Story - Champion
Jun. 17th, 2008 08:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrMuch love to Nikery, who beta'ed for me ^_^
Normally Arabella loved to linger in her rose garden, admiring the colors and breathing in the delicate scents of her prized flowers.
This evening, however, she just wanted to start grabbing and shredding. Only the fact that destroying her roses was no substitute for wringing her father's neck kept her from destroying them
"You look about how I feel, dearest."
Arabella turned around, scarlet skirts whipping about, her irritation easing a bit as she registered the sound of her best friend's voice. "Elise."
She looked like a thundercloud, the curly black hair coming loose of its pins, dressed in gray and dark blue, a scowl on her hard, pretty face. "Your stepfather?"
"Of course. Your father?"
"Naturally. He put his foot down today," Arabella said with a sigh, dropping down on the marble bench where Elise had sat. "I'm to pick a Champion for the Royal Tourney - and by Champion, he of course means husband. Or else." She grimaced in annoyance. "I asked if I had to marry the man if he lost, or only if he won. Father was not amused."
Elise gave an unladylike snort. "Why should you have to marry a man who embarrasses you by losing?"
"It does rather add insult to injury," Arabella replied. "I wish I could just select a Champion who I did not have to marry."
Elise scowled at a yellow rose. "I do not see why you must choose at all. Honestly, I'm not certain if it's better or worse I'm being shipped off to Convent rather than thrown down the marriage aisle."
Arabella smiled. "We'll compare notes after a year or two."
"Have you picked out a lesser evil? To which did your father finally narrow it down?"
"Grimmar, Housely, or Walting," Arabella said sourly. "I suppose I should be flattered I get that much choice. Poor Tiffany and Lila did not."
Elise grimaced. "Those are your options? There is always poison."
Arabella tucked back a strand of dark blonde hair which had slipped free of the braid she had bound it that morning. "For me or them?"
"While it would be easier to poison yourself, dearest," Elise said, "I do not think you should have to die because they are asses."
"Hmm," Arabella said pensively. "As fat as Housely is, consummating the marriage will likely be enough exertion to kill him – assuming the Tourney does not, at that. Not a pleasant night for me, of course, but I can survive one awful night to be a free widow."
Elise dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "He's healthier than he looks, for all he looks like a fat toad. Anyway, why do you think he makes all his whores ride on top?"
Arabella coughed into one deep scarlet sleeve. "Elise!" She smothered a laugh. "Where do you hear such things?"
"Servants, mostly. Soldiers who don't realize I'm in the next stall over, or just out of sight in the armory."
"That is my Elise, too informed for anyone's peace of mind."
Elise shrugged. "Grimmar?"
"He drinks heavily, as everyone knows. Heavily and frequently," Arabella replied. "Likely he will drown himself in wine before too many more years have passed. Shrewder than the others at politics, for all he is never sober. Housely is better with the merchants and tradesmen. Walting has the best foreign relations. Of the three, Grimmar is the least likely to beat me."
"True enough," Elise said, making a face. Everyone knew Housely and Walting both believed, as did most men, that dogs and women required a heavy hand when it came to maintaining discipline. Elise pursed her lips in thought. "I suppose Grimmar could be helped along in drinking himself into the grave. Walting is not worth considering at all. Besides the beatings, he already has a daughter and he is very likely to drag you out of the country. He has land and money aplenty, but fat good that does if you never enjoy the benefits of it."
Arabella sighed softly, looking at her slippers against the pale tiles that made up the garden walkways.
"So that leaves the corpulent toad or the drunken rat," Elise continued with a sigh of her own.
She did not bother to reply; there was no need. Arabella reached out and gently broke off one lush, pink rose, holding it to her face to smell it and stroke the soft petals against her cheek. She refused to think too hard about anything, because if she did she would give in to tears and now was not the time for a good cry. That would come later.
"He has arranged for me to leave for the Moonstone Convent after the Royal Tourney," Elise said softly into the silence.
"What?" Arabella exclaimed, dropping the rose in surprise. It landed in her lap, pink petals breaking off to scatter across the scarlet fabric, before the rose tumbled to fall against the pale gray tiles. "Elise! No!" She did cry then, throwing her arms around her oldest and dearest friend, hugging her tight.
Elise in a convent was a bird in a cage – and the best way for her stepfather to get the money and land Elise's father had left to her. Her friend would wither and die in such a life. "Oh, Elise, no. I thought he would not go through with it; you have been fighting so hard. I do not understand. You are marriageable."
"Hardly," Elise said with a sad laugh. "I was ruined years ago, and not much of a blushing rose anyway."
You were kidnapped," Arabella hissed, angry as always at the abuse heaped upon Elise for something that had not been her fault.
"It's all the same," Elise replied, voice calm. "It little matters to me, save that he wants to lock me up in that damnable convent."
Arabella drew back, wiping away tears. "Oh, Elise. Misery with you I could have borne. Misery alone, I may tip the poison into my own glass after all." She sighed softly, clearing away the last traces of her tears.
She reached out almost absently to touch the sword Elise wore. Given the hour, no doubt she had been on her way to practice in solitude while her stepfather was at dinner. "I wish you could be my Champion," Arabella said wistfully. "That would solve both our problems."
"You would still have to marry," Elise said. "I would still go to convent. Even pretending for a moment it would work – that I would be allowed to fight, that I could find a sponsor, that I could win, still they would make us do as we are told at the conclusion of the Tourney."
Arabella shook her head. "No, the victors of Tourney are threefold – the Champion takes a boon, the damsel takes a boon, and the sponsor gets obscene amounts of money. The boons may be whatever the Champion and damsel ask that is within the High King's power to give."
"If he feels like giving it," Elise said. "There are a few instances where he has refused to give the boon requested. I cannot see he would allow either one of us our freedom. You are too useful a Princess, and I am a woman with too much of her own money."
"Well, I cannot see why it's not worth trying."
"I can think of plenty," Elise said cynically, but a moment later she smiled faintly. "It is a nice thought, though, I grant you that."
Arabella fell silent for a moment, turning things over and over in her mind. "I guess the important thing is – would you want to be my Champion?"
"Yes," Elise said softly, reaching out and taking her hand, squeezing it firmly. "To free you, to free me, I would pay any price."
"No doubt it would be a thrill to swing a sword at certain heads as well," Arabella said with a snicker.
"A true lady never lets evil thoughts cloud her mind, but only those of helping others," Elise said primly.
They shared a smile, hands still clasped.
"We should go read books," Arabella said at last, letting go to stand up and shake out her skirts, before holding her hand out again.
"Books?"
Arabella nodded. "Yes. Let us see what sort of precedent might have been set in past Tourneys that we might use to gain you entry. Then we will work on sponsorship and permission. If we sneak through the chapel, we should be able to reach the library without interference."
Elise took her hand and together they left the rose garden, exchanging snickers as they snuck and slunk through the palace halls. Every now and then they ducked down a smaller hallway, or hid in one of the many little nooks, to avoid a passing servant or harried looking official.
As they ducked down the back hall to the chapel, they softened their steps still further. Arabella stuck her head in the chapel, taking a quick but thorough look around. When all seemed clear, she motioned with her fingers to Elise, who stepped up to stand beside her – then they ran, bolting across the chapel, dashing past the altar, bursting into excited, anxious giggles as they burst through the door opposite and barely avoided slamming into the wall outside.
Exchanging smiles as they calmed down, they shook out their skirts and slunk more sedately down the last few halls that brought them finally to the palace library.
"The law books are this way," Elise said softly, absently taking her hand as she led the way through the maze of shelves, tables, work rooms, statuary, and other ostentatious decoration that composed the pride and joy of Arabella's father.
They both drew up short as they turned into the area sectioned off for a great portion of the law books – though not all of them, many were packed away to be pulled out on request.
A man sat at the table. He was long and lanky, even seated, seemingly composed mostly of elbows and knees. His light brown hair was a messy, haphazard tangle of tight curls, and at some point he had taken off his spectacles and propped them unthinking in the mess, where they still lay precariously. Ink smudged one cheek, and there was more spotting the shoulder of his dark green tunic. A blue and yellow dragon was embroidered across the front of it, breathing red and orange flames that molded around the dragon in the shape of a shield.
He looked up, either having heard them or merely sensed a presence, blinked, then smiled. "Well, well," the man said. "If it is not the palace pixies, no doubt come to stir up still more mischief."
"If it is not the palace gremlin," Elise retorted, but with a rare, real smile.
The man laughed and closed the cumbersome book he had been reading. "What mischief do you seek to commit, my fair ladies? How may I serve you in that endeavor?"
"You should probably keep well away from us this time, Roderick," Arabella replied. "I think you have enough trouble in your life."
Roderick was the Duke of Ellesmoore, a title and lands notorious for never keeping one master for very long. The record belonged to Roderick's predecessor, a man who had died without any heirs just four years after taking the title. Everyone before him had faired no better.
In addition to that, Roderick cared nothing for fighting. He participated in no tourneys, did not practice with the other knights, had never been seen practicing by himself, and was most often found with his nose buried in a book. No one knew how he had become a knight, but it was a known fact that the High King himself had bestowed Roderick's spurs.
He was mocked and jeered and ignored by turns, but never really crossed. A man who came from the Holy City with spurs bestowed by the High King himself was not a man to cross, even if he was more than a little bit of a laughingstock when he was not in the room.
"Oh?" Roderick said. "Now, that does sound like fun. You mustn't leave me out. Does this have to do with the rumors flying about that our fair Princess is to be married with the close of Tourney, and we are to lose our fair Lady Elise to the Moonstone?"
Arabella glared at him. "I only found out myself scarcely an hour ago, how do you already know?"
"I know everything, or near enough to it," Roderick said lazily, smiling his mysterious smile. Oh, it drove her crazy when he did that.
She balled her hand into a fist and shook it at him, at which he only laughed.
"So what are plotting?" he asked again, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in his seat. "You must tell me, I command it."
"Brat," Elise grumbled, but Arabella knew she would give in. Roderick was one of the few men who treated Elise as though she were a lady the same as all the rest, as though there was no mark upon her good name. The way she deserved. It was one reason they called him friend.
The fact he had never expected anything inappropriate of them was another.
"We came to research the Royal Tourney," Elise said. "The laws, the history…" She hesitated. "Any unusual exceptions."
Roderick looked at them in silence, eyes going dark and distant for a brief moment as he thought. Then he grinned. "A Lady Knight to Champion the Princess, and both remain free of husband and prayers? Is that the game we play?"
Arabella scowled. "You are just a show off, and we are not impressed."
Snickering, Roderick stood up and began to mess with his papers and books, frowning as he failed to find whatever he was seeking.
Elise and Arabella laughed. "In your hair," Elise said helpfully.
"Oh," Roderick said, and laughed sheepishly. He reached up and pulled out his spectacles, settling them on his nose. "Getting you into the Tourney may not be as hard as you think. The rules do not say you cannot."
"What do you mean?" Elise asked.
Arabella frowned, equally confused, but followed along as Roderick led them to a bookcase, and pulled down a book of moderate size. It was made of simple brown leather, with gold lettering. Flipping it open, he turned a few pages until he found what he wanted, then turned it so they could read.
"To qualify for participation in the Royal Tourney," he said, "the rules, revised five years ago, state that a participant must be native born, capable of paying all fees and ransoms, and a sworn knight or experienced in combat and fighting with the permission of a King."
Elise grimaced. "I am native born and experienced in combat. I could pay my own fees, though it looks bad not to have a sponsor…but I lack the permission of a King. There is no way his Majesty will grant it, not when he likes my stepfather's money too much and they're both hoping to get their hands on mine soon…and I do not have time to travel to petition other Kings, and I cannot think they would grant it."
"You're also a woman," Arabella said. "That is our biggest problem."
Roderick grinned. "That's where you're wrong. Where does it say that being a man is required to participate?"
Arabella stared at him in surprise, then read over the rules again. "You're right."
"The beauty of assumption," Roderick said, snapping the book shut and shelving it. "When they wrote the rules, that a woman might want to compete never occurred to anyone." He winked. "They will change it after this Tourney, I would imagine, but for now they will have to let you participate."
"I still lack permission," Elise said.
Roderick waved the words aside with a hand motion. "You also need a sponsor, because it does look poorly to pay your own way. I will be your sponsor."
"What!" the women said together.
Elise shook her head. "Roderick, we did not even know you would be here – we cannot ask you to get embroiled with us."
"Oh, please," Roderick said. "This will give them something new to talk about. I have not done anything especially eccentric in at least two months. People keep asking if I am feeling well. The only real problem I see is that many will assume we are lovers, and I am indulging you or some such."
"That is as nothing," Elise said with a bitter smile. "I have been nothing but disappointing for not sleeping with every man I see. They will believe you in better health, and that I am the harlot the way they always suspected. So long as you do not take offense that everyone says you are bedding me, I will weather the rumors well enough."
Roderick shrugged. "Most already think I fornicate with demons. A woman would be quite boring after that, I would think."
Arabella muffled a laugh with her long sleeve. "Such language before ladies!"
"Indeed."
"So now I only need to get the permission of a King," Elise said, chewing on her lower lip. "I see no way to surmount that obstacle."
