Lionheart

Chapter One

Dean trudged up the hill, his heavy boots leaving their imprints on the lush grass. His sword bumped against his hip as he walked, and his cracked leather gloves strained over his curled fists. The mountain loomed behind the castle, casting the grounds into shadow. It was by no means a particularly tall mountain, and Dean was sure it wouldn't take long to scale it. If he squinted, he thought he could see the glow at its peak, where he knew the Goddess waited to give her blessing. He couldn't be sure, but he would find out.

There was a puffing behind him, and he turned to see his brother chasing him across the grass. He rolled his eyes and stopped to wait for him.

'Did you really think I wouldn't find out?' he puffed when he caught up with him.

'No, I just thought I'd beat you here.'

Sam bent double. 'Well tough, I'm not going to let you do it.'

'You can't stop me.' Dean turned on his heel and left Sam to catch his breath, continuing on across the lawn, until he reached what appeared to be a training area, complete with its own chest of sparring swords and straw dummy. He drew his sword and drove the point into the ground, leaning on it as he waited

Sam ran after him again. 'Don't,' he pleaded. 'You don't have to, surely you can just go up the mountain and see him.'

Dean sighed and held his hand. 'You know as well as I do that only the King and the Lionheart can go up the mountain.'

'That's not true!' Sam insisted, stomping his foot. 'Bandits and assassins go up there all the time!'

'By killing all the patrols,' Dean pointed out. 'I'm not going to do that.'

'So you're just going to pledge yourself to the King instead? That's not any better!'

Dean sighed.

'Why are you doing this?' Sam asked. 'You don't have to go up there.'

'Yes I do.'

'But why?'

Dean looked down at Sam, searching him for answers. He opened his mouth, but before he could answer, the huge castle doors creaked open, and a figure walked towards them.

Sam stepped away, defeated, and Dean gave him a bitter smile. 'Maybe he won't want you,' Sam murmured.

'Don't see why he wouldn't,' said Dean. 'I'm supposed to be the best, remember?'

Sam just scuffed her boots in the dewy grass, staining the leather.

'It'll be all right,' Dean said, nudging him with an elbow.

'Will it?'

The figure grew closer, the silver fastenings on his expensive leather jerkin flashing in the light. As soon as he reached the training ground, Sam and Dean bowed deeply.

'Don't do that with your sword,' said the King, indicating at Dean's sword, buried in the dirt. 'You'll dull the blade.'

Dean yanked his sword from the ground, sheathing it, and stared. The King was smaller than Dean expected. Tall but slim, and he held himself confidently. His dark hair seemed to catch even the slightest breeze, and his blue held Dean with a hard, cold stare. His own sword rested at his hip, the sheath dyed deep blue and decorated in silver inlay.

'You are Dean?' he asked.

'Yes, Your Majesty,' Dean said, refraining from grinding his teeth together.

'And you are?'

Sam started as the King addressed him and looked away. 'Sam, Your Majesty,' he said. 'Dean is my brother.'