The Tournament of the Crown

The roar of the crowd filled her ears, the sound muffled as Rowena lowered the visor of her helm. Her opponent's horse pranced on the spot with nervous excitement as a squire attempted to hand the knight a lance. Rowena's own horse, Copper, stood fast as she wordlessly nodded her thanks to the squire, lifting the light jousting lance and resting it on her foot as she waited. Copper's ears flicked back and forth, waiting for a word of command to move, the slight tremble of his muscles the only giveaway of his readiness to charge. She raised her lance to first salute the King, who nodded back to her and then to signal her readiness to her opponent. At his return salute, Rowena murmured a command to Copper, who leapt forward, breaking into a gallop within a few seconds, his powerful strides eating up the ground ahead of them until they were alongside the tilt, their opponents galloping towards them. The other knight's horse shied away, and he corrected him, but in doing so lost sight of Rowena's shield for a split second, and his lance merely glanced off the surface of it, the point passing harmlessly to her side. Rowena's lance, however, struck solidly in the centre of the man's shield, shattering from the impact and almost hurling him clean out of the saddle. The horse whinnied in fright at the sudden movement on his back, but the knight hauled himself back into the saddle at the last moment, his unbroken lance falling to the ground. It seemed all he needed was one pass to find his feet, as the next pass had both lances shattering on the other's shield. Three passes. That was all she had, and she would not risk conceding a draw in the first match of the tournament. Rowena narrowed her eyes as she urged Copper to greater speed, standing out of the stirrups and focussing hard on her opponent's shield. At the last moment before contact, she twisted her shield to deflect the lance, leaving her opponent unbalanced as her own lance shattered on his shield, throwing him backwards. He lunged for the reins, but his horse shied sideways, the sudden movement hurling him from the saddle and to the ground below. He rolled as he landed, and rose to his feet, removing his helmet as he turned to face Rowena and Copper, now walking towards him after finishing their run.

Rowena dismounted to shake the man's hand, forcing herself not to betray her surprise at his apparent youth, complimenting his handling of such a young, and presumably untested, mount. He shook his head, but accepted her hand, even as he narrowed his eyes when she did not remove her own helm, as was customary. Still, he did not comment, and Rowena was saved awkward explanations by the arrival of her next opponent. She swung back into the saddle, and caught the King’s eye as she rode back to her end of the tilt, nodding to him upon seeing an approving gleam in his eyes. Were she competing for the same reason as all the others, perhaps she would have been pleased at his approval as a match for his only daughter, the Kingdom’s only direct heir. The Princess was not beside her parents, having been taken ill, or so everyone believed. Hidden in plain sight, Rowena smiled to herself as she accepted another lance, weighing it in her hand as she considered the consequences of failure today. She would accept it, as generations of her family had, it had ensured the strength of the monarchy after all. Her own father, now King, had won her mother’s hand in the last Tournament of the Crown, and while they had found the kind of love she’d only dreamed of, she couldn’t face marrying someone inferior in any way. He’d agreed immediately when she’d informed him of her intention to compete, to really test her would-be suitors.

Rowena refocused her mind to the task at hand as her new opponent saluted her, lance lowering to a couch as both horses leaped into a gallop, thundering down the tilt to clash, both lances shattering as a cry went up from the crowd. Rowena was forced to drop the broken remnants of her lance, pure will the only thing keeping her in the saddle after that strike, pure will and an iron grip on Copper’s mane, which he was none too pleased with, tossing his head when she regained her balance, 

“Sorry,” she muttered, earning a snort as she wheeled him back round to face the young lord at the other end of the tilt. Lord Leonardo Di Vittore was a new contender, a name she’d only heard for the first time last month. He was the wild card in this tournament, and with no time to study his achievements, his fighting style, Rowena had been less able to prepare to face him. The first pass marked him as a skilled opponent, but she’d seen him sway in the saddle the moment before impact, if she could get the strike right, she could unseat him.

The second pass almost spelled disaster. Rowena had twisted to deflect Leonardo’s lance, but he’d anticipated it, adjusting his strike at the last moment, landing a solid hit, while Rowena missed him entirely. She had to unseat him on this, the final pass, or she might as well start measuring wedding gowns. He saluted to signal his readiness, and Rowena narrowed all her focus in on his shield, which was now shaking more than before. He was tiring, this was her chance. Both horses’ thundering strides brought their riders ever closer to a final clash, both holding strong, neither one faltering until, there! The tip of Di Vittore’s lance shook on the last stride, allowing Rowena to deflect the blow, her own lance shattering as he was hurled backwards, holding on for one stride before tumbling to the ground. She patted Copper’s neck as she dismounted, a twinge of guilt rising at the unmistakable hairs on her gloves. She made a mental note to find some sugar cubes to steal for him tonight.