Roderick smiled his mysterious smile. "Petition the High King. When you return to your room tonight, draft a letter to him, explaining everything. I do mean everything. He respects honesty, for he sees very little of it. Give the letter to me in the morning, and I will see it is delivered in time for you to be granted his permission to fight in the Royal Tourney."
They stared at him in shock.
Rumors abounded he knew the High King better than most, but Roderick had never confirmed it. This was the closest he had ever come.
At last, Elise simply nodded. "Thank you, Roderick."
"Oh, fah," Roderick said, dismissing her words. "This will be interesting. Do me proud, Lady Knight. I will be there to cheer you on." He took each of their hands, and kissed the knuckles softly, and with a last hint of his mysterious smile, returned to his books.
Realizing they had been dismissed, not quite certain why or how he was able to dismiss them from the library, Arabella took Elise's hand. They left, parting only when they must to go to their respective rooms, kissing one another's cheeks in farewell.
He was going to give his answer at the banquet which took place the night before start of Tourney.
Elise still did not know what to wear. If he said yes, and she was dressed too feminine, she would look a laughingstock. If she dressed to anticipate being a competitor, and he said no, she would look the greatest of fools.
That aside, her stepfather would beat her if she dared to 'dress like a man' to something as important as the banquet. While she was still roaming around, she would do her best to present him honorably and nobly.
She worried her bottom lip as she fretted over the garb she had finally selected, agonizing over the choice, but at this late hour there simply was no other choice. Eschewing her finer gowns, she opted to risk her stepfather's wrath by wearing what had been normal for her once upon a time, before father had died and Elise was pulled from the only life she had ever known just shy of her fourteenth year.
Her family held lands at the very northern edge of the kingdom, in what the rest of the country called the Wild Lands, sharing a border with the fierce barbarians of the North Country. Here in the palaces and cities of the Kings and High King, life was heavier on rules and regulations, on dictating who did what and the consequences of disobedience.
Back home, she and the other girls of the keep had learned to fight right alongside their brothers. It had been her mother who taught her the finer points of swordsmanship, and another woman who had taught her hawking. She had gone scouting, hunting, and survived more than one bloody skirmish with the damnable barbarians.
Then her father had died, and her mother may as well have died, and then she acquired a stepfather who forbade her manly ways and dragged her off to the palace of the Sixth King. The only good which had come of it was Arabella, and for her Elise would not be sorry about being thrust into a life she hated.
For all there was much she hated about her life now, she could not regret Arabella.
Sighing softly, she pulled on dark leggings, then a lightweight underskirt of pale blue, followed by a top skirt of darker blue, embroidered with stars. Both were split up the middle, front and back, to just past the knee, to facilitate riding and fighting. Eschewing slippers, she went with soft but sturdy boots meant for wearing indoors. Then she laced up her top, the same dark blue, and attached the sleeves, dark gray with blue stripes. They were tight fitting rather than puffy and closed at the wrists rather than trailing well past her hands as most women would be wearing them.
Her hair she braided, threading it with blue ribbon, then coiled it around the back of her head, pinning it tightly into place. She was not bold enough – stupid enough – to wear a sword as would all the men, but she did loop a proper belt of leather around her waist rather than something more delicate and womanly.
She rejected jewelry entirely, save for the necklace her father had given her for her thirteenth birthday, a heavy silver chain with a medallion bearing the family crest, a griffon clutching a rose in its beak.
As ready as she would ever be, Elise took a deep breath, checked herself over one last time, then slipped from her room and into the hallway.
"Elise!"
She spun around, relief pouring through her to see Arabella. "You should already be at table," she said.
Arabella flapped one hand, expertly flicking aside the floor-length sleeve covering it, to take Elise's as they strolled through the hallways. They met people as they walked, faces known, some vaguely familiar, others complete strangers, but all acknowledged the Princess of the Sixth Kingdom.
They shared a smile and shake of the head as they finally bid farewell to a chatty old man who seemed as much a fixture of the High Palace as the stones which made it.
Elise reached up and straightened a pink rosebud which had slipped slightly from where it had been woven into Arabella's hair. She was dressed in a gown of pink, trimmed in gold, with white and gold-laced sleeves. Opals and pink sapphires decorated her throat, wrists, and waist. "You look beautiful, Arabella."
"Thank you, Champion. You cut a handsome figure yourself, as always," Arabella replied with a smile. They paused in the entryway to the great hall, and Arabella kissed her cheek softly before they went their separate ways, Arabella to the head table, Elise to one of the many tables forming a loose semicircle around the high table.
The banquet was a mass of food, much of which she never saw save each year here at the Royal Tourney. An hour or so after the eating had begun, entertainers were brought out – jugglers and singers, players to perform a brief skit.
As the skit concluded, the High King held up a hand to command silence.
He was young for a High King, only thirty-five or thirty-six, Elise could not recall exactly which. His father had died unexpectedly from illness only a few years ago. The High King was handsome, Elise thought, though he had an untouchable quality to him she usually associated with priests and the like – meant to be admired from afar, almost unreal.
His hair was black, and cut severely short. It made his pale blue eyes all the more stark in his sharp-cut face. He wore a dark violet tunic, trimmed in gold and silver, with sleeves of black and violet stripes. Rather than his formal crown, he wore only a circlet of silver and gold braided together, set with a dark amethyst.
He took a sip of wine, then spoke. "Lady Elise of Red Cliff has a request, and I would tend to the matter now. Lady, please present." He held out a hand, palm up, to indicate she take up position where only moments ago the players had been performing.
Feeling sick, wondering if she was about to made an example of, Elise stood and walked as calmly as she could to the indicated spot. She could feel her stepfather's eyes on her, and knew that no matter the outcome, she would be sorely disciplined for this little escapade.
"Majesty," she said, and dipped into a low curtsy, keeping her head lowered as he indicated she rise.
"Lady Elise, it is rare any missive I receive takes me by surprise. Yours left me quite shocked. At first I was not certain I would be capable of granting your request, but I set various clerks to the task and they returned to me with the knowledge that I could, in fact, grant it if I so chose."
He held up his hands again as the whispers grew loud, not speaking until absolute silence reigned. "My Lady Elise had requested to join the Royal Tourney as a combatant."
Noise exploded at his words, including a hastily cut-off expletive from her stepfather. She kept back a wince, but only because long habit made it easy to hide such things.
She waited patiently.
When the noise finally died down, the High King resumed. "The rules of the Royal Tourney are quite plain," he said. "She is native born; indeed her family has been here since the first High King set up his tent and started handing out orders. Lady, have you a sponsor?"
She thought for a moment he smiled just at her, as though they shared a secret – and she supposed they did, in that he must know already who sponsored her.
"Yes, Majesty," she replied. "I am honored by the generosity of the Duke of Ellesmoore."
Chaos erupted again, as everyone turned almost as one to gawk and glare and gape at Roderick, who merely sat eating sweet meats and drinking wine as though they still watched the jugglers.
The High King chuckled, redirecting everyone's attention. "Then you are native born, sponsored, and any woman of the Wild Lands can wield a sword as well as any knight. Am I wrong, Lady?"
"No, Majesty," Elise said. "I am well blooded in combat."
"Then all you lack is the approval of a King," the High King said, then paused briefly, before finally smiling faintly and saying," which I give now, whole heartedly and even enthusiastically, and wish you the best of luck on the field."
She ignored the ruckus that rose to a crescendo around them, dipping into another deep curtsy. "I thank you, High King, for your generosity."
He waved the words aside and clapped his hands briskly. "Participants of the Royal Tourney, present yourself!"
Heart beating out of her chest, Elise turned and stood as the other participants joined her. A long line of knights and a few without spurs, were stretched end to end across the width of the great hall.
"Damsels," the High King called, "stand and choose your Champions."
Not all knights were Champions, those who fought for the honor and favor of a maiden, in addition to fighting for their sponsor. Champions competed in more events and often their challenges were more difficult. Typically, they were the best and most-favored of the competitors.
It was as much a political game as combative.
Twenty-eight maidens attended this Royal Tourney, princesses and ladies from the highest noble families, all picking potential suitors or men otherwise useful to their families.
Her heart pounded in her chest as Arabella's turn came, bright green eyes meeting her own light brown.
"I choose Lady Elise to be my Champion," Arabella declared, voice loud and clear and strong. Elise did not grin as she wanted, but their eyes did not break contact until it was the next woman's turn.
When all was finally finished, she started to return to her stepfather – whose face was red with fury and humiliation – when she saw Roderick beckon to her. Nodding an apology to her stepfather, she changed direction to head toward Roderick.
He had a chair pulled for her, and handed her a glass of dark wine as she sat down. "Well done, my lady," he said cheerfully. "How do you feel?"
"Like I am either drunk or dreaming," Elise replied. "Thank you once more for you assistance, Roderick."
"Not at all," Roderick replied. "Many favors are owed me; this was a good way to call one in."
The High King snorted nearby, overhearing them. "I should be thanking you, Lady Elise. There are many ways he could call in his favors, just to make me sweat. This is relatively harmless – though I do not want to be you the next three days. I feel you are going to be pushed to your breaking point."
Elise drank her wine and simply nodded, murmuring polite nothings.
What in the world had Roderick done that the High King owed him favors? Many favors, they had said. It made her head spin, and she focused only on the wine.
As well as what the next three days would be like. The High King was correct – they would be difficult, to say the very least. She swore she could feel the glares directed her way, could sense and read all the ways the other competitors would seek to ensure she did not compete for very long.
They would, she vowed, find her far greater a challenge than they could have imagined.
Discreetly looking over the other knights, she thought she could tell with whom she was likely to be matched in the various challenges. There was no real sport in pitting someone of massive size and strength with someone slighter and weaker – competitors were matched up according to size and strength and ability.
She only hoped the judges did not let inequality go unchecked where she was concerned. Then again, she obviously was fighting with the eager approval of the High King. Hopefully, that would counter at least some of the inequality she was certain to suffer.
Her eyes roamed, and landed briefly again on Arabella. She frowned as she saw Arabella was being harangued by her father, who was waving one arm about and obviously shouting, though most of it was lost in the din of the great hall.
Arabella looked up in the middle of the tirade, caught her expression, and smiled.
Elise smiled back, then both women turned back to their respective companions. She hoped Arabella was not punished too severely for her defiance, though she likely would be. Hiding a grimace, because what was done was done and they could only follow it through, she set aside worries for a time and listened to the advice being given her by the High King.
Arabella gathered up the skirts of her frost green gown and slipped through the crowd, gritting her teeth against the pain and biting her lip when someone's elbow connected with her back. Blinking away tears of pain, she continued to fight her way through the throngs of people.
The sun beat down, hot and heavy, as she left the cool shade of the canopy. Wiping away the sweat that immediately began to form on her brow, grateful she had decided to bind her hair after all, she resumed the fight against the tide of the milling crowds. Vendors and jugglers jostled for her attention and coin, knights and nobles and peasants all looking at her until she caught their eyes and willed them to speak. Others were oblivious as they laughed and talked with their companions, messengers and children running to and fro with missives and ordered food and objects fetched from tents. Spaces not occupied by people were taken up by tents or animals, and the whole affair reeked of sweat and dung and food and blood.
She was oblivious to all of it, her focus for only one thing.
At last she broke through the throng, wanting to sob with pain and fear and relief, but vehemently refusing as she reached the field where tents for the competitors had been pitched that they might rest between their bouts.
Ignoring the looks and not-so-quiet whispers as she passed, she made her way straight to a striped blue and yellow tent at the very edge of the field.
Pushing her way inside, she stopped just inside simply to look.
Elise sat on the edge of a small bed, mostly stripped of her armor, head resting in one hand – from exhaustion or pain or both, Arabella could not tell. Blood from a nasty gash dripped from one cheek, the skin around it already turning blue and black from bruising. Given the brutality of the hit she had taken, she likely had a bruise on her shoulder as well. She had also had a nasty bout earlier in the day, matching staffs with stupid Sir Redbank.
In a final act of defiance, Elise had cut her hair short to fight unhindered by it. Free of the helmet, her shorn hair stuck up in all directions. Shortened, it was as curly and wild as Roderick's hair, so black now Arabella could see hints of blue when the sun struck it.
Elise was smeared with dirt and sweat and dried blood, clothes plastered to her body with more sweat and grime. She looked drained; Arabella had never seen her friend so worn and weary. It made her feel ashamed, that she had been so stupid as to do this to Elise.
Arabella brushed away a few escaped tears, then strode to the tent and knelt to finish removing the shin guards Elise still wore.
Elise jumped, and Arabella realized she had actually fallen asleep sitting. "Arabella. What are you doing here?"
"Helping you, silly," Arabella said quietly, tossing aside the pieces of armor as she finished removing them. That done, she stood and finally removed the bag she had slung across her shoulder. Moving the other side of the small tent, she poured out water from a pitcher into a deep bowl, then carried it over to the bed. From her bag, she pulled a small bottle, drizzling some of the contents in the water, stirring it in with a soft cloth.
Wringing the cloth out, she gently applied it to the cut, working slowly and carefully until the blood was cleaned away. "My heart stopped when you fell from your horse," Arabella said. It had, truly. She had not even been able to draw the breath for a scream, the fear had so consumed her. "I was never happier in my life than when I saw you stand again. Are you all right, more or less?"
