Author's note: Some parts of this story may come down a bit hard on Wat. Wat is my FAVORITE character in the whole movie and the opinions that may be expressed by the other characters are the CHARACTER'S opinions, not mine. So don't flame me, kay? Okay.
ENJOY!!!!


Chapter 5


The sun was what woke Wat. He cursed it mentally. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep or where sleep had finally claimed him. The one thing he did know was that sleep brought blessed relief from the stabbing pains up and down his back, while wakefulness made them even more noticeable than they had been the night before.
You're a wizard with a needle, Roland. It almost makes up for the guilt trips you send yourself on.
Ha-ha. I actually do like sewing for your information. Ma taught me because she never had any girls. She tried to teach Ben, too, but he always got bored after about three stitches.
I feel his pain. How come you never patch up any of my stuff for me?
You never asked.
Uh-huh. Well maybe I'll start.
Who were they? Wat almost wondered if it mattered. They weren't Cook, and that was enough for him. He let his eyes flicker open.
He groaned. It was fate. The two who had been responsible for this latest beating.
Good God, he's alive, the round one said. He dropped whatever it was he sewing and ran off.
Wat struggled to sit up, watching the blond, messy-haired boy warily. Messy Hair watched him too, with an odd expression on his face. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out what it was. He'd gotten good at reading expressions because they often said how much trouble he was in and what kind of punishment he was likely to receive. After studying the guy, he was starting to think that Messy Hair was guilty, but that was ridiculous. People weren't guilty because they got him hurt. Either they didn't care or they were proud of themselves. Maybe he was feeling guilty for something else.
Just as he was starting to wonder what Messy Hair was really thinking, Round came running back with a loaf of bread and a bucket of water with a dipper. He skidded to a halt, then shoved the water at him.

Wat stared. Drink? He licked his cracked lips. Cook had banned him from water two days ago when he had let a knight's biscuit burn on the stove. He'd snuck a little water here and there, but it had been only a very little. He was definitely thirsty. But drink water from these people?
Drink it, for heaven's sake.
Wat blinked in surprise at the tone in the man's voice. It was tired, as though some other half-starved boy had refused food or water from him before. It was also tinged with sadness.
Go ahead, Messy Hair suddenly spoke up. He won't hit you, if that's what you're afraid of. You can trust him.
Not afraid of anything, don't trust nobody, and not interested in having you two for friends, Wat said as he accepted the water amiably. He was surprised and a bit disgusted at himself when he suddenly realized that he didn't want the two of them to believe his statement. Especially not the last part of it.
Well even if you don't want to be our friends, I'm Roland, that's Will, and we're really sorry about last night. You getting hurt, I mean.
Wat spat out the precious water in his mouth.
We're sorry.
But. . .but why? he asked, trying to fathom the idea.
Roland gave him a strange look, his forehead creased into a frown. He was about to say something when Will interrupted him.
Why wouldn't we be? You got practically beaten to death and it's our fault.
Well it's just- I mean- How could he tell them? They'd never understand it. Besides, he didn't even know them. He was under no obligation to tell them what his life was like. If they were his friends, maybe he'd have to tell them, but the weren't his friends. It was just more prove for a conclusion he'd come to a long time ago: it was not worth getting close to people. Everyone you liked always left you eventually and the more you liked them, the more it hurt when they were gone.
Will asked.

Roland wanted to know what you were going to say.

Why shouldn't we be sorry for you? Roland asked.
Never mind.
Well, fine. Be that way. He looked a bit peeved.
Wat glared at him. I don't have to tell you my business, he thought. And I won't. I. Don't. Like. You. But he was becoming less and less certain about that point the more he was with the two of them.
Come on. Now it was Will prying. I'm dying of curiosity about you.
Don't say a phrase you can't appreciate, Will, Roland admonished. (It was something his mother had always told him.) You've got absolutely no right to that phrase in particular, seeing as you've kept me curious for eight years straight.

I got a right to ask! You're my best friend and as good a little brother as I've got.
From under the confusion he'd been feeling for the last few seconds, came a ripple of jealousy. He shoved the feeling far down, burying it under mountains of other emotions. Stay there, he ordered silently.
Why won't you tell me?
My business.
Will, I just want to-
I'm not telling.
Fine, fine, fine! Roland started stitching again, this time in angry silence. He jabbed the needle into the cloth as hard as he could. Will was also silent as he stared at the blackened fire pit, but it seemed to Wat as though he was seeing something else entirely.
A feeling of incredible loneliness washed over him. He sighed. He nibbled at the bread Roland had brought him, but found that he didn't have much appetite anymore. He wished he could ask what the two had been arguing about, but he didn't want to make the feud between them anything more than momentary, which he hoped it was. Then he wished he could stay with them, but he knew that was out of the question entirely. In the midst of his terrible rage last night, Cook had screamed at him that it was bad for the business if he went about beating squires, especially good ones. If they were the knights he'd mistaken them for, Wat would have (despite his exceptionally fierce pride) asked them to let him travel with him. But they were only squires. Their master would never would never allow it.
Time to pack up, boys! I've got some last minute business to take care of and then we're on the rode.
The loud, gruff, (but not at all unpleasant) voice made them all jump. Wat looked around and spotted a tall, muscular man with a kind face and a stature that meant business striding toward them.
Yes, sir! Roland and Will said in unison as they scrambled to stand up. Wat shifted uncomfortably and wondered what he should do; whether he should offer some help, keep sitting where he was, or disappear and feel sorry for himself for long time before getting to the task of deciding what he wanted to do with his life. (There was no doubt in his mind anymore that he was done slaving for Cook.) Suddenly something soft smacked him in the face, interrupting his thoughts.
There's your shirt, Roland said. Try it on.
After he'd gotten over his surprise, Wat pulled the shirt over his head. He looked down at the shabby, light brown cloth covered in grease stains and had to fight down an insane urge to hug Roland. He'd had the shirt for as long as he could remember and a greater part of his furious sobs the night before had been because he'd thought it was beyond repair.
Made a friend? The knight-he had to a knight, Wat figured, and their master, for them just drop what they were doing and carry out his order. What would it be like to have that kind of power?
Yes, sir, Roland said.
Well, more or less, Will muttered.
He's-well, what's your name anyway? Roland asked.

He's Wat.
A look of surprise came over the knight's face as he looked Wat up and down.
You're the boy that attacked Roland yesterday, aren't you? he asked.
Well-I-I mean-, he searched his head furiously for some sort of story but found that it was infinitely harder to lie to the knight than it was to lie to Cook.
You're not in trouble boy. I know you're the one. I was wondering if you'd like to be my squire.
You're squire? Be a squire to a real knight? Go off on adventures? Learn how to really fight? It was unbelievable. The one thing he'd always wanted to do.
Well make up your mind and don't take all day about it, Wat. If you don't want to-
I do, I do, I do! I'll work as hard as I can, and I'll do whatever you tell me, and I'll try never to lose my temper, and-
The knight coughed suddenly and looked as though he was trying not to laugh.
Well, then, you'd best get packing. Roland!

Show him the ropes.
Yes, sir. Roland studied Wat with a smile. Somehow I don't think I'll have any trouble getting you to talk.