She waved to the crowd as she approached Leonardo, offering him a hand to rise, 

“You’ll take the next match, my Lord,” she chuckled, “You certainly had me worried for a moment then,” Leonardo grinned easily as he removed his helmet, 

“You’re a worthy opponent indeed, my Lady,” Rowena internally winced as she sensed the next words coming, “Would you do me the honour of allowing me to see the face of a Lady as remarkable as yourself?” 

“Ah, but where would the fun be in that, my Lord?” She chuckled, the automatic response now instinct as she bid him goodbye, waving to the crowd once more before returning to her tent to wait for her next match. 

*****

Di Vittore proved to be her toughest opponent prior to the final. Prince Adrien Le Gras, foreign, rich, charming if the rumours were to be believed, but above all else, skilled with lance and shield. Rowena had spied him caring for his own horse, the pair of them working together as she did with Copper. She’d have been lying to herself if she didn’t admit nervousness, but not fear, never fear, not for her. Despite her confidence, it was possible that he would be a match for her, but she’d certainly force him to prove it beyond a doubt if so.

Prince Adrien raised his lance in salute, and Rowena followed suit, rolling her shoulders before urging Copper to a gallop, the hoofbeats practically echoing inside her helm, her breathing loud, too loud. The crash and crack of splintering wood as both lances made contact jolted Rowena out of her almost-daydream. She swayed in the saddle, but Copper danced sideways to catch her weight, and she regained her balance. A point each, she’d have to do better than that for a clean victory. The second pass was much the same, hard blows on each side, but both riders maintaining their seats. The third and final pass would be the decider, whoever could land a better blow would be crowned victor. 

Rowena pushed Copper faster, faster, and when her lance struck the prince’s shield, she knew the blow was strong, even as she braced against the lance striking at her shield. Still, when she looked over her shoulder, she did not see a riderless horse leaving the prince lying in the dust. No, he was still atop the horse, lance broken, shield all but caved in, but still in the saddle. The match must have a victor, so the King’s next words were not a surprise, although not altogether welcome with the way her body ached after a whole day of jousting.

“Continue on foot. The winner shall be the first to knock their opponent to the ground.”

Rowena swung a leg over the saddle horn, drawing her sword before her feet hit the ground, but for all her speed, the prince was faster. He was already advancing towards her; his sword point marking arcs through the air. It was a show of strength, unnecessary unless he was hiding, what? She rotated her wrist once, sword flashing as it spun, earning a cheer of approval from the gathered crowds. Prince Adrien kept too much of his weight on his right foot, but with his left towards her, that wasn’t a weakness she could easily exploit. 

He struck. The sound of steel on steel ringing out as Rowena stepped in to parry the blow, continuing her momentum to move to the side of him, her counter-attack meeting his sword as he retreated a pace. Rowena pressed her advantage, hammering a series of lightning-fast attacks at him, testing all parts of his guard, pushing him back, back, back. He stopped, took her final blow stationary and twisted his sword in the air to force the point of hers into the ground. 

Rowena was forced to leap backwards, barely managing to keep a hold of her sword. Parry. She barely brought her sword up in time. Cursing her jousting armour and the limitations of movement on foot, she loosened her grip on her sword, waiting for the prince to make a move. He hesitated. Almost as if he’d sensed her fledgling plan, he hesitated. Those few seconds of uncertainty were all Rowena needed. She slammed her sword into his, tightening her grip at the last moment so that his sword was sent flying out of his hand as she rotated her sword around his. It skidded to a halt in the dust beside the tilt. Rowena didn’t wait for him to get over the surprise, she dropped her shoulder and drove it into his midriff, sending him stumbling with a grunted surprise mingled with pain. Still, he didn’t fall and turned for his fallen sword. He was closer than she was, he’d get there first and it’d all be for nothing. Rowena moved first, reaching the sword just as prince Adrien did, but she didn’t go for the sword. No, as he bent to pick up the weapon, she slammed the pommel of her sword down onto his shoulder, the blow knocking his balance and sending him sprawling on the floor. She had her sword pointed at his throat before he had a chance to retaliate with his reclaimed weapon.

She’d done it. She’d won. Gods. Her chest was heaving with the exertion, her breathing heavy as she lifted her visor, extending a hand to the fallen prince. 

“Your highness,” he stammered, missing the hand she’d offered to him. “I didn’t expect you,”

“No-one ever does,” she laughed, pulling him to his feet as he gripped her hand, “You fought well, you defence is brilliant, almost impenetrable. You left yourself vulnerable by worrying too much what I was doing.”

“True.” He nodded even as he sighed in disappointment, “It’s rare I face someone who fights with their head, Princess, it was an honour.”

“The honour was mine, Prince.” Rowena grinned as they shook hands, the roar of the crowd as they recognised their princess now almost deafening. “Better luck next time,” she patted him on the shoulder as she turned to wave at the crowd, her name on the lips of thousands of her people as they all cheered her victory.

*****

The gown was magnificent. There was no other way to describe it, none at all, as Rowena brushed the sweat off her palms down its emerald cinched bodice. 

