Title: Lancelot's Mentor
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Two men were fighting in a clearing not far from the outpost at Hadrian's Wall. The weapons used were wooden sticks roughly the length of a short sword. Each held a pair of the sticks and the ringing clap-clap of battle filled the air.
They broke off after an unsuccessful manoeuvre by the younger of the pair, circling each other. "You look tired old man," taunted Lancelot, smiling cockily.
"Something wrong with your arm?" replied Balin panting slowly. Balin was instrumental in helping Lancelot, a notorious troublemaker, settle down in Britain mostly by working off Lancelot's excess energy through tough training sessions.
Lancelot resisted the urge to rub his shoulder at the place where Balin scored a painful hit. "Not enough to grant you a victory," he threw back and leaped at Balin.
Balin reacted quickly by diving out of the way and bringing his right hand down on Lancelot's back while aiming his left stick at Lancelot's throat. Lancelot was too quick though, youth served him well. He twisted round to face Balin, intercepted both weapons with his own and aimed a vicious kick at the older man's groin, a trick he learned from Balin himself. Balin was caught off guard and quietly impressed but the old fox stuck his legs out as he fell sweeping Lancelot to the floor.
Balin recovered superbly considering his situation, getting up and charging at Lancelot as Lancelot flipped back upwards. They exchanged furious blows and looked evenly matched, Lancelot, agile and quick, Balin, strong and wily. They gradually realised that they were not alone and this spurred Balin towards ending this battle in his favour. Afterall, he had a reputation to keep.
He spotted a wet and slippery patch of grass from yesterday's rain and guided Lancelot subtly towards it. He gave a roar and struck with all his might, forcing Lancelot to deflect the blow with both hands. Lancelot was unable to meet the attack coming from Balin's left hand and suffering a painful blow to his right side and found his vision filled with the sky as Balin cleanly sweeped him off his feet. Lying on the ground, vision blurry, throat constricted by the pressure of a wooden stick, he heard a voice demanding, "Well?"
"I yield," Lancelot replied promptly. When he could breathe again, he took the time to glare menacingly at Balin prompting guffaws from the older man. 'Arrogant gloating pig!' he thought.
'Old man am I? That'd teach you,' thought Balin. He reached out a hand towards Lancelot, surprised to discover that someone else beat him to it. "Artorius! What are you doing here?"
Lancelot was in no mood to accept any help much less from the annoying Roman. He got up on his own, wincing at the abuse his body had taken for the last hour or so.
"Are you hurt badly?" asked Arthur.
Lancelot glared at him.
Balin interrupted before Lancelot said something nasty, "Is it important?" Stupid question really, Arthur wouldn't be here if it weren't.
Arthur turned to Balin, smoothing off his concern and faced Balin, a hint of accusation in his glance. "The commander would like to see you later about the coming campaign."
"Argh, too scared to break it to the troops eh?"
"That's insubordination," said Arthur with the tiniest hint of a smile. "The men trust you, Balin, they would listen to no one else."
"And that's not insubordination?" said Balin, twinkle in his eye, "Aye, I'll tell them."
It was at this moment that the largely ignored Lancelot pounced on Balin, trying to wrestle him to the ground. He did not like being ignored and he likes being beaten even less but most of all he never lets a good opportunity to surprise your opponent go. Balin should be proud even if the old man gets mauled.
"Thanks Balin!" shouted Arthur amid the loud squeals and shouts coming from the ground. He didn't bother to hide his mirth as he left.
Later, as Balin and Lancelot was lying sprawled on their backs, filthy with sweat, mud and dirt, they did not realise it then but teacher and student had their last serious talk together.
"I should be leaving. Messages to deliver," grumbled Balin.
"Yes, what a fine errand boy you are."
"I could kick your ass even now," said Balin, raising his head on one hand and glancing at Lancelot.
"Oh, you could," Lancelot mocked. He took in Balin's body, delighting in every wince and bruise he glimpsed. He wasn't any much better but he preferred to ignore that fact for the moment. "You should have said no, let the boy give the good news, let our brothers have some fun with him," he added maliciously.
Balin laughed softly. This rivalry between his student and Artorius amuses him. "Why, if you were a lass, and you could be pretty boy, I'd think you were jealous?"
Lancelot considered pouncing on Balin, again.
"He's different, that one, Roman half quarrelling with the British half, if the rumours are true, keeps the megalomaniac tendencies all Romans have in check," Balin smirked.
"Oh great, not only Roman but a Briton as well? Yes, I love him already," he said sarcastically.
"You'll have to tolerate him. He'll go places, that one, will probably lead in a year or two."
"Hah, I'd rather be dead than lick Roman boots!"
"You stupid idiot!" said Balin heatedly. "I didn't spend all this time training you so you could just throw it away the first chance you get!"
"I was just joking," replied Lancelot defensively.
"I've only got two years left, you'll never see Sarmatia again if you don't learn self-control. You want to triumph against Rome? You stay alive and when you're on the long road home, you give the Romans the bloody finger!" said Balin while jabbing his finger at Lancelot's bruised chest.
Lancelot was rather touched by the tirade despite Balin's annoying and painful finger. Balin cared about him, he realised. He has weird ways of showing it, like beating him up, but he does and that filled him with warm feelings, feelings that nauseate a part of him. He felt a bit guilty for not appreciating what Balin had done for him during his time here.
Balin stood up and walked to a tree nearby where he stowed his armour and swords before the training session. He picked up one of the three swords clumped under the tree and threw it at Lancelot.
Lancelot snatched it out of thin air and directed a questioning glance at Balin.
"You said you broke your sword again. I had an extra. Good blade, should survive even you."
"Thanks," said Lancelot smiling. He then grew nervous, eyes unable to meet Balin's gaze, trying to stammer out an apology.
"Don't be such a girl!" said Balin. His gaze kindly and forgiving.
"I'll not forget your words," said Lancelot.
Balin did not return from the campaign alive. It was Arthur that brought his body back to Lancelot.
"He wanted you to have these," he said handing over Balin's twin swords and left Lancelot to grieve in private.
Later, Lancelot buried Balin with the sword that was given to him at their last meeting. These were the words he spoke to the wind, the twin swords of Balin accompanying him on his back.
"I cannot promise you that I'll survive to see Sarmatia but I promise you, I'll fight for it, I'll fight to survive!"