
She flicked her eyes to his, her head tilting slowly. "You think I've left the chamber? You believe the visions to sprout from opinion and not fate," she chuckled.
“I would certainly hope so,” Ergott said. “You’re lucky I even agreed to it.”
"Tell me, Ergott," she moved closer to him, her hand inching up along his shoulder towards his neck. "Even if I did leave the chamber, would you live in fear of not knowing your future? Or would you continue to follow your path of ignorance?"
“I will do what’s right for my Kingdom and for the people of Camelot,” Ergott said, watching her closely.
She hummed a laugh, tracing her nail over his jaw. "Whatever you wish to believe, my Lord."
Ergott flinched away from her touch, narrowing his eyes at her with a frown.
"Surely I'm not that repulsive?" Vivien drawled.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t touch me, Vivien," Ergott said firmly.
Her eyes turned mischievous, her smirk sharp. "Who would've guessed you would be so squeamish," she purred, moving her hand back to his cape.
Ergott moved away from her, heading back towards the door. “I will be back when the Knights return from Catarina,” he said, one foot on the step.
"A woman gets lonely all alone in a hidden chamber in a castle, you know," Vivien said with her brow raised. "A little company would be appreciated more than once in every while when you require input."
Ergott looked back at her from over his shoulder. “Once our deal’s requirements have been met, you can have a room in the castle for yourself,” he said, continuing up to the door.
She hissed behind him, stopping at the bottom of the altar staircase, an invisible barrier blocking her path. "Send food for once," she barked. "It's been weeks!"
Ergott opened the door to the chamber, shutting it forcefully behind him with a loud bang and scrape of rusted metal hinges. He looked up the stairwell and began to make his ascent, his head pounding mercilessly all of a sudden.
A scrape of boots on stone echoed in the stairwell, coming towards him. Ergott looked up as he walked, hearing the sound. Did someone follow him down here?
The shadow of a female figure rounded the stairwell, a blonde woman peering down at him with wide brown eyes. "Ergott? What are you doing down here?" she asked softly, her voice cautious.
“Rosaline," he smiled, walking up to her. “Nothing, I was just... we had a stray mole rat issue, nothing I couldn’t handle.”
Rosaline Guinevere was a dashing young thing, the loyal wife to Ergott for many years before he was King. Her curiosity wasn't unheard of in the castle, often seeking answers to things she shouldn't be, to Ergott's disdain. Still, he kept a smile on his face as he took her arm to lead her upstairs gently.
"A mole rat?" Rosaline asked.
“Nasty critters they are,” Ergott muttered. “They got into the walls and into the basement.”
"Who was the woman that shouted after you?" she questioned, touching his arm.
“The woman?” Ergott asked. “There was no woman, Rosaline,” he reassured her.
She looked at him bemusedly. As curious as she was, she wasn't stupid either. Ergott's heart raced beneath his cool exterior, his mind racing over different excuses.
“It could’ve been a Maiden or Enid,” he said, keeping his smile. "I never heard a voice."
Her mouth tilted slightly. "Maybe you're right," she murmured, walking alongside him. "But I was sure I heard someone-"
“Rosaline,” Ergott cut her off. “You’re hearing things,” he said firmly.
She frowned at him slightly, suspicion hinting in her eyes. "Why have you never come down this stairwell before? And where are the Knights?" she pushed.
“The Knights are marching to Catarina as we speak, and like I just told you, we had a mole rat problem,” his voice turned stern. “You have your answers, Rosaline, now no more questions,” he said, frustrated.
She sighed through her nose silently and bowed her head to him. "Yes, my King," she muttered.
The rain pummelled down in drenching sheets; the ground soaked in water from the dark clouds above. Mud stuck to the horses’ hooves like glue as they travelled in rows of two along the dirt path. The trees overhead dripped water down the backs of their cold armour, the creak of wet metal echoing through the pines with the frosty wind.
Sam gritted his teeth against the breeze that froze his bones under his armour. Looking around, his legion was shivering atop their steeds; a few barely clung to their reins. The Roundtable kept up, too, used to the conditions to keep the chill from slowing them.
"It's so god damn windy," Arkan called out from his right, his sodden black hair blowing around his face.
“Shut up, Arkan,” Natan called from behind him. “You should be used to this shitty weather.”
"Just because you grew up in the tundra doesn't mean you get to brag," Arkan protested.
“Actually,” Natan smirked. “It does. Maybe you should’ve trained in the tougher conditions,” he said, a cold breath blowing from his mouth as he talked.
