Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival.

-C. S. Lewis

"This is bloody ridiculous. Artorius should be ashamed of himself…"

"Perhaps you should learn to follow direction and maybe you won't find yourself in this situation next time. And besides, it was Lot's decision, not his. He'd forgiven you for the injury. Now, if would've kept your mouth shut and accepted it rather than blaming him for stepping in your path (which he most certainly did not, by the way), Lot wouldn't have stepped in. And how in the hell can you still not shoot a single damned arrow straight after being here for a good month-and-a-half, let alone three damn years in the company?"

"Many thanks for pointing out the obvious, brother…"

"All I state is the truth, Gawain."

"I just…prefer the hand-to-hand sort of thing…"

"Are blind? Do you have some sort of malady that prevents you from seeing true? Or are just addled in the head? Agravaine's already taken on that role, so we don't need another madman in the family, you know. It makes us look cursed. And no bar wench or miller's daughter or shop girl wants to rut a cursed man from a cursed clan of the demented…"

"You enjoy being the smart-mouthed one, don't ye, Gareth?"

"'Tis better than being the dense one. You could have killed our commander, you git!" Gareth retorts with a tired sigh as he helps Gawain painfully shrug out of the last of his armor and sets it aside, leaving the younger knight in his riding breeches and the usual long-sleeved undershirt. "In the meantime, you might want to get a draught for the pain from the infirmary," the older knight continues, narrowing his icy blue eyes in concern, nervously running his fingers through his tangled dark blonde hair.

"I'll be fine," Gawain retorts, though he winces as he says it.

"The hell you will. You won't be able to feel your arms by morning, which is only a few hours away, may I remind you. Go to the infirmary and stop being so damned stubborn," Gareth counters as he stalks away to his own bed on the other side of the barracks. Since he is one of the older knights who's been stationed at the wall from the beginning, he has the privilege of having his own quartered-off bed space, versus one of the cruder beds without partitions that line the walls of the stone barracks, which are reserved for the newer arrivals.

"As though you care," Gawain mutters after a while, making sure Gareth is out of earshot.

"You'd be amazed," Gareth retorts without pausing, causing Gawain to jump with surprise. He should have known better. Nothing had ever escaped that one's scrupulous gaze or eavesdropping ears. Watching to make sure Gareth is completely out of sight, Gawain mutters something about being a "bloody know-it-all."

"Are you two twins?" Gawain suddenly hears a quiet voice say as he limps over and flops down onto his bed, rolling over to his stomach to ensure he doesn't lie on his sore, scratched-up arms. Damned heavy pails of water.

"No, though most think it," he replies tiredly, barely looking up at the young knight who addresses him. "He's simply my older brother by a couple of seasons, 'tis all…Lancelot, right?" he says, giving the young knight a disinterested once over. This one's barely out of childhood, he suddenly thinks sadly, though the boy's crystal blue eyes blaze with a brightness belying one much older. Not to mention that despite his apparent youth and awkward-looking lankiness, he still seems able to move with the steady grace of one practiced in the art of killing.

"No, I'm Galahad," the young knight replies, taking a seat next to Gawain on his bed despite the lack of permission to do so. "Peredur's cousin," he finishes proudly. By now he's positioned himself at the foot of the bed, his skinny legs carelessly swinging back and forth over the edge of it.

"Aye," Gawain replies absentmindedly. "Well, it is a pleasure to meet you, Peredur's cousin," he says. While it has been more than a month since he's been at the citadel, he still finds he has trouble trying to remember anyone's name. To be blunt, he doesn't really care to learn much about many of them anyhow. Most of them will be dead before long anyway.

Silence falls between them as Gawain does his best to ignore the other boy, closing his eyes in an attempt to get some sleep. But it's not going well as bites back a sigh of pain as he shifts his position. Apparently his entire body has decided to show him the true effects of the long day. Not surprising, considering he was forced to balance the two full water pails on his hands for the better part of an hour after a full day of training, made especially loathsome due to the inclusion of the wretched archery practice. How he was he to know his arrow would go astray? Besides, it didn't exactly hit Lord Castus directly in the leg. Just left a fairly nasty graze. Moreover, the bloody git shouldn't have been so close within his firing range. He knew he couldn't shoot true to save his life, let alone his commander's. And now to make matters worse, he can't seem to go to sleep, especially with this little imp staring at him so.

"So you're Peredur's cousin?" Gawain hears himself say with a sigh as he rolls back over and sits up. Since the boy won't take a hint and go away, he might as well talk to him. It's not like he has anything better to do.

"Aye," the younger knight replies. "He's been at the wall the same time as your brother. I think they're friends of some sort."

