Characters/Pairing: Gawain, Galahad
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: These characters belong (in this incarnation) to Jerry Bruckheimer and Co.
Author's Note: Written for the To Fight or Not To Fight? challenge at the kingarthurfanfiction yahoogroup
Summary: What would make Gawain fight Galahad?
"He is too young." Gawain's voice was firm, but Cei barely seemed to be listening.
"He is no younger than you were at your first battle," the master at arms said, dismissively. Gawain bit back an exclamation of disdain but did not give up.
"That's different. He's had barely a year of training; he's still raw."
"He's a perfectly competent fighter, and he's one of the best horsemen we have. He's had as much training as the rest of you, and there's no reason to keep him here while the rest of us ride out. No, Gawain, Galahad rides with us when we leave in three days, and nothing you say will dissuade me. If I say he's fit to fight, then he's fit to fight, and he will agree with me. He won't thank you for trying to get him out of this."
"I know," Gawain grated out, knowing he had already lost the argument. He left Cei at his desk and went off to sit on the fence that surrounded the practice ground, hoping the fresh air would clear his head and ease his temper. There was something about Cei that never failed to irritate Gawain, placid though he usually was. Most of it, Gawain thought, came from the fact that Cei was Arthur's foster brother, and thought that made him better than everyone else. Never mind that Arthur himself treated all his men as equals; Cei's high-handed manner and unwillingness to listen to others communicated to everyone just how much he thought of himself.
The rest of it, today at least, stemmed from the fact that the knights were due to ride out on a mission in three days, and Galahad had been deemed a fit enough soldier to go with them. He had come on in leaps and bounds, certainly, since he had arrived at the fort a year or so ago, a skinny, resentful lad with no discernible battle skills, his only redeeming feature being his outstanding horsemanship. But he wasn't ready for battle. Not yet. Nor would he ever be, Gawain thought. He had found himself looking out for the youngest knight, helping him practice his swordsmanship, training with him; grateful, perhaps, for someone to be an older brother to, having left his three little brothers behind in Sarmatia. Slowly a fast friendship had formed between the two of them, and Gawain knew that Galahad's spirit was not that of a fighter. He was a good man, an honourable one; he should still be at home on the plains, with his beloved horses, herding and breeding them in freedom, not learning to kill for a country that was not his own.
What Gawain was not admitting to himself was that he was worried about the lad. Much as he knew that it was not a good idea to become too close to the others, that each mission could well be someone's last, with Galahad he couldn't help himself. Galahad was a good friend, and had the makings of a fine man, one Gawain was more than proud to know; more than that Gawain was also resolutely not admitting to himself, but he was absurdly and irrationally terrified that Galahad was going to find himself completely out of his depth on the battlefield and would inevitably get himself killed.
Gawain pushed that thought as far to the back of his mind as he could. No use thinking like that. He fixed his gaze on the trees beyond the practice field and tried to think of other things.
His reverie was abruptly disturbed by an angry voice shouting his name. He looked up and saw Galahad, with a face like thunder, making his way towards him. The lad was fully armed and was carrying, rather awkwardly, Gawain's armour and sword. Walking up to Gawain, he dumped his burden on the ground in front of him.
"I hear you think I'm not capable of fighting," he said, his voice taut with fury.
Gawain blinked. "That's not it," he said. "I just -"
"-don't trust me not to get myself killed, is that it?" Galahad finished for him. "Don't think I can look after myself? Why else would you try and get Cei to leave me out of the mission?"
Gawain was taken aback by this. How had Galahad found out? Although, thinking about it, it was highly likely that Cei had told Galahad himself. Thinking quickly, he tried to come up with a suitable reply.
"It's not that I don't think you can fight," he said carefully, "it's just that I'm not sure you're ready for combat. Can you kill a man, Galahad?"
The younger knight hesitated, just for a moment, and Gawain had the feeling that he'd scored a point. "That's not what's important," Galahad blustered. "What's important is whether or not I can fight, and I'm going to prove to you that I can. Put your armour on; I'm challenging you. Now."
There was steel in his tone, and Gawain was taken aback again. "I don't want to fight you, Galahad. Not over this."
"What's the difference? You've fought me enough in training before. Suddenly not good enough, am I?"
"You know the difference. Training is training. This, with you in this mood, this is something else entirely."
"Scared?" Galahad taunted; he was working himself up into a real rage now, determined to goad Gawain into fighting. The older knight sighed and dropped down from the fence, trying to stay calm.
"No, I'm not scared. I just don't want to fight you. But if you insist, then we'll fight." He bent to pick up his armour and laced it on, buckling his sword at his waist and following Galahad out to the centre of the practice ground. They faced each other for a moment, and then Galahad lunged. Gawain parried him easily, and for a few minutes they might have been merely training, practising the moves, thrust, parry, feint, sidestep, parry, thrust again, precise and simple, and not placed to wound. Soon enough, though, Galahad's anger began to take over and his strokes became more dangerous; Gawain found he was having to defend himself in earnest, while still being careful not to injure his friend.
"You're not trying, Gawain," hissed Galahad, and Gawain bit back his instinctive retort; one of them had to stay calm, or someone was going to get badly hurt. He concentrated on parrying Galahad's blows and trying to wear the younger knight down, tire him out just enough to be able to disarm him.
It took far longer than Gawain had expected. They were more evenly matched than he had realised; Galahad's lighter build allowed him a turn of speed and agility that Gawain did not possess, and which nearly cancelled out the advantage of Gawain's greater strength. As the fight wore on Galahad's anger seemed to fade but he did not relent. He had a point to prove, and prove it he would, Gawain knew from previous experience of his young friend's tenacity. Dimly Gawain became aware that they had an audience, the other knights clustering in groups along the fence, probably speculating among themselves as to what could have caused these two to be fighting so earnestly.
Eventually they both began to tire. Galahad's movements grew slower, and Gawain's blows began to lose their strength. Gawain's heart was hammering in his ears, and he could hear Galahad's breathing becoming more laboured, almost gasping. Sweat was making its way in cold little rivulets down his back, and his muscles were burning. Shutting out the pain, Gawain concentrated on what he was doing; one false move and one of them was going to get injured. Still looking for an opportunity to disarm his friend, Gawain at last managed to lock his sword against Galahad's, bringing it down with a twist that sent the younger knight's weapon clattering to the ground. Gawain began to lower his sword, preparing to commiserate with Galahad and congratulate him on a fight well fought, but out of nowhere Galahad's foot shot out and hooked itself behind Gawain's ankles, pulling just hard enough to knock him off balance and land him on his back, knocking the breath out of him.
Gawain lay there for a moment, getting his breath back, too surprised to speak. He had certainly not seen that one coming. Perhaps Galahad wasn't as honourable as he'd thought, after all; perhaps he did have the cunning necessary to survive in this place. He began to get to his feet, but froze as he realised that Galahad had reclaimed his sword and now had it levelled at his throat. Very carefully he stopped moving and looked up at the younger knight, unable to keep his expression completely free of amazement.
Galahad stared back at him for a moment, the sword never wavering. "Never underestimate me again, Gawain," he said softly but firmly, the steel in his voice again, and Gawain shook his head. He had indeed underestimated him; a mistake he would not make again. The lad was truly a man grown, and a fighter too. He might not want to be, but he was doing a damned good job of it all the same. He would be safe on the battlefield, or as safe as any of them could be. Gawain felt a new respect for him, and something else as well, something he still wasn't admitting to; the months and years ahead were going to be very interesting indeed.