“You’ll ruin it,” an amused voice trilled from behind her, and Rowena rolled her eyes as her Lady’s maid tapped her hands away from the material. Not that she was wrong, but by now she must surely have expected Rowena to have lost her handkerchief. Or perhaps she had, Rowena grinned at the white cloth in Amelie’s hand, and giggled when she tucked it into the tiny pocket in the skirts. She’d had to have the skirts designed specially, knowing her lady all too well. Rowena nodded her thanks, the knot in her stomach preventing words. It was the same every banquet, no matter that she’d won the tournament, no matter that the emerald of the dress perfectly offset her ebony hair, delicately curled to frame her face. Amelie had selected emerald droplets to fall from Rowena’s ears, and a necklace of diamonds and emeralds, the reflection of the light constantly changing the colours in their depths. 

Rowena squeezed Amelie’s hand one last time at the knock on the door that announced the start of the banquet. It was only a short walk from her chambers to the banquet hall, short enough to ensure she didn’t worry too much, but long enough to give ample time to calm her mind. 

The doors were flung open in front of her, but Rowena hardly heard the herald announce her as she took in the room. The long tables were full of lords and ladies from every land, in every shade of the rainbow. She nodded to a few that she recognised as she passed, making her way slowly up to the head table, to the empty seat beside her Lord Father, her Lady Mother seated to his other side. Conversations halted, and attention fell upon Rowena as she passed, but she did as she’d been taught and lifted her chin, maintaining her focus on the empty seat. She just had to get there and she could relax. That was all.

Her father’s eyes were bright as he looked up to her as she reached her seat,

“Your Majesty,” she murmured, dipping her chin in a nod,

“Glad to see you decided you were coming after all, Princess,” he teased, and Rowena smiled as she sat.

“Good to see you’re in fine spirits, Father. Southern wine works wonders, does it not?” She smiled to herself as the High Lords either side struggled to contain their laughter.

The first course had barely been taken away when movement beside the table caught her eye. She turned her head to find Prince Adrien Le Gras standing beside her father.

“Your Majesty, Your Highness,” he began, not taking his eyes off Rowena, “I would like to thank you for the honour of competing in the tournament, and for the lesson from the Princess.” Rowena inclined her head, choosing to ignore the wink he carefully hid from her Lord Father,

“You were a worthy opponent, Your Highness,” 

“As were you, Princess. But beyond that, I think we can agree that a more permanent treaty than the current one between our two great kingdoms would be mutually beneficial.”

“Perhaps,” Rowena’s father mused, “Of course, it would depend entirely on the terms of such a treaty.”

“They do say that the pen is mightier than the sword, perhaps my pen shall achieve what my sword could not.” Rowena narrowed her eyes, “You would do me the greatest honour if you would take a turn around the gardens with me after the banquet, Princess. I would be honoured to leave your kingdom not as the stranger as which I entered but a friend.”

“Of course.” Rowena smiled, truly smiled, “Friendship between our kingdoms and peoples would be magnificent indeed.” Adrien’s smile faltered just for a moment at her emphasis on the word ‘friendship’, but he nodded and bowed to her father before bidding her farewell. 

Rowena fought the urge to scowl at Lillian, the daughter of her father’s Hand, and closest friend at court, as she covered a fit of giggles with her handkerchief. She winked at Rowena before returning to conversation with her Lady Mother.

The banquet dragged on, with almost every lord or lady in attendance demanding her father’s ear, and her own, she noted with no small amount of satisfaction. It had been several years since they’d held an event of this magnitude, and Rowena had received not one, but four thinly veiled marriage propositions and had counted at least five attempts at various political manoeuvres, all hidden behind pretty words and court graces, of course, but manoeuvres none the less. It seemed her Lord Father and Lady Mother were no longer the only targets for those wishing to enter the Crown’s good graces. She was no longer the child the Kingdom had known her as, she was a woman grown, a skilled warrior, and blissfully free from betrothal. Tonight was her first real chance to taste what the world could truly offer her, away from her father’s shield. Rowena took a final sip of wine as the final course was cleared away and the doors to the adjacent ballroom opened. As she rose to her feet, a murmur swept through the room, everyone hurrying to stand as she passed a moment later. 

Lillian shot her a look of surprise, but Rowena simply raised an eyebrow, as if to ask what her friend was waiting for. 

Lillian’s move to join the Princess opened the floodgate to the ballroom, a lively waltz beginning right as she slipped an arm into Rowena’s and the pair glided into the room. Rowena had never been to a ball outside her Lord Father’s watchful eye, and she slipped into the crowds as he followed her, catching her Lady Mother’s eye for a moment. The Queen winked as she steered her Lord Husband away, aiming for a servant carrying flutes of some sort of sparkling wine.

Rowena lost Lillian fairly quickly, but it was no matter, not as she changed from partner to partner on the dance floor, from men to women and back again, it was pure delight to finally let go a little of the Princess and simply become the music. The clock struck one just as a Lady that Rowena did not recognise practically materialised in front of her.

“I believe there is one last dance. Unless Your Highness has already promised another…” she left the offer hanging, a mischievous grin making her hazel eyes light up. The golden hues of her dress were stunning against her deep brown skin, her hair highlighted with strings of gold though the thousands of tiny twists. The goddess of the sun, that was who she resembled, hand outstretched, waiting, waiting for a response.

“I would be delighted, My Lady.” What else was there to say, when Rowena could barely remember the steps to the very simple dance that had been chosen as the finale. 

“It was a great honour to watch Your Highness ride today, even more so to watch you land De Gras on his arse in front of everyone.” Rowena din’t bother to try to halt the inappropriate giggle at her description of events, “Although, I hear he may not have been entirely unsuccessful with Your Highness.”

“Male egos bruise easily, My Lady, my friendship is all that he has been offered, a fact that he is most certainly aware of, and disappointed with.”

“It seems Your Highness is wise as well as skilled, with intelligence to match your famed beauty. Fame which, I can assure you, does not do you justice.” She winked as she spoke, making to spin slowly, a movement which Rowena was more than happy to follow,

“I would say the same of you, My Lady, alas I cannot determine your fame without first hearing your name.” Rowena panted slightly as they ended the spin, her words light and breathy, although fruitless as her partner merely smiled and shifted the conversation.

“I myself would have been thrilled to face you in the finals, but I’m afraid I lost my head in the match prior, and learned what the capital’s dust tastes like.”

“You are unharmed?”

“Quite, although the taste becomes bitter still now that I see exactly what I missed. Perhaps my luck shall turn on the morrow, during the melee.”

“You intend to fight in the melee? Brave of you, the last tourney my parents held, two men died in the melee, both inexperienced, but before that one of the great lords. His son refuses ardently to take part, or to permit his bannermen to do so, out of respect for his father’s memory.”

“I do, and I am aware of the risk, it is after all the main attraction for me, a true test of skill, with real stakes, what could be more exciting?”

“I quite agree,” Rowena hadn’t taken her eyes off the Lady’s own for the whole dance, she only did so now to glance towards her father. “My Lord Father has forbidden it, the risks too high for his liking, but he forgets that his cub has grown into a fierce lioness. Perhaps she shall meet an ally on the field.”

“Perhaps she shall.”

The dance ended with a flurry of movement, and the mystery Lady was gone before Rowena could again ask for her name. The melee, that would be her only chance.

Rowena slept poorly that night, the walk with Le Gras had been pleasant, if a little too long for her liking. She’d always loved the gardens after dark, and had been pleased at his appreciation of them, and his understanding that friendship was indeed all she was offering. He had graciously accepted that offer through talk of an exchange of letters and a proposal to foster his younger brother here in the capital. Rowena had praised the idea, but drawn short of outright accepting, but promised to put it to her Lord Father and Lady Mother on the morrow. Still, despite the pleasant conversation and Adrien’s quick wit, she had only been half-present, visions of hazel eyes and gold-flecked hair plaguing her thoughts, and then her dreams when at last she slept. There was every chance that she would never see the Lady again, but still her thoughts all seemed to centre around her, her and the melee. Rowena’s last chance to find who she was, she was not going to let it slip past without a fight.

She was still running through everything she could remember about the Lady from last night and comparing it to everything she knew about the noble houses that had attended the Tournament. She’d had the look of the Draelings of Whitehill, but Lord Draeling had no daughters or sisters. Perhaps the Casters of Stonebridge then, but her accent was not of the far North.

“My Lady?” Rowena blinked, and Amelie grinned, “Half plate or full?”

“Half. Full is too heavy for a prolonged foot battle. I’ll not risk getting slow and sloppy at the end.” Amelie nodded as she collected the pieces she needed, as well as a mail shirt to wear underneath it, leaving nowhere completely unguarded in the effort of reducing the weight of the armour. 

“So, what were you thinking about?” She grinned again, “Or should I ask who?” Rowena rolled her eyes at that, in a futile attempt to deny the truth in it, “The Prince? Adrien Le Gras? No-one could blame you if you were, he’s very handsome, and he looked quite the part yesterday in his armour, I’ll confess myself a little jealous of the look I saw him giving you at the banquet last night.” 

“No. It’s not him.” Amelie raised an eyebrow at that, “Oh, I’m not denying his attractiveness or skill with lance and blade. I’m sure he’s the picture of the princes from the songs and tales, rescuing maidens left and right, but still, he only wanted the Princess, not me. Had he actually been a match for my blade, I’m sure I could have learned to love him after a time, but no, I was not thinking about him, although, it rather seems that you were,” she teased, and Amelie sighed, 

“Every other woman present for the Tournament or banquet is thinking about him, Ro, it’s not my fault you’re immune to charm.”

“Not all charm, I assure you,” Rowena said before she could think the better of it. Amelie paused in buckling on the armour covering Rowena’s left shoulder,

“And whose charm would that be?”

“I don’t know, that’s the problem, I never got her name.”

“You’ll simply have to win back her attention this morning then.” Amelie waggled her eyebrows at Rowena as she placed a sword in her hand, “Go and win.”

Every thought of her vanished from Rowena’s mind when she surveyed the team she’d been assigned to, undercover of course, once she arrived there was no hiding who she was, but by then her Lord Father could not stop her. The cocky looking young knights and Lords’ sons all deferred to her leadership the moment they recognised her, which would not do. She asked one for his assessment of their team, and another for their opponents. She asked two others for their suggested strategies, and made adjustments to them as necessary, but without simply walking in and giving orders right away. She worked with the more experienced members of her team, especially those that had seen real battle, and found a strategy that hid their weaknesses while capitalising on their strength. There was every chance that would be all for nought if the fighting broke down too quickly, but she would rather be over prepared than under. Before the horn blew to announce that start of the melee, Rowena took the opportunity to speak to some of the other members of her team. Young squires, second and third sons, daughters from more open-minded fathers, and, and her. Beautiful hazel eyes met Rowena’s from behind a closed helm,

“My Lady,” Rowena inclined her head,

“Your Highness,” there was a smile in the tone of her voice, but no time to find why as the horn blew and the field erupted into motion.

A good proportion of the field fell in the first fifteen minutes to one warrior or another. The dazed or wounded competitors were dragged from the field to the healers’ tents, leaving only those who knew one end of a sword from the other standing. Rowena crossed blades with some she knew, others she didn’t, with sigils she recognised and a few she didn’t. She made a mental note to look up the few she’d not seen before that evening. She met a sword stroke from the third son of one her Father’s bannermen, her counter strike an instinct rather than calculated movement that had the flat of her blade ringing against his helm, the boy, for he was several years her junior, and a fool to take the field, stumbled, his ears clearly still ringing with the sound. He was guided away by a young healer, he was lucky it had been her he’d faced, and not someone who may have forgotten to pull the blow at the last minute. All swords were blunted, but accidents happened, and this was no place for a boy of fourteen. No sooner had she ensured he made it out safely that she was forced to dive sideways to avoid a Morningstar flying through the air. The spiked end sent dirt hurling through the air as it obliterated the ground she’d been stood heartbeats ago. She rolled forwards, slamming her shoulder upwards into the man’s midriff, forcing the breath from his lungs so that he fell and she could point her sword at his throat. He reached for his fallen weapon,

“You’re out!” She shouted above the roar of the crowd, “Go!” She didn’t bother looking back to see if he’d obeyed, as her next opponent approached, yelling a battle cry. 

By the end of the assigned two hours, Rowena’s team had more fighters remaining standing, and were declared the victors of the first round. The second would be held on the morrow, with new teams, and only the ten left standing now would be permitted, and required, to fight. Rowena took note of the other nine fighters left. Most she had expected, one was a surprise, the bastard son of her Lord Father’s Hand, seventeen and hungry to prove himself. But the one who caught her eye was the other woman swiftly walking off the field, her hair still streaked with gold when she removed her helm.

“Who is that?” She murmured to the Knight closest to her. 

“I do not know, Your Highness, she merely called herself the Lady of Lilacs.” Lilacs. Lilacs. Rowena could not think of any House that took Lilacs as its sigil, the title made no sense, except perhaps as a nonsense name to protect the Lady’s anonymity. She dismissed the Knight with a curt nod, and turned to return to her Tournament tent to change out of her armour.

Amelie had beaten her to it, and was already waiting when Rowena ducked inside the tent. She had her hands behind her back, and a furtive grin on her face,

“What?” Rowena demanded, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips at Amelie’s antics,

“Someone has a secret admirer.” Rowena opened her mouth to ask what in hell she meant when Amelie produced a neatly folded note from behind her back. “It was on top of your jousting helm.”

The note was simple, the parchment plain, no indications of where it came from, Rowena’s name written on the outside in a delicate, curly hand. She opened it, and read the two sentences written inside again and again.

Leave your window open tonight. Midnight.

She didn’t recognise the hand, but the scent that still lingered on the parchment, lilacs.

*****

Midnight was fast approaching, the castle already sleeping around her as Rowena paced back and forth in front of her bed. By rights, she should be sleeping, or failing that, preparing in some way for the fight tomorrow afternoon, but she could not banish the note from her mind. So still she paced, waiting, waiting, waiting. The bell tolled midnight.
There was no movement by the window or anywhere else in her room, save for the sighing of the wind against her curtains. She’d been a fool to believe that she would actually come, perhaps she had tried, but to get past the guards, she’d have to be a shadow on the wall. She’d just turned to at least attempt to get some much-needed sleep when a voice called out to her,

“Princess,”

“You came.” She could hardly believe the sight that met her eyes, Lady of Lilacs indeed, more like a wraith. She perched on the windowsill on her tiptoes, balance sure and steady as she pulled down the hood of her cloak to reveal her face, just as breathtaking as the first time Rowena had seen her. A feeling of warmth filled her chest, and it had nothing to do with the fire burning across the room. The other woman grinned, her face lighting up with the expression, the tension she’d been holding in her jaw melting away. Rowena cursed herself as her heart did a stupid little flip in her chest. “How did you get here?” She asked, holding out a hand to help her into the room, which she took graciously, taking stock of the room before answering,

“Nowhere is impenetrable, and men see what they wish to, expect to. No-one expected a Lady to be sneaking in, so the merely assumed me a late returner to the castle, and did not question me, the climb was the time I might have been discovered, but then, men rarely look up.”

“That’s certainly true, I’ve lost count of the times I hid as a child by climbing the roofs. But perhaps we should be reassessing the guard, if it’s truly that easy.” She added with a chuckle. “May I safely assume that you’ll allow me to know your name this time?”

“Elinor.” She smiled, “I’m surprised you did not guess.”

“Of House?”

“Agilar.” As she spoke, Rowena noted for the first time the slight roll of of the ‘r’ that denoted House Agilar’s ancient ancestry from Andacule. She definitely should have guessed, the Lady of Lilacs’ House took an eagle with a sprig of lilacs in its beaks for their sigil, she had forgotten the lilacs in favour of th eagle. She grinned,

“Lord Agilar is not in attendance,”

“He is not,” Elinor admitted, “But his daughter is. Daughter and only living heir. He forbade me to come, fearing for my safety in the melee. It seems we have that in common.”

“So we do,” Rowena pulled a second chair across to her small table, lighting a second candle, the soft orange glow reflecting off the golden strands entwined into Elinor’s hair, and bathing the room in flecks of golden light, each dancing and flickering in and out of existence as Elinor moved her head. She whistled appreciatively at the room as Rowena lit a few more candles, illuminating beyond the table beside the window. Elinor’s gaze lingered on the painting set beside Rowena’s bed,

“Who is that?” She asked, “His eyes are like yours, a relative?”

“My cousin, from my mother’s younger sister. We grew up together after his parents’ ship was lost. He’s next in line after me,”

“Does he still live in the capital?” Rowena shook her head,

“He’s taken up his father’s seat, and is stuck up there thanks to raiders harassing his lands. I was looking forward to seeing him again, it’s been nearly a year now, but I’ll ride up there once the Tournament is finished, maybe bring some extra men to clear off the raiders again.” She claimed one of the chairs, leaving the other for Elinor.

It must have been the third or fourth hour when Elinor finally slipped back out of the window. Rowena watched her climb down the tower wall, but the moment she reached the ground, Rowena lost sight of her. It was as if she had become a shadow, moving invisibly across the cobbles of the yard, and back out to the tournament ground. 

She should sleep. She’d already lost enough time speaking to Elinor, but no matter what she told herself, Rowena could not fall asleep, she lay awake, repeating the conversation over and over. Still, she must have drifted off at some point as the sun was streaming through the window when Rowena opened her eyes. She groaned and rolled over, pulling a pillow over her face, it was too early for this, she didn’t have to be at the tournament field for hours. An inkling of memory stirred and she practically threw herself out of bed. Elinor. She was going to be late! She wracked her sleep-addled brain for the location Elinor had given her last night, cursing herself for oversleeping, she had twenty minutes until the seventh hour, when she was supposed to be training with the other woman. There it was, they were meeting at the brewery’s old, now abandoned warehouse, it was a ten minute run away, she was so going to be late. It took everything in her not to sprint through the castle’s halls after hurriedly dressing, but that would raise suspicions so she forced herself to maintain a sedate walk until escaping the castle grounds. 

She was panting when she shoved the ancient door open, and a part of Rowena was still expecting the warehouse to be empty. She should have known better after last night, but she couldn’t help the relief that filled her at the sight of Elinor leaning against the doorway, the same mischievous grin that she’d given Rowena the previous night making another appearance,

“You’re late, Princess,”

“It’s the seventh hour.”

“And you’re late, it’s gonna be half past the hour when you’re ready to start.” Elinor tutted to herself, maintaining the false severity for another few heartbeats before losing her composure at the sight of Rowena’s frown. “Get in here,” she laughed, catching herself moments after her gaze drifted over Rowena, noting the close fit of her clothing, no restrictions on movement, but if she were seen in public, it would most certainly leave some scandalised. Rowena noticed Elinor’s lingering glance, and fought her own grin before she gave it away that she’d seen. 

*****

Elinor rotated her wrist as she faced Rowena, the twin fighting knives in her hands tracing arcs in the air. A small death zone, but all the more deadly, with those twin blades, she could manoeuvre faster than with a sword, and could attack from two directions. True, Rowena had the same advantage, but none of the knights or nobles that bothered to train while in the capital favoured knives, neither were they standard issue for the guards. She was accustomed to their use, but not to facing them. She would have to get a read on Elinor quickly, or lose embarrassing swiftly. 

