A/N – Well here you go guys – another update. I'm not that sure about this chapter: it was a pain to write, and I'm not sure if it's really alright, so if you see anything that would drastically improve it, please don't hesitate to tell me!

Pupil

Experience: the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn.

CS Lewis

Lucan had never been in so much pain as he was when he rolled out of bed the next morning. His eye was swollen into an extravagant display of colours, his body was covered in dark bruises, and the dried blood over the cuts on his face split open as he moved, sending fresh stabs of agony into his aching body.

He swore loudly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and hunted for a flint to light a candle. When a flickering light illuminated the sparse room Lucan dragged the rest of himself out of bed, swearing all the time, and began to dress, ignoring the various aches and pains as he moved.

It was the first night that he could remember having slept in a real bed, though he had not appreciated it, for every time he rolled over he moved onto another sore spot and promptly woke up. But there was one thing that Lucan definitely appreciated, and that was being able to get dressed in the warmth of the room. The squires had been allocated rooms the day before, and Lucan could still not dare to believe that he had a whole room to himself, a real bed, proper bedding and even a small table upon which the dancing candle stood.

Lucan pulled his tunic over his head, and scraped his fingers through his messy hair before opening the door and letting himself out into the corridor. His room was nearest to the stables, beside it was Drystan's, and then the other squires were scattered in various rooms of their own down the corridor.

Lucan hammered on Drystan's door, remembering how reluctant he had been to rise the previous morning, and waited until he heard a curse and a groan from Drystan, before making his way down the passage towards the stables.

He entered the courtyard just as the grey fingers of dawn were beginning to lace the sky. It was cold: a thin frost lay on the ground, but as Lucan glanced up into the clear morning sky, he felt an unfamiliar burst of optimism. It was still winter, but slowly drawing into spring, and he got an odd feeling of hopefulness that summer would not long be on its way. He was not used to such feelings of hope: life just had to be lived, however bad things got. So much had changed in a few days that Lucan barely recognised the squire that he had become.

An hour later, and Lucan was tapping softly on the door to Arthur's quarters, the King's breastplate under his arm and Drystan holding his helmet beside him. Arthur opened the door almost immediately, standing back to let the squires enter.

Lucan gazed around the room curiously as he stepped through the door, not quite knowing what to expect from a king's room. It was large, and had hangings on the wall and rugs on the floor. There was a large table by one wall, strewn with tablets and documents, and from the burnt-out candles on it, Lucan guessed that Arthur had been up working most of the night.

There were several doors out of the room, leading to the king and his family's private chambers, but the main room in which Lucan stood was the one that the King worked in.

"I brought your armour up my Lord," Lucan said. "The armourer patched it up alright, but you might want to be careful with it, it's quite old metal."

Arthur was not really listening, but studying Lucan's face. "Did you get that seen to?" he demanded, motioning at Lucan's swelling eye.

"I put some meat on it," Lucan said apologetically.

Arthur sighed and shook his head slightly as he took the breastplate and inspected it. "You should go to a healer," he told his squire.

Lucan shrugged. "I've had worse, and I'm still alive," he said by way of explanation.

Arthur had his back to Lucan as he replaced his armour on the stand in one corner of his room, so it was only Drystan who saw him roll his eyes in despair as he handed the helmet to the king.

"Will you be needing Finn today my Lord?" Lucan asked. "Because if you don't I'll take him to get re-shod."

"No, I won't be needing him," Arthur said. "But I will be needing you."

Lucan looked up, a wary expression on his face. "What for my Lord?"

"You need to learn how to fight," Arthur told him as he sifted through a pile of documents on his desk.

Lucan frowned slightly, wondering if the old King was going mad, and was just about to comment when Arthur turned back to him, an apologetic expression on his face. "That sounded ridiculous didn't it?" he asked with a tired grin. "What I meant is, you need to learn to fight with a sword."

Lucan narrowed his eyes. "I don't see why I need to," he said, his voice becoming slightly hostile. Drystan shifted nervously, knowing only too well what Lucan could be like in this mood.

"If there is a battle, squires will be expected to fight alongside their master," Arthur explained. "You need to know how to wield a sword."

Lucan had his doubts, but he kept them to himself. "Yes my Lord," he agreed.

"My Lord," Drystan butted in. "Lucan's only just recovering from the beating he got yesterday. Perhaps he could have some time to recover?"

Lucan threw an irritated glance at Drystan, not liking to be treated like a child, but it was Arthur who answered. "Warriors need to be able to fight under any physical condition. Do you understand?"

"Yes my Lord," Drystan and Lucan mumbled together.

"Good," Arthur said, his mind already drifting to other things. "Then I will see you in the training arena in two hours Lucan. Make sure you bring two practise swords."

"Yes my Lord," Lucan said, recognising a dismissal when he heard one, and made his way to the door, followed by Drystan.

When he entered the corridor, the familiar rage was beginning to wash over him. How dare that old man teach him how to fight? He, who had been fighting for every one of the last fifteen years of his life? He growled angrily to himself as he stalked down the corridors, inwardly fuming.

"Lucan!" Drystan said, a warning in his voice, and Lucan calmed down a bit. After all, how hard could it be?

Later that afternoon, he stood with sweat pouring down his body, silently throwing every swear word in every language he had ever heard at the king, as he repeated the drills for the hundredth time, while Arthur watched him from the edge of the arena.

"Better," Arthur called out as Lucan finished the complex series of swings that Arthur had been instructing him in, and Lucan's heart leapt slightly to heart those two words from his master. However a moment later the truculent scowl on his face returned as Arthur added, "but you've let your stance go too wide again."

