The italics is a flashback which is what a majority of the first chapter is, sorry. REVIEW!!! please...

It was crowded. The stables were filled with young boys from all parts of Sarmatia. They were all brought to Britain to serve as knights to the Roman Empire. Tristan quickly isolated himself to a corner of the room, and quietly observed. Some of the boys looked frightened and others angry, but Tristan didn’t know how he felt. He wasn’t sad about leaving home, yet wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there.

His hawk was fidgeting on his shoulder. He took a finger and gently stroked her feathers. She was his only friend, and the only friend he needed.

Roman officers came around and organized them into straight lines. One grabbed Tristan and pushed in line between two boys. His hawk shrieked irritably from being handled so roughly.

“Shut that bird up!” The guard ordered pointing at her.

“Shhh….” Tristan whispered, trying to calm her down. She nipped his finger affectionately and perched herself back up on his shoulder.

The boy on his left was tall, had dark curls that framed his face, and had sad, dark eyes. He looked over at Tristan and smiled.

“I like your bird,” he said, his eyes meeting Tristan’s.

“Thanks,” he returned awkwardly.

“What’s its name?” the boy asked. Tristan wished he’d stop talking to him.

“She doesn’t have a name,” Tristan answered coldly.

“Why?”

“Wild things don’t have names.” He watched as the boy quickly dropped his gaze down to the floor.

The boy to his right appeared to be very young. He had dark, curly hair and big, green eyes that stared angrily down at the ground.

A Roman official addressed them all in a loud booming voice, “Welcome, gentlemen, to Britain. For the next fifteen years, this land will be your home. You will start training immediately. You’ll receive equipment tomorrow and begin your training. Some of you may die, but it is a risk Rome is willing to take.” He smirked. “Go now, young knights, and fulfill you duty to Rome.”

Tristan, along with the other knights, was lead along the corridors and shown where they’d be sleeping.

“Since you are not yet official knights, you will share rooms with each other,” said a Roman soldier named Anthony. Somewhat nervous glances were exchanged. There was nothing like sharing a room with complete strangers. Anthony gestured to a room and started assigning boys to that room.

“Bors, Dagonet, and Percival,” he read clearly off the roster. Two big, burly boys stepped forward. They were followed by a thin sickly looking boy.

Anthony moved to the next room. He cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “In this room will be; Gawain, Kay, and Ferris.” Two blonde-haired boys who appeared to be brothers entered the room. Then, they were followed by a small, dark haired boy.

Anthony then motioned to a room across the hall. “In here shall be…” he searched the roster, “Lancelot, Galahad, and Tristan.”

Tristan watched as two boys emerged from the crowd. They were the same two boys he had stood next to in the line up. He sighed and trailed into the room behind them.

The room was small and dark, lit by a single candle. There were three beds, two against one wall, and third on the opposite wall. There was also a small window that allowed little rays of moonlight to creep into the room. The tall boy with the dark eyes walked over to the bed farthest from the door, while the smaller boy claimed the bed next to it. Tristan wandered over to the lone bed on the opposite wall.

The dark-eyed boy surveyed the room sadly, his eyes finally resting on Tristan. “Where’s your bird?” he asked.

“Hunting,” Tristan answered simply. She had flown off his shoulder the minute they had stepped out of the stables that night. He knew she’d return in the morning, at least he hoped she’d return. She didn’t know this land as well as she knew Sarmatia. He felt really alone now that she wasn’t there.

“I’m Lancelot, by the way,” the boy said offering his hand to Tristan.

“Tristan,” he gave a short nod to the boy. Lancelot slowly lowered his hand realizing Tristan wasn’t going to take it. Tristan looked at the smaller boy who was staring at him with wide, green eyes.

“You must be Galahad,” Tristan watched as the boy quickly glanced down at his feet and gave a slight nod.

“You’re a bit young to become a knight aren’t you?” Lancelot asked. Galahad didn’t answer. Tristan saw in the dim light that he was bright red.

Anthony appeared in the doorway, “Lights out, boys. I’ll see you bright and early by the stables for your training.”

He left, closing the door behind him. Galahad curled up into a ball on his bed. Lancelot kicked of his boots and blew out the candle, apparently upset his attempts at friendship had failed. Tristan laid awake, arms folded under his head, staring up at the ceiling. He could have sworn he heard young Galahad softly crying himself to sleep. Tristan found no sleep that night. He stayed awake wondering what tomorrow would bring.

