http://springflingmod.livejournal.com/ (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
springflingmod.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
spn_springfling2017-04-08 08:00 pm
springflingmod.livejournal.com) wrote in spn_springfling2017-04-08 08:00 pm
Knights in not so shining armour by majestic_duxk for excoyote
Title: Knights in not so shining armour
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: G
-O-
“We’re not in fucking Kansas anymore!”
Some other time, Sam would appreciate Dean’s skill at stating the fucking obvious. But not when actual knights surrounded them, pointing long pointy things at them.
Lances, supplied the part of Sam’s brain that was fanboying over actual real knights. They were quite scary as well. They were short, Sam realised. But short men on horses were still fucking tall when they were pointing their lances at you.
“What brings you, strangers?” The head knight was speaking to them.
At least, Sam assumed it was the head knight. They all looked the same, wrapped from head to toe in their metal robes.
Dean pushed forward, ready to defend Sam and himself, but the knight jabbed his lance threateningly towards him.
“Let your master speak, peasant.”
Blinking, Dean opened his mouth once more, but Sam pulled him back, pressing him behind himself a little roughly. As Dean staggered backwards, Sam heard approving noises from the surrounding men. Inside he grimaced at his correct reading of the situation, but he forced himself to stand tall.
“I come to compete.”
And just like that, the lances dropped and Sam was in.
-O-
While Sam raised his tankard and laughed loudly with the knights, he spared a thought for Dean, back in the squire camp cleaning and shining some borrowed armour. The knights had believed Sam’s flustered explanation that they had been set upon and robbed, throwing glares in Dean’s direction and admonishing him to never trust the Welsh. Which made no fucking sense, but Sam just nodded and sent a sheepish look towards his brother.
That had been hours ago.
After introducing himself, Sam had been gifted with armour, a horse and a lance. Excitable knights had told him of the tournament, of the prizes and accolades to be won. At least he thought that was what they said. Thick accents spouting unfamiliar words had tested him, but no one had mentioned anything amiss.
And once the sun dropped, the knights had demanded food and beer, and it appeared, brought by thin, harried men. Each knight had his own servant (squire Sam thought they were called) who attended him. Dean had ignored Sam’s soft smile as he brought his food, quickly retiring back to his small candle flame.
Sam was now well fed, and watered - and well on his way to being drunk. He glanced across to the smaller fire, where Dean sat, a scowl firmly entrenched on his face. Somehow the knights had gotten it into their heads that Dean was Sam’s squire. Also that he was recalcitrant and rude. And Welsh. While this wasn’t completely untrue (well, the Welsh bit was, but the rest was pretty spot on), it was also unfair. Here they were, somehow hundreds of years in the past, in a country they’d never been to, and Dean was somehow taken for a squire while Sam was nobility. Dean had a right to be cranky, but for the life of him, Sam didn’t yet know how to get them back. Staying here with a group seemed like the safest option, for the moment.
The head knight, Gideon of Wiltshire, followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Dean, but then he turned to Sam, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Hiding a wince, Sam attempted a smile. These men were small, but strong.
“Mine own squire had a poor attitude when he first came to my service.” Gideon informed him. “And he wasn’t even Welsh,” he added in a loud whisper.
Of course it carried. The knights around the fire laughed, one falling off his log, while others went backwards. From nowhere squires sprung, righting their respective knights before fading back into the blackness. Sam nodded his agreement, searching for a way to leave the fire and take his brother to the tent so kindly given by the knights. To his surprise, an opening was granted by one of the men Sam hadn’t warmed to. Fergus of Fallowmount had a sharp tongue and wandering eyes. It definitely wasn’t his name that made him unappealing. Sam was a bigger man than that.
“’tis time for me to retire. Tomorrow is a challenge I look forward to. May the best man win!”
A drunken chorus of agreement greeted his words, and a few more knights stood, ready to leave. Sam took his chance.
Standing, he turned back to Sir Gideon. “I thank you for your hospitality. If there is any way I can repay you-“
Raucous laughter interrupted him. Surely Sam hadn’t been that funny?