"More or less," Elise said, but did not look at her. Instead, she simply stared at the green and blue rug covering the floor of her tent, reaching up absently to touch the wound on her cheek. "It will scar," she said quietly. "Not that any one will have me anyway, but at least before they could not say I was ugly. Stupid, to fret about it…" She dropped her hand.
Arabella dropped her rag and herbs, and threw her arms around Elise. "Oh, no, Elise. You are not ugly. You will never be ugly. Do not say such things!" She pulled back just enough to stroke her hands through Elise's short hair. "You have been magnificent out there, fighting all day long, holding your own! A fall from a horse and you still won the bout!"
Elise smiled faintly. "It was a near thing."
Still her voice did not hold its usual fire.
Shame filled Arabella to the point of overflowing. She had done this; it was all her fault. They had agreed to do it together, but had she really thought about the full cost? No, she had not. Of course they would both be hated, rejected – that they had accepted.
But the cost to Elise was so much greater. She was the one being hurt, being injured, who would bear marks the rest of her life. She might even lose a limb, if not her life – and it had been Arabella's idea.
She sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around Elise's waist, still trying not to cry because that would only make Elise feel bad. Her own pain she ignored, because it was still nothing in comparison to the bruises and wounds marking Elise from head to foot. "Oh, Elise. I am sorry. I should never have asked this of you, it was selfish of me. We should not have done this, it is not—"
Elise grabbed her shoulders and pushed, forcing Arabella to sit up and back.
"Do not say that," Elise said furiously, but she was blinking rapidly, obviously holding back her own tears. "Do you really mean it? You are sorry we have done this?"
Arabella's shoulders drooped and she stared at Elise's lap, the tears in her breeches, the hints of bruising beneath. "I did not think this far – you injured and scared, how brutal they would be—" She drew a shaky breath and looked up. "Just stop."
"So you are giving up on me?" Elise demanded bitterly. "All of this was for nothing?"
"What?" Arabella said. "No—"
"Then why are you saying we should quit? I have fought all day, for us, for our freedom, and you are telling me it was for nothing."
Arabella opened her mouth, then shut it again. She shook her head, feeling an escaped strand of her sticking to her neck with sweat. "No," she said at last, voice quiet. "I do not like seeing you hurt. I do not want you to call yourself ugly. I was selfish, in not properly thinking of how great the cost would be for you."
"Oh, Arabella," Elise said softly. "I knew what I was doing, and what would happen. You did not make all the decisions, you goose. You asked me if I wanted to be your Champion, and I said I did. I still do." She cupped Arabella's head in her own rough, blistered and bloody hands, tilting her face up, green eyes pale and pretty, but full of so much intensity. "I want to be your Champion, Arabella. So never again will you have to walk around with lash wounds upon your back."
"I was hoping you would not notice those," Arabella replied, mustering a smile. "Father obviously was less than pleased with my defiance, but what could he do? I chose for Champion a participant who received the personal blessing of the High King, and the sponsorship of a man who is clearly friend to the High King."
She rose up on her knees, resting her hands on the bed for balance, and kissed Elise softly, tasting blood from a split in Elise's lip. Then she moved to kiss the skin near the fresh wound on her cheek. "I'm sorry, Champion. I only worry for you, and hate you take these wounds in my name."
"You are worth it," Elise said softly, and hesitated, then leaned in close enough to kiss her softly.
Arabella pulled away, and realized she did so reluctantly. "Are you finished fighting for today?" she asked.
"No," Elise said. "I have a sword match in a few hours, and then I will be finished. Tomorrow is only a final sword duel, if I win the one today."
"If you win…" Arabella's breath caught, as realization crashed through. She had been so busy with worrying and self-recrimination, it had not even struck her… "You are in the final rounds!" she cried, and screamed in excitement. "I did not even realize! If you win today's last duel, then tomorrow is the final round!" She screamed again, and threw herself into Elise's arms, the force of it knocking them over onto the bed.
Elise grunted in pain beneath her, and Arabella immediately scrambled back – but Elise kept her from climbing off the bed entirely. "Stay with me," she said softly, quietly…hesitantly, Arabella thought. "You must be as much pain as me, if you have been walking around with your back sore and probably bloody. I knew when I saw you wearing a black bodice that he must have lashed you. I wanted to kill him, but I settled for beating his favorite knight in the mace competitions. If you think my wounds are ugly, you should take a look at Greenwall's!"
"He was ugly as a post before you struck him," Arabella said contemptuously, thinking of the nasty little bit of pond scum who liked to look down her bodice as often as possible. "It is quite possible you have improved his looks." She rested her head on the pillow next to Elise, reaching out to gently touch the wound, which would in a few days be a long scar cutting from beneath her eye in a ragged line to the corner of her mouth. "Your wounds are not ugly. I think it will make you look fierce, like a knight or something." She smiled. "Sir Elise."
Elise snorted. "The sun is addling your wits."
Arabella snickered, letting her eyes fall shut, reaching out to take Elise's hand and hold it in her own as she began to sink into a sleep that she realized she needed.
She woke to the sound of metal chinking and softly muttered curses. Rubbing her eyes, she slowly untangled her skirts and sat up, shoving back escaped bits of hair. She would probably have to take it down and put it up again before she was fit to be seen in public again.
As she watched Elise dress, she began to do precisely that, removing pins and ribbons with practiced ease. Once she had figured out her father used her maids to spy upon her, she had rejected all use of one and managed alone.
Hair down, she began to comb her fingers through it. "How do you manage all that armor by yourself?" she asked, shaking her head in wonder and admiration as she watched Elise buckle and strap and otherwise attach myriad pieces of metal. "Never mind wear it all."
Elise grinned. "It is not so hard. My father insisted all his soldiers, daughter included, know how to do everything alone. It is stupid to assume one will always be in a situation where he can call upon help, he always said. My armor is made for me, much like what I used to own, thanks to Roderick. Speaking of which, I believe he stopped by while we slept." She nodded at the trunk at the end of the bed, which also served as a table.
Arabella paused in the difficult and painful process of ridding her long hair of knots to look.
A tray of food sat there, along with two cups and a pitcher of dark wine.
"No one else will bring me food," Elise explained. "Only you and Roderick. He also left you a note."
Following the finger Elise pointed, she saw the small note folded over and sealed with Roderick's mark tucked halfway beneath the tray so it would not get lost.
Hair abandoned for the moment, she scooted to the edge of the bed and retrieved the note. Breaking the wax seal, she skimmed the note. Then she read it again more slowly.
"You look quite shocked," Elise said, strapping her sword belt into place before moving to sit beside her on the bed. "What is it?"
Arabella shook her head and held out the note.
Elise whistled after she had read it. "Invited to sit with the Duke in the High King's box. I guess they have decided we are not hated quite enough."
"There are others cheering for you," Arabella said. "Did you know that?"
"I notice when you are cheering," Elise said with a shrug, "or when you are not. Otherwise, I do not take note. There rest of my attention goes to not getting my head bashed in."
Arabella winced at the offhand remark, but did not comment upon it. "Well, many a young woman is cheering for you when her father or mother is not in attendance, and I have heard enough snatches of conversation to know a great many purses will be filled or emptied upon your victory tomorrow."
Elise snorted. "It is nothing short of a miracle that I have made it this far, especially when you consider that I have not seen proper combat in years. "
"Fah," Arabella replied. "Most men see only a few brigands every year, where real combat is concerned. Many do not see even that; these tournaments form the bulk of their combat experience."
"I think many of them simply underestimated me, at the start," Elise said. "They may still hate me, now, but they will not think me weak simply because I am a woman, now. They are starting to hit harder. If I make it through today, it will be one more miracle. Tomorrow I dare not think about."
Arabella scoffed as she swiftly braided her hair, using the remaining bits of green ribbon to tie it off, before she wound it all on top of her head, using jeweled pins to fasten it securely in place. She stood up and gave Elise a hug. "Miracle, nothing. If I am not allowed to doubt you, Elise, you are forbidden to doubt yourself. Miracles and luck are not sufficient to carry you this far, and if you have made it this far you stand a good chance of winning tomorrow."
Elise kissed her cheek. "Thank you. Let us hope so. Though I scarcely know what I would do if we were actually to be granted our freedom."
"Nor I," Arabella replied. "I dare not think about it, the very idea we may ask will go straight to my head. Thinking about actually getting it makes me dizzy. Of course, if I am free, I likely will be penniless as well."
"I will keep you," Elise said with a smile.
Arabella giggled. "Me the fallen woman? Kept by my Lady Knight. That is a life to which I think I could adjust."
"Then I shall do my best to obtain it for us," Elise replied, and bent to kiss her cheek one last time.
On impulse, Arabella turned just enough the kiss struck her lips instead. The kiss lingered, neither inclined suddenly to break apart.
The jangling of the tent bells drew their attention, and Arabella stepped hastily away, holding her hands to her suddenly flushed cheeks.
She looked up, smiling absently, as Roderick stepped into the tent.
"Are you ready for your last match of the day, Elise? I came to make certain you woke in time; you both seemed quite dead to the world." He paused as he took in Arabella's flushed cheeks, the way they both avoided one another's gazes.
Both girls were too preoccupied and distracted to notice his amused and knowing smirk.
"Arabella," he continued. "Did you get my note?"
"Yes," Arabella replied. "I was going to join you once I saw Elise off."
Roderick nodded.
"I'm ready," Elise said, picking up her helmet before striding to the edge of the tent.
"Oh!" Arabella said. "Wait a moment." She turned and snatched up the ribbon she had left on the bed. Earlier she'd had green and white ribbons in her hair; when she had fixed it, she had used only the green ribbon.
Taking up the white, she strode to Elise and looped the long silk ribbon around her waist, tucking the trailing ends into her sword belt. "I have not given you a token, Champion." She reached up on her toes to give a fleeting kiss. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Elise replied, then departed.
"She is doing well," Roderick commented lightly as he held out his arm for Arabella to take, leading her out of the tent and back toward the main tourney fields. "Francis has been most impressed. I think he is already plotting things, though he has not seen fit to inform me of any of those plotting."
Arabella's brow furrowed in confusion. "Francis?"
Roderick smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me, it would seem I am falling back into bad habit. I meant his Majesty."
"Oh," Arabella said weakly. Who in the world accidentally used the High King's given name? Because he had 'fallen back into bad habit'. Her head spun with it – on some level, she had not really known the High King possessed any name but his title. Even if he did, it was not the sort of thing anyone was fit to know.
Except, apparently, Roderick.
They finished the short trip in silence, Arabella lost in wonder and thought and fretting about Elise, until Roderick's friendly call drew her attention.
"Here is the Princess, Sire, as you commanded," Roderick said, sweeping the High King a deep bow. Respectful, perfectly executed, but Arabella had the impression there was something playful in the gesture.
No one save they three, she could not help but notice, occupied the High King's box.
In years past the box had always been filled with the various courtiers who wanted to please or needed to be pleased, or perhaps those who were only the High King's friends.
She executed a deep curtsy, rising only when the High King said she might, and moved slowly to the seat he indicated. Only habit and years of training allowed her to chat and converse with seeming ease while her insides quaked in nervousness.
Yet, after a few moments, as the bouts below continued, she found it was easier and easier to speak with the High King. Part of that was Roderick, who seemed as lazy and carefree as always, from his place standing right beside the High King's seat.
Neither was the High King as stiff and…King-like, she supposed, as she had thought he would be. Obviously a foolish concept to cling to, after he had been bold enough to permit Elise to enter the Royal Tourney. Still, her impression of royalty was her father and all those men with whom he got along.
The High King was nothing like them, sharing jests and conversing with the same light manner as Roderick, though he did not share the lazy, almost careless manner that was Roderick's alone.
After a while, the High King motioned, and Roderick moved forward to lower thin silk screens, blocking out the worst of the sun and heat – and shading all three of them from spectators.
"Let them stew on that," Roderick said with a chuckle. "Now they will all be bursting to know what you must discuss with Princess in secret."
The High King laughed. "You are not happy unless you are up to mischief, Roderick."
"It is my one true talent," Roderick replied, smiling his mysterious smile.
Arabella could only stare as the High King returned it and realized there were more secrets in that smile than she could possibly imagine. She wondered for what must be the thousandth time, what all Roderick's secrets were, what kind of man could call in favors from the High King.
Then she caught a flash of familiar armor, and all thoughts of Roderick and secrets were banished from her mind by thoughts of Elise.
She looked so good on the field, sword out, armor flashing where it was not caked with mud and grime, the Ellesmoore Dragon painted in brilliant colors on her shield. Arabella was near to bursting watching her, and completely forgot where she was as she fell into cheering and screaming, excitement and fear, nearly screaming herself hoarse when it became obvious that Elise was going to win.
When the opposing knight fell and did not get up again, there was a brief pause of shocked disbelief. Not one spectator could think of a single thing to say.
Then Arabella began to cheer wildly from behind the silk screen, and a breath later other women joined in, then a few men, and then suddenly the whole of the stadium was cheering for the Lady Champion.
"One more," Arabella said, laughing in thrilled disbelief. "One more and she will have won."
"Yes," the High King rumbled, making Arabella jump, recalling her to her place.
She spun around, skirts flying about wildly, cheeks going hot. "Oh, Majesty. I beg pardon for my behavior." She blinked, hard, to see that at some point Roderick had sat down – on the arm of the High King's chair.
"No apology required," the High King replied with an easy smile. "You are cheering for your Champion, as you should. I thank you for keeping me company the past few hours. Now, go and see your Champion, Princess. I am sure that it would do her good to see her maiden right now."
Arabella did not hesitate, but bobbed a quick curtsy before bolting from the box and back across the field toward Elise's tent.
Elise wished her mouth would stop getting so dry, but she dare not drink anything else before her final duel.
Especially as by this point, she would likely only puke it up again.
She could feel the glares upon her, some cold and hateful, others hot and furious. Once, they had tried to get her outside of the fighting rings – but she had mistakenly mentioned it to Roderick, and the next day all her fellow competitors had simply ceased to acknowledge her when not attempting to cut her head off in a competition.
Heavens above, she was tired. She had not felt this tired in her life, not even when she had been old enough to begin training in earnest. Every last muscle and bone in her body ached and she had bruises on top of bruises, never mind all the welts and scrapes and cuts.
It was just as well no one had ever wanted to marry her. If there had been a suitor willing to tolerate her entering the Royal Tourney, he certainly would have given up the suit the moment he realized just how ugly it was making her.
Already people were avoiding her gaze, and when they did look at her, there eyes seemed fixed upon her wounded cheek.
Except Arabella.
Elise closed her eyes, focusing only on Arabella, who looked pretty and perfect no matter what she was doing. She smelled of her beloved rose garden whenever she came to visit, and if she thought Elise ugly now, she gave no sign of it.
Before her kidnapping, Elise had stolen kisses here and there, giggling with the other girls back home as they bragged and compared, whispering when they should have been abed.
Yesterday, in her tent, she had noticed she rather liked Arabella's kisses more. She wondered if it had always been so. She had spent much of the night tossing and turning, wondering if it had mattered.
In the end, she had decided it did not. Her decision to be here, to fight, made it clear that Arabella meant much to her. If Arabella meant everything, then so be it.
Elise hefted her sword and took a deep breath.
On this final day, it was only one last bout – but unlike all the others, which went until the judges said stop, this one went until one party could no longer fight. Her earliest battles had taken toppling her opponent, because fighters and judges alike had not liked to see her win until there was no choice.
So this would not be too much different, in the end, from what she had been doing all along.
Except the man facing her was larger, and significantly stronger, rather than a relative – if still formidable – match.
Her opponent was also Sir Walting.
"Greetings, harlot," he said, sneering.
Elise said nothing, merely took up position as the High King concluded his speech and bid the Champions best of luck.
He came at her fast, wasting no time, all speed and anger and frenzy. Elise blocked the first swing, though taking the full brunt of it badly jarred her arm. She kicked out as he moved in too close, upsetting his balance by taking him at the knee.
Breaking free, she recovered herself and struck, bringing her sword crashing down on his shield.
Walting reeled, but did not falter enough to give her true advantage.
Back and forth they went, sweating and yelling and bleeding beneath the burning sun of a cloudless day, before spectators who were so enthralled they had gone completely silent.
She fell with a cry, tumbling backward, accidentally letting go of her shield – but not her sword. Just in time, she blocked the blow that came crashing down on her, letting all his weight push upon his blade…waiting….
Dropping her own sword, she twisted out of the way as he tumbled forward with a startled oath, to fall face down, lying atop his own fallen blade. Elise wasted no time, but rose to her knees, retrieving her own sword. Turning toward Walting, she brought the pommel of her sword slamming down on the back of Walting's head, arms throbbing as she connected with his helmet – but it was enough.
Struggling to her feet, she backed away and went on guard, waiting to see if she had truly been successful.
Walting did not move.
Elise waited another moment more, then relaxed her guard.
Movement caught her eye from the High King's box, and then she saw Arabella bolting toward her, blue dress flying about everywhere, hair and ribbons going every which way, jewels flashing in the sunlight, and then Elise found her arms full, Arabella holding her tight, near squeezing the breath out of her.
When Arabella finally pulled away, she opened her mouth to speak – but only a hoarse croak came out.
"Goose," Elise said with a laugh. "You should not have been screaming so much."
Arabella rolled her eyes, then shoved Elise's helmet off and grabbed her sweaty hair, then kissed her soundly.
Elise laughed again as they broke apart, and repeated, "Goose."
"Well done, my lady!"
She jerked as the High King's voice registered, and promptly knelt, bowing her head. "Majesty," she called out. "It was an honor to fight on your field this day. I hope I have done you proud."
"Proud and more, Champion, proud and more." The High King began to clap, and one by one the rest of the spectators followed suit, until the sound of it was deafening. Elise ducked her head to hide her tears, nearly shaking with disbelief – and joy.
Beside her, Arabella was the very same, and they held hands until the crowds and a need to prepare for the celebratory feast finally forced them to go their separate ways.
A few hours later, she stood just outside the great hall, not certain where to stand or what to do. She no longer had a real place, now. Her stepfather had made it painfully clear after she had joined the competition that she was no longer part of the family.
No man would go near her now.
She did not really want them to.
Undecided, she remained at the threshold, until a familiar and much loved hand curled into hers. "You look about how I feel, dearest," Arabella said with a soft smile.
Elise returned it, amused at the choice of words. "No where to go, even before we've claimed our prize."
"I've always wanted to live by the sea," Arabella said. "Do you think you would be willing to indulge your kept woman that far?"
"Of course," Elise said, laughing despite herself, but it faded when she saw the worry that was bleeding into Arabella's attempt at levity. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked, but thought she knew.
Arabella sighed softly. "Have you been disowned as well? I knew it was coming, of course, did I not say he would do it? Still, it is hard to accept that I will never be allowed back in my homeland."
"I wish I had my sword," Elise said with a scowl. "I would show that damned king—"
"There you are," said a voice, interrupting them. Roderick came up behind them. He frowned. "Why are the two of you hiding away here? Come on, come on." He gave them both a none-too-gentle shove.
Elise stumbled, unused to her long skirts though she had only dressed as a knight for a few days. The pale gown was beautiful, one of her costliest and the last her stepfather had been willing to purchase before he had decided she was definitely going to convent. It was trimmed in silver and green, and despite much difficulty she had managed to thread delicate white wildflowers through her hair, to give her some semblance of respectability now that she must once more be a proper lady.
She let Roderick push her along, though she glared at him all the while, until they stood before the High King's dais.
"As you commanded, Sire," Roderick said, then simply strolled up the dais and sat down in his seat beside the High King.
The High King, in turn, stood up and moved around the table, drawing his sword as he stood before Elise and Arabella. "Lady Elise, kneel."
Elise's eyes widened, but as Arabella stepped away she obeyed, if only because she could think of nothing else to do.
The flat of the sword rested against her right shoulder and her breath lodged in her chest as the old words used for knighting filled the dead silence of the great hall. Part of her almost laughed at the realization this was far from the first time she had caused a full crowd to go completely silent.
When the High King paused, she responded automatically, knowing the words simply because she had watched and listened as the King knighted so many of her father's men years and years ago.
She fisted her hands to still their trembling as the last echoes of the High King's voice finally faded away.
"Rise a knight," the High King said, "Sir Elise, and Duchess of Hallow, from this day forth."
"What?" she said, startled into speaking.
Her words were drowned out, however, by bellows of outrage and protest.
"Silence," bellowed the High King.
Behind him, Roderick slowly stood up. His manner was easy and casual, but something about him nevertheless made Elise suddenly want to take a step back.
The High King glared a few moments longer, snarling whenever someone tried to speak.
"I am the High King," he said at last. "I have councilors and priests and Kings and hundreds of others to help me rule this great kingdom, but it is still my kingdom. It is accepted tradition – signed and approved – that when a competitor who lacks spurs wins the Royal Tourney, he is given spurs in honor of his accomplishment. A competitor who lacks title is given title, in honor of the same. No law says a woman may not compete. She competed fairly and she won fairly. She will be honored fairly, and anyone who takes issue with that will be reminded that what titles I give, I can also take."
"Women are not allowed to hold title save by way of marriage," bellowed Elise's father.
"Then I am changing it," the High King snapped. "You would do well to remember that your power came by way of your wife. Once, I believe, you were a penniless, lord-less knight doing mercenary work."
Her father fell silent.
The High King waited for anyone else to argue with him, but no one spoke.
"Good," he said. "Then I present to you, my people, the Duchess of Hallow, knight of the realm – and in far better standing with me than the rest of you. Smart nobles would learn to get along with her and the Princess Arabella."
"She is no Princess," said someone, though the speaker was careful not to be quite visible.
The High King narrowed his eyes, but a brief, softly murmured word from Roderick had him shrugging the words off. "I suppose that is true, after a fashion," he said slowly. "I signed the papers just yesterday, stating that the Lady Elise and Princess Arabella were disowned from their respective families. Sir Elise, obviously, has no need of a family that does not stand by her. As to the Princess Arabella…"
He smirked, and Elise almost groaned, thinking of the way Roderick always smirked the exact same way.
"I have no interest in taking a wife," the High King said at last. "Marriage is no ambition of mine, but I require an heir. If the Princess Arabella is amenable, then from this moment forward, she will be my daughter."
As the hall once more erupted into chaos, the High King motioned both women to follow him.
"I meant to discuss the matter in private," he said in an undertone to Arabella. "My temper got the better of me, I’m afraid. You do not have to accept the offer, but you would be doing me a favor."
Roderick snorted in amusement, but said nothing.
Arabella stared wide-eyed. "I am hardly fit, Sire—"
"Oh, fah," Roderick said. "Better to agree, trust me. If there is one word which describes him, it is stubborn. He has found his easy way out of marriage, he will not let you go. Concede defeat, and then demand he shower you with jewels or something."
"Be quiet, Ric," the High King said with a fond smile. "Else I'll send you back to the Great Mountains."
Roderick shuddered, and fell silent.
"Well, Princess?" the High King asked. "You would live here, and I am certain your Duchess would be amenable to remaining at the palace in service to her king…"
Elise laughed.
Arabella looked at her, questions and answers silently exchanged. Then she reached out, and took Elise's hand, and finally nodded. "Then I accept the offer, and am honored, Sire."
"Excellent," the High King replied. He turned back to Roderick. "Does this mean I no longer owe you any favors?"
"You wish," Roderick said lazily, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Call for wine."
"Sometimes I wonder who really controls this kingdom," the High King groused, and beckoned for the wine.
Elise looked at the hand in her own, then held it to her lips, kissing it softly, and breathing in the scent of roses. "We shall have to make you a new rose garden here, Highness," she said with a smile.
"Us," Arabella said, and kissed the back of Elise's hand. "We shall have to make us a new rose garden, my dear Duchess."
They smiled at each other, and lifted their wine as the High King toasted the new High Princess and the Duchess of Hallow. She could feel the hateful glares from her stepfather, the men she had defeated, and knew Arabella would face a great deal of trouble from the father who had recently disowned her – but their eyes were only for each other, and the rest of the world could wait just a little bit longer.
Champion
Normally Arabella loved to linger in her rose garden, admiring the colors and breathing in the delicate scents of her prized flowers.
This evening, however, she just wanted to start grabbing and shredding. Only the fact that destroying her roses was no substitute for wringing her father's neck kept her from destroying them
"You look about how I feel, dearest."
Arabella turned around, scarlet skirts whipping about, her irritation easing a bit as she registered the sound of her best friend's voice. "Elise."
She looked like a thundercloud, the curly black hair coming loose of its pins, dressed in gray and dark blue, a scowl on her hard, pretty face. "Your stepfather?"
"Of course. Your father?"
"Naturally. He put his foot down today," Arabella said with a sigh, dropping down on the marble bench where Elise had sat. "I'm to pick a Champion for the Royal Tourney - and by Champion, he of course means husband. Or else." She grimaced in annoyance. "I asked if I had to marry the man if he lost, or only if he won. Father was not amused."
Elise gave an unladylike snort. "Why should you have to marry a man who embarrasses you by losing?"
"It does rather add insult to injury," Arabella replied. "I wish I could just select a Champion who I did not have to marry."
Elise scowled at a yellow rose. "I do not see why you must choose at all. Honestly, I'm not certain if it's better or worse I'm being shipped off to Convent rather than thrown down the marriage aisle."
Arabella smiled. "We'll compare notes after a year or two."
"Have you picked out a lesser evil? To which did your father finally narrow it down?"
"Grimmar, Housely, or Walting," Arabella said sourly. "I suppose I should be flattered I get that much choice. Poor Tiffany and Lila did not."
Elise grimaced. "Those are your options? There is always poison."
Arabella tucked back a strand of dark blonde hair which had slipped free of the braid she had bound it that morning. "For me or them?"
"While it would be easier to poison yourself, dearest," Elise said, "I do not think you should have to die because they are asses."
"Hmm," Arabella said pensively. "As fat as Housely is, consummating the marriage will likely be enough exertion to kill him – assuming the Tourney does not, at that. Not a pleasant night for me, of course, but I can survive one awful night to be a free widow."
Elise dismissed the idea with a wave of her hand. "He's healthier than he looks, for all he looks like a fat toad. Anyway, why do you think he makes all his whores ride on top?"
Arabella coughed into one deep scarlet sleeve. "Elise!" She smothered a laugh. "Where do you hear such things?"
"Servants, mostly. Soldiers who don't realize I'm in the next stall over, or just out of sight in the armory."
"That is my Elise, too informed for anyone's peace of mind."
Elise shrugged. "Grimmar?"
"He drinks heavily, as everyone knows. Heavily and frequently," Arabella replied. "Likely he will drown himself in wine before too many more years have passed. Shrewder than the others at politics, for all he is never sober. Housely is better with the merchants and tradesmen. Walting has the best foreign relations. Of the three, Grimmar is the least likely to beat me."
"True enough," Elise said, making a face. Everyone knew Housely and Walting both believed, as did most men, that dogs and women required a heavy hand when it came to maintaining discipline. Elise pursed her lips in thought. "I suppose Grimmar could be helped along in drinking himself into the grave. Walting is not worth considering at all. Besides the beatings, he already has a daughter and he is very likely to drag you out of the country. He has land and money aplenty, but fat good that does if you never enjoy the benefits of it."
Arabella sighed softly, looking at her slippers against the pale tiles that made up the garden walkways.
"So that leaves the corpulent toad or the drunken rat," Elise continued with a sigh of her own.
She did not bother to reply; there was no need. Arabella reached out and gently broke off one lush, pink rose, holding it to her face to smell it and stroke the soft petals against her cheek. She refused to think too hard about anything, because if she did she would give in to tears and now was not the time for a good cry. That would come later.
"He has arranged for me to leave for the Moonstone Convent after the Royal Tourney," Elise said softly into the silence.
"What?" Arabella exclaimed, dropping the rose in surprise. It landed in her lap, pink petals breaking off to scatter across the scarlet fabric, before the rose tumbled to fall against the pale gray tiles. "Elise! No!" She did cry then, throwing her arms around her oldest and dearest friend, hugging her tight.
Elise in a convent was a bird in a cage – and the best way for her stepfather to get the money and land Elise's father had left to her. Her friend would wither and die in such a life. "Oh, Elise, no. I thought he would not go through with it; you have been fighting so hard. I do not understand. You are marriageable."
"Hardly," Elise said with a sad laugh. "I was ruined years ago, and not much of a blushing rose anyway."
You were kidnapped," Arabella hissed, angry as always at the abuse heaped upon Elise for something that had not been her fault.
"It's all the same," Elise replied, voice calm. "It little matters to me, save that he wants to lock me up in that damnable convent."
Arabella drew back, wiping away tears. "Oh, Elise. Misery with you I could have borne. Misery alone, I may tip the poison into my own glass after all." She sighed softly, clearing away the last traces of her tears.
She reached out almost absently to touch the sword Elise wore. Given the hour, no doubt she had been on her way to practice in solitude while her stepfather was at dinner. "I wish you could be my Champion," Arabella said wistfully. "That would solve both our problems."
"You would still have to marry," Elise said. "I would still go to convent. Even pretending for a moment it would work – that I would be allowed to fight, that I could find a sponsor, that I could win, still they would make us do as we are told at the conclusion of the Tourney."
Arabella shook her head. "No, the victors of Tourney are threefold – the Champion takes a boon, the damsel takes a boon, and the sponsor gets obscene amounts of money. The boons may be whatever the Champion and damsel ask that is within the High King's power to give."
"If he feels like giving it," Elise said. "There are a few instances where he has refused to give the boon requested. I cannot see he would allow either one of us our freedom. You are too useful a Princess, and I am a woman with too much of her own money."
"Well, I cannot see why it's not worth trying."
"I can think of plenty," Elise said cynically, but a moment later she smiled faintly. "It is a nice thought, though, I grant you that."
Arabella fell silent for a moment, turning things over and over in her mind. "I guess the important thing is – would you want to be my Champion?"
"Yes," Elise said softly, reaching out and taking her hand, squeezing it firmly. "To free you, to free me, I would pay any price."
"No doubt it would be a thrill to swing a sword at certain heads as well," Arabella said with a snicker.
"A true lady never lets evil thoughts cloud her mind, but only those of helping others," Elise said primly.
They shared a smile, hands still clasped.
"We should go read books," Arabella said at last, letting go to stand up and shake out her skirts, before holding her hand out again.
"Books?"
Arabella nodded. "Yes. Let us see what sort of precedent might have been set in past Tourneys that we might use to gain you entry. Then we will work on sponsorship and permission. If we sneak through the chapel, we should be able to reach the library without interference."
Elise took her hand and together they left the rose garden, exchanging snickers as they snuck and slunk through the palace halls. Every now and then they ducked down a smaller hallway, or hid in one of the many little nooks, to avoid a passing servant or harried looking official.
As they ducked down the back hall to the chapel, they softened their steps still further. Arabella stuck her head in the chapel, taking a quick but thorough look around. When all seemed clear, she motioned with her fingers to Elise, who stepped up to stand beside her – then they ran, bolting across the chapel, dashing past the altar, bursting into excited, anxious giggles as they burst through the door opposite and barely avoided slamming into the wall outside.
Exchanging smiles as they calmed down, they shook out their skirts and slunk more sedately down the last few halls that brought them finally to the palace library.
"The law books are this way," Elise said softly, absently taking her hand as she led the way through the maze of shelves, tables, work rooms, statuary, and other ostentatious decoration that composed the pride and joy of Arabella's father.
They both drew up short as they turned into the area sectioned off for a great portion of the law books – though not all of them, many were packed away to be pulled out on request.
A man sat at the table. He was long and lanky, even seated, seemingly composed mostly of elbows and knees. His light brown hair was a messy, haphazard tangle of tight curls, and at some point he had taken off his spectacles and propped them unthinking in the mess, where they still lay precariously. Ink smudged one cheek, and there was more spotting the shoulder of his dark green tunic. A blue and yellow dragon was embroidered across the front of it, breathing red and orange flames that molded around the dragon in the shape of a shield.
He looked up, either having heard them or merely sensed a presence, blinked, then smiled. "Well, well," the man said. "If it is not the palace pixies, no doubt come to stir up still more mischief."
"If it is not the palace gremlin," Elise retorted, but with a rare, real smile.
The man laughed and closed the cumbersome book he had been reading. "What mischief do you seek to commit, my fair ladies? How may I serve you in that endeavor?"
"You should probably keep well away from us this time, Roderick," Arabella replied. "I think you have enough trouble in your life."
Roderick was the Duke of Ellesmoore, a title and lands notorious for never keeping one master for very long. The record belonged to Roderick's predecessor, a man who had died without any heirs just four years after taking the title. Everyone before him had faired no better.
In addition to that, Roderick cared nothing for fighting. He participated in no tourneys, did not practice with the other knights, had never been seen practicing by himself, and was most often found with his nose buried in a book. No one knew how he had become a knight, but it was a known fact that the High King himself had bestowed Roderick's spurs.
He was mocked and jeered and ignored by turns, but never really crossed. A man who came from the Holy City with spurs bestowed by the High King himself was not a man to cross, even if he was more than a little bit of a laughingstock when he was not in the room.
"Oh?" Roderick said. "Now, that does sound like fun. You mustn't leave me out. Does this have to do with the rumors flying about that our fair Princess is to be married with the close of Tourney, and we are to lose our fair Lady Elise to the Moonstone?"
Arabella glared at him. "I only found out myself scarcely an hour ago, how do you already know?"
"I know everything, or near enough to it," Roderick said lazily, smiling his mysterious smile. Oh, it drove her crazy when he did that.
She balled her hand into a fist and shook it at him, at which he only laughed.
"So what are plotting?" he asked again, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back in his seat. "You must tell me, I command it."
"Brat," Elise grumbled, but Arabella knew she would give in. Roderick was one of the few men who treated Elise as though she were a lady the same as all the rest, as though there was no mark upon her good name. The way she deserved. It was one reason they called him friend.
The fact he had never expected anything inappropriate of them was another.
"We came to research the Royal Tourney," Elise said. "The laws, the history…" She hesitated. "Any unusual exceptions."
Roderick looked at them in silence, eyes going dark and distant for a brief moment as he thought. Then he grinned. "A Lady Knight to Champion the Princess, and both remain free of husband and prayers? Is that the game we play?"
Arabella scowled. "You are just a show off, and we are not impressed."
Snickering, Roderick stood up and began to mess with his papers and books, frowning as he failed to find whatever he was seeking.
Elise and Arabella laughed. "In your hair," Elise said helpfully.
"Oh," Roderick said, and laughed sheepishly. He reached up and pulled out his spectacles, settling them on his nose. "Getting you into the Tourney may not be as hard as you think. The rules do not say you cannot."
"What do you mean?" Elise asked.
Arabella frowned, equally confused, but followed along as Roderick led them to a bookcase, and pulled down a book of moderate size. It was made of simple brown leather, with gold lettering. Flipping it open, he turned a few pages until he found what he wanted, then turned it so they could read.
"To qualify for participation in the Royal Tourney," he said, "the rules, revised five years ago, state that a participant must be native born, capable of paying all fees and ransoms, and a sworn knight or experienced in combat and fighting with the permission of a King."
Elise grimaced. "I am native born and experienced in combat. I could pay my own fees, though it looks bad not to have a sponsor…but I lack the permission of a King. There is no way his Majesty will grant it, not when he likes my stepfather's money too much and they're both hoping to get their hands on mine soon…and I do not have time to travel to petition other Kings, and I cannot think they would grant it."
"You're also a woman," Arabella said. "That is our biggest problem."
Roderick grinned. "That's where you're wrong. Where does it say that being a man is required to participate?"
Arabella stared at him in surprise, then read over the rules again. "You're right."
"The beauty of assumption," Roderick said, snapping the book shut and shelving it. "When they wrote the rules, that a woman might want to compete never occurred to anyone." He winked. "They will change it after this Tourney, I would imagine, but for now they will have to let you participate."
"I still lack permission," Elise said.
Roderick waved the words aside with a hand motion. "You also need a sponsor, because it does look poorly to pay your own way. I will be your sponsor."
"What!" the women said together.
Elise shook her head. "Roderick, we did not even know you would be here – we cannot ask you to get embroiled with us."
"Oh, please," Roderick said. "This will give them something new to talk about. I have not done anything especially eccentric in at least two months. People keep asking if I am feeling well. The only real problem I see is that many will assume we are lovers, and I am indulging you or some such."
"That is as nothing," Elise said with a bitter smile. "I have been nothing but disappointing for not sleeping with every man I see. They will believe you in better health, and that I am the harlot the way they always suspected. So long as you do not take offense that everyone says you are bedding me, I will weather the rumors well enough."
Roderick shrugged. "Most already think I fornicate with demons. A woman would be quite boring after that, I would think."
Arabella muffled a laugh with her long sleeve. "Such language before ladies!"
"Indeed."
"So now I only need to get the permission of a King," Elise said, chewing on her lower lip. "I see no way to surmount that obstacle."
Roderick smiled his mysterious smile. "Petition the High King. When you return to your room tonight, draft a letter to him, explaining everything. I do mean everything. He respects honesty, for he sees very little of it. Give the letter to me in the morning, and I will see it is delivered in time for you to be granted his permission to fight in the Royal Tourney."
They stared at him in shock.
Rumors abounded he knew the High King better than most, but Roderick had never confirmed it. This was the closest he had ever come.
At last, Elise simply nodded. "Thank you, Roderick."
"Oh, fah," Roderick said, dismissing her words. "This will be interesting. Do me proud, Lady Knight. I will be there to cheer you on." He took each of their hands, and kissed the knuckles softly, and with a last hint of his mysterious smile, returned to his books.
Realizing they had been dismissed, not quite certain why or how he was able to dismiss them from the library, Arabella took Elise's hand. They left, parting only when they must to go to their respective rooms, kissing one another's cheeks in farewell.
*~*~*
He was going to give his answer at the banquet which took place the night before start of Tourney.
Elise still did not know what to wear. If he said yes, and she was dressed too feminine, she would look a laughingstock. If she dressed to anticipate being a competitor, and he said no, she would look the greatest of fools.
That aside, her stepfather would beat her if she dared to 'dress like a man' to something as important as the banquet. While she was still roaming around, she would do her best to present him honorably and nobly.
She worried her bottom lip as she fretted over the garb she had finally selected, agonizing over the choice, but at this late hour there simply was no other choice. Eschewing her finer gowns, she opted to risk her stepfather's wrath by wearing what had been normal for her once upon a time, before father had died and Elise was pulled from the only life she had ever known just shy of her fourteenth year.
Her family held lands at the very northern edge of the kingdom, in what the rest of the country called the Wild Lands, sharing a border with the fierce barbarians of the North Country. Here in the palaces and cities of the Kings and High King, life was heavier on rules and regulations, on dictating who did what and the consequences of disobedience.
Back home, she and the other girls of the keep had learned to fight right alongside their brothers. It had been her mother who taught her the finer points of swordsmanship, and another woman who had taught her hawking. She had gone scouting, hunting, and survived more than one bloody skirmish with the damnable barbarians.
Then her father had died, and her mother may as well have died, and then she acquired a stepfather who forbade her manly ways and dragged her off to the palace of the Sixth King. The only good which had come of it was Arabella, and for her Elise would not be sorry about being thrust into a life she hated.
