"I have bad news and very bad news."

With a sigh, Killian checks the girth one last time before he turns to his friend, patting the mare's neck. He's in no mood for Graham's riddles, not with only three hours of sleep behind him and another long night awaiting. So he only gives the other man a raise of the eyebrow, a silent question.

"Sir Maurice has to be in the list in five minutes."

Killian sighs. Did he mention he was not in the mood for riddles? "Is that the bad or the really bad?"

"The bad. The really bad is that, well…" Graham glances behind his shoulder. "Sir Maurice is dead."

"What the…"

Killian lets go of the horse and runs to the tent, only to find Jefferson throwing a fist, half mad, at their knight. He screams and shakes his arms and, oh bloody hell, even slaps Sir Maurice in hope it will wake him up – in vain, of course. Killian has to stop him before he goes for a kick in the belly, holding him back while Jefferson keeps screaming like a madman.

"Wake up, you old fool! Let go of me, Killian, or I swear… Get the hell up and win that bloody tournament so you can finally pay us! Three days! I haven't eaten in three days and…"

It ends in a groan, from both him and Killian, when Graham throws a bucket of cold water at his face, but it works – Jefferson finally shuts up. The three of them stare at each other until they're all startled by a cough from outside the tent. A squire looks at them warily, especially when Graham and Killian both move to hide the interior of the tent from him, innocent grins on their lips.

"Sir Maurice must report in two minutes."

"Two minutes. All right. We'll be there." Killian's grin grows wider, and perhaps crazier, as the squire takes in his wet body then tries to peek above his shoulder. Still he leaves them, and the three friends go back to their staring contest for a moment or two.

"We cannot declare forfeit," Jefferson says out loud what they're all thinking. "We need the money. We need the food."

"We cannot not declare forfeit either. He's dead!"

Jefferson is about to start another angry speech when Killian, looking at the dead body of their knight, deadpans, "I'll do it."

"You what?"

"I'll do it. I'll ride in his place."

All Graham can do is laugh, a hollow cold sound, as he grabs the other squire by the shoulder to face him. "Here's some news for you, Killian Jones, son of a blacksmith: you are not a knight. You cannot rid in a tournament because you are not a knight."

"I know that and you know that but…" Graham groans when a genuine grin appears on Killian's lips, the one that means business and mischief. "But those people don't know that. And when I'll have the helmet on, all they will see is Sir Maurice on his horse and we'll be fine."

"This is madness. You can't joust!" Jefferson exclaims, and Graham points at him above his shoulder with a nod, as if those were true words of wisdom. But Killian's grin never disappears, not even when he grabs the helmet by Sir Maurice's side.

"I can ride and I can hold a spear. How hard can it be?"

.

As a matter of fact, harder than he thought. Killian tries not to be too overwhelmed by the fear as his horse gallops toward the other knight but then he forgets how to breath when the spears meets his chest in a loud bang – not enough to have him fall, but enough to see stars for a second. This was a terrible idea, and it sounds like Graham's voice in his head. But he can't stop, not now, not on an empty stomach, not when his friends count on him to succeed.

So he goes for another round, and then another.

He can't help the scream, the howl of pain when the spear hits his head so violently he almost tumbles off. But then he hears Jefferson's mad screams and Graham's laughs and, even if the pain barely allows him to look behind, he doesn't need to because he knows – the knight fell down his horse. They won. They won, both the horse and the tournament, and Killian's stomach groans in anticipation, and they won.

The lord gives him his prize, a little bag of golden coins, barely complaining that he can't see his champion's face – Killian is not exactly sure how they're going to put the helmet off, and they obviously can't do that now. So he accepts the prize and the cheers with a bow of his head, glad that the helmet hides his huge grin.

From the corner of his eye, he catches the sight of long blond hair as one of the ladies leaves the grounds, right before Jefferson claps his thigh with too much strength. Killian glares back at him, but his friend keeps laughing and chanting "food food food". Killian can only laugh with him, and Graham follows after only a few seconds.

They must look like lunatics, but he doesn't find it in himself to care.