She allowed Elinor to approach, marking the slight irregularity in her steps, she favoured her left, and was overcompensating for it. Rowena could use that. Elinor lunged. One blade arcing high, forcing Rowena to parry while the second darted forward. Rowena deflected the second blade to her side, dancing to the opposite side, her counterattack coming fractions of a second too slow as Elinor met her blade with one of her own. Rowena forced their blades in a high arc, keeping the pressure eon Elinor’s to keep her from escaping the contact. In her surprise at the quick advantage, she forgot the other woman’s second blade, which she barely managed to evade, leaping backwards, her balance gone as Elinor pressed her attack, keeping Rowena on the defensive, leaving no opening for a counter strike. Rowena cursed under her breath, but she was in no danger yet, none of Elinor’s attacks had tested her guard to any real degree, just prevented her own attacks. All she had to do was wait for – there! Elinor hesitated for a heartbeat as she took her weight on her right side. Rowena exploded forwards, her momentum forcing Elinor back to the right, her balance weakened, but her guard strong. Rowena tested her in every way she could, overhead, side, forehand and backhand strikes all failed to make contact. She lunged forwards, but Elinor deflected the strike, jumping sideways, and allowing Rowena’s own momentum to carry her past.

Rowena had no time to turn before something slammed into her side, and she found herself stuck between Elinor and the wall of the warehouse. 

She twisted, but only succeeded in turning her back to the wall. She kept her blades locked with Elinor’s, the scent of Lilacs drifting across to her from Elinor’s closeness. Her mind threatened to wander, but Rowena clamped down on it, forcing herself to focus on escaping. She twisted again, but moved the other way, catching hold of Elinor’s wrist as she did so, and twisting across the other woman’s body to pin both arms in place. Their panting breaths mingled as Elinor stiffened slightly at the blade that Rowena now held to her throat. 

“Not bad,” she chuckled, “Not bad at all, you almost had me.” She neglected to mention that Elinor would have had her if Rowena hadn’t forced her onto her right leg to escape her hold.

“You’re the only opponent this week that’s noticed my right side being stiff.” Elinor noted when Rowena released her, “I fell from a horse a month back and my hip isn’t quite right anymore. “Who taught you the knives if no-one here uses them but you?” 

“My old master-at-arms. He’s still around, but too old to fight anymore. He taught me when I was a girl, and I always liked them, the speed and lightness not the blades always worked well.”

“I quite agree.” Elinor tossed one blade up into the air, catching it again as it spun back down. I never used to be able to wield a sword for long, my father was almost at the point of despair when my mother showed me her blades.” I’d like to test my knives against your sword if you don’t mind. I haven’t fought another woman skilled with a sword in a while.” Rowena grinned, sheathing her knives and selecting a bastard sword from the rack, a hand and a half sword, 

“Shield or no?” She asked Elinor, who shrugged,

“Whatever you would usually fight with.’ Rowena opted for no shield, preferring the greater speed she could achieve with both hands.

“Shall we begin?”

They ended the match with Elinor returning the favour Rowena had bestowed upon her when they both wielded knives, although she, like Rowena, was panting hard, sweat beading on her brow when she offered a hand to help the Princess up. 

“It seems I should be expecting a challenge later in the fight. Mayhaps I shall have to return to win Your Highness’ hand.” Elinor winked as she finished tidying the weapons she’d brought with her, giving Rowena no chance to respond before disappearing into the throng of people now outside, all making their way to the Tournament ground, where Rowena should have been by now. She glanced at the sun’s height and barked a curse, her chest heaving when she reached her tent, earning an amused look and raised eyebrow from Amelie.

“You do plan to fight then?”

“Oh hush, I didn’t realise the time.”

“Uh-huh. And what exactly were you doing that had you this messed up and sweaty?” Amelie tutted at the state of Rowena’s hair, strands of it escaping the braid she’d hastily drawn it into that morning. 

“Training.”

“You weren’t at the training ground.”

“No. I wasn’t.” Rowena ignored the rest of Amelie’s questions, and pretended not to notice the grin the young woman tried to hide from her. Thankfully, Amelie chose the sensible option of dropping the subject as she helped Rowena with her armour. Rowena nodded curtly to her friend when she buckled on the sword belt holding both her sword and a dagger on the opposite hip. Gods forbid she needed it, but given the calibre of the fighters left, it was a distinct possibility.

The city, no the kingdom, had turned out en masse for the final clash of swords before the visiting knights, lords and ladies returned home. There was plenty of cheering for each competitor, but Rowena could make out the cries of her name over the cries of others. She waved to the crowd as she took the field, following the directions of the squire who met her to acquaint herself with her team. Two men she knew, one she didn’t, and the other only by reputation.
There was little time to plan any complex plans, their quick discussion boiling down to Rowena’s final comment,

“Outlast them, boys.”

