Title: Easy As One, Two, Three
Characters:
Wallace, Hassar, Wil
Genre:
Humour
Words:
878
Notes:
I have been known to take requests from time to time, and this is one such story. This is for my beloved bestie Sardonic Kender Smile, for being such an awesome bro over the years…but mostly because she dropped the prompt on me when I put up a post taking requests.
Prompt:
Three dragons, two wyverns, and one large metal teapot.


Once upon a time there lived a stout man whose head was as hairless as a baby's bum and whose sense of adventure was unrivaled by all but his closest friend, Sir Hassar.

Their friendship had a rocky beginning. Hair-shaving and a bet on whose hair would grow to the shoulders first ended with a clear-cut winner—Sir Hassar—and a very sore loser—Sir Wallace.

Hassar could not help but laugh a bit at his rival's thin, stringy hair that came to a scraggly stop at his ears, despite the fact that Hassar himself had never been one for smiling or amusement. There was just something about Sir Wallace that he couldn't quite place.

Many challenges were issued between them, from running bloomers up a pole to racing laps around the entire canton of Caelin in full armor.

But the biggest challenge of all, the one that sealed a strong bond between them—a bond, Hassar later said as he rode away into the east with Caelin's princess, that would last for generations to come—was unlike anything either man had ever faced.

Wyverns were native neither to Caelin, nor to Lycia. They nested in the mountains surrounding Bern, and on occasion left their nests to swoop down over the plains of Sacae, but never did they venture far enough westward to touch Lycian soil.

It was, while they tried their best sixty-three out of sixty-fourth match that consisted of their usual challenge to see who could run around Caelin the fastest five times in full armor in temperatures considered scorching, that they saw riderless wyverns heading their way.

Both men stopped short, took in a deep breath, and watched thoughtfully as the wyverns descended.

"Big as dragons," Sir Wallace finally said, his voice unnaturally quiet.

Hassar could only nod at first, but after a moment of measured thinking, he tilted his head toward his friend and raised one eyebrow, "But wyverns nonetheless."

For both men knew the dragons were long gone from the world. "Rather unlikely that they would return and head straight here even if they were dragons." Wallace let his hands rest on the sides of his hips as he stretched his back. "What do you suppose they want?"

"To induct us into the Secret Wyvern Society, I expect." Hassar's eyes were twinkling.

"Blast."

The wyverns landed in a flurry of wings and shaking ground, and Wallace lifted his trusty spear while his companion readied a bow.

"No sword?" Sir Wallace asked dryly.

"Have you ever tried to get close to a thirty-foot long creature with a fifty-foot wingspan?" Hassar replied, his voice calm and clear. "Breath straight from the bowels of hell, too."

"Thank you for that," Wallace said as he hefted his spear and charged into the fray of snapping teeth and swinging, spiked tails.

Two days later, he walked away from the mess, his bald forehead gleaming red with blood, his armor looking rather shabby, and his grin one of delight.

"Well," he said to Sir Hassar, whose arrows were poking out of eyeball sockets and the small cracks between scales, "some fight."

"Pretty sure at least half of them were dragons," said Hassar with a weary nod and an equally wide grin.


"Wallace! Sir Wallace!"

A rather frightened voice was shouting in his ear, and he swung at it, thinking it to be a dragon at first. But it was not a dragon—nor was it a windmill, long story that—and so he squinted through the bright haze of the high sun to peer at the mussed hair of Wil, one of the many knights in training.

"Oh," the young man sighed, wiping sweat from his forehead in apparent relief, though Wallace could not understand why he might be relieved, of all things, at him merely squinting at him. (It was not very exciting, squinting.) "Are you all right?"

"All right?" Wallace's loud guffaw was so loud that he nearly frightened himself. Perhaps his ears were a bit sensitive. "What are you talking about? Of course I'm all right!" He was sticky and hot, and the Caelin sun was bearing down on them something fierce, but he'd run many laps around Caelin with nary a problem in his youth. There was nothing to be concerned about.

"Uhm, yeah," said Wil. "About that… You went a bit…rigid there, for a moment. And fell down. And screamed something about filthy bloody dragon wannabes."

Wallace paused at this thought.

But then he grinned, remembering the twang of a bow as arrows flew in to assist him as he battled for his very life.

"M'boy," he said, slapping Wil on the back hard enough to buckle the younger man's knees, "have I ever told you about the time Sir Hassar and I slew at least three dragons?"

Wil opened his mouth to reply, but Wallace gave him no quarter.

"Great story, very inspiring," he rambled on, getting to his feet and stretching his back before he did a few toe-touches. "A story of bravery, of friendship, and most importantly," he continued as he began to jog in place, "of teamwork. The best part," he said solemnly as he urged Wil to follow him as he lapped Caelin, "is that it's completely true."