I know I said I wouldn't do a work in progress over the summer, but this just wouldn't leave me alone and I slightly underestimated what my internet availability would be up here at my job. I'm hoping to update this fairly regularly, but perhaps not every day like I normally do with my fics. I've adapted generously from both Glee and A Knight's Tale, but everything you dont recognize from one of those two sources is of course my own work.

I also must disclaim from the beginning that like the actual movie, my goal is not really historical accuracy so if you're a stickler...sorry haha.

Come say hi on tumblr, practical-amanda.

In medieval times a sport arose, Embraced by noble and peasant fans alike though only noble knights could compete. The sport was jousting. For one of these knights, an over-the-hill former champion, it was the end. But for his peasant squire Blaine, it was merely the beginning.

"I didn't think it's was possible to have last eaten so long ago and have so little appetite," came the disgusted voice of Sam who was standing a few paces behind his cohort, waving frantically in front of his nose in an attempt to clear the rancid air. "I'm no doctor, but this can't be good."

Blaine gave Sam a reproachful look over his shoulder, but the other man was having a difficult time taking his fellow squire seriously with the two pieces of cloth stuffed into his nose as a shield from the acrid smell of their master who appeared to be cursed with an illness of the bowels. "Well you can get used to an empty belly if we can't get Sebastian to wake up," Blaine responded, poking the knight with a long stick in a futile effort to get him to move. "He's due to joust in two minutes or he forfeits and and we can kiss the coin we were going to use for food goodbye."

"On a first name basis with Sir Smythe are we?" Sam said, plopping down onto the ground in defeat. "How cheeky of you. I know he favors your company at night, but that's no excuse for insolence," Sam joked as he picked at the threads of his patch that bore the crest of Dalton.

Blaine didn't even bother giving Sam another dirty look. It was well known amongst the staff of the castle that Sebastian "secretly" preferred the company of men. His father turned a blind eye to his lovers as long as he kept up public appearance with the ladies of the castle. Blaine did not especially like Sir Smythe. He was rough and rude and was known to treat his servants badly, but he had to admit that he was quite easy on the eye and the occasional night spent in Sebastian's bed chambers was not all together unwelcome. And for someone in a life of servitude, currying favor with one's master was never a bad idea.

"What he does at night is irrelevant, Samuel," Blaine said, using his friend's full name as he knew it irritated him. "I just feel that after watching him mess his trousers for the better part of the morning, it's safe to do away with such formality," Blaine continued as he went back to prodding Sebastian with the stick. He remained unresponsive.

"Damn, you're useless," Sam mumbled and lifted himself up off of the ground. He yanked the cotton from Blaine's nose and shoved it in his own nostrils in turn, as the other man quickly blocked the smell with his hand. Sam took a deep breath, ready to hold it as his bent over Sebastian and attempted to feel a heartbeat. "He's dead," he said bluntly after about a minute of investigation. Before Blaine had a chance to respond the fourth in their party came riding back to the group.

"Get ready to feast boys!" Puck shouted as he leapt from his horse. "All the guy in charge has to do is manage to stay on his horse and that money is ours."

"He's dead," Blaine responded, plainly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Puck asked in disbelief, looking past Sam and Blaine to their master.

"The spark of his life is smothered in shite. His spirit has left him, but his stench remains. Does that explain it?" Sam responded sarcastically.

"No way," Puck said, stalking over to the man whose head was lolling against the tree. "He's not dead. He's just asleep. I'll wake him and then we can go to the tournament."

Blaine shook head solemnly, but Puck took no notice. He was too busy shouting and kicking Sebastian, hoping to rouse some life from him.

Sam sighed and looked forlornly at his empty belly, "I suppose we should call a priest."

Before anyone else could respond, a King of Arms came trotting down the trail towards the three squires and their ill fated master. "Sir Smythe must report at once or he will forfeit the tournament," he said in a snooty tone, head held high.

Sam was about to respond by pointing to the obviously expired form of their maser when Blaine cut him off, "he'll be there right away," he said, his face betraying nothing as the two other squires gave him a disbelieving look, not saying a word as the King of Arms rode off back towards the castle. As soon as he was far enough down the road, however, Blaine sprung into action, "alright then, help me strip off his armor I'm riding in his place."

Making no move to help his friend as he suited himself up in the gear of a knight, Sam began to shout, "I'm sorry what was your name again? It's Blaine, right? I haven't been missing a 'Sir' that was supposed to be there from that start have I?" Sam said, panic rising in his voice. "Or perhaps it's Duke or Count or Earl Blaine? Is that it?"

"Don't be an ass, Sam," Blaine said, not halting his dressing.

"Okay, then you did attend the same trainings as I did? You know you must be of noble blood to compete?" Sam replied.

"You want to eat, correct?" Blaine asks shoving on the last bit of armor and taking the helmet under his arm. Sam nodded, unable to say anything else. He knew from experience that once Blaine decided to do something there was no talking him out of it. Puck grunted his agreement, seemingly un-phased with the turn of events. "Well then, let's go win a tournament."