Thanks to all the reviewers.
Seven
An hour or so later, the seven young men and the soldiers rode into the post outlet. Pyres burned high into the inky blackness of the midnight sky, while the wind whispered through the trees like thousands of tiny insects singing their songs in the deep night. All of the boys sat weary in their saddles, as they awaited the command to dismount. Though he would not admit it, Tristan was most weary of them all. He had rode with the group to the post outlet with his arm indented into his right flank. He did not say a word, nor did he indicate that anything was wrong, but he only concealed his claw wound under his arm. Tristan sat stiffly, as the leader of the soldiers walked out of the tent and stood before them, with his arms folded behind his back like some saint.
"I have told the commander of the harsh traveling, and he has agreed that you all must eat and rest so that tomarrow you will be ready to start your training," the lead soldier said, and afterwards, he cursed under his breath.
He turned to Gawain, who still supported Galahad up on the horse. He scowled lightly and said, "If the boy's still hurt, take him to the infirmary."
"He'll be fine; he stays with us," Dagonet answered for Gawain.
"All right, enough of the small talk. Now, where's the food; I'm starving!" Bors called out from behind the others.
"You'll eat when you eat, so stay your ground, boy, or you won't be eating at all!" the soldier replied coldly. "You've been split up into multiple tents. Tent One will be Gawain, Arthur, and Galahad. Tent Two will be Bors and Dagonet. Tent Three will be Lancelot and Tristan."
Tristan rolled his eyes as he dismounted his horse. Why was he put with Lancelot in a tent? He didn't need a babysitter, or a roomate either! Things could be worse, though; he could have had to bunk with the snoring Bors or the hyperactive Galahad (though Galahad wasn't so hyper at the moment). When Tristan's feet hit the ground, he grunted slightly at the makeshift of his armor over his wound. He strode forward to his designated tent, and his grunt of discomfort and pain didn't go unnoticed by Lancelot as he made his way into the tent after Tristan.
Setting his sword down, Tristan glanced around the small tent. There was a pile of hay on either side, with only a single pillow and blanket for warmth and comfort.
"Hmpf," Lancelot said. "Love what they've done with the place, really!"
"Yeah, well, it's better than sleeping on the cold, hard ground," Tristan answered, carefully pulling his chest plate over his head.
Lancelot lifted an eyebrow. "I thought you liked sleeping on the cold, hard ground though, Tristan."
"Not especially, though I do find trees quite accomadating at times," Tristan replied.
"Tristan, congratulations, you made a joke!" Lancelot said. "Are you ok? Do you wann lie down? I hear the initial shock can be hazardous to your health!"
Lancelot laughed heartilly and slapped his knee. Tristan shook his head and hissed slightly through his teeth as he sat on one hay-bed.
"All right," Lancelot said, standing and crossing his arms. "Where did that beast get you?"
"It's fine; it will heal quickly," Tristan replied.
"Before or after it gets infected?" Lancelot asked.
"What are you, my nurse-maid?" Tristan quirked an eyebrow curiously.
"Nurse Lancelot, at your service," Lancelot said sarcastically. He even tried to curtsy, though it did not turn out to look like one.
Tristan chuckled at the lad's foolishness, and grabbed his side in agony.
"See what happens now when someone like me laughs?" Tristan said. "You put me through more pain than the wound does itself!"
Lancelot rummaged in his pack and pulled out some bandage wrap. He then walked over to a bowl that was filled with water and wetted a piece of cloth.
"So, you gonna get that wound taken care of, or am I gonna have to use force?" Lancelot asked.
"What, nag me to death...or no, perhaps call a soldier?" Tristan grinned.
Lancelot tossed the cloth and wrappings at Tristan's face.
"Do it yourself, then!" Lancelot said. "You know Tristan, making a friend is one thing, nut keeping a friend is another."
"Who said we were friends?" Tristan asked.
Then, Lancelot lay in his bed at stared up at the ceiling as Tristan examined his claw wound on his side.
"No one," Lancelot said, turning on his side and facing the wall of the tent. "I just thought that after all that's happened, we just were."
Tristan shook his head and went about wrapping his wound, before laying on his hay and falling asleep.
The following morning, the sun peered out from behind silver-lined clouds in the sky. The knights had had a full night's rest and had had the first decent meal they'd had since they left their homes. Galahad was still slightly under-the-weather, but looked 100 better than before. After breakfast, the boys were to meet outside the commander's tent to be briefed on something, or so they had been told. When they got to the tent, they saw multiple Roman soldiers on horseback, along with horses with no riders. The boys were confused by this, because the number of empty horses added up to seven. The captain, with his ratty dark hair, exited the commander's tent and paced in front of the seven of them.
"Sir, I thought the commander was to speak with us today," Arthur said.
"The commander is no longer here. The orders have been changed, and the number of soldiers and new recruits, I have found out, are limited," the captain replied.
"And...what does that mean for all of us?" Tristan asked.
"It means that you seven are to travel to seperate outposts near the Fort of Hadrian's Wall to commence your training to become knights," the man answered, clicking his tongue.
Gawain stepped forward in protest, as Galahad nearly shed a tear.
"What, you can't seperate us! Not now; not like this!" Gawain lashed out angrily.
"These are the orders which will be carried out," the captain said.
The others stepped in, but were soon silenced as they were forced by the other soldiers, onto their horse. Galahad, still in a weakened state, couldn't put up much of a fight as he tried to grasp onto Gawain's arm.
"The boy is still sick, damn you!" Gawain shouted. "You can't do this to us..to him! Have you no compassion?"
The leader of the soldiers said nothing, but only waved his hands at them, as if to shoo them away like flies.
"We will see each other again," Galahad said. "Won't we?"
"By my life, we will, Galahad, my friend and brother," Gawain declared, as his arm was hit away from Galahad's.
"We will all meet again," Arthur added loudly.
Lancelot nodded to the light-brown haired boy. "In this life or the next."
As the soldiers seperated the seven young men, half took the eastern road, and the others went off north. Tristan glanced back at Lancelot and the others one last time. "In this life or the next."
End, 'Seven.'