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At dawn the next day, all of them trudged through the dewy grass towards the stables where Roman soldiers were waiting. The official that had spoken to them the night before was there, a twisted smirk on his face. Anthony was also there, standing next to him.

A chilled breeze blew over the grounds. Tristan pulled his cloak tighter around him. He felt a familiar pressure on his left shoulder. He glanced over at his shoulder. His hawk had come back to him.

“There you are. I missed you.”

He smiled as he watched her eat the dead mouse that was clamped in her beak. He felt someone watching him. It was Galahad; eyes widened in horror at seeing Tristan’s hawk devour the mouse. Tristan laughed quietly to himself as they arrived at the stables.

The officers made them get into lines. Lancelot was once again standing next to Tristan.

“I’m glad to see your bird is back,” he whispered, “I could tell you were worried about her.” Tristan forced himself to smile at Lancelot before returning his attention back to Anthony and the Roman official with the wicked grin.

“You will now choose weapons,” Anthony motioned to the pile of swords and knifes that was in front of him. Tristan chose a sword where the blade curved slightly at the end. Lancelot picked up two identical blades. He examined them as if he was trying to tell them apart.

“Ah, you’ve made an interesting choice of weapon, Lancelot,” Anthony beamed at him, “The double swords are difficult, but very powerful weapons.” Anthony left the group to help the other officers carry in bows and quivers of arrows.

Young Artorius Castus appeared at Lancelot’s side. He was carrying a sword that looked to be bigger than he was. The big burly boy named Bors smiled obnoxiously. “Well, if it isn’t our great commander Artorius.”

“Bors,” the other burly boy said warningly. “Leave him alone. Bors…”

“What’s he going to do, Dagonet? Smite us with his sword? It’s a miracle he can even carry it.” He made his way towards Artorius. “How is it that a boy no bigger than his sword is expected to lead an army of knights? What makes you so special?” He pushed Tristan out of his way. His hawk shrieked and fluttered in front of him as he fell to the ground. Dagonet rushed to his side and helped him up.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yea,” Tristan replied brushing himself off. His hawk settled herself back up on his shoulder.

Artorius spoke up, shaking slightly, “You should respect me.”

Bors laughed, “You can’t make me respect you. "

Tristan’s eyes flashed dangerously. He felt the hawk’s talons dig lightly into his shoulder, as if she was trying to restrain him from breaking Bors’s nose. Tristan didn’t have to do anything because Lancelot stepped in between Bors and Artorius.

“Leave him alone! Can’t you see he’s frightened? Can’t you see it’s hard enough without bastards like you?” One of Lancelot’s swords was pointed at Bors. “Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but who here does? We’re all clueless. We’re all new to this.” Artorius gazed up at Lancelot in gratitude and admiration. Bors glared at Lancelot and opened his mouth to say something, but the Roman official with the twisted smile came over.

“Is there a problem, boys?” His cold, grey eyes glided from Bors, to Lancelot, to Tristan, who was still giving Bors a death glare.

“No, sir, Bors and Lancelot were just…” Artorius moved in front of Lancelot.

“Just…?” His eyes narrowed.

“We were just getting acquainted,” Lancelot said quickly. The official shifted his gaze to him.

“Luther, we should get started,” Anthony approached them.

“Yes, we should,” Luther didn’t take his eyes off Lancelot.

The training session just showed what they were capable of. Tristan had barley used a sword before then. Everything seemed to just come to him. He found he enjoyed fighting. Whether it was a sword, a bow, or a knife, he was a natural. While the others fumbled and dropped their swords, Tristan used his sword with ease.

“You’re a natural-born fighter, Tristan,” Anthony picked up his sword that had been disarmed by Tristan. “I’ve never seen anyone move so quickly in combat. You and Lancelot both have incredible skill.”

Tristan looked over at Lancelot rallying with another Roman soldier. He had figured out how to use the double blades fairly quickly. He spun, blocked, and attacked with amazing agility. Tristan wondered how long it would be before they actually fought in a battle.

Tristan found himself once again unable to sleep that night. He wanted to go back out and practice with his sword and bow again. He couldn’t wait for combat in an actual battle. He laid awake, pondering about all that would happen to him, and the rest of the knights, in the next fifteen years.

“Tristan,” he heard his name. “Tristan?” it sounded distant. “Tristan?” Then, he snapped back to the present.