“Oh, you will repay us, Sir Samuel. Either tomorrow you will win, or tomorrow you will die. Either way, we will be entertained.” Suddenly, Sir Gideon’s smile did not seem so friendly. “Surely you knew that.”
-O-
Surprisingly, when Sam collected Dean to take him back to the tent, he didn’t give Sam an earful. He just carefully arranged their belongings on top of the wooden chest before crawling into the bed roll with Sam. Unsure of how to bring up his ‘win or die’ situation, Sam opened his mouth a few times, until Dean just leaned over and stared at Sam until he shut up.
“You are not going to die, Sammy. It’s not an option. That just means you’ve got to win.”
Dean eyeballed him Sam stopped trying to argue, before he snuggled down, sticking his cold feet between Sam’s shins.
“But you fucking owe me.”
It didn’t take long before Dean fell asleep, and Sam soon followed, Dean’s oddly comforting words echoing in his head.
-O-
Dean had dressed him in his armour - and what the fuck? How was this shit even a thing? Every single piece had betied on, and the borrowed armour was clearly made for a much smaller man. There were gaps, dangerous gaps, exposing all parts of his body. His calves and ankles felt particularly vulnerable. Oh, and his fucking dick. When it came to fitting the codpiece, which was too fucking small, Dean’s face had turned suspiciously blank. Gentle hands tied it in place, and it kind of sat forward, highlighting rather than protecting. Dean gave it a little pat, and grinned at him.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Sam hissed at his brother. His dick was pretty fucking important.
Lips twitching, Dean just shook his head. “Try to keep it safe, alright?”
Manfully, Sam ignored his impulse to shake his brother. Save that aggression for the field, he reminded himself, as he moved to his designated spot. And it was his spot; while Sam had been socialising with the knights, Dean had fashioned him a flag. Although his design skills weren’t the best - Sam wasn’t sure what was on the flag, but he memorised it - it was to be his safe space during the tournament.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around. The knights lined the edges of the tournament space. A horn blew and then all hell broke loose. Apparently the opening event involved all knights running to the centre and attempting to hack any and all opponents. By the time the final horn sounded, only half the knights remained standing. Although contrary to Sam’s belief, no one had died.
“I’m sure this wasn’t in any of the textbooks,” Sam muttered to his brother, as his wiped the sweat from his brow. “Oh wait. It was. A melee. A fucking melee.” He couldn’t stop a smile that spread over his face. “My first official melee.”
“Of course you’d know,” Dean rolled his eyes in response. “Fucking nerd.”
Sam’s lips twitched before he took a steadying breath. On to the next event.
-O-
It was pretty high, looking down from a horse’s back. Even Dean, who was head and shoulders above everyone else, looked small. And even though Dean had rushed around helping him balance, as it turned out, Sam needed no help.
“I’m good at this stuff,” he informed Dean. “A natural. You should be jealous.”
He was just as good when he somehow managed to get his horse to ride straight and hold his lance up at the same time, knocking knight after knight off their horse. It went on until there was only one left: Gideon.
Gideon sat atop his black horse. They both looked fresh, and casting his mind back, Sam couldn’t remember seeing him compete. Cheating, Sam decided, completely unsurprised. They did cut a striking figure though. And the black horse gleamed. It was probably a stallion. Gideon seemed like the type who would ride a stallion. He wondered what his own spotted beauty was. Whatever it was, it didn’t gleam.
“Dean,” he called down. “Is my horse a boy or a girl?”
Dean, who had been fixing up the part where his feet went, paused. “What the fuck, Sammy?”
He stared at his brother, before going back to adjusting Sam’s stirrups. “How the fuck did someone like you get mistaken for a knight? More interested in whether your horse is a fucking boy or a girl, than in the fight. I’d make a better knight…”
Sam let the complaints wash over him before he bent down to whisper in his brother’s ear, “I guess they could tell I was your knight in shining armour.”
With a smug grin he kicked his heels into his horse's side, standing straight as it trotted forward. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d beat the dark knight, and rescue his damsel in distress. Well, his damsel anyway.
“Your horse is a mare, Sammy. That’s a girl horse!”
