A/N: This is the first part of a two-part fic, which is also intertwined with another two-part fic. The two Lancelot-centric fics will require a certain amount of suspension of disbelief... They're not the greatest XD But they were a great opportunity for some humor and several Marvel references... by which I mean two. Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: ch. 1, I think

.*.*.*.*.*.

The tall, gangly, dark-haired Roxolani boy kicked idly at the ground in front of him. He was, quite simply, bored. How one could be bored while training to become a knight among a legion of Roman warriors was a good question indeed, but not one that concerned him. What concerned Lancelot today was finding a way to un-bore himself, and that lay in Kahedan.

"Arms up!" the bellow snapped Lancelot out of his head just in time to have the brawny form of Balan smash into his torso, slamming him down into the hard, dusty ground of the practice arena and effectively winding him. Lancelot lay on the ground, stars before his eyes and gasping for breath, as Balan slowly climbed off of him. He vaguely heard a thump as someone climbed over the fence and dropped into the ring, then footsteps approached.

"Lancelot?" the worried face of Lancelot's half-Roman, half-Briton commander appeared, hovering directly overhead. "Are you alright?"

"Ow," Lancelot groaned weakly. Artorius sighed and helped him sit up.

"Anything broken?" another voice—Dagonet—asked from behind him.

Lancelot slowly wiggled his fingers and toes, then moved up his arms and legs, flopping the appendages to check for injuries. "Don't think so," he said finally. "Well, probably my pride…"

Artorius sighed and hauled Lancelot to his feet. "It's your own fault. Pay attention. That goes to all of you!" the last statement addressed the twenty-seven knights and knights-in-training gathered around the ring. "Always keep your mind on the fight, or you won't walk away from it. If Lancelot and Balan had actually been trying to kill each other, Lancelot would be dead now instead of just embarrassed and about to spend an extra hour in sparring practice!"

Lancelot spluttered as Artorius dragged him over to the fence. "An hour?" he protested. "For losing focus for a few seconds?"

"Artorius is right; do that in battle, and you won't be able to learn from your mistake," Dagonet said, climbing over the fence beside Lancelot.

"That's cos you'll be dead," Bors added, leaning around Dagonet to mime dragging his finger across his throat.

Lancelot glared at Bors but bit back the comment that rose to his lips, not wanting to risk the further ire of his commander. After another bout in the practice, Artorius dismissed the knights, keeping back Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad for further practice. Lancelot glowered at the younger boys; Gawain was kept late nearly every day, as he was so small that Artorius insisted on giving him extra training in just about every sport so that he would have a better chance in a fight. Galahad, on the other hand, had spent the first year plus some months refusing to train, and now had a great deal of catching up to do.

The trio spent the next hour in short, slow-paced spars with one another or Artorius, the commander making every effort to perfect their form. Finally, Artorius released them, and they scrambled off towards the barracks.

As soon as they were out of sight of Artorius, Lancelot slung his arms over the younger boys' shoulders. "Boys"—he began, only to be interrupted by Galahad:

"Why are you touching me?" the younger boy asked, eyes narrowed.

"I'm getting to that. Be patient." Lancelot whacked Galahad upside the head and rested his arm back around the boy's shoulders. "As I was saying, boys"—

"You know, we're not that much younger than you, really," Gawain retorted.

"You're nearly five years younger than me," Lancelot pointed out. "Anyways, what I've been trying to say is this: it's starting to get a little boring here. So I want to mix things up a little bit, but I need your help."

"Boring?" Gawain repeated, incredulous. "We're training to become knights. How is that boring?"

"Shut up," Lancelot said, smacking Gawain's ear. "Look, I have a plan, but I need you two to give me a hand."

"What is it?" Gawain asked, curious.

Lancelot stopped and pulled the younger boys into a huddle, whispering furiously to them. When he finished, he stepped back, hands on hips and a proud grin on his face.

"That is not a good idea," Galahad muttered.

"I don't think we're strong enough for that…" Gawain said slowly.

"I don't think we're dumb enough for that," Galahad corrected.

"We could get some of the other boys in on it," Lancelot suggested, ignoring Galahad. "Maybe some of the others in your group."

"Could work," Gawain shrugged. "Who should we ask?"

"Balan and Balin, definitely," Lancelot replied. "Tom, for sure. He'll love it. Do you think Tor would join in?"

"Probably," Gawain nodded. "Meliodas and Guiron would be good, too."

"Okay, but no-one else," Lancelot said. "I don't want our targets finding out." Gawain nodded seriously as Lancelot turned to Galahad. "Are you in or not?"

Galahad looked slowly back and forth between the other boys before sighing exaggeratedly. "Fine," he grumbled.

"Good," Lancelot grinned wickedly. "I'll talk to Tor. You guys talk to the boys in your group. We'll all meet up behind the armory two hours after training tomorrow. Remember, not a word to anyone else, except for the ones we want to help us."

.*.*.*.*.*.

The next afternoon, Lancelot waited behind the armory for his partners-in-crime to show up. Balan and Balin were first, followed closely by Meliodas and Guiron. Tom came next, and finally Galahad, Gawain, and Tor with Cynan and Durnure in tow.

"I said not to tell anyone except who we talked about yesterday," Lancelot glared at Galahad and Gawain.

"Sorry," Gawain blushed. "Cynan heard me talking to Meliodas and Guiron, and he told Durnure before I could tell him not to."

Lancelot sighed. "Oh well. Let's get started."

"You said you had a plan," Tor prompted.

"I do," Lancelot grinned. "Well, part of a plan."

"How much of a plan?" Tor narrowed his eyes in Lancelot's direction.

"Um… twelve percent?"

"Twelve percent? That is not a plan!"

"It's barely a concept," Meliodas agreed.

"It's better than eleven percent," Gawain pointed out, earning glares from Tor, Galahad, and Meliodas.

"Just hear me out," Lancelot rolled his eyes. Over the next hour, the boys brainstormed, plotted, and planned their prank on the other members of the garrison—including their commander. They agreed to prepare and actually pull the prank in a week, and went their separate ways.

.*.*.*.*.*.

The week passed quickly, and soon enough the dawn-light of the big day woke the boys from their slumber. They plodded down to breakfast together, as usual, with their companions, then went off to training.

However, during the day's training, something unexpected happened…