Chapter 6 – Training

"Fool! You ignorant fool! You let that bloody Lancelot train them?" Jeniva shouted, each syllable smothered in anger and resounding off of the gleaming black walls.

"I…I…I didn't have a choice, my lady. Merlin would not let me train them," stammered another voice, a man's voice.

"Hold your tongue, you worthless coward," Jeniva hissed coldly at him. The man gulped, retreated behind one of the large stone pillars in the great hall ~ black, like everything else ~ and trembled.

"Why do I surround myself with idiots?" she muttered to herself, running her pale hands through her hair.

The man watched her from behind the pillar, his eyes glazed over with fright and deep awe. She was so beautiful…from deep inside of him came the rumbling of lustful hunger, and he did his best to soothe it, though it could not be stopped.

"My lady, it s-seems that…"

Jeniva whipped her head around, and gave him a piercingly cold stare that made him whimper stupidly.

"What is it, you stupid knight?"

Sir Tresbath took a breath, and managed to stutter, "well…I…I could…s-spy on them, my l-lady."

Jeniva stroked her chin, and smiled evilly. "For once, Tresbath, you have made an effort to reconcile you mishaps. Go, then, and get out of my sight."

Tresbath nodded, and smiled inwardly at himself. She had complimented him.

"Yes, my lady," he murmured, before bowing low before her throne and running off to find his horse.

***

"You expect me to fight with…with this?" Ron breathed in disbelief as he held up a dagger. Harry failed to see why Ron was complaining. The dagger was a foot long, at least, and the point seemed deadly sharp. Its hilt was encrusted with rubies. But then again, Harry reminded himself, he had gotten Excalibur.

Sir Lancelot laughed heartily.

"That is one of the most dangerous daggers in Camelot, my boy. The iron was melded with poison, therefore whoever is stabbed with it shall surely die, no matter how hard they fight it."

Ron, who had been examining the dagger in disgust, suddenly dropped it.

"It ~ what? It's…It's poisonous?" he asked, panicking, rubbing his hands on his tunic in an effort to get the poison off. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Oh, honestly, Ron, it just means that if you stab someone with it they'll die quicker, don't be such an idiot," she said, irritated.

Ron blushed ~ which surprised Harry, as he thought that Ron would've shot a remark right back at her ~ and picked up the dagger. Harry noticed that he now treated it with extreme care and gazed at it with new respect.

"And for you, fair maiden," Sir Lancelot turned to Hermione, who blushed furiously while Ron glared at Lancelot from behind her. "I am pleased to present the Archer's Bow."

Something about the way Lancelot said it made Harry think that the word 'bow' was capitalized. But, that was explained when he pulled out 'the' bow.

It was a tad smaller than a regular bow. It was made of smooth cherry wood, and was studded with emeralds the size of robin's eggs. Hermione took it in her hands with a look of awe. Lancelot handed her some arrows, which all had eagle's feathers on the end, and said, "Aim wisely with this, fair lady, for if it has a destination, it will never miss its mark."

Harry didn't know why, but he shuddered. Then Lancelot handed her a plain leather quiver, which Hermione slung over her shoulders, nervously.

"Now, to teach you!" Sir Lancelot said gleefully. He seemed to enjoy the idea of training people. Harry had a suspicious feeling that Lancelot had never done this before.

Sir Lancelot led Hermione over to a haystack. About fifty feet in the distance there was a bull's-eye, and apparently Sir Lancelot expected Hermione to be able to hit it, no trouble.

"Now, you take the bow like this," Lancelot arranged his hands so as to look like they were holding a bow. Hermione copied him, except she had a real bow. "And then ~ release!" Lancelot pretended to release an imaginary arrow at the bull's-eye.

Harry held back the urge to laugh as Lancelot held an arrow out to Hermione and said, "Now, please, try it!"

Hermione took the arrow nervously. She seemed uncertain on how to hold it, for which Harry couldn't blame her. Lancelot had only told Hermione what she already knew, which was that if you pulled and let go, the arrow would go somewhere.

Hermione stared at the arrow for a moment, and decided to give it a go. She put the arrow on the bowstring ~ rather clumsily, to be sure ~ and pulled it back with trembling fingers. She let go. The bowstring twanged loudly and the arrow fell at her feet. She hadn't made it go anywhere at all. Harry saw Ron stifle a snicker behind his hand. Harry couldn't help it; he chuckled along with him. Hermione shot them both fiery glares.

Sir Lancelot was deep in thought, gazing at the arrow on the ground.

"Well, alright, then," he said loudly. "If you would be so kind as to let me try, my lady?"

Sir Lancelot took the bow from Hermione and picked up the arrow. He set it on the string, and pulled back. Then he let go.

The arrow zipped past Hermione and landed with a 'twang!' right in the middle of the bull's-eye. Lancelot turned the bow round and round, his brow furrowed, as if he were inspecting it.

"Everything seems to be in order…Care to try it again, m'lady?" Lancelot asked as he handed itback to Hermione, who nodded.

Her trembling fingers once more pulled out an arrow, fitted it on the string, pulled back, and released. Her arrow, this time, hit the target, but on the very edge of it.

"Ah, Madame, you need to practice your aim!" Sir Lancelot said, cheerfully. Hermione's cheeks flushed dark red. She pulled out another arrow and began practicing.

Lancelot turned back to Harry and Ron.

"Now ~ fencing!" he said happily, clapping his hands together. Ron looked nonplussed.

"Fencing?" Ron hissed in Harry's ear. "What is he, mad? Are we supposed to build a picket fence around the enemy or something?"

Harry grinned and said, "No, Ron…I think he means sword fighting…"

"Oh." Ron's ears went red.

Sir Lancelot led them over to a bare spot of ground, where he fitted them up in loose armor and gave them both dull-edged swords.

"But what about my dagger and Harry's sword?" Ron protested.

"Nonsense, boy! Those are far too dangerous to train with!"

Harry, who really didn't mind using the dull-edged swords, was more concerned about how he looked in the two-sizes-too-big armor. The visor on his helmet kept falling down. He also saw Hermione glance over at them and burst into silent laughter.

"Now," Lancelot said, utterly serious, as he pulled out his sword. "I will begin to teach you the art of fencing…"

Harry saw Ron roll his eyes when Lancelot turned to him. Lancelot was nice enough, and he had a good sense of humor, but he tended to stay in only one frame of mind, which was, naturally, his own.

A/N: Frolicking through the field! Tra la la! …*cough* Okay, where did THAT come from? *glances around nervously*

toodles,

Ron Weasley's Cutie