With Dean’s words ringing in his ears, he set off to defeat the dark knight. And damn was he looking forward to his reward.
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: G
-O-
“We’re not in fucking Kansas anymore!”
Some other time, Sam would appreciate Dean’s skill at stating the fucking obvious. But not when actual knights surrounded them, pointing long pointy things at them.
Lances, supplied the part of Sam’s brain that was fanboying over actual real knights. They were quite scary as well. They were short, Sam realised. But short men on horses were still fucking tall when they were pointing their lances at you.
“What brings you, strangers?” The head knight was speaking to them.
At least, Sam assumed it was the head knight. They all looked the same, wrapped from head to toe in their metal robes.
Dean pushed forward, ready to defend Sam and himself, but the knight jabbed his lance threateningly towards him.
“Let your master speak, peasant.”
Blinking, Dean opened his mouth once more, but Sam pulled him back, pressing him behind himself a little roughly. As Dean staggered backwards, Sam heard approving noises from the surrounding men. Inside he grimaced at his correct reading of the situation, but he forced himself to stand tall.
“I come to compete.”
And just like that, the lances dropped and Sam was in.
-O-
While Sam raised his tankard and laughed loudly with the knights, he spared a thought for Dean, back in the squire camp cleaning and shining some borrowed armour. The knights had believed Sam’s flustered explanation that they had been set upon and robbed, throwing glares in Dean’s direction and admonishing him to never trust the Welsh. Which made no fucking sense, but Sam just nodded and sent a sheepish look towards his brother.
That had been hours ago.
After introducing himself, Sam had been gifted with armour, a horse and a lance. Excitable knights had told him of the tournament, of the prizes and accolades to be won. At least he thought that was what they said. Thick accents spouting unfamiliar words had tested him, but no one had mentioned anything amiss.
And once the sun dropped, the knights had demanded food and beer, and it appeared, brought by thin, harried men. Each knight had his own servant (squire Sam thought they were called) who attended him. Dean had ignored Sam’s soft smile as he brought his food, quickly retiring back to his small candle flame.
Sam was now well fed, and watered - and well on his way to being drunk. He glanced across to the smaller fire, where Dean sat, a scowl firmly entrenched on his face. Somehow the knights had gotten it into their heads that Dean was Sam’s squire. Also that he was recalcitrant and rude. And Welsh. While this wasn’t completely untrue (well, the Welsh bit was, but the rest was pretty spot on), it was also unfair. Here they were, somehow hundreds of years in the past, in a country they’d never been to, and Dean was somehow taken for a squire while Sam was nobility. Dean had a right to be cranky, but for the life of him, Sam didn’t yet know how to get them back. Staying here with a group seemed like the safest option, for the moment.
The head knight, Gideon of Wiltshire, followed his gaze. His eyes narrowed as they landed on Dean, but then he turned to Sam, clapping a heavy hand on his shoulder. Hiding a wince, Sam attempted a smile. These men were small, but strong.
“Mine own squire had a poor attitude when he first came to my service.” Gideon informed him. “And he wasn’t even Welsh,” he added in a loud whisper.
Of course it carried. The knights around the fire laughed, one falling off his log, while others went backwards. From nowhere squires sprung, righting their respective knights before fading back into the blackness. Sam nodded his agreement, searching for a way to leave the fire and take his brother to the tent so kindly given by the knights. To his surprise, an opening was granted by one of the men Sam hadn’t warmed to. Fergus of Fallowmount had a sharp tongue and wandering eyes. It definitely wasn’t his name that made him unappealing. Sam was a bigger man than that.
“’tis time for me to retire. Tomorrow is a challenge I look forward to. May the best man win!”
A drunken chorus of agreement greeted his words, and a few more knights stood, ready to leave. Sam took his chance.
Standing, he turned back to Sir Gideon. “I thank you for your hospitality. If there is any way I can repay you-“
Raucous laughter interrupted him. Surely Sam hadn’t been that funny?
“Oh, you will repay us, Sir Samuel. Either tomorrow you will win, or tomorrow you will die. Either way, we will be entertained.” Suddenly, Sir Gideon’s smile did not seem so friendly. “Surely you knew that.”