Lucan felt a surge of anger. He had been working for hours, doing thousands of repetitions of tiny movements, as if he wasn't in enough pain as it was, without adding to it by pushing his muscles to their very limits. Maybe Drystan had had a point, he admitted to himself.

"This is stupid," he growled to himself.

"What did you say?" Arthur asked, a slightly dangerous edge to his voice.

Lucan was about to mutter "nothing," when something snapped in him, and he swung around to face Arthur, throwing the blunt practise sword into the sand.

"This is stupid," he repeated, louder this time.

Arthur raised one eyebrow. "Oh is it?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"Yes it is," Lucan continued recklessly. He was fed up with being kicked around, treated like a fool and expected to slave away the whole time. "I can fight perfectly well," he ploughed on. "This is a waste of my time."

"You may be able to fight against another unarmed man, but what happens when he is armed?" Arthur asked, rising from where he was leaning against the fence.

Neither the king nor the squire saw the crowd beginning to grow around the arena, drawn by the angry words and promise of an interesting show.

"I would beat him," Lucan said in a flat voice.

Arthur raised one eyebrow slowly. "Oh would you?" he asked, his voice scathing, which just served to infuriate Lucan further.

"Yes I would."

Out in the crowd, the King's daughter sighed loudly. "Some men are so arrogant," she commented to her maid and confidant, Brietta, but as she turned to the young woman, who was a few months older than she was, she saw her maid's eyes were not looking at Lucan, nor even at the training arena, but were following the steps of a young man with close-cropped hair and a sharp face.

"Still drooling over Drystan?" Sienna teased Brietta lightly.

Brietta immediately blushed and dropped her gaze, causing Sienna to laugh out loud. The two had grown up together: Brietta's mother had nursed Sienna through her childhood, until she had died a year previously, and Brietta was now not only Sienna's maid, but her trusted, and only, friend.

The maid's gaze lifted immediately when she heard Arthur call out Drystan's name, and, without any need for communication between them, the two girls moved closer to the arena to see what was happening.

"Drystan!" Arthur called out, seeing the squire pass the arena.

Drystan put down the bucket of water that he had been carrying, and went to Arthur in the training arena immediately, climbing through the post-and-rail fence that encircled it.

"Lucan here reckons he could beat an armed man with no weapons himself. I want you to prove him wrong," Arthur said, holding out the practise sword to the youns man.

Drystan took the blade warily, not because he was incompetent with it, on the contrary, he had wielded a blade since he was seven, but because he did not want to hurt his new friend.

Lucan's scowl deepened as he and Drystan began to circle each other. Lucan held back, not wanting to make the first move, and so it was Drystan who moved first, sending a sweeping stroke forwards across towards Lucan, but the he simply stepped backwards, easily avoiding it.

Drystan, who had seen Lucan fight before, only just began to realise the speed with which the squire reacted, and found himself fighting more warily. Lucan skipped out of the way of the next few blows, impatient to finish the match, but not wanting to hurt Drystan, so he simply avoided the strokes as he considered it.

Finally he saw his chance, and as Drystan sent a high, horizontal stroke towards where Lucan's head was, the dark-haired squire dropped to the ground, and, putting all his weight onto his left hand, he swung his legs around the back of the squire, hitting the back of his knees. Drystan's legs buckled, and Lucan was already back on his feet and catching the sword by the time Drystan hit the floor with a surprised look on his face.

"I didn't see that coming," he admitted sheepishly as Lucan hauled him back onto his feet.

Lucan shrugged. "Street brawls teach you to fight dirty," he said with a flat voice.

Sienna scowled. "He thinks he's so wonderful," she hissed to Brietta.

"He is!" Brietta exclaimed, a surprised look on her face, before she suddenly blushed, realising that it was not Drystan that Sienna was talking about.

Sienna grinned. "You've got it bad," she said with some satisfaction.

"I have not!" Brietta exclaimed, but only half-heartedly, for her eyes immediately flicked back to Drystan. "It's just…" she trailed off, unable to find the words.

Sienna laughed, a light, ringing laugh that would send men to their knees. "Oh my poor little lovesick friend," she said with a smile.

Brietta stuck her tongue out at Sienna, which only served to make her laugh harder.

"So you can beat a man of your age," Arthur said with reluctant admiration. "But can you beat a fully-grown, battle-scarred adult?" He picked up the blade that lay unused in the corner of the arena, and turned back to Lucan, raising one eyebrow as if daring him to take up the challenge. To be perfectly honest, Lucan was beginning to irritate him. He was too cocky, too sure of himself, and though Arthur knew that he would, and could learn willingly when he thought it worth it, he felt it was his duty to take his overconfident squire down a notch. Lucan's familiar glower reappeared on his face, as he moved to a crouching position.

The match was short and brutal. Within a matter of a few seconds, or so it seemed, Lucan was on his back, Arthur's sword at his throat. He tried to look angry, but in truth he couldn't be, for he was too much in awe of the king's far superior fighting skills. He had not even seen Arthur's intentions in his eyes. He had learnt to fight in the gutter where there were no rules, and so reading your opponent was everything.

He pulled himself to his feet. Painfully aware of the stares of the crowd, all of whom had witnessed his rather humiliating defeat. As he brushed the sand from his sleeves he noticed the king's daughter in the crowd, a smirk on her face at seeing him lose so badly.

Lucan turned away from her, spitting with rage again, but Arthur, seeing the shame on his face, although he did not know that Sienna was specifically the cause, mollified him with a few words. "You are very fast, you'll make a good swordsman if you want."

Lucan picked up a sword, his pride soothed, and looked at his king. "Well then," he said with a sigh. "I suppose I better start practising."