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Arthur had his doubts when Merlin introduced him to his latest… friend. Was this another one of the strays his manservant had picked up from the tavern? He frowns as the stranger steps forward; eager to receive the prince’s approval.
“Lancelot. My servant’s told me all about you.”
Arthur gaze casually wanders over that well-toned body.
“Apparently you dream of becoming a knight?“
At least he’s somewhat pleasant to look at, with his dark brown eyes, earnest expression and inexplicably well-coiffured hair. Arthur raises an eyebrow as he throws Merlin a sideways glance. The next training session with his knights is still several hours away, but the prince sees no reason to delay giving the whelp a trial run now.
Picking up a broom, he snaps the end off, throwing the long wooden handle over to the newcomer. Lancelot certainly knows how to catch, grabbing hold of the staff in mid-air and holding it immediately in a defensive position. Arthur nods approvingly.
“Not bad. You’re familiar with sweeping floors then I take it?”
He grins, raising his own weapon and pointing it squarely at the other man. The challenge to a duel is hardly subtle. Arthur particularly enjoys the look in Lancelot’s eyes as he prods his chest with the tip of his wooden staff.
“Go ahead. Try and disarm me.”
The teasing smirk remains. Antagonism often forced an opponent into revealing weaknesses in their swordplay, this Arthur knows, and so he’s actually helping the young man in the long run. As the two combatants circle one another, Arthur relaxes into a pattern as familiar to him as breathing.
This could go one of two ways, both of which realistically ended with Arthur on top. But the prince is curious. There is a lot you could learn about a man from the way he fought. Walking forward, he swats aside Lancelot’s first aggressive swing for his stomach.
“Come on Lancelot. Let’s see what you’ve got…”
~~
He had been minding his business in all honesty. Merlin had helped him enter the city only a few days earlier. His friend had even supplied him with a useful alibi and a handy scroll with faked credentials. One that made him eligible to enter the knight’s training program with the prince.
Prince Arthur.
Lancelot is unsure what to make of the man, now he is finally meeting him in person. So many stories and first-hand accounts of the prince’s arrogance had given the young man pause for thought.
Was he really the right man to serve under?
Could he be the one to swear allegiance to; should all his dreams come true - and Lancelot finally became the brave knight he had once promised his mother he would be?
Reacting swiftly, the brunet catches the staff thrown his way; instinctively rotating it within his grasp and bringing it up into a defensive position. His reflexes have never let him down before. Still slightly bemused, as the blond prince proceeds to prod him in the chest - Lance shakes his head softly, tuning into his own warrior mindset.
“Go ahead. Try and disarm me.”
A small smile spreads across the future knight’s mouth.
“As my prince commands.”
The swing for Arthur’s stomach is easily swatted aside, but Lance is ready, pushing forward with a series of blocks and sweeping attacks that (for a second) catch the young Pendragon unawares. Emboldened, the future knight wastes no time, pushing forward his attack. He’s running on pure adrenaline, bloody terrified of the blond, if truth be told. But Lance uses such feelings to keep him focused. Keep him sharp.
His mother once told him, all men, even the greatest of kings, have a weakness. Once it is know, it is the duty of a knight to protect their royal charge; to cover that blind-spot and keep their Lord safe to live and serve the people.
Lancelot hopes Arthur will be worthy of the title of the crown one day. He’s aggressive, brash and somewhat rude, but-
Heaven help him. There is something extremely mesmerising about the way the man moves. Like a dancer; effortless and with peerless grace. It takes all of Lancelot’s skill just to keep up with the lightening-fast strikes to his body. And then there’s the way Arthur addresses him, a man of questionable noble heritage without pretence - as if Lance has every right to be here.
Yes, the crown prince is attractive.. but Lancelot isn’t going to allow such thoughts to develop much further.
He has to disarm the other man first.
~~
“As my prince commands.”
Well that should have been the first clue that Arthur’s new opponent would be a cut above the rest. The blond prince smirks in anticipation; falling more naturally into his stance as the newcomer charges him.
The sound of wooden staffs smacking upon the other quickly escalates to a flurry of activity and the quickening footsteps of villagers, gathering round to watch the spectacle unfold.
It is not often the crown prince picked a fight with another of the peasants in their neighbourhood. For that is how Lancelot is perceived at the moment; without wearing any noble regalia - as an attractive young man no more important than a local tradesman; perhaps the apprentice to the blacksmith.
What is remarkable though, is how well this peasant is able to hold his own against Arthur Pendragon, hitherto undisputed reigning champion in all aspects of fighting and warfare within Camelot.
Arthur ducks and weaves, nimbly side-stepping the sweep of Lancelot’s aim. It comes naturally to the blond to move in this way. When faced with a man as clearly talented as Lancelot is proving to be, the best possible strategy is to tire your opponent out.
The resultant fatigue will cause the wannabe knight to make an unfortunate error, and then the prince will be in prime position to exploit Lance’s weakness.
The opening comes when the brunet moves just a little too close within Arthur’s personal space. The blond shifts to one side, and slams his shoulder into Lance’s chest. The breath is visibly knocked out of the other man; as he falls backwards into a waiting hay cart.
Rotating his staff once more, Arthur leans forward until the point of his makeshift weapon is brushing underneath Lancelot’s chin.
“Do you yield?”
Arthur waits for confirmation. It has been an interesting exercise with this… Lancelot. There’s a certain grace and fluidity of style in the way he fights - and the demonstrated skill with his weapon is highly noticeable. This should have been the second clue that the blond prince has finally met his equal, but Arthur is more incentivised to confirm his victory than to pay attention to such details.
With an eventual nod, Lancelot concedes, and Arthur offers the man a hand; pulling him out of the hay cart. The two knights simply stand next to each other awhile; silently appraising the other in the manner of warriors. Each of them, now more capable and aware of their own flaws (via the appreciation of their strengths in their sparring match).
The crown prince hums, as his blue gaze flickers once more over that well-toned body. It would seem Merlin has finally brought him something of real merit. Smiling at last, Arthur warmly claps his opponent on the shoulder.
“Congratulations, Lancelot. You have potential. I’ll see you down at the training grounds with the other knights at noon… Merlin. You’re with me.”