-O-
Surprisingly, when Sam collected Dean to take him back to the tent, he didn’t give Sam an earful. He just carefully arranged their belongings on top of the wooden chest before crawling into the bed roll with Sam. Unsure of how to bring up his ‘win or die’ situation, Sam opened his mouth a few times, until Dean just leaned over and stared at Sam until he shut up.
“You are not going to die, Sammy. It’s not an option. That just means you’ve got to win.”
Dean eyeballed him Sam stopped trying to argue, before he snuggled down, sticking his cold feet between Sam’s shins.
“But you fucking owe me.”
It didn’t take long before Dean fell asleep, and Sam soon followed, Dean’s oddly comforting words echoing in his head.
-O-
Dean had dressed him in his armour - and what the fuck? How was this shit even a thing? Every single piece had betied on, and the borrowed armour was clearly made for a much smaller man. There were gaps, dangerous gaps, exposing all parts of his body. His calves and ankles felt particularly vulnerable. Oh, and his fucking dick. When it came to fitting the codpiece, which was too fucking small, Dean’s face had turned suspiciously blank. Gentle hands tied it in place, and it kind of sat forward, highlighting rather than protecting. Dean gave it a little pat, and grinned at him.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Sam hissed at his brother. His dick was pretty fucking important.
Lips twitching, Dean just shook his head. “Try to keep it safe, alright?”
Manfully, Sam ignored his impulse to shake his brother. Save that aggression for the field, he reminded himself, as he moved to his designated spot. And it was his spot; while Sam had been socialising with the knights, Dean had fashioned him a flag. Although his design skills weren’t the best - Sam wasn’t sure what was on the flag, but he memorised it - it was to be his safe space during the tournament.
Taking a deep breath, he looked around. The knights lined the edges of the tournament space. A horn blew and then all hell broke loose. Apparently the opening event involved all knights running to the centre and attempting to hack any and all opponents. By the time the final horn sounded, only half the knights remained standing. Although contrary to Sam’s belief, no one had died.
“I’m sure this wasn’t in any of the textbooks,” Sam muttered to his brother, as his wiped the sweat from his brow. “Oh wait. It was. A melee. A fucking melee.” He couldn’t stop a smile that spread over his face. “My first official melee.”
“Of course you’d know,” Dean rolled his eyes in response. “Fucking nerd.”
Sam’s lips twitched before he took a steadying breath. On to the next event.
-O-
It was pretty high, looking down from a horse’s back. Even Dean, who was head and shoulders above everyone else, looked small. And even though Dean had rushed around helping him balance, as it turned out, Sam needed no help.
“I’m good at this stuff,” he informed Dean. “A natural. You should be jealous.”
He was just as good when he somehow managed to get his horse to ride straight and hold his lance up at the same time, knocking knight after knight off their horse. It went on until there was only one left: Gideon.
Gideon sat atop his black horse. They both looked fresh, and casting his mind back, Sam couldn’t remember seeing him compete. Cheating, Sam decided, completely unsurprised. They did cut a striking figure though. And the black horse gleamed. It was probably a stallion. Gideon seemed like the type who would ride a stallion. He wondered what his own spotted beauty was. Whatever it was, it didn’t gleam.
“Dean,” he called down. “Is my horse a boy or a girl?”
Dean, who had been fixing up the part where his feet went, paused. “What the fuck, Sammy?”
He stared at his brother, before going back to adjusting Sam’s stirrups. “How the fuck did someone like you get mistaken for a knight? More interested in whether your horse is a fucking boy or a girl, than in the fight. I’d make a better knight…”
Sam let the complaints wash over him before he bent down to whisper in his brother’s ear, “I guess they could tell I was your knight in shining armour.”
With a smug grin he kicked his heels into his horse's side, standing straight as it trotted forward. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d beat the dark knight, and rescue his damsel in distress. Well, his damsel anyway.
“Your horse is a mare, Sammy. That’s a girl horse!”
With Dean’s words ringing in his ears, he set off to defeat the dark knight. And damn was he looking forward to his reward.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject