I saw this prompt on Tumblr, and this movie is one that is so near and dear to my heart, I had to.
The knight didn't move. He was a pile of rusty armor and dim metal, propped up against a tree, his head lolling to the side. Neal leaned forward, frowning at his master.
"Sir?" he asked. "It's nearly time for you to ride. You've got to get up."
He didn't answer. The sun glinted off his armor, and the wind gently whistled through the metal joints, but he didn't answer.
"Has he said anything?" Rum asked, coming up behind him with the shield.
Neal shook his head. "Not a word."
They considered the still form. Neal thoughtfully folded his arms while Rum furrowed his brow, looking for even the smallest sign of movement, the tiniest indication of life.
"God help us," Rum said grimly. "You think he's…?"
Neal nodded silently. Rum cursed again, throwing down the shield. Sir Ector, dead. Just what they needed. Being squire to a poor knight was bad enough, but squire to a dead knight was even worse.
"Oi!"
Neal and Rum turned as Robin came into view, irritably jerking away from the branches that pulled at his tunic. "Bloody hell!" he grunted, ripping free from them. "Stupid little—whoa!"
He tripped over his own feet, landing clumsily on the ground. Neal and Rum looked down at him, unimpressed, as he pushed himself up, spitting out a string of curse under his breath.
"Christ," he grimaced, brushing the dirt and grass from his knees. "Sir Ector up? He's got to ride in minutes."
Neal exchanged a look with Rum. "Er…thing is, Rob," he said carefully, toeing the ground. "Sir Ector's not going to be up in time to ride."
Robin frowned. "What? What does that mean?"
"He's dead," Rum said flatly.
Neal winced as the look on Robin's face transformed from confusion to panicked anger. "No, no, no—he's only sleeping!" he insisted. "Can't be dead, bloody fool can't be dead…"
"Rob, leave it," Neal complained as he pushed past him to knock on Sir Ector's helmet. "He's not going to—"
"Wake up!" Robin shouted, his fist clanging against the metal helmet. "Come on, you useless git, wake up!"
"He's dead, you idiot!" Rum called as Robin furiously tugged at his arm.
"Get up, you wanker!"
"He's not getting up, boy—I told you, he's dead!"
"Rubbish!" Robin kicked the armor, glaring mutinously at the dead knight. "I haven't eaten in three—"clang!—"flogging—"clang!—"days!"
They'd been depending on that tournament. The money was running low, they barely had enough for one man's night at an inn. If they didn't think of something, they were going to end up like those miserable souls along the road, with only a few rags over their back and begging hands.
"Stop that!" Rum snapped as Robin started beating the armor with a stick. "He's already dead!"
Neal exhaled impatiently as the two of them started arguing. God knew, they didn't need to waste time bickering at each other, not when they had a dead employer on their hands. They were already half-starved and broke—their time was far better spent coming to some sort of conclusion. Honestly, at this point h was so desperate, he had half a mind to get on the horse and enter the bloody tournament himself.
Enter the tournament himself.
Win the tournament himself?
Neal slowly lifted his head, his eyes widening as the idle thought turned into an idea. No one would know the different, he'd be all suited up in armor, his face covered by the helmet—yes! Who had to know that Sir Ector was dead? He could become Sir Ector, with a stolen helmet and some borrowed squires! If he lost, he lost, and they'd be no worse off than they already were. But if they won…
"Hey," he said, shaking himself out of his daze. "Hey, you two, knock it off! Oi!"
He ran over, shoving his hands between the two of them to keep them apart. They glowered at each other past him, still struggling against his hands, but Neal stepped authoritatively in the middle.
"I said, enough," he said, looking sternly between them. "Stop fighting, I've got an idea."
"What are you on about?" Rum scoffed as Robin tossed his head derisively. "What idea is there to be had? Sir Ector's dead, Robin's lost his wits, and we're out of money. If there was ever a homeless situation, this is it!"
"Right, so what have we got to lose?" Neal said, dropping his hands. "Rob, strip him of his armor, I'm riding in his place."
Robin blinked at him. "What?"
"Strip him of his armor," Neal enunciated. "I'll ride in his place."
Robin looked at Rum, then back at Neal and nodded. "Okay," he said, and turned around to start ripping the armor off the knight. Neal gathered up the loose pieces, studiously ignoring Rum as he stared down at him.
"What's your name?"
"Pass me the helmet," Neal ordered, holding out his hand. Rum raised his voice.
"I'm asking you, Neal Cassidy, to answer me with your name. Eh?" He nudged him with his boot; then again a little harder when Neal didn't respond. "It's not Sir Neal, is it? It's not Lord Neal, it's not Count Neal, it certainly isn't King Neal—"
"Do you think I don't know that?" Neal demanded, abandoning the laces of the knee pads to glare at the older man. "I'm a nobody, I know that as well as anyone!"
"Then what do you think you're doing, entering a tournament?" Rum said wildly. "You have to be of noble birth to compete!"
"So we lie," Neal said testily. "How did the nobles become noble, anyway? Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response. "I'll tell you how—they claimed it. Claimed it themselves, with nothing but a blade and their own foolish courage. They clawed their way to the top by proving they had enough nerve to do it." He snatched up the other knee pad, not taking his eyes off Rum as he pulled it on. "Do you want to eat tonight or not?"
Rum look exasperated. "Yeah, 'course I do, but—"
"Then stop nagging like an old goat, and help me." Neal stood up, tossing him the chest plate. Rum caught it reluctantly, and trailed his eyes up, looking at him worriedly.
"If the nobles find out—"
"If the nobles find out, we'll lose our heads. And if we don't at least give it a shot, we starve to death." Neal shrugged, gesturing at him. "It's your luxury, to decide how you want to die."
Rum looked at him for a long time, turning the chest plate between his hands; Neal looked back, holding his breath. Come on, he thought. Come on, Rum, take a risk.
Rum closed his eyes. "Damn you, Neal Cassidy," he muttered, taking a few grudging steps toward him. "All right, lift your arms—Rob, come help me get this fool of a man into Ector's armor."