For all there was much she hated about her life now, she could not regret Arabella.
Sighing softly, she pulled on dark leggings, then a lightweight underskirt of pale blue, followed by a top skirt of darker blue, embroidered with stars. Both were split up the middle, front and back, to just past the knee, to facilitate riding and fighting. Eschewing slippers, she went with soft but sturdy boots meant for wearing indoors. Then she laced up her top, the same dark blue, and attached the sleeves, dark gray with blue stripes. They were tight fitting rather than puffy and closed at the wrists rather than trailing well past her hands as most women would be wearing them.
Her hair she braided, threading it with blue ribbon, then coiled it around the back of her head, pinning it tightly into place. She was not bold enough – stupid enough – to wear a sword as would all the men, but she did loop a proper belt of leather around her waist rather than something more delicate and womanly.
She rejected jewelry entirely, save for the necklace her father had given her for her thirteenth birthday, a heavy silver chain with a medallion bearing the family crest, a griffon clutching a rose in its beak.
As ready as she would ever be, Elise took a deep breath, checked herself over one last time, then slipped from her room and into the hallway.
"Elise!"
She spun around, relief pouring through her to see Arabella. "You should already be at table," she said.
Arabella flapped one hand, expertly flicking aside the floor-length sleeve covering it, to take Elise's as they strolled through the hallways. They met people as they walked, faces known, some vaguely familiar, others complete strangers, but all acknowledged the Princess of the Sixth Kingdom.
They shared a smile and shake of the head as they finally bid farewell to a chatty old man who seemed as much a fixture of the High Palace as the stones which made it.
Elise reached up and straightened a pink rosebud which had slipped slightly from where it had been woven into Arabella's hair. She was dressed in a gown of pink, trimmed in gold, with white and gold-laced sleeves. Opals and pink sapphires decorated her throat, wrists, and waist. "You look beautiful, Arabella."
"Thank you, Champion. You cut a handsome figure yourself, as always," Arabella replied with a smile. They paused in the entryway to the great hall, and Arabella kissed her cheek softly before they went their separate ways, Arabella to the head table, Elise to one of the many tables forming a loose semicircle around the high table.
The banquet was a mass of food, much of which she never saw save each year here at the Royal Tourney. An hour or so after the eating had begun, entertainers were brought out – jugglers and singers, players to perform a brief skit.
As the skit concluded, the High King held up a hand to command silence.
He was young for a High King, only thirty-five or thirty-six, Elise could not recall exactly which. His father had died unexpectedly from illness only a few years ago. The High King was handsome, Elise thought, though he had an untouchable quality to him she usually associated with priests and the like – meant to be admired from afar, almost unreal.
His hair was black, and cut severely short. It made his pale blue eyes all the more stark in his sharp-cut face. He wore a dark violet tunic, trimmed in gold and silver, with sleeves of black and violet stripes. Rather than his formal crown, he wore only a circlet of silver and gold braided together, set with a dark amethyst.
He took a sip of wine, then spoke. "Lady Elise of Red Cliff has a request, and I would tend to the matter now. Lady, please present." He held out a hand, palm up, to indicate she take up position where only moments ago the players had been performing.
Feeling sick, wondering if she was about to made an example of, Elise stood and walked as calmly as she could to the indicated spot. She could feel her stepfather's eyes on her, and knew that no matter the outcome, she would be sorely disciplined for this little escapade.
"Majesty," she said, and dipped into a low curtsy, keeping her head lowered as he indicated she rise.
"Lady Elise, it is rare any missive I receive takes me by surprise. Yours left me quite shocked. At first I was not certain I would be capable of granting your request, but I set various clerks to the task and they returned to me with the knowledge that I could, in fact, grant it if I so chose."
He held up his hands again as the whispers grew loud, not speaking until absolute silence reigned. "My Lady Elise had requested to join the Royal Tourney as a combatant."
Noise exploded at his words, including a hastily cut-off expletive from her stepfather. She kept back a wince, but only because long habit made it easy to hide such things.
She waited patiently.
When the noise finally died down, the High King resumed. "The rules of the Royal Tourney are quite plain," he said. "She is native born; indeed her family has been here since the first High King set up his tent and started handing out orders. Lady, have you a sponsor?"
She thought for a moment he smiled just at her, as though they shared a secret – and she supposed they did, in that he must know already who sponsored her.
"Yes, Majesty," she replied. "I am honored by the generosity of the Duke of Ellesmoore."
Chaos erupted again, as everyone turned almost as one to gawk and glare and gape at Roderick, who merely sat eating sweet meats and drinking wine as though they still watched the jugglers.
The High King chuckled, redirecting everyone's attention. "Then you are native born, sponsored, and any woman of the Wild Lands can wield a sword as well as any knight. Am I wrong, Lady?"
"No, Majesty," Elise said. "I am well blooded in combat."
"Then all you lack is the approval of a King," the High King said, then paused briefly, before finally smiling faintly and saying," which I give now, whole heartedly and even enthusiastically, and wish you the best of luck on the field."
She ignored the ruckus that rose to a crescendo around them, dipping into another deep curtsy. "I thank you, High King, for your generosity."
He waved the words aside and clapped his hands briskly. "Participants of the Royal Tourney, present yourself!"
Heart beating out of her chest, Elise turned and stood as the other participants joined her. A long line of knights and a few without spurs, were stretched end to end across the width of the great hall.
"Damsels," the High King called, "stand and choose your Champions."
Not all knights were Champions, those who fought for the honor and favor of a maiden, in addition to fighting for their sponsor. Champions competed in more events and often their challenges were more difficult. Typically, they were the best and most-favored of the competitors.
It was as much a political game as combative.
Twenty-eight maidens attended this Royal Tourney, princesses and ladies from the highest noble families, all picking potential suitors or men otherwise useful to their families.
Her heart pounded in her chest as Arabella's turn came, bright green eyes meeting her own light brown.
"I choose Lady Elise to be my Champion," Arabella declared, voice loud and clear and strong. Elise did not grin as she wanted, but their eyes did not break contact until it was the next woman's turn.
When all was finally finished, she started to return to her stepfather – whose face was red with fury and humiliation – when she saw Roderick beckon to her. Nodding an apology to her stepfather, she changed direction to head toward Roderick.
He had a chair pulled for her, and handed her a glass of dark wine as she sat down. "Well done, my lady," he said cheerfully. "How do you feel?"
"Like I am either drunk or dreaming," Elise replied. "Thank you once more for you assistance, Roderick."
"Not at all," Roderick replied. "Many favors are owed me; this was a good way to call one in."
The High King snorted nearby, overhearing them. "I should be thanking you, Lady Elise. There are many ways he could call in his favors, just to make me sweat. This is relatively harmless – though I do not want to be you the next three days. I feel you are going to be pushed to your breaking point."
Elise drank her wine and simply nodded, murmuring polite nothings.
What in the world had Roderick done that the High King owed him favors? Many favors, they had said. It made her head spin, and she focused only on the wine.
As well as what the next three days would be like. The High King was correct – they would be difficult, to say the very least. She swore she could feel the glares directed her way, could sense and read all the ways the other competitors would seek to ensure she did not compete for very long.
They would, she vowed, find her far greater a challenge than they could have imagined.
Discreetly looking over the other knights, she thought she could tell with whom she was likely to be matched in the various challenges. There was no real sport in pitting someone of massive size and strength with someone slighter and weaker – competitors were matched up according to size and strength and ability.
She only hoped the judges did not let inequality go unchecked where she was concerned. Then again, she obviously was fighting with the eager approval of the High King. Hopefully, that would counter at least some of the inequality she was certain to suffer.
Her eyes roamed, and landed briefly again on Arabella. She frowned as she saw Arabella was being harangued by her father, who was waving one arm about and obviously shouting, though most of it was lost in the din of the great hall.
Arabella looked up in the middle of the tirade, caught her expression, and smiled.
Elise smiled back, then both women turned back to their respective companions. She hoped Arabella was not punished too severely for her defiance, though she likely would be. Hiding a grimace, because what was done was done and they could only follow it through, she set aside worries for a time and listened to the advice being given her by the High King.
*~*~*
Arabella gathered up the skirts of her frost green gown and slipped through the crowd, gritting her teeth against the pain and biting her lip when someone's elbow connected with her back. Blinking away tears of pain, she continued to fight her way through the throngs of people.
The sun beat down, hot and heavy, as she left the cool shade of the canopy. Wiping away the sweat that immediately began to form on her brow, grateful she had decided to bind her hair after all, she resumed the fight against the tide of the milling crowds. Vendors and jugglers jostled for her attention and coin, knights and nobles and peasants all looking at her until she caught their eyes and willed them to speak. Others were oblivious as they laughed and talked with their companions, messengers and children running to and fro with missives and ordered food and objects fetched from tents. Spaces not occupied by people were taken up by tents or animals, and the whole affair reeked of sweat and dung and food and blood.
She was oblivious to all of it, her focus for only one thing.
At last she broke through the throng, wanting to sob with pain and fear and relief, but vehemently refusing as she reached the field where tents for the competitors had been pitched that they might rest between their bouts.
Ignoring the looks and not-so-quiet whispers as she passed, she made her way straight to a striped blue and yellow tent at the very edge of the field.
Pushing her way inside, she stopped just inside simply to look.
Elise sat on the edge of a small bed, mostly stripped of her armor, head resting in one hand – from exhaustion or pain or both, Arabella could not tell. Blood from a nasty gash dripped from one cheek, the skin around it already turning blue and black from bruising. Given the brutality of the hit she had taken, she likely had a bruise on her shoulder as well. She had also had a nasty bout earlier in the day, matching staffs with stupid Sir Redbank.
In a final act of defiance, Elise had cut her hair short to fight unhindered by it. Free of the helmet, her shorn hair stuck up in all directions. Shortened, it was as curly and wild as Roderick's hair, so black now Arabella could see hints of blue when the sun struck it.
Elise was smeared with dirt and sweat and dried blood, clothes plastered to her body with more sweat and grime. She looked drained; Arabella had never seen her friend so worn and weary. It made her feel ashamed, that she had been so stupid as to do this to Elise.
Arabella brushed away a few escaped tears, then strode to the tent and knelt to finish removing the shin guards Elise still wore.
Elise jumped, and Arabella realized she had actually fallen asleep sitting. "Arabella. What are you doing here?"
"Helping you, silly," Arabella said quietly, tossing aside the pieces of armor as she finished removing them. That done, she stood and finally removed the bag she had slung across her shoulder. Moving the other side of the small tent, she poured out water from a pitcher into a deep bowl, then carried it over to the bed. From her bag, she pulled a small bottle, drizzling some of the contents in the water, stirring it in with a soft cloth.
Wringing the cloth out, she gently applied it to the cut, working slowly and carefully until the blood was cleaned away. "My heart stopped when you fell from your horse," Arabella said. It had, truly. She had not even been able to draw the breath for a scream, the fear had so consumed her. "I was never happier in my life than when I saw you stand again. Are you all right, more or less?"
"More or less," Elise said, but did not look at her. Instead, she simply stared at the green and blue rug covering the floor of her tent, reaching up absently to touch the wound on her cheek. "It will scar," she said quietly. "Not that any one will have me anyway, but at least before they could not say I was ugly. Stupid, to fret about it…" She dropped her hand.
Arabella dropped her rag and herbs, and threw her arms around Elise. "Oh, no, Elise. You are not ugly. You will never be ugly. Do not say such things!" She pulled back just enough to stroke her hands through Elise's short hair. "You have been magnificent out there, fighting all day long, holding your own! A fall from a horse and you still won the bout!"
Elise smiled faintly. "It was a near thing."
Still her voice did not hold its usual fire.
Shame filled Arabella to the point of overflowing. She had done this; it was all her fault. They had agreed to do it together, but had she really thought about the full cost? No, she had not. Of course they would both be hated, rejected – that they had accepted.
But the cost to Elise was so much greater. She was the one being hurt, being injured, who would bear marks the rest of her life. She might even lose a limb, if not her life – and it had been Arabella's idea.
She sank to her knees and wrapped her arms around Elise's waist, still trying not to cry because that would only make Elise feel bad. Her own pain she ignored, because it was still nothing in comparison to the bruises and wounds marking Elise from head to foot. "Oh, Elise. I am sorry. I should never have asked this of you, it was selfish of me. We should not have done this, it is not—"
Elise grabbed her shoulders and pushed, forcing Arabella to sit up and back.
"Do not say that," Elise said furiously, but she was blinking rapidly, obviously holding back her own tears. "Do you really mean it? You are sorry we have done this?"
Arabella's shoulders drooped and she stared at Elise's lap, the tears in her breeches, the hints of bruising beneath. "I did not think this far – you injured and scared, how brutal they would be—" She drew a shaky breath and looked up. "Just stop."
"So you are giving up on me?" Elise demanded bitterly. "All of this was for nothing?"
"What?" Arabella said. "No—"
"Then why are you saying we should quit? I have fought all day, for us, for our freedom, and you are telling me it was for nothing."
Arabella opened her mouth, then shut it again. She shook her head, feeling an escaped strand of her sticking to her neck with sweat. "No," she said at last, voice quiet. "I do not like seeing you hurt. I do not want you to call yourself ugly. I was selfish, in not properly thinking of how great the cost would be for you."
"Oh, Arabella," Elise said softly. "I knew what I was doing, and what would happen. You did not make all the decisions, you goose. You asked me if I wanted to be your Champion, and I said I did. I still do." She cupped Arabella's head in her own rough, blistered and bloody hands, tilting her face up, green eyes pale and pretty, but full of so much intensity. "I want to be your Champion, Arabella. So never again will you have to walk around with lash wounds upon your back."
"I was hoping you would not notice those," Arabella replied, mustering a smile. "Father obviously was less than pleased with my defiance, but what could he do? I chose for Champion a participant who received the personal blessing of the High King, and the sponsorship of a man who is clearly friend to the High King."
She rose up on her knees, resting her hands on the bed for balance, and kissed Elise softly, tasting blood from a split in Elise's lip. Then she moved to kiss the skin near the fresh wound on her cheek. "I'm sorry, Champion. I only worry for you, and hate you take these wounds in my name."
"You are worth it," Elise said softly, and hesitated, then leaned in close enough to kiss her softly.
Arabella pulled away, and realized she did so reluctantly. "Are you finished fighting for today?" she asked.
"No," Elise said. "I have a sword match in a few hours, and then I will be finished. Tomorrow is only a final sword duel, if I win the one today."
"If you win…" Arabella's breath caught, as realization crashed through. She had been so busy with worrying and self-recrimination, it had not even struck her… "You are in the final rounds!" she cried, and screamed in excitement. "I did not even realize! If you win today's last duel, then tomorrow is the final round!" She screamed again, and threw herself into Elise's arms, the force of it knocking them over onto the bed.
Elise grunted in pain beneath her, and Arabella immediately scrambled back – but Elise kept her from climbing off the bed entirely. "Stay with me," she said softly, quietly…hesitantly, Arabella thought. "You must be as much pain as me, if you have been walking around with your back sore and probably bloody. I knew when I saw you wearing a black bodice that he must have lashed you. I wanted to kill him, but I settled for beating his favorite knight in the mace competitions. If you think my wounds are ugly, you should take a look at Greenwall's!"
"He was ugly as a post before you struck him," Arabella said contemptuously, thinking of the nasty little bit of pond scum who liked to look down her bodice as often as possible. "It is quite possible you have improved his looks." She rested her head on the pillow next to Elise, reaching out to gently touch the wound, which would in a few days be a long scar cutting from beneath her eye in a ragged line to the corner of her mouth. "Your wounds are not ugly. I think it will make you look fierce, like a knight or something." She smiled. "Sir Elise."
Elise snorted. "The sun is addling your wits."
Arabella snickered, letting her eyes fall shut, reaching out to take Elise's hand and hold it in her own as she began to sink into a sleep that she realized she needed.
She woke to the sound of metal chinking and softly muttered curses. Rubbing her eyes, she slowly untangled her skirts and sat up, shoving back escaped bits of hair. She would probably have to take it down and put it up again before she was fit to be seen in public again.
As she watched Elise dress, she began to do precisely that, removing pins and ribbons with practiced ease. Once she had figured out her father used her maids to spy upon her, she had rejected all use of one and managed alone.
Hair down, she began to comb her fingers through it. "How do you manage all that armor by yourself?" she asked, shaking her head in wonder and admiration as she watched Elise buckle and strap and otherwise attach myriad pieces of metal. "Never mind wear it all."
Elise grinned. "It is not so hard. My father insisted all his soldiers, daughter included, know how to do everything alone. It is stupid to assume one will always be in a situation where he can call upon help, he always said. My armor is made for me, much like what I used to own, thanks to Roderick. Speaking of which, I believe he stopped by while we slept." She nodded at the trunk at the end of the bed, which also served as a table.
Arabella paused in the difficult and painful process of ridding her long hair of knots to look.
A tray of food sat there, along with two cups and a pitcher of dark wine.
"No one else will bring me food," Elise explained. "Only you and Roderick. He also left you a note."
Following the finger Elise pointed, she saw the small note folded over and sealed with Roderick's mark tucked halfway beneath the tray so it would not get lost.
Hair abandoned for the moment, she scooted to the edge of the bed and retrieved the note. Breaking the wax seal, she skimmed the note. Then she read it again more slowly.
"You look quite shocked," Elise said, strapping her sword belt into place before moving to sit beside her on the bed. "What is it?"
Arabella shook her head and held out the note.
Elise whistled after she had read it. "Invited to sit with the Duke in the High King's box. I guess they have decided we are not hated quite enough."
"There are others cheering for you," Arabella said. "Did you know that?"
"I notice when you are cheering," Elise said with a shrug, "or when you are not. Otherwise, I do not take note. There rest of my attention goes to not getting my head bashed in."
Arabella winced at the offhand remark, but did not comment upon it. "Well, many a young woman is cheering for you when her father or mother is not in attendance, and I have heard enough snatches of conversation to know a great many purses will be filled or emptied upon your victory tomorrow."
Elise snorted. "It is nothing short of a miracle that I have made it this far, especially when you consider that I have not seen proper combat in years. "
"Fah," Arabella replied. "Most men see only a few brigands every year, where real combat is concerned. Many do not see even that; these tournaments form the bulk of their combat experience."
"I think many of them simply underestimated me, at the start," Elise said. "They may still hate me, now, but they will not think me weak simply because I am a woman, now. They are starting to hit harder. If I make it through today, it will be one more miracle. Tomorrow I dare not think about."
Arabella scoffed as she swiftly braided her hair, using the remaining bits of green ribbon to tie it off, before she wound it all on top of her head, using jeweled pins to fasten it securely in place. She stood up and gave Elise a hug. "Miracle, nothing. If I am not allowed to doubt you, Elise, you are forbidden to doubt yourself. Miracles and luck are not sufficient to carry you this far, and if you have made it this far you stand a good chance of winning tomorrow."
Elise kissed her cheek. "Thank you. Let us hope so. Though I scarcely know what I would do if we were actually to be granted our freedom."
"Nor I," Arabella replied. "I dare not think about it, the very idea we may ask will go straight to my head. Thinking about actually getting it makes me dizzy. Of course, if I am free, I likely will be penniless as well."
"I will keep you," Elise said with a smile.
Arabella giggled. "Me the fallen woman? Kept by my Lady Knight. That is a life to which I think I could adjust."
"Then I shall do my best to obtain it for us," Elise replied, and bent to kiss her cheek one last time.
On impulse, Arabella turned just enough the kiss struck her lips instead. The kiss lingered, neither inclined suddenly to break apart.
The jangling of the tent bells drew their attention, and Arabella stepped hastily away, holding her hands to her suddenly flushed cheeks.
She looked up, smiling absently, as Roderick stepped into the tent.
"Are you ready for your last match of the day, Elise? I came to make certain you woke in time; you both seemed quite dead to the world." He paused as he took in Arabella's flushed cheeks, the way they both avoided one another's gazes.
Both girls were too preoccupied and distracted to notice his amused and knowing smirk.
"Arabella," he continued. "Did you get my note?"
"Yes," Arabella replied. "I was going to join you once I saw Elise off."
Roderick nodded.
"I'm ready," Elise said, picking up her helmet before striding to the edge of the tent.
"Oh!" Arabella said. "Wait a moment." She turned and snatched up the ribbon she had left on the bed. Earlier she'd had green and white ribbons in her hair; when she had fixed it, she had used only the green ribbon.
Taking up the white, she strode to Elise and looped the long silk ribbon around her waist, tucking the trailing ends into her sword belt. "I have not given you a token, Champion." She reached up on her toes to give a fleeting kiss. "Good luck."
"Thank you," Elise replied, then departed.
"She is doing well," Roderick commented lightly as he held out his arm for Arabella to take, leading her out of the tent and back toward the main tourney fields. "Francis has been most impressed. I think he is already plotting things, though he has not seen fit to inform me of any of those plotting."
Arabella's brow furrowed in confusion. "Francis?"
Roderick smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me, it would seem I am falling back into bad habit. I meant his Majesty."
"Oh," Arabella said weakly. Who in the world accidentally used the High King's given name? Because he had 'fallen back into bad habit'. Her head spun with it – on some level, she had not really known the High King possessed any name but his title. Even if he did, it was not the sort of thing anyone was fit to know.
Except, apparently, Roderick.
They finished the short trip in silence, Arabella lost in wonder and thought and fretting about Elise, until Roderick's friendly call drew her attention.
"Here is the Princess, Sire, as you commanded," Roderick said, sweeping the High King a deep bow. Respectful, perfectly executed, but Arabella had the impression there was something playful in the gesture.
No one save they three, she could not help but notice, occupied the High King's box.
In years past the box had always been filled with the various courtiers who wanted to please or needed to be pleased, or perhaps those who were only the High King's friends.
She executed a deep curtsy, rising only when the High King said she might, and moved slowly to the seat he indicated. Only habit and years of training allowed her to chat and converse with seeming ease while her insides quaked in nervousness.
Yet, after a few moments, as the bouts below continued, she found it was easier and easier to speak with the High King. Part of that was Roderick, who seemed as lazy and carefree as always, from his place standing right beside the High King's seat.
Neither was the High King as stiff and…King-like, she supposed, as she had thought he would be. Obviously a foolish concept to cling to, after he had been bold enough to permit Elise to enter the Royal Tourney. Still, her impression of royalty was her father and all those men with whom he got along.
The High King was nothing like them, sharing jests and conversing with the same light manner as Roderick, though he did not share the lazy, almost careless manner that was Roderick's alone.
After a while, the High King motioned, and Roderick moved forward to lower thin silk screens, blocking out the worst of the sun and heat – and shading all three of them from spectators.
"Let them stew on that," Roderick said with a chuckle. "Now they will all be bursting to know what you must discuss with Princess in secret."
The High King laughed. "You are not happy unless you are up to mischief, Roderick."
"It is my one true talent," Roderick replied, smiling his mysterious smile.
Arabella could only stare as the High King returned it and realized there were more secrets in that smile than she could possibly imagine. She wondered for what must be the thousandth time, what all Roderick's secrets were, what kind of man could call in favors from the High King.
Then she caught a flash of familiar armor, and all thoughts of Roderick and secrets were banished from her mind by thoughts of Elise.
She looked so good on the field, sword out, armor flashing where it was not caked with mud and grime, the Ellesmoore Dragon painted in brilliant colors on her shield. Arabella was near to bursting watching her, and completely forgot where she was as she fell into cheering and screaming, excitement and fear, nearly screaming herself hoarse when it became obvious that Elise was going to win.
When the opposing knight fell and did not get up again, there was a brief pause of shocked disbelief. Not one spectator could think of a single thing to say.
Then Arabella began to cheer wildly from behind the silk screen, and a breath later other women joined in, then a few men, and then suddenly the whole of the stadium was cheering for the Lady Champion.
"One more," Arabella said, laughing in thrilled disbelief. "One more and she will have won."
"Yes," the High King rumbled, making Arabella jump, recalling her to her place.
She spun around, skirts flying about wildly, cheeks going hot. "Oh, Majesty. I beg pardon for my behavior." She blinked, hard, to see that at some point Roderick had sat down – on the arm of the High King's chair.
"No apology required," the High King replied with an easy smile. "You are cheering for your Champion, as you should. I thank you for keeping me company the past few hours. Now, go and see your Champion, Princess. I am sure that it would do her good to see her maiden right now."
Arabella did not hesitate, but bobbed a quick curtsy before bolting from the box and back across the field toward Elise's tent.
*~*~*
Elise wished her mouth would stop getting so dry, but she dare not drink anything else before her final duel.
Especially as by this point, she would likely only puke it up again.
She could feel the glares upon her, some cold and hateful, others hot and furious. Once, they had tried to get her outside of the fighting rings – but she had mistakenly mentioned it to Roderick, and the next day all her fellow competitors had simply ceased to acknowledge her when not attempting to cut her head off in a competition.
Heavens above, she was tired. She had not felt this tired in her life, not even when she had been old enough to begin training in earnest. Every last muscle and bone in her body ached and she had bruises on top of bruises, never mind all the welts and scrapes and cuts.
It was just as well no one had ever wanted to marry her. If there had been a suitor willing to tolerate her entering the Royal Tourney, he certainly would have given up the suit the moment he realized just how ugly it was making her.
Already people were avoiding her gaze, and when they did look at her, there eyes seemed fixed upon her wounded cheek.
Except Arabella.
Elise closed her eyes, focusing only on Arabella, who looked pretty and perfect no matter what she was doing. She smelled of her beloved rose garden whenever she came to visit, and if she thought Elise ugly now, she gave no sign of it.
Before her kidnapping, Elise had stolen kisses here and there, giggling with the other girls back home as they bragged and compared, whispering when they should have been abed.
Yesterday, in her tent, she had noticed she rather liked Arabella's kisses more. She wondered if it had always been so. She had spent much of the night tossing and turning, wondering if it had mattered.
In the end, she had decided it did not. Her decision to be here, to fight, made it clear that Arabella meant much to her. If Arabella meant everything, then so be it.
Elise hefted her sword and took a deep breath.
On this final day, it was only one last bout – but unlike all the others, which went until the judges said stop, this one went until one party could no longer fight. Her earliest battles had taken toppling her opponent, because fighters and judges alike had not liked to see her win until there was no choice.
