Sir Balin ran and ran until he could no longer hear the angry cries of the men of King Mark of Cornwall. He hid in the shrubbery along the highway, hoping that he had lost them.

But someone was approaching.

The footsteps drew closer, so the knight drew both his swords and pounced out of the bushes at the right moment, holding the blade of Tyrfing inches away from neck of his very own brother.

“Balan!” he cried out as he sheathed his weapons. “Dear Balan!”

“Lin!” Sir Balan exclaimed as they embraced.

“Are you alright, brother?” Sir Balan asked worriedly.

“Yes,” Sir Balin replied. “I ran into some trouble farther up this road and I believe a king is after me.”

“A king?”

The two of them heard more footsteps falling from up the highway, so they both drew their weapons and readied themselves.

A middle-aged man, dressed in dull clothing and a large, brown burlap cloak over his shoulders, appeared around the bend.

“Take it easy, you young whippersnappers,” the man said with both arms raised. “I’m just a harmless man.”

It was, indeed, a harmless looking man. A peasant, by the looks of his worn clothing and muddied face.

“Where are you going, sir knights?”

“Nowhere in particular really,” Sir Balin replied.

“Nowhere?!” the man sputtered.

“Where are you going?” Sir Balin asked.

“That… that is not your concern!”

“What is your name, man?”

“That is also not your concern.”

“I don’t know if I could trust a man who won’t tell me his name,” Sir Balan said.

“I cannot offer you my name at this time,” the man said. “But what I can offer you is a chance to play a game with me.”

“A game?” Sir Balin asked.

“We have no time for games,” Sir Balan said. “Leave us, churl. We must continue on our knightly adventures.”

As they turned to leave, they heard the man snicker.

Sir Balan froze, grabbing Sir Balin’s arm to stop him.

“Are you laughing at us, churl?” Sir Balan asked before even turning around.

“Yes,” the man answered. “Indeed, I am.”

“And why?” Sir Balan continued, turning about as he spoke. “Are you laughing at us?”

“Because,” the man said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “‘Twas a great jape that one had just delivered unto me.”

“And what was the jape?” Sir Balan asked, taking a step towards the man as he did.

This time, it was Sir Balin’s turn to hold back Sir Balan.

“Well,” the man said as he laboured to return his breathing to normal again, grabbing his stomach with his hands. “It’s just what you said. About going on knightly adventures!”

“And why is that so funny?” Sir Balan asked, squeezing his armoured fists.

“It’s not worth it, brother,” Sir Balin said, holding Sir Balan back by his plated flanks.

“Well, anyone knows that any truly valiant knight would not turn his nose at a chance to win a game against a lowly churl and, since the two of you refused to play my game? I know that you are no real knights,” the man said. “And yet, you turn to leave and tell me that you are off on knightly adventures?”

The man guffawed as he held his gut with both hands.

“Now that’s good stuff,” the man said, slapping his thigh. “Hey, there’s a great place in Moridunum that you two should perform at. You might even find a troupe you could join!”

Sir Balan was fuming.

“Breathe, brother,” Sir Balin counseled. “Take a deep br—”

“We will play your stupid game, churl!” Sir Balan exploded. “What is this stupid game we’re about to play?”