Title: A Spar in the Woods
Characters: Robin, Much
Word Count: 1800
Rating: U
Summary: Much and Robin, and a spar in the woods.
Author's Notes: I woke up early with this fic running through my head, and I had to get it written as quickly as possible.
Comments - Are always welcomed, appreciated, fed to the muses and plot bunnies in copious amounts.
Disclaimer - Not Mine (unfourtunately). They all belong to the beeb, and TPTB, and well...not me the Squeely fangurl of all things Hood. sniffle

A chink of the early morning light found its way through the trees and dazzled itself over the shield, as Much set it to one side, having given it a thorough clean and polish. It bathed almost lavishly as the light picked up the colours of its adornment, and Much gave it a wry smile as he reached over and picked up his sword, which had just been given an equally good maintenance, edges gleaming from polish and sharpening stone.

He stood, the familiar heavy object giving the feeling of an extended limb as he adjusted his hold of it, making sure it was just right, before he lifted it, testing it in his hand, wrist flexing this way and that. Swinging it forward he enjoyed the feel of momentum going through his arm as the sword glided through the air to parry against some unseen foe, a familiar move of practice as it quickly back swung to arch upwards and came down with force. Much turned with the sword, arm following the speed the object caused him to have and was caught off guard as it came clashing onto steel, the metals sliding together as he came to a halt and glanced at Robin who stood just so, sword at the ready, a smile on his face and challenge in his eyes.

Much reflected the challenge but not the smile, and merely dipped his sword tip in acceptance of it, before lifting the metal again. They moved, Robin advancing slowly, Much counteracting by stepping back confident in his skill. When it came to using bow and arrow, Robin was the master, skilled in natural talent, having practiced and honed the craft with ease. Much hadn't taken to to it quite as well, although an excellent marksman, it was the sword with which he was able to prove himself. Ever since he'd started to learn the art, he'd taken to it with ease, the sword becoming part of him, a mere extension of his arm.

He enjoyed the build of the action that came with practice against a skilled opponent, which Robin was. The slow movement, like taking to dance as each person summed the other up, looked for his advantage, trying to think out a pattern, how to outwit the other in order to claim victory. This wasn't driven by the need to protect or kill, for Much this was enjoyment, and necessary to hone skills, his own and Robins, and it was a time when he was more than equal to Robin. It hadn't taken long for either of them to realize that Much was the more skilled when it came to the sword, Robin learning this when the slide of metal pressed gently against his throat, or he lay on the ground, sword tip at his nose.

It had frustrated him at first, that Much learned the skill so fast, took to it as a bird took it's first tentative moves to flight. But he'd come to accept it, and learn of it as much as Much took in every bit of advice he offered when they practiced bow and arrow. It was different in battle, Robin was victorious in most cases, and although it caused a ripple of pride within him to bring a man down, he knew it was from practice such as this which had caused the skill to set in like a natural part of him. Hours of sparring, being flung onto his back and having to get back up and try again, Much always patient and honorable, never relishing in victory for very long, and always with a hand outstretched to bring him back to his feet.

Robin jabbed his sword as if an offer, towards Much, who merely took a step back and swiped the sword away with a flick of his wrist, dismissing it disdainfully, before curving his wrist and bringing it back against the metal with a heavy clink and pushing forcefully causing Robin to take a step back of his own. Both watched, carefully following the others movements wondering who would strike out next. Much knew it would be Robin, he knew the move, saw it coming before Robin took the step forward, parrying the sword forward with a graceful lunge, with was counteracted elegantly with a side step by Much, sword flickering out easily to deflect the lunge and bringing his body round as the sword once more came to rest defensively before him.

Robin followed his as he turned, bringing the sword back to be held out in front of him, looking for the next opportunity. Much watched his eyes, they roved in small minute gestures trying to catch the next shift of the body, ready to defend, or to take a moment of attack. Jumping from sword, to feet, the the curve of the arm, the small step to the left, the shift of movement forward. Much watched for his moment and took it in a swift move which caught Robin slight off guard, expecting a lunge which he lifted his sword to too fend off. Instead Much curved his sword, and it clattered against the lifted metal, as he pressed his body forward, using the sword to push against Robin, causing the man to lose his footing, not enough to fall, but he took a few stumbling steps back and looked slightly surprised.