Outlasting them was easier said than done, with their opponents, including Elinor working cohesively as a unit, first to overrun the knight Rowena hadn’t known and then to press her and the two others onto the defensive. Rowena spied a gap in one of her opponents’ defences and struck, maintaining contact with his sword to force the gap open, hoping one of her teammates would capitalise on it. Yes! She was right, Sir Jaycen’s quick blow knocked the man to the floor, his sword out of reach, equalising numbers again. But now the opposing team had a gap in their ranks, Rowena and Jaycen each pushed into it, engaging the men of either side, sword flashing, steel clashing. The crowd sighed and cheered at each collision of their blades, cries of dismay when their favourite fell, or cheers of elation when they felled another fighter. Rowena’s team lost another fighter to Elinor’s hand, and another. She twisted to keep her back to Jaycen’s, her only hope of victory lying with him, if they could just even the score, and then take one each, she could win this still. 

“Give the word.” Jaycen murmured, deflecting a clumsy blow aimed for his shoulder, the young knights facing them were tiring from the constant combat, Jaycen’s experience was a godsend, if she’d been partnered with one of them, he’d have fallen by now. She marked the man she would go for, his sword point dropping low, closer to her than the other knight, no, that was Elinor, she’d have to be quick to deal with the boy first. 

“Move!” She shouted, not caring that their opponents would know something was up, Elinor tensed, but the young knight Rowena lunged for shook with surprise at her shout, his sword easily flying out of his hand as she struck, breaking his grip with a powerful blow. She dipped her shoulder, as she ran the last two steps to make contact with his breastplate. He stumbled into the dust, raising a hand to yield, just in time. Rowena whirled, her sword only just managing to meet Elinor’s before she too was knocked down. Distantly, she noted Jaycen locked in combat with Elinor’s final teammate, but she had no time to try and help, not as both knights landed blows, Jaycen’s opponent falling before the knight himself collapsed from an injured knee moments later. It was the two of them now, as it was meant to be. Rowena grinned at Elinor, 

“I seems you’ve improved since this morning, My Lady,” Rowena teased, the comment missing its mark as Elinor’s rhythm didn’t falter for a moment, her eyes sparkling with mirth behind her visor. 

“Perhaps,” she conceded, “But as I recall,” they broke apart and circled, trying to get a gauge on the other’s defences, “It was not me who ended the match with a dagger at her throat.” Elinor lunged left on the last word, the comment leaving Rowena off balance, her face flaming at the reminder of earlier, so much so that she barely managed to block the strike, forced to give ground to Elinor’s attacks. “Although, I can think of much better ways to get all sweaty again,” Elinor trailed off right as Rowena registered the comment, the heat in her face flaming again, and she stumbled on her next movement, giving Elinor the chance she’d needed to trip the princess, ending the match with her blade pointed at Rowena’s face. She pulled her helm off and waved to the crowd as they cheered their melee champion before turning back to pull Rowena to her feet. Rowena tossed her own helm to the side, chest having with exertion, gold that the fight was a good enough excuse for her face to be as warm as it felt. She took Elinor’s proffered hand, the formal crept and of Elinor’s final victory, getting only moments before the crowd hushed and her Lord Father’s voice boomed out across the field. 

“Congratulations champion. It has been a long time since I saw my daughter bested in combat, by the ancient law of the Tournament of the Crown, you have earned the right to the Princess Rowena’s hand in marriage. Would you honour the Crown with our champion’s name?” Elinor smirked at her before speaking, 

“Thank you, Your Majesty, you honour me, I am Elinor, of House Agilar.” Rowena glanced to her Lady Mother, trying to hide a smile, explaining why her father had addressed Elinor, not the Sovereign but her consort.

“Of course,” her Lord Father smiled down at them, “I know your Lord Father well, I should have known, you have his look.”  

“You honour him, Your Majesty. But,” Elinor continued, “I am loath to condemn the Princess to a life with someone she does not know. It would be a great honour to remain in the capital for a short period, I am expected home soon, but it seems the Princess could do with a new sparring partner. House Agilar would be honoured to host Your Majesties’ household should the Princess desire a visit in the future.”

Rowena didn’t care that she was staring in shock at Elinor. No-one had ever refused the hand of a Princess after winning the Tournament of the Crown, no-one. But Elinor had done just that, and she was right, they didn’t know each other, not well. Her parents had been lucky to build love from nothing, and she was honoured that Elinor cared enough to wish for a foundation. Still, if she ever approached her Lord Father and Lady Mother to ask for Rowena’s hand, they were now honour-bound to accept her. Elinor had given her an out if she wanted it. She grinned at Elinor, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walked off the field,

“Show me that last move you made,” she all but demanded, earning a laugh from the new champion,

“Later, I meant what I said, I’d like to know you, with more than a few hours conversation.”

“Meet me in the courtyard in an hour then, I’d like to bathe and change if we’re done here for now.” Elinor winked as she turned away,

“It’s a date.”