Arkan huffed loudly, pulling his reins tighter. "I prefer the warm sands of Hanali to this."
“So, the desert then?” Derak chimed in with a question.
Arkan raised a brow at him. "Do you know nothing about geography, Derak?" he questioned him.
“Hanali is in Rinksah, a subcontinent if you will,” Brannagh said, taking a sip from his waterskin.
"Actually, it's a territory of Rinksah," Lorsaw piped up. "An island along the tropical line of the Earth, great coconuts."
“Hey, Lorsaw,” Taryn called over to him.
Lorsaw frowned and looked at Taryn, his hair sticking to his dark skin.
“No one cares,” Taryn said, smirking at him lightly.
"Shut it, casual," he spat.
“Oooh, fighting words,” Taryn teased.
Samqueel flicked his eyes between them, watching. Not again. Every single time, there's at least one fight between the two, and normally, it's started by Taryn. Sam's breath fogged through his nose as he sighed.
"I can use a lot more than just my words," Lorsaw growled.
“Sure you can,” Taryn drawled.
"Why don't you come over here, and I'll show you how to dismount your horse like Arkan?" he threatened.
"Oi!" Arkan protested with a frown.
“Sam!” Taryn yelled at him.
"Don't go crying to me, Dawn," Samqueel warned. "You started it."
“I didn’t threaten him,” Taryn protested.
“Riding with those two is a pain in my neck,” Reuben said with a deadpan look. Samqueel grunted in agreement.
"I fell off once," Arkan argued. His horse snickered at the rain, shaking its mane out.
"Once is good enough to set an example," Brannagh teased, looking around through the rain.
"How far off are we from this stupid Kingdom anyway?" Natan growled.
"Too far," Samqueel muttered, pulling his horse to a stop, facing the legion. "Hold your horses, men. We'll stop here until the rain subsides."
“Couldn’t have told us that earlier?” Taryn frowned, rinsing his soaked cape. The legion behind him groaned in relief and protest, dismounting their horses and moving beneath the cover of the trees.
Sam threw him a look. "Would you prefer to rest in the mud tonight, Taryn? ‘Cause, you're heading down that path pretty quickly," he growled.
“You wouldn’t leave a man behind,” Taryn said while dismounting his horse. “You’d feel bad straight away.”
“I wouldn’t test the Commander,” Reuben said, calming his horse.
“When will we reach Catarina?” Brannagh asked.
"When we damn well get there," Samqueel snapped, dismounting his horse and leading it further under the trees. All this bickering and questioning was setting his nerves on a thin edge. It didn’t help that he didn’t want to be out here in the first place either. He had bigger things to deal with on his plate than answering the same repeated questions over and over, like trying to get these men to trust him.
“Most likely within a day's travel,” Reuben said to Brannagh, dismounting his horse next to Samqueel.
“Commander!” A Knight called out from the crowd. Sam pivoted towards the voice, pushing his hair away from his eyes with a sigh. Tying his horse to the nearest tree, he walked back out to the rain, his armour heavy with water. "What is it?"
The Knight made his way over to Samqueel, his helmet bundled under his arm, his long brown hair resting at the shoulders soaked in sweat and rain from the helmet.
“The legion requests we devise a plan before we continue further along,” his voice sounded worried.
Reuben’s eyes flicked over to Sam. Sam's brow, already creased in frustration, turned to a glare, his quicksilver eyes burning through the lieutenant. "The battle right now is the least of my worries," he growled.
“It might be the least of your worries, but consider the others you’re leading into this mess,” he narrowed his eyes at Samqueel.
"Boy, I suggest you choose your next words very carefully if you wish to keep your sword at your side," Sam snarled. He’d never seen this boy before in the ranks, and he already had a line on his shoulder pad. Are they giving out ranks like sweets, too, now?
“You’re starting to sound like Ergott, Torona,” a voice said from his right side. Sam snapped his attention to the voice.
A man in his late thirties, with short brown hair and gray eyes much like Sam's own, strode over to him, his armour decorated in crimson patterns with a few chains coloured on the left-hand side of his chest plate. Three marks dashed his shoulder pad, carved through the metal - not filled with gold, however, like Sam’s own. Sam’s shoulder pad had three lines underneath the right lower side of the Braynor Cross, three stars in the remaining gaps, all inlaid with gold. This Knight was a lower Commander but with the gauge marks of a General.
“Obviously, these men are sodden; perhaps you should reassure their safety rather than lash out at their necks,” the man said.
Sam burned with anger, his jaw tight. "I would prefer if I could let my legion be dry and prepared before any intervention on my part. Nobody wants to stand out in the rain and listen to someone talk about a battle they know all about," he barked. "So, you keep to your job, Cole, and I'll keep to mine."
“You’re speaking to a first-class General, Torona. Everyone has their own opinions; you’re just too egotistical to listen to anyone else, like the King's Pet you are,” he frowned at him, standing close to him.
The Knights turned to face the two, overhearing the words, tension thick in the air. Samqueel's eyes turned cold, his body relaxing.
“Cole, I recommend you-”
“Shut your mouth, Solas,” Cole scowled at Reuben, turning his eyes back to Sam. “Go on, reassure these men,” Cole pointed to the Knights, "that you, their Commander, will lead these poor souls into a battle unknown."
Arkan looked around the forest, his eyes wide, running his hand through his hair. "The audacity of this man," he said to Taryn.
“Cole has always been an asshole,” Taryn whispered to Arkan.
"I'm going to give you a moment to think about your choices before you end up with your backside in the mud beside that tree over there," Samqueel pointed to a fallen tree calmly, his voice steady. "Would you like two moments or just the one?"
Cole let out a scoff, meeting his eye level. “You don’t intimidate me, Torona."
Sam raised a brow. "Really?" he asked curiously.
“That one over there scares me more than you,” Cole pointed to Arkan. Arkan looked at him with wide eyes, signalling to cut it out.
"Oh, that's hilarious," Samqueel laughed, looking around at the Knights gathered. They laughed nervously, unsure.
“It sure is,” Cole laughed, his expression blunt.
Sam chuckled, shaking his head. "You know what else is funny?" he asked, grinning at him.
“What?” Cole asked.
Sam's fist smashed into Cole's neck, his left hand following through with a punch to his unprotected side gap. Cole gasped for breath, coughing as he reeled to the side, touching his throat. Samqueel kicked him in the stomach, sending him rocketing through the air over to the exact tree he pointed to, grunting and landing with a squelch in the mud.
Cole coughed, spitting mud from his mouth with a groan. Samqueel dropped the grin, his eyes cold once more. "It's hilarious how you forget your basic manners to a legion leader who's fought in more battles than you, and you constantly come out with a sore ass each time," he spat, his voice dripping heavily with venom. "Next time you want to make fun of my leadership style, take it up with my Knights; they might pay it back a little more kindly than I did."
“He had it coming,” Derak smirked, leaning against a tree.
“Who’s the egotistical one now?” Taryn called out to Cole, his arms folded.
"I tried to warn you, buddy," Reuben shook his head at Cole.
Cole growled, sitting back against the log, and glared at Samqueel.
"Oh, and another thing," Sam said mockingly to him. "Ergott is not my King. I am nobody's pet, and I am not taking orders from a man who inflates his own sense of self-worth by telling a veteran how to do their job. So again, keep to yours, and I'll keep to mine." Samqueel walked away from them, heading to his horse.
Before he even made it ten paces, another Knight sought his attention. “Commander Torona!”
Unimpressed, he turned to the Knight. "Yes?"
“You might want to see this,” he said cautiously.
Samqueel sighed. "What does a man have to do to get a change of clothing and a cup of tea around these forests?" he muttered.
“A lot more than what you’re displaying,” Reuben smirked at him.
Sam looked at him flatly, his mouth twitching in a ghost of a smile. "Then I expect a boiled billy and a pitched tent waiting for me when I get back, Commander," he joked.
“Second Rank Commander, actually.” Reuben corrected him.
He waved dismissively. "Specifics," he rolled his eyes playfully and turned to the Knight. "Lead the way, son."
The Knight, along with two other men, led Samqueel into the forest clearing, the vines from the trees dangling to the ground in swinging ropes. The foliage around them thicked gradually as they prowled deeper, the ground becoming uneven with roots and boulders as they entered the denser parts of the forest. Sam scouted out his surroundings. Why, exactly, did they come so far from the camp?
The young Knight crouched down in a small pathway, the grass fading into a mottled ashen gray. He trailed his finger along the edge of the dead grass, tracing the outline in thought.
“Have a look at this,” he said finally, after a minute of analysing.
Samqueel knelt beside him, looking at the patch on the ground, his brow creased in interest.
“I don’t think this is a safe territory to camp in,” the Knight said. “That looks like the footprint of some animal.”
Indeed, the grass formed a large oblong shape, five smaller circles the size of Samqueel's fist dotted above it. His jaw feathered. The forests never were a safe zone to stay, no matter where you were. But this was new, and, looking further down the trail, there were more prints than just this one patch.
He stood back up, looking to where the prints led. "We've camped in forests like this before and have come out relatively unscathed," he said, turning to the men standing around the footprint. "We will have to keep vigilant of our surroundings and stay away from this area, in particular, it seems."
The crouching Knight looked up at his Commander, a drop of water sliding down his face from the pouring rain above. “What animal does the footprint belong to?”
Sam looked at the Knight grimly. "Unless there's a new animal getting about with human-shaped feet, I'd narrow this down to a Giant," he said.
“Guessing those other footprints belong to it?” the Knight asked, pointing down the path. He nodded and turned back towards the path they came from.
"It's heading away from the area," he said, watching them stand to join him. "It shouldn't bother us as long as we're careful. Now come on, we'll get this camp set up so I can get out of this grater suit."
“What of the other creatures?” a Knight asked.
"The general rule of thumb is if we don't disturb them, they won't disturb us," Sam looked at him. "If you're overly concerned, set up a few outposts." Or send Cole after them since that's about all he's good for. Samqueel smiled to himself.
“Right you are, Commander,” and the Knight’s trailed past him, disappearing through the scrub towards the camp.
Sam hung back a moment. He could tell they were nervous, their voices thick with it. The pressure of uncharted territory and the battlefield was always too much for new Knights. And with a whole legion of mainly fresh faces, Sam couldn't help but sigh in annoyance at yet again another setback from Ergott's spontaneity. And considering it was tough enough they were going to Catarina to fight, it was no wonder the boys were skittish.
Back at the camp, Reuben struggled with the tasks Samqueel ordered him to complete, having no time to heat himself up with a nice cup of tea.
Surely a Knight of his rank could set up something as simple as a tent, but it had been a while since he had been out on a battlefield, or even camping for that matter.
Probably too long for his liking.
He'd learned about surviving in the wilderness when he was training alongside Sam all those years ago; the two were like brothers, and they always had each other's back, side by side at sword point and willing to do anything for the other.
Even if it meant doing things at a low level like tent prep.
Gods, did Reuben hate tent prep.
“Struggling there, Reuben?” Brannagh asked, walking up to him from the right.
Reuben paused, looking up at Brannagh. “How does it look from your perspective?”
Brannagh peered over Reuben’s shoulder, spotting the tent pegs strewn across the mud. “Looks like you could use a hand,” he hinted.
“I know how to set up a tent,” Reuben scowled. “I just haven’t done it in a while."
“Well, for starters,” Brannagh started. “You have the pegs in the wrong order, and secondly, how are you going to stick them in the ground?”
Reuben looked to his side, the mallet missing. He looked back up at Brannagh, giving a small frown. “Smartass,” he muttered.
“Gods, you both are so loud,” Taryn complained, walking up to the two with an annoyed expression.
“Says the loudest one of us all,” Reuben said, raising his eyebrow at Taryn.
“Arkan's the loudest, actually. Are you learning how to set up a tent?” Taryn asked, peering at Reuben's efforts.
"I know how to set up a tent," Reuben glowered at him. "Why does everybody have to have a go at me?"
“I offered to help,” Brannagh said, giving him a look.
"What? Who's loud?" Arkan called from his tent, poking his head out into the rain.
“You!” the three called back at him in sync.
"Oh," he replied quieter.
“Are you sure you can handle the tent by yourself, Reuben?” Brannagh asked.
"Yes, I'll be fine," he rolled his eyes, picking up another tent peg and looping it through the rope.
“You heard the man Taryn, time to leave him alone,” Brannagh said, leading Taryn away from Reuben and his tent.
Reuben looked at them, then back at the tent, a mess of rope and pegs. He sighed through his nose. "Surely," he muttered to himself.
"Surely what?" Samqueel questioned, walking out from behind the separate treeline.
Reuben looked at him from over his shoulder. “Surely I can be left alone to set up this wretched thing,” he growled.
Sam chuckled. "You've forgotten, again," he laughed.
“Helpful, Sam, thank you,” Reuben replied, sarcasm thick in his voice.
"You know I was joking when I said I expected it done, right?" Samqueel knelt beside him, picking up the pegs.
Reuben frowned at him, stopping his work. “I have been working on this for thirty minutes, and you just tell me now that you didn't want me to do it?” he said flatly.
"Getting the fire going would be impossible in this weather, and I'm familiar with your struggles of tent pitching," he grinned, picking up the mallet from beneath the tarp.
“Have I ever told you how much I actually hate you?” Reuben asked with a laugh.
"Oh, plenty of times," Samqueel said lightly, pulling the ropes taut and tapping the pegs through the dirt. "Like that one time you insisted on going to town for a drink, and you ended up face first in the gutter in front of that Yrena girl you like," he grinned mischievously.
“That never happened,” Reuben dismissed. “I didn’t face plant; I tripped over an uneven surface."
"Yeah, your left boot heel."
Reuben frowned at him, slowly changing into a smile. “Whatever,” he said, as if he didn't gain a scrape to the noggin," Sam smirked at him and pulled the last of the ropes down, pitching the poles up to stand.
A groan sounded behind the two. “I hate camping,” Derak said, stretching his arms over his head.
"And here I thought you loved it, old man," Natan said.
“No,” Derak sighed. “But he does.” he pointed over to Carsen sitting under an overstretched tarp between two trees, his eyes bright with a smile.
“Can’t judge a man for having a hobby,” Reuben said, turning back to the tent.
“A hobby for nature?” Derak asked.
“It’s what he likes."
"And it's something you're not good at," Sam prodded, standing up and opening the tent flap, escaping the rain.
Reuben sighed, flinging his long black hair away from his face. “That's all set up then?” he asked.
"Sure is," he said from inside.
“Just as well,” Reuben muttered while standing from the ground with a grunt. “I was about to give up, mind you.”
"We're fairly sure you gave up halfway through," Forlorn called to him from two tents down.
“You could’ve helped, you know,” Reuben called back.
"I mean Henry asked," Forlorn shrugged.
“I was willing to lend you a hand,” Brannagh said from a tent next to Forlorn. “But it looks like you handled it semi-well," he chuckled.
"No thanks to you lot," Sam smirked, coming out of his tent to his horse.
“I’m glad Arkan didn’t offer a hand,” Reuben said, looking over at his tent.
Carsen took one look at Arkan's tent, a mess of rope and tarp pulled over a low hanging branch, and stood up, walking through the rain to the makeshift hut.
“Looks like a Kobold's hut,” Taryn said, looking at Arkan’s creation in question.
"More of a bird's nest," Natan said, scratching his chin.
“In Arkan’s words, it’s called Art,” Karsol said, standing next to Taryn with his arms folded.
"Damn right it is!" Arkan called from inside it. Carsen shook his head at the tangle of junk.
“It’s called an abomination!” Derak yelled at him.
"It's fine; it's doing its job- Hey!" Arkan poked his head out into the rain to glare at Carsen, who was rearranging the ropes to pull tighter. "Mind your own tent!"
“He’s adding the final touches,” Reuben chuckled.
Carsen stuck his finger up at Arkan and kept fixing the tent, Joseph joining in on the other side. "Fussy bastards," Arkan growled.
“Who knew that the silent duo could create such an effective team,” Brannagh said while scratching his goatee. “Fascinating.”
The two stood back, admiring their work. The tent actually represents a tent, the fabric straightened out and ropes pulled neatly together, with a decoration of a grumpy Arkan at its foot. They high-fived each other, grinning at Arkan, and moved back to their tents.
"There's always been a connection with them, Brannagh," Samqueel nodded to them, pulling his sleeping bag from his horse and carrying it towards his tent.
“The two are almost inseparable,” Reuben said, helping Sam with his gear.
Natan shrugged to himself, walking over to his own tent. “Meh, I don’t know about inseparable,” he mused.
“The two are like brothers almost,” Forlorn said to him. Carsen gave him a thumbs up. Forlorn returned the kind gesture, giving him a nod.
“How much stuff did you pack, Sam?” Reuben asked, looking at the gear on his horse.
Samqueel gave him a look. "It's just my battle armour," he shrugged. "And a change of clothes and the sleeping bag."
“Did you think this was a holiday of sorts?” Reuben asked. “Don’t forget you brought the tea set, the tent, and a backpack to put your toiletries in, with the exception of the utensils you bring to polish your armour off before a fight-"
"Okay, okay," Sam interrupted, his eyes slightly wide. "Let's just rattle off everything I pack for every battle right in front of everybody, Reuben; it's not embarrassing at all."
Reuben gave him a smirk. “Oh? You’re embarrassed?”
Samqueel looked away, a faint bit of color staining his cheeks. "Shut up," he dismissed, carrying the bag in the tent.
