Just a silly little fic that's been floating round in my head after Almighty Chrissy's comment: "Poor Gary, his squire(s) have so much FUN making his life hell."

The rating is for innuendo, less obvious in this chapter, but more prevalent in the subsequent two.

"What if we get caught?" she whispered.

"We won't," Sacherell replied, kissing her on the cheek. In truth, the likelihood of their being caught was relatively high, but his knight-master Gary would probably just hang another pregnancy charm around his neck and issue another warning about tampering with unwed ladies. Sacherell had asked Gary whether he was allowed to tamper with married women, but had received a diagram of a chastity belt for his troubles.

"You know, if you spoke to my father, we wouldn't have to worry so much about people seeing us," Lydia pressed, tracing a path up his arm with the tip of her finger.

Sacherell tried not to choke, and attempted the best smile he could muster under the circumstances. "You know I can't do that yet, Lydia, however much I might want to. I'm still only a squire - he'd laugh in my face and might not accept my proposal when I'm in a better position to make it."

She lowered her eyes, obviously disappointed. "I might be married off by then."

He paused, trying to look as though he were struggling with his feelings, and not as though this was this exact outcome he wanted. "Then we must make the best of the time we have," he said, "And hope that time doesn't come to an end too soon. I don't know what I'd do without you."

So, it looked like Lydia was lost. He knew exactly what he'd do; he'd try Delia or Gwynnen again, but experience had taught him it was best not to say that. Besides, Delia had enough important admirers, enough so that he was completely overlooked, and Gwynnen was temporarily off-limits until he could figure out how to talk to her without turning into a pile of mush. Lydia was perfect for the moment; large blue eyes, curly brown hair and dimples. He had made it his personal quest to kiss every woman with dimples, as a sort of reward for them, until he had noticed that Lady Seraphine had dimples, and had promptly abandoned his mission.

"Sachy! You're doing it again! You're simply beastly, you promised me!" somebody wailed. A somebody whose voice was all too familiar to Sacherell.

Sacherell groaned. "Go away," he instructed, squeezing his eyes shut. He could not, unfortunately, block his ears.

"Go away?! Is that any way to speak to your beloved? You told me last night that I was the only one for you, and now I find you with this poor excuse for a lady!"

"Is this true, Sacherell?" Lydia demanded.

Sacherell's eyes snapped open, caught in a moment of indecision. He concluded that Lydia really wasn't worth it, and he wanted to be rid of this situation as soon as possible. "Yes," he said, resigned. "Lady Lydia, I'm afraid Lady Do- Donna is my betrothed. I - I can't apologise enough."

Lydia's eyes widened. "You – you pig!" she exploded, all her lady-like demure vanishing as she slapped Sacherell. "I never want to see you again!"

"That's the third one this month," Sacherell moaned, clapping a hand to his smarting cheek as he watched Lydia flounce off in a cloud of pink skirts. "I really liked her."

Douglass snorted, fiddling with his wig. "Nonsense. Firstly, if you really liked her, why did I catch you drooling at Lady Gwynnen's feet the other day? You'll make a very good puppy when you finally give up this knight malarkey."

Sacherell grinned, giving his year-mate a friendly shove. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks for the advice. What was secondly?"

"There was no secondly, but I'll make one up just for you," Douglass said sweetly. "Secondly, you wouldn't have played along and agreed that I was your betrothed."

"That's not my fault," Sacherell protested, pressing his hand over his heart and sending Douglass an earnest look, batting his eyes for effect. "The sight of you in a dress makes my knees tremble and I become completely incapable of saying whatever it is that I start out saying."

Douglass looked gratified. "I even remembered to shave this time. See, no stubble at all. I call it the Alan Shave."

"Suits you," replied Sacherell. "As long as you don't let him hear you say that. You know how touchy he gets about his masculinity, or lack thereof. Anyway, what's so important that you needed to scare away my catch of the day?"

Douglass fluttered his eyelashes. Disturbingly enough, he was almost the spitting image of his sister, and it was most likely her dress Douglass was currently wearing, judging by the abundance of lace. The last time Sacherell had met her, she had not taken kindly to his attempts to take a closer look at what was under the lace, and he had therefore lost interest.

"Oh, I see, you're tired of me now, is that it?"

"Never," Sacherell said, grinning. "I want to get down to business simply to give us more time to get up to more interesting activities later."

Douglass smirked. "I can see why the ladies find you so appealing, Squire Sachy." He cleared his throat. "You may remember that, after much deliberation, the late Raoul and Gary-"

Sacherell held up a hand, his throat constricting. "Late? They're not – not - has anything happened?"

"No. They were, however, very late for breakfast. One cannot help but wonder why. If I may continue?" Sacherell nodded, the colour flooding back into his cheeks. "Anyway. Obviously, Raoul picked me to be his squire and for some unfathomable reason, Gary opted for you. Whilst I am sure these decisions took a vast amount of time, if truth be told, I cannot help but think that they made the wrong choices. So. I propose, and you must accept, that we aid them in altering those choices lest catastrophic consequences occur." He smiled beatifically. "And they will occur."

Sacherell arched an eyebrow at him, combing a hand through his hair. "Oh, I must agree, must I?"

"Are you suggesting that you would refuse my proposal?" Douglass wanted to know. "Well, no, obviously that's impossible, practically inconceivable, but if you were to refuse, I would have to try Lady Gwynnen."

