Word count: 114 (dang it!)
The sun was not welcome. Lance wanted bed and quiet and dark, and when he shifted against the warm bulk of the person next to him, he realized he wanted Arthur as well.
He nuzzled his cold nose into Arthur’s chest and sighed when the other man dropped an arm around his waist. The bed was way too tiny and the mattress was old, but Lance, surprisingly (he could be accused of being a snob, after all), didn’t pay it any mind.
The thumping of Arthur’s solid heart was a new comfort against his cheek, and despite the sun blazing its way under the cracked blinds, Lance smiled briefly, shut his eyes, and slept.
Word Count: 100
With a loud whump the infantry threw their shields together in practiced formation, and within a second the men were protected by a wall of wood and bristling pilum.
Lancelot cocked a brow as he watched from atop his mount; his swords rested comfortably against his back and his bow hung over his shoulder. His horse did not move despite the noise the legions made.
He eyed the men drilling for a few more moments, and then rode past them, his thoughts on other things, the strength of his swords and his confidence the only weapons he truly needed.