“What If I told the entire Legion?” Reuben asked.
"Then you're sleeping in the mud with Arkan."
Reuben scoffed. “As if you’d do that.”
"Wouldn't I?" A thud from inside the tent, followed by zips being undone and fabric wrinkling.
“No,” Reuben dismissed. “You care about me too much.”
"Well, if you want to keep talking about my polishing tools," Sam poked his head out through the flap to give him a flat look, "Then make yourself comfortable right where you're standing, boy."
“Take a joke, will you, Sam?” Reuben said, giving him a smirk.
Samqueel narrowed his eyes playfully at him and ducked back into the tent.
"What polishing tools?" Forlorn laughed. "I always thought he got new armour."
“He’s not rich, Forlorn,” Reuben said to him.
"I'd beg to differ," Lorsaw protested.
“You’re not rich either, Lorsaw,” Derak said.
“You might be broke, Lorsaw,” Taryn grinned.
"I'm richer than you; I don't blow my money on cheese crackers and women every Saturday night," Lorsaw snapped.
The Knights around Taryn burst into laughter, Karsol nudging him at the shoulder. Taryn frowned at Lorsaw, moving away from the nudges.
“Lorsaw got Taryn good!” Natan yelled.
"The better part is he doesn't bring any of them back with him to the castle," Lorsaw grinned.
"Which ones, the crackers or the women?" Arkan laughed.
"Neither!" They all laughed again, hunching on their knees.
“I do!” Taryn protested. “It’s just rare!”
“Okay, buddy, we believe you,” Brannagh said with a smirk.
“Not!” Karsol yelled, bursting into laughter. The Knights howled in laughter.
"I'll believe it when I see it," Forlorn shook his head.
“You guys are assholes,” Taryn frowned.
"Did you pack any cheese crackers with you, Taryn?" Arkan asked. "Or did they run away after getting a whiff of your socks too?"
“Wouldn’t you like to know, Arkansas?” Taryn frowned at him.
“Damn, poor Taryn,” Reuben said, watching the exchange happening in front of him.
Rustling echoed from Taryn's tent, and Joseph poked his head out, holding a box of crackers in the air.
“Put them back!” Taryn yelled in frustration. Joseph narrowed his eyes at him, opening the box and putting a cracker in his mouth, slowly backing into the tent.
“Should we be worried about the assassin?” Brannagh asked, watching Joseph in question.
“Possibly,” Natan said.
Carsen chuckled from his tent, his hand on his chest. Joseph appeared beside him suddenly, sitting with the cracker box cross-legged on the ground. Taryn looked at him, flabbergasted. "Wh-what? How?!" he protested his hands in the air.
Joseph pointed towards the back of Taryn's tent with a cracker in his fingers, the ropes strung up just high enough to slip beneath.
"You sneaky little sausage," Brannagh said with high brows.
Joseph grinned and shrugged, turning to Carsen and signing to him, his fingers moving sharply in the air.
"There's a second box," Carsen translated, his voice gravelly.
"Did you really need two boxes of cheese crackers for this journey?" Natan asked Taryn.
"I was going to eat some on the way," Taryn growled, heading into his tent and zipping it up angrily. The side flap snapped shut with a crack, and the rope pulled tautly.
Reuben laughed along with the rest of them, and they moved out of the rain; Reuben moved his gear from his horse into his and Sam's tent.
Nightfall laid across the campground like a thick blanket, the rain clouds long gone. The shifting of metal echoed in the trees, the sentries at their outposts shifting on their feet nervously.
The Roundtable Knights kept to their tents, snores sounding from inside a few. The mud outside the tents slid minimally under Sam's boots, puddles squelching with his weight.
The wind rustled the leaves above his head, following him on his patrol towards the Camelot Knights. He figured he may as well make himself visible to his men; sometimes, it was better to mingle with the young ones to gain their trust and respect rather than demand it. After all, Samqueel could settle down for a drink or two.
A campfire lit up the muddy patch of the forest; Knights huddled around it, shivering. Samqueel huffed in amusement at them. "Not used to the wintry conditions, are we men?" he grinned.
They pivoted to turn to him with respectful nods, some holding mugs of ale while some polished and sharpened their weapons. "First time on the battlefield, Commander," the closest one to him said, his teeth chattering.
"You'll learn to toughen up," Sam shrugged, sitting on one of the logs in front of the fire. "The cold only gets worse when it's snowing."
"Have you ever fought in the snow?"