So this would not be too much different, in the end, from what she had been doing all along.
Except the man facing her was larger, and significantly stronger, rather than a relative – if still formidable – match.
Her opponent was also Sir Walting.
"Greetings, harlot," he said, sneering.
Elise said nothing, merely took up position as the High King concluded his speech and bid the Champions best of luck.
He came at her fast, wasting no time, all speed and anger and frenzy. Elise blocked the first swing, though taking the full brunt of it badly jarred her arm. She kicked out as he moved in too close, upsetting his balance by taking him at the knee.
Breaking free, she recovered herself and struck, bringing her sword crashing down on his shield.
Walting reeled, but did not falter enough to give her true advantage.
Back and forth they went, sweating and yelling and bleeding beneath the burning sun of a cloudless day, before spectators who were so enthralled they had gone completely silent.
She fell with a cry, tumbling backward, accidentally letting go of her shield – but not her sword. Just in time, she blocked the blow that came crashing down on her, letting all his weight push upon his blade…waiting….
Dropping her own sword, she twisted out of the way as he tumbled forward with a startled oath, to fall face down, lying atop his own fallen blade. Elise wasted no time, but rose to her knees, retrieving her own sword. Turning toward Walting, she brought the pommel of her sword slamming down on the back of Walting's head, arms throbbing as she connected with his helmet – but it was enough.
Struggling to her feet, she backed away and went on guard, waiting to see if she had truly been successful.
Walting did not move.
Elise waited another moment more, then relaxed her guard.
Movement caught her eye from the High King's box, and then she saw Arabella bolting toward her, blue dress flying about everywhere, hair and ribbons going every which way, jewels flashing in the sunlight, and then Elise found her arms full, Arabella holding her tight, near squeezing the breath out of her.
When Arabella finally pulled away, she opened her mouth to speak – but only a hoarse croak came out.
"Goose," Elise said with a laugh. "You should not have been screaming so much."
Arabella rolled her eyes, then shoved Elise's helmet off and grabbed her sweaty hair, then kissed her soundly.
Elise laughed again as they broke apart, and repeated, "Goose."
"Well done, my lady!"
She jerked as the High King's voice registered, and promptly knelt, bowing her head. "Majesty," she called out. "It was an honor to fight on your field this day. I hope I have done you proud."
"Proud and more, Champion, proud and more." The High King began to clap, and one by one the rest of the spectators followed suit, until the sound of it was deafening. Elise ducked her head to hide her tears, nearly shaking with disbelief – and joy.
Beside her, Arabella was the very same, and they held hands until the crowds and a need to prepare for the celebratory feast finally forced them to go their separate ways.
A few hours later, she stood just outside the great hall, not certain where to stand or what to do. She no longer had a real place, now. Her stepfather had made it painfully clear after she had joined the competition that she was no longer part of the family.
No man would go near her now.
She did not really want them to.
Undecided, she remained at the threshold, until a familiar and much loved hand curled into hers. "You look about how I feel, dearest," Arabella said with a soft smile.
Elise returned it, amused at the choice of words. "No where to go, even before we've claimed our prize."
"I've always wanted to live by the sea," Arabella said. "Do you think you would be willing to indulge your kept woman that far?"
"Of course," Elise said, laughing despite herself, but it faded when she saw the worry that was bleeding into Arabella's attempt at levity. "Whatever is the matter?" she asked, but thought she knew.
Arabella sighed softly. "Have you been disowned as well? I knew it was coming, of course, did I not say he would do it? Still, it is hard to accept that I will never be allowed back in my homeland."
"I wish I had my sword," Elise said with a scowl. "I would show that damned king—"
"There you are," said a voice, interrupting them. Roderick came up behind them. He frowned. "Why are the two of you hiding away here? Come on, come on." He gave them both a none-too-gentle shove.
Elise stumbled, unused to her long skirts though she had only dressed as a knight for a few days. The pale gown was beautiful, one of her costliest and the last her stepfather had been willing to purchase before he had decided she was definitely going to convent. It was trimmed in silver and green, and despite much difficulty she had managed to thread delicate white wildflowers through her hair, to give her some semblance of respectability now that she must once more be a proper lady.
She let Roderick push her along, though she glared at him all the while, until they stood before the High King's dais.
"As you commanded, Sire," Roderick said, then simply strolled up the dais and sat down in his seat beside the High King.
The High King, in turn, stood up and moved around the table, drawing his sword as he stood before Elise and Arabella. "Lady Elise, kneel."
Elise's eyes widened, but as Arabella stepped away she obeyed, if only because she could think of nothing else to do.
The flat of the sword rested against her right shoulder and her breath lodged in her chest as the old words used for knighting filled the dead silence of the great hall. Part of her almost laughed at the realization this was far from the first time she had caused a full crowd to go completely silent.
When the High King paused, she responded automatically, knowing the words simply because she had watched and listened as the King knighted so many of her father's men years and years ago.
She fisted her hands to still their trembling as the last echoes of the High King's voice finally faded away.
"Rise a knight," the High King said, "Sir Elise, and Duchess of Hallow, from this day forth."
"What?" she said, startled into speaking.
Her words were drowned out, however, by bellows of outrage and protest.
"Silence," bellowed the High King.
Behind him, Roderick slowly stood up. His manner was easy and casual, but something about him nevertheless made Elise suddenly want to take a step back.
The High King glared a few moments longer, snarling whenever someone tried to speak.
"I am the High King," he said at last. "I have councilors and priests and Kings and hundreds of others to help me rule this great kingdom, but it is still my kingdom. It is accepted tradition – signed and approved – that when a competitor who lacks spurs wins the Royal Tourney, he is given spurs in honor of his accomplishment. A competitor who lacks title is given title, in honor of the same. No law says a woman may not compete. She competed fairly and she won fairly. She will be honored fairly, and anyone who takes issue with that will be reminded that what titles I give, I can also take."
"Women are not allowed to hold title save by way of marriage," bellowed Elise's father.
"Then I am changing it," the High King snapped. "You would do well to remember that your power came by way of your wife. Once, I believe, you were a penniless, lord-less knight doing mercenary work."
Her father fell silent.
The High King waited for anyone else to argue with him, but no one spoke.
"Good," he said. "Then I present to you, my people, the Duchess of Hallow, knight of the realm – and in far better standing with me than the rest of you. Smart nobles would learn to get along with her and the Princess Arabella."
"She is no Princess," said someone, though the speaker was careful not to be quite visible.
The High King narrowed his eyes, but a brief, softly murmured word from Roderick had him shrugging the words off. "I suppose that is true, after a fashion," he said slowly. "I signed the papers just yesterday, stating that the Lady Elise and Princess Arabella were disowned from their respective families. Sir Elise, obviously, has no need of a family that does not stand by her. As to the Princess Arabella…"
He smirked, and Elise almost groaned, thinking of the way Roderick always smirked the exact same way.
"I have no interest in taking a wife," the High King said at last. "Marriage is no ambition of mine, but I require an heir. If the Princess Arabella is amenable, then from this moment forward, she will be my daughter."
As the hall once more erupted into chaos, the High King motioned both women to follow him.
"I meant to discuss the matter in private," he said in an undertone to Arabella. "My temper got the better of me, I’m afraid. You do not have to accept the offer, but you would be doing me a favor."
Roderick snorted in amusement, but said nothing.
Arabella stared wide-eyed. "I am hardly fit, Sire—"
"Oh, fah," Roderick said. "Better to agree, trust me. If there is one word which describes him, it is stubborn. He has found his easy way out of marriage, he will not let you go. Concede defeat, and then demand he shower you with jewels or something."
"Be quiet, Ric," the High King said with a fond smile. "Else I'll send you back to the Great Mountains."
Roderick shuddered, and fell silent.
"Well, Princess?" the High King asked. "You would live here, and I am certain your Duchess would be amenable to remaining at the palace in service to her king…"
Elise laughed.
Arabella looked at her, questions and answers silently exchanged. Then she reached out, and took Elise's hand, and finally nodded. "Then I accept the offer, and am honored, Sire."
"Excellent," the High King replied. He turned back to Roderick. "Does this mean I no longer owe you any favors?"
"You wish," Roderick said lazily, eyes sparkling behind his glasses. "Call for wine."
"Sometimes I wonder who really controls this kingdom," the High King groused, and beckoned for the wine.
Elise looked at the hand in her own, then held it to her lips, kissing it softly, and breathing in the scent of roses. "We shall have to make you a new rose garden here, Highness," she said with a smile.
"Us," Arabella said, and kissed the back of Elise's hand. "We shall have to make us a new rose garden, my dear Duchess."
They smiled at each other, and lifted their wine as the High King toasted the new High Princess and the Duchess of Hallow. She could feel the hateful glares from her stepfather, the men she had defeated, and knew Arabella would face a great deal of trouble from the father who had recently disowned her – but their eyes were only for each other, and the rest of the world could wait just a little bit longer.
Bravo! Congrats!
Date: 2008-06-18 01:30 am (UTC)I Loved this Whole tale!
What an Excellent adventure!
Sweet, Romantic, Feisty & Compelling!
Thank you.
Kodes
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Date: 2008-06-18 01:43 am (UTC)*tackle glomps*
1) I love that Arabella has second thoughts about what they've done not because it looks like Elise might lose and they'd be disgraced, but because it's hurting Elise and she's helpless to stop it. I like how far it goes to show that she's not like the typical maiden who waits for her Champion to do all the work. And *kicks her father in the balls* Poor kid. I can see how her father would be heavy handed enough to go for lashing. And I like the black bodice and that Elise recognizes what has occurred when it makes an appearance.
2) *snuggle hugs Elise* I love how she stoically keeps at it. I wanted to snuggle hug her at her thoughts of being ugly and I wanted to cheer for her too when she took down all the stupid contenders. :3 <3333
3) Ric and Francis make me giggle. XD And I LOVED Francis's speech to his subjects about power, who has it and who has the authority to give it and take it away.
I also like his parting shot that Ric's the one who truly runs things. Heehee! XD
4) *twirls you about* You are totally the awesome. ^_________________^
All that you said and
Date: 2008-06-18 03:25 am (UTC)cudos for Elise's father who trained her, regardless of her gender, to be so excellent a warrior that she felt able to at least take a shot at finding a way out for herself and Arabella through competing in the tourney.
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Date: 2008-06-18 01:52 am (UTC)So, so, so sweet, Meg! I have to tell you, I usually avoid femslash like the plague. Unsurprisingly, though, you rock at this as well as everything else. *smooch* Thanks, babe.
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Date: 2008-06-18 02:09 am (UTC)And I can't wait for what happened to Roderick in the moutains! And way to go, High King, for getting out of marriage so craftily!
Yes yes, I'm abusing the ! key, please don't mention it :P
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Date: 2008-06-18 02:14 am (UTC)thankee!
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Date: 2008-06-18 02:20 am (UTC)-TOD
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Date: 2008-06-18 02:37 am (UTC)Then there's Roderick of the library, lost glasses, and convoluted reputation. Deathly curious as to who he is and how he got where he is, sitting on the arm of the High King's chair and calling him so familiarly by name. ^___^
And of course the High King himself was just awesome, with all of his mischief and pwning and yet still being pwned in the end by Roderick. The owed favors jesting! <3 And then there was the High King putting Elise's father in his place. *____* Oh man, that was awesome.
AHAHAHAHAHA Princess-daughter-heir! Easy way out of marriage! <3 <3 <3 I'm not sure who to be snickering at, really. Once Elise and Arabella settle in, they're so going to pwn the whole kingdom. Yus.
I'm sure there was something else I wanted to squee over, but I rather got swept up in the fingernail-biting-ness of seeing What Happens Next. ^^;
Oh, I remember. The kiss scene was just SO totally sweet. Very beautiful.
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Date: 2008-06-18 02:38 am (UTC)Also, you do realize you're going to have to write the story of Roderick and the High King, yes? :p
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Date: 2008-06-18 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 03:24 am (UTC)I loved it! The way the characters twine together and give the reader an idea of the past, how the High King is human and not just a man on a pedestal, and, well, everything. *grins*
Of course, now I can't wait for the High King and Roderick's story...
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Date: 2008-06-18 03:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 03:40 am (UTC)Thank you for making my day!
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Date: 2008-06-18 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 04:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 11:41 am (UTC)I liked this. Their interactions were very sweet, and it was quite amusing how Roderick (and thus the High King) fit into everything.
Concede defeat, and then demand he shower you with jewels or something."
^^; this was my favorite line.
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Date: 2008-06-18 03:06 pm (UTC)The High King seems quite young, I thought Arabella would be more of an age to be his sister. But this is a very good way to escape marriage, yus!
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Date: 2008-06-18 03:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-18 03:47 pm (UTC)And of course I loved the ending. *grin*
Just when I thought megan cannot surprise me anymore
Date: 2008-06-18 07:13 pm (UTC)Rose Red
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Date: 2008-06-18 07:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-19 02:30 am (UTC)Aww man!
Date: 2008-06-19 06:58 pm (UTC)Anyhow, lovely story. You're work is always an inspiration.
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Date: 2008-06-21 04:08 am (UTC)I have just two words for you - GREAT JOB!!!
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Date: 2008-06-22 05:36 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-06-22 08:06 am (UTC)