Sun glinted off heavy armor and Arthur wondered why he was here.
Well that was a lie.
He knew why he was here.
He was here because opposite him, crowned in blue and fur and airs was Francis. Holding a bloody bright sword, dripping with the blood of Arthur's men.
But Arthur didn't want to be here.
He wanted to be home drinking tea on his favorite chair in his library, with Francis curled up on the couch next to him humming a soft French song and painting a picture.
Because even though they had spats and arguments and wars here and there, Francis had always been there to guide him, teach him, love him.
But not anymore. Not after he had been so unfair, so cruel, so overcome with greed.
This was not the same Francis he had known before.
This man was evil.
This man would pay.
Arthur stared him in the eye, green on blue, glinting like the steel they wore. He gave a signal. His men raised the banner.
And with a heavy heart, and heavy armor, he lifted his sword in the air and screamed, a shrill, broken sound coming from a hurt, grown-up child.
He charged.
Sword clashed on sword, in the early blue dawn.