"Gods no," Samqueel scoffed. "I'd rather keep my toes and fingers than fight in an ice chamber."
The men chuckled softly, a couple drinking. "How long has it been since your last fight, Commander?" one of the men sitting on the log across from him asked.
“When we were little lads, weren’t we, Sam?” Reuben said, walking up behind the group with Brannagh and Forlorn by his side.
Sam looked at him, his brow raised. "Little lads? My last fight was when I was twenty-three."
“So, two days ago?” Brannagh smirked.
"Flattering, Brannagh," Sam said to him.
"Well, how old are you now, Sam?" Forlorn asked, sitting on a blanket beside the fire.
"Last time I checked, I was thirty-two."
Reuben took a seat next to Samqueel on one of the logs, nodding to the younger Knights seated amongst the fire. “Keeping a lookout, are we lads?” he asked the Knights.
"Sure are, Sir," one said.
“Don’t worry about the battle for the moment, yeah? Just enjoy the peace while you have it,” Reuben said with a smile.
"The battle won't be the hard part about this whole thing," Forlorn said.
Reuben looked up at Forlorn. “What are you talking about?”
"I'd imagine carting everyone home would be harder," Forlorn mused, a hand against his cheek.
"Especially rookies and the likes of your lazy bones," Sam smirked, nudging Reuben.
“Says you,” Reuben narrowed his eyes at Sam playfully. “You always ask me to do your hard work.”
"A cup of tea every now and then is hard work?"
“Shut up.”
Samqueel grinned. "You volunteer half the time; I don't even need to tell you."
“What else am I supposed to do when you or Ergott isn’t barking orders at me?” Reuben asked.
"Pick up knitting," Samqueel smirked widely, his eyes lit with mischief as the Knights around them chuckled.
“Or pick up eating a nice salad with me,” Brannagh suggested.
“No one in any of the Kingdoms would do that,” Reuben said to Brannagh.
"Well, why not?" Brannagh asked. "Just because you're not into salad doesn't mean others aren't-"
A shriek split through the air, its voice pained. Sam looked up sharply, scanning the forest. The Knights of Camelot looked around, panicked, their eyes wide. "What on Earth was that?" one asked to the open air.
“Weapons ready,” Reuben said firmly, unsheathing his sword. Samqueel stood, drawing his own sword, the Camelot Knights picking up their discarded weapons from their tents. Reuben stood, watching the forest surrounding them.
The howls sounded closer, the snapping of teeth echoing through the trees.
“Werewolves,” Reuben growled.
Forlorn stayed on the ground, watching the fire. "They don't like light," he muttered.
Reuben looked over at Samqueel. “Your thoughts?”
"Stay quiet and mind your shadows," Samqueel commanded.
Reuben nodded, looking at the Knights beside him, their young faces stricken with fear of the unknown. Brannagh stood from the log, reaching to his back for his longbow, watching the forest carefully.
"Don't go crashing through the forest or lifting bows just yet," Sam warned.
“Didn’t you hear the howl?” Brannagh asked, looking at Samqueel in confusion.
"Of course, I heard the howl, but if we leave them to pass, they won't disturb us."
“Sam’s right,” Reuben said, looking at him sideways. “Don’t engage.”
The forest around them crackled with stepped-on leaves, foreign growls and yips sneaking through the trees. The Camelot Knights at an outpost closest to the treeline spooked, snapping their attention towards the noises with their weapons raised.
“Commander Torona! There’s something in the woodlands!” a Knight from the outpost yelled.
“Steady yourselves,” Reuben barked.
Sam looked at them with his hand raised to his mouth, signalling them to be quiet. Gods, did they want to attract them?
The growls grew closer, surrounding the outpost, the bushes and leaves crackling as they moved closer.
Gods help me. Sam set his jaw, moving over towards the outpost, his boots muffled on the mud. It was as if they've never been in the damn forest before, these rookies.
The Knights on the outpost scoured over the forestland below them, crossbows with loaded bolts pointed to the forest. Reuben looked up at them with frustration, the Roundtable Knights following suit as they spread out, Reuben and Forlorn trailing Sam silently. No one liked how nervous the new kids became. It was always a bad sign when dealing with conflict; nervous mannerisms always led to critical mistakes.
They watched the Knights closely, their boots causing heavy irritation amongst the leaves. Samqueel reached the outpost, listening to the growls around him as he stood beside the fire. "Right," he whispered to the Knights, irritated. "When I say so, get up into either the closest tree or quietly go to your tent. You've made way too much noise."