"Well good for them," Gawain replies dismally. "So," he says, turning his full attention to the boy at the foot of his bed. "Any particular reason why you've seen fit to bother me?" A feral grin comes to his face as he attempts to silently will the younger knight to go away. Odd, that look doesn't seem to be scaring the boy at all.

"You're the only one here," the little scamp says with a nonchalant shrug.

"That's because I'm injured. Don't you have anything else to do?

"No."

"Bloody hell," Gawain mutters, rolling his eyes. "You should be over at the tavern with everyone else…" he begins.

"I don't like the way the drinks always make me feel so odd and mixed-up. I always feel ill afterwards, too," the younger knight shrugs again, the dryly factual way in which he describes being drunk almost making Gawain smile. "Not to mention," the young knight continues, "I'm not really in the mood for it."

"Who said I am in the mood to talk to you?" Gawain replies with a snort.

"Well, you are talking to me now, aren't you?"

"Unfortunately."

"For you or for me? Because this is turning out to be a pretty dull conversation so far."

"You're a smart-mouthed little urchin, aren't you?"

"Some say so."

"You know for someone so young, you should tread more carefully. Not everyone has my patience in dealing with impertinent little imps like you."

"I can take care of myself…"

"That so, little one?"

"Aye. And if I can't, Peredur will do it for me. He's my protector."

"You trust he'll always be around then?"

"He's my protector, silly! Of course he'll be around."

"That's an awful lot of faith to have in someone."

"Without faith, we are nothing. What do you have besides it?"

Gawain stops his retort mid-sentence, the wise words of this precocious child causing him all but gasp in surprise. Staring at him with newfound interest as he sits on the edge of his bed, he finds that maybe this conversation won't end up full of wasted words. By now, the young knight has drawn up his legs so that his arms are wrapped around his skinny knees, his chin resting on the top of them. His clothes are a few sizes too big and a bit dirty, while his pale, slightly freckled face is streaked with dirt, his dark hair on the long side, messy and in disarray. But his mouth is twisted into an easy grin, his pink cheeks glowing with contentment as his unsettlingly mature blue eyes take in Gawain, refusing to look away from the older knight's inscrutable stare. There's not a trace of the usual resentment, anger and discontentment Gawain constantly sees reflected in so many of the other knights' eyes. Hell, you can always see it, their wishing to not be here, their memories of home mockingly tugging at their minds as they undertake the rest of their fifteen year debt to Rome. But that is all apparently neither here nor there for this one. Behind those warm blue eyes lies an unflinching sense of hope, awe and almost flat-out acceptance of the fact that he's even here, allowed the honor to serve with Sarmatia's finest at such a young age. And frankly Gawain doesn't know whether to call him stupid or saintly for maintaining such a tolerable attitude about the whole situation. But for now, he might as well give him the benefit of the doubt and go with the latter.

"So it's all about faith for you then?" Gawain says slowly.

"Aye," comes to the easy reply.

"Easily said for one so young and damned innocent. How many seasons have you got to you, boy?" Gawain tosses out, arching an eyebrow in irritation.

"Thirteen or so," Galahad replies with another shrug. Gawain does his best to hold in his gasp, biting his lip to remain quiet.

"So if you have been serving in the company for the last three years like the rest of us..."

"Yes?"

"Then that means you started when you were…ten?" It comes out sounding a lot more surprised and concerned than Gawain initially intended it to be.

"Aye," comes the steady reply.

"By the gods! They're taking them younger and younger now…" Gawain mutters ruefully.

"Not really," Galahad replies. "It's just that when they came to take my older brother, I insisted on going too. Couldn't have Lohengrin and his addled brains going off by himself, now could I?"

"No…we couldn't," Gawain says slowly, still trying to come to terms with the young knight's age. "So, uh, is your brother here now with the rest of us? I know they pulled us all from different parts of the empire to come up to this damned deadened place…"

"No, Lohengrin was stationed further south," Galahad replies, cutting him off, voice suddenly darkening.

"Oh, I see," Gawain replies, realization hitting him at the young knight's use of the word 'was.' Galahad gives a little nod, eyes stormy as he looks away, drawing his knees further up into his chest and giving a little sigh. The change is subtle but it's there, for the anxious little boy this young knight should be has finally made his appearance.

"Well, you still have Peredur," Gawain finds himself saying quietly after a while. "He seems like a good man to have as a brother, even if it is not by blood."

"He is," Galahad replies. "I was glad to find that he'd been stationed here," he continues, his own voice hushed as he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's just the dust," he mutters quickly , refusing to look at Gawain as he wipes his eyes again "

"Of course," the Gawain quietly says. Silence falls between them, Gawain letting the young knight get a hold of himself.