"To swap her knight for yours?" Sacherell asked sceptically.

Douglass smoothed his skirts out carefully before replying, "Oh, no. No, to swap her squire for me."

Sacherell eyed him warily. "I don't believe you. But," he continued hastily as Douglass turned away, "I am willing to consider your proposition. Seriously consider it, in fact," he added quickly as Douglass took a large step towards the palace. "I mean, let's do it. Why not?"

Why not indeed? Gary kept making him copy out endless laws, not seeming to care that he was depriving the palace scribes of their jobs, for which they at least got paid. Sacherell and Raoul got on, after all, and Sacherell was keen to see what Douglass had in mind for this particular idea. He'd probably regret consenting to it, but that would be later.

Douglass smiled triumphantly. "Then here begins the Great Knight Swap of 435."

"You wish to change knights."

"Well, yes," Sacherell said uncomfortably, raising a hand to brush his hair out of his eyes, and then freezing mid-motion as though Duke Gareth wouldn't approve. He dropped the hand hurriedly.

Douglass shot his friend a disdainful look. Clearly he didn't know the first thing about dealing with the Duke. Really, it was kind that Douglass had offered to swap. Sacherell was a sweet boy, but he was definitely not a fitting squire for the Naxen family. Douglass would do a much better job.

"If it's not too much trouble, your Grace," he said sincerely, locking his hands behind his back.

Duke Gareth sighed. "Veldine, I generally find that everything you do is too much trouble. When you leave, I won't have any idea of what to do with myself."

"Your Grace is too kind," Douglass replied sweetly.

Duke Gareth did not look particularly amused. "Whilst we are on the subject of trouble, Squire Douglass, could you tell me exactly why it is that I have seen you running around in a dress four times in the last two months?"

"Certainly, your Grace," said Douglass, fighting the urge to smile. "You must have seen my sister. I'm told the resemblance between us is uncanny."

Gareth rubbed his eyes, his lips pressing together. "Squire Douglass, it pains me to remind you that you do not actually have a sister."

Douglass snickered, glancing sideways at Sacherell, who looked appalled. "Of course I don't, your Grace. I don't know what I was thinking."

To his satisfaction (and admittedly slight relief), Duke Gareth abandoned the topic, apparently assuming it was something he'd rather not know. "Obviously, I'm flattered that you would rather have my son as your knight-master, and moreover delighted that you saw fit to inform me first for once, but I do have to wonder if this is connected to the reason you wanted Sir Raoul's knighthood revoked."

"Please don't wonder, your Grace," Douglass said, wincing slightly as the Duke hit on the point. "It isn't good for me."

Both Sacherell's eyebrows were raised, and he turned towards Douglass, a smile playing around his lips. Douglass hoped he wouldn't back out now. "Revoked?"

"Yes. It means withdrawn."

"I believe Squire Douglass wished for me to withdraw Sir Raoul's knighthood on account of his penchant for early morning exercise routines," Gareth informed Sacherell, resting his chin on his interlinked fingers. "He seemed to consider it as a form of abuse."

Douglass shook his head. "With all due respect, your Grace is being ridiculous. I specifically recall saying torture, and further showing you the Jindazhenese examples, plus Sir Raoul's family tree."

"Ah, yes, I remember now. Both written in a hand suspiciously similar to your own. But I assume that is because your sister has taken up scribe work when she's not swanning around on palace grounds."

Douglass nodded, looking pleased. "Ah, so you do know her!"

The Duke looked vaguely amused. "Squire Sacherell, were you aware that, according to the charts Squire Douglass was so kind as to provide me with, your prospective knight-master is related to Somso the Tyrant of Jindazhen?"

"Sir Raoul did neglect to tell me that, your Grace," Sacherell admitted, his face earnest. "Though I don't suppose he would want something like that to become common knowledge."

Gareth narrowed his eyes at Sacherell. "I do believe that Squire Douglass is a bad influence on you," he said shrewdly.

"Oh?" Sacherell replied innocently. "In what way?"

"In that way." Duke Gareth examined them both before sighing. "Boys, you know that a knight picks his squire and that's that. I cannot recall anybody having switched before, and certainly not over something so trivial as morning exercises."

Douglass gave him a pitiful look. "Wrestling, your Grace. Wrestling with Raoul. It's like having a house fall on you."

Duke Gareth returned to his paperwork. "I imagine that having a house fall on you would be far less painful if you were a castle. Do something useful for once, rather than playing these silly games."

Douglass frowned, ran over the words again in his head to check that the Duke really was telling him to become a castle, and then decided it would be better not to ask. "Thank you for your time, your Grace," he said instead, bowing and leaving the room.

Once outside, he waited for Sacherell to make his excuses, and slung an arm around the boy's neck as he too exited.

"Well, I'd say that went pretty well, wouldn't you?"

Sacherell raised his eyebrows. "Nothing happened," he pointed out. "And what was that about you not having a sister?"

"Ah, but it did," Douglass replied, tweaking Sacherell's nose and choosing to ignore the bit about his non-existent sister. "His Grace gave us permission. In a roundabout way. You just have to be able to speak his language. And, now he knows what we're doing. He's a collaborator. There's no going back."

Sacherell had the uncomfortable feeling that Douglass was right. There wasn't.