“But Commander,” one of the Knights said. “We’d have more of a chance if we all defended the camp-”
"I'm not sending my legion into an unnecessary fight with a pack of werewolves just because you boys want to prove your worth," he interjected, his teeth clamped.
Right on cue, a howl to their right split the air, and three furry heads tore through the shrub, the werewolves' bulky form snarling at the Knights.
"Oh, Gods!" Forlorn cursed quietly, indecisive about whether to move.
Sam faced the werewolves, angry. The Knights behind him froze their weapons at the ready. "Lower your Gods damned weapons, you tools," he snarled at them.
The werewolves got closer to them, down on all fours, their bristling fur dark in the shadows. Glittering gold eyes glared at the group; yellow teeth bared at them in threat.
Reuben looked at Samqueel; his eyes widened. “Sam,” he whispered.
Samqueel lowered his sword to his side, raising his other hand palm flat towards them, extending it to the closest wolf.
“What are you doing?” Vincent asked while whispering, his sword in both of his hands.
"Lower your weapon," he growled at him. "They won't think you're a threat if you don't give them a reason to."
“Are you crazy?” he asked.
The werewolves snarled at them, snapping their teeth at their blades. Sam sheathed his own sword slowly, keeping his eyes forwards.
Vincent jolted at the snap, nodding his head silently as he sheathed his sword. Reuben followed Samqueel’s suggestions, sheathing his sword slowly while keeping an eye on the werewolves.
The closer wolf sniffed at Sam's hand, glaring at him. He watched it cautiously, trying to steady his breathing. Friend, not enemy.
The glint in the wolf's eye changed, pulling away sharply and turning to dart back to the scrub, its brothers following quickly behind, the crashing of leaves underfoot drowned out by barks and yips. More footfalls joined the noises - a lot more, Samqueel realised - and he sighed in relief, the noise fading gradually.
“How many do you reckon were actually surrounding us?” Reuben walked up beside him, looking out into the shrub.
"Too many," Forlorn shuddered, a howl sending goosebumps down his arms.
“Thanks for the specifics, Forlorn,” Taryn frowned.
"Look who decided to wake up after all the action was over," Forlorn frowned at him.
“The hell was all that howling?” Taryn asked, rubbing his left eye.
“What do you think, genius?” Reuben asked, brushing past him to return to his tent.
"It was your mother wailing over the lost opportunities for a grandchild," Brannagh teased, pulling his bowstring absentmindedly.
Taryn flipped him the bird, not making eye contact with him. “So, who’s going to tell me, or do I need to figure it out?”
"Werewolves, dumbass," Sam called out to him, turning to the Knights behind him with a scowl. "Tents. Now."
The Knights scurried off to their individual tents, leaving their weapons in a secure location before making their way over to their resting places. Taryn frowned, following Samqueel’s demand with a sigh.
"Taryn."
“Yes?”
"Apologies."
“For?”
"Attitude," Sam said, walking over to the Knights.
Taryn rolled his eyes, turning back to him with a makeshift smile. “Sorry, Sam, it won’t happen again.”
Samqueel raised a brow. "I was apologising to you," he said slowly.
“Oh,” Taryn straightened. “Wait, what for?”
He frowned. "Well, it was for calling you a dumbass, but I'm starting to think it's true."
“Keep dreaming, Samuel,” Taryn smirked, walking to his tent.
"Did you just call me Samuel?" Sam called.
“Guess we’ll find out in the morning!” Taryn called back.
Sam growled, walking to Taryn's tent, kicking one of the pegs out of the ground. The rope collapsed, sending the material crashing down.
“You asshat!” Taryn cursed, frisking around underneath the collapsed tent.
“Nice one Taryn!” Brannagh laughed, stepping into his own tent.
"I take back the apology," Samqueel snapped, walking to his tent. "You're one hundred percent a dumbass."
“I’ll get you back! Ow!” Taryn struggled, attempting to get out of the tent.
Sure you will. Samqueel smiled to himself, zipping up his tent.
Later that night, after Taryn finally got his rope back up, everything was quiet. Samqueel stared at the far end of the tent towards Reuben, drifting off.
The birds were even quiet tonight. Odd to not hear at least an owl or a nightingale singing in the trees. He would've thought the rain would bring them out-
"WHERE'RE MY CRACKERS, DAMN IT!?"
Sam's eyes widened in amusement, clamping down on his lip to keep from laughing out loud. The cracker box sat empty beside his head.
Smart mouths make for easy targets.