Suddenly, the anxious little boy is gone, the older, peculiarly adult one right back in place as Galahad looks up again, his face brightening.

"So you're one of how many brothers?" he asks, quickly changing the subject.

"Too many!" Gawain laughs.

"No, really, how many?" Galahad questions.

"Well, there's Agravaine, Gareth, Gaheris, and then me, in that order. Though, due to Agravaine's…not so agreeable temper, Gareth is considered the eldest one."

"Agravaine? But…he looks so different with the dark hair and all."

"Not really. Same build and eyes. He just has our grandmother's hair. She was apparently a Briton who my grandfather married after serving here. He brought her back to Sarmatia when his time was up. Agravaine apparently inherited her looks. And her temper as well, if the stories are to be believed," Gawain finishes with a grin.

"Fascinating," Galahad says with genuine surprise. "And what of Geraint? He always seems to be hanging around all of you often enough."

"You seem to ask a lot of questions," Gawain replies, though not unkindly.

"I need a lot of answers," Galahad counters, shrugging in that knowing way of his, causing Gawain to snicker.

"You don't say?" Gawain retorts arching an eyebrow in disbelief. "Well," he continues. "Geraint, while not a brother, is of our village. So he might as well be related, what with us being so far away and such. We grew up with him and had the luck of him being in our company while me and Gaheris were stationed in Hispania…"

"And what of the others?"

"Gareth has been here at the Wall since the beginning. He started before we did, while Agravaine was the first out, stationed in Hispania before we arrived there. Then three of us crossed the sea from Hispania and came here, where we finally met up with Gareth again," he says, suddenly yawning.

"Oh, forgive me," Galahad says, quickly getting to his feet. "I did not know you were so tired. I should be off…"

"'Tis fine, boy," Gawain says with a wave of his hand. Somehow, this little imp has piqued his interest and he doesn't wish to shoo him away just yet. "Like you said," Gawain continues. "You have nothing better to do!" Galahad quickly scampers back to his previous position, flashing a smile after he settles back in, the sheer elation of it causing Gawain to laugh out loud.

"By the gods, boy! I'd hate to see what you look like when you're actually happy. You're liable to break your face with a smile that big."

"You're just jealous of my good looks, lion," Galahad smirks, causing Gawain to laugh again.

"Watch yourself, you little rogue!" Gawain says with a chuckle. "You're too young for preening. Enjoy your childhood while it lasts. You don't want to be an old man like me…"

"And how many seasons do you have?"

"Fifteen…"

"Why, you're hardly older than me!"

"But I am wiser!"

"You give yourself far too much credit, sir!"

"And you ask too man damned questions," Gawain retorts with a laugh, quickly realizing he has been unceremoniously trapped into actually caring about the imp's general welfare. Not that he'd ever admit that to a soul. But it wouldn't hurt for the skinny little thing to have another guardian. And it'd allow him have a younger brother of sorts to boss around, which was good considering he'd always been the baby of the family. Moreover, Peredur couldn't be around all the time.

They settle back, each talking of their villages and families and home life, of what they miss and of some of the actual good things that come with being stationed at the wall. By the time the 24th and final hour of the day of passed, they find themselves excitedly talking of everything, from the other knights and their various ways, to the best way to sneak rations when that scary git Lot isn't looking, to how long they think they will stay at the wall before they're forced to move again. By the first hour, everyone has returned from their various indulgences, but the two still talk, ignoring everything else going on about them. By the second hour, Peredur has finally had enough of their chatter, dragging Galahad away, scolding Gawain for keeping the damned boy up too late (Gawain only smirks in reply) and physically tossing the young knight into his own bed.

"You'll be tired as hell come morning," Peredur scolds as he dumps more blankets onto Galahad to guard from the cold of this late November night.

"You worry too much, old woman," Galahad says sleepily, holding back a yawn.

"'Tis the point, you vagrant!" Peredur snaps, not bothering to hold back his own yawn. "Now go to sleep."

"Fine," Galahad says with a huff, rolling over. Peredur simply shakes his head as turns around to leave.

"Percival," Galahad calls out suddenly, a smirk on his face.

"Boy, how many times have I told to not call me by that…!"

"Goodnight," Galahad quickly says. "Goodnight," he repeats. "And many thanks."

"For what?" Peredur growls.

"Everything," Galahad says after a while, yawning.

"Eh, well, alright then…" Peredur replies gruffly, utterly unused to such overt affections. "Goodnight to you too, you imp," he says after a while, voice softening. Galahad simply grunts in response, almost completely out by this point as Peredur steps away from his bed.

"Sleep well," the older night adds quietly. Galahad does not respond, the gift of sleep completely upon him. May the gods protect you, little one, Peredur thinks as he finally leaves, making his way back to his own bed.