He didn't allow the moment to slow him down though and stepped back up with a low swipe of his sword towards Muchs right side, Much had to think quickly, twisting his body to the right, sword clashing with Robins and flicking it away, planting his feet so as to not lose his own footing as Robin regained his.

Robin didn't slow down, but instead carried on with the attacking form, and for a moment all that could be heard was the clattering of steel on steel, as each man tried to prevent his being brought down by the other. But Robin was over eager, and Much read the shifting of the body, fluid and fast, and always impatient when it came to practicing the sword. It was one thing Robin never learned, ever eager, sometimes over ambitious, he was the same with everything. Always ready to run off and save the day, with half a plan in his mind, decision set with determination. Speed was needed with bow and arrow, the moment when arrow shoots from the bow and another already set in its place as it flies through the air. But swordplay took patience, a slowing down, taking that extra second to take in the opponent and learn his weakness.

For any opponent in battle, Robins speed was his advantage, take them off guard and use it to injure or kill, Much knew his speed and agility, the impatient streak, and used it to his own advantage in order to gain control. Robin allowed mind and body to flow apart from each other, his arm parrying the sword, whilst his mind looked for the next opportunity. Much watched him first, fending off each strike as he watched his masters eyes. He was waiting for his opportunity, and took it when Robins gaze shifted downwards, to his feet, something he was always warned about but never learned from. And old habit, perhaps helpful in battle but always his downfall when it came to friendly sword fights against Much. There was a flickering in the eyes, as if he realized what he'd done, but it was too late and Much brought his sword up suddenly, causing Robins fly high and he raised his arm to counteract the balance of sword flying upwards. Much moved his body full force as metal pressed against metal, stepping forward on a foot and Robin had no choice but down, sword slipping from his grasp as his wrist was forced into a pained position, and he hit the ground with a grunt and before he had a chance to regain composure, the cold metal lay a breath away from his face.

He grinned and rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in mock defeat as Much lowered his sword to his side and held out a hand to help him up with a shake of his head.

"Always with the feet Master." he said with a small smile as Robin picked up his sword.

"I thought I had you this time, just wasn't quick enough" Robin said, although it wasn't much of an argument.

"Your too quick and you know it." Much replied, picking up his shield where it still stood propped up against a gnarled tree stump.

"Don't you ever think, that I perhaps let you win?" Robin asked him as they made their way back to camp.

Usually Much would feel offense at such a thought, being allowed a momentary piece of glory just to be sated and say he was better at something than Robin. But he merely snorted, let out a guffaw of laughter and turned to Robin who was trying his best to look serious with the question.

"The way you control a sword against me, " he said with a wry smile. "Not likely."

"How about we set up some targets, get some practice with the bow and arrows?" Robin asked

"Trying to regain a little of your broken pride?" Much replied with a shake of his head.

"You always dash it to pieces when we spar."

"I don't doubt that that is a good thing for you."

"Come on, you need the practice." Robin said, almost pleading. "Best out of ten, the loser makes tonights dinner."

"I always make dinner."

"So you wouldn't lose any pride in losing then."

"Ask Will, I'm sure he hasn't tired of you telling him to take a breath before the arrow flies." Much replied with a hint of sarcasm.

"Well, at least he listens to my advice. Most of the time you still don't." Robin replied, equally sarcastic.

"Well now you know how I feel when I offer you advice."

"I listen to your advice."

"Oh really?" Much paused as they walked and looked at him.

"Yes!"

"Who was just lying on their back, a sword at their throat a few moments ago?"

Robin didn't reply straight away. Instead a twitch of a smile flirted at the edge of his lips, before he looked at the ground.

"I nearly had you." he muttered.

"Yes Robin, of course you did." Much replied sarcasm now thick in the words, as he gave Robin a swift pat on the arm, as if consoling a child, before they started walking again.

"So, archery then?" Robin said with a grin, throwing an arm around his friends shoulder. "Target practice."

"You really are insufferable sometimes, you know that?"

The End