A/N: So, the idea for this sprung on me a few days ago, and since then, it's more or less exploded. This isn't really a true Medieval fic, more of the romanticised Medieval we find in literature and such.

My goal is to keep both Clint and Natasha as in character as absolutely possible; I personally can't stand AUs that butcher characterization all the same. That being said, I'm far from perfect, so any and all advice and criticism is greatly appreciated!

"Clint!"

His mother's impatient voice snapped the boy out of his thoughts, dragging him back to the day's current events.

"Meet Lord and Lady Romanov."

They didn't look any different than the usual stuffy nobles who visited his parents' lands. With a huff, Clint sank lower into his father's throne. Mother had promised this would be a special occasion when she'd refused to let him go with his brother and father yesterday to visit the Starks to the north. Why did Barney get to have all the fun? He was the oldest; he should be stuck at home, entertaining prissy lords and ladies and making alliances. It wasn't like Clint ever had to worry about ruling.

A small movement from behind the extravagant couple caught the boy's attention.

"This," Lady Barton continued, "is their daughter, Natalia."

He felt his mother watching him as he studied the girl. She was young, younger than he, scarlet curls cascading haphazardly down her back, fitted in a green velvet dress to match the hue of her eyes. And she looked just as happy to be here as the boy staring back at her.

Both Lord and Lady Romanov bowed courteously, but their daughter only crossed her arms, hardening her gaze stubbornly.

Lady Barton cleared her throat expectantly, staring impatiently at Clint. When it was obvious her son wasn't going to say anything, she spoke up, "It's an honour to have you here, my Lord and Lady. May I interest you in some tea, while we leave the children to get acquainted?"

Clint all but whined as his mother walked away, fixing him with a glare he knew translated to 'Be nice' before abandoning him with the redheaded child.

Be nice. Ha. Like that was going to happen.

Instead, he stood, traipsing out of the throne room towards a side hall, almost groaning when he heard the patter of small feet following him. Maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away.

No such luck.

"What's your name?" Natalia inquired, quickening her pace to walk alongside him.

"Clint."

"How old are you?"

"Ten."

"Oh." His unpleasant tone didn't seem to deter her. "Well, I'm five."

"That's nice."

"My mum says I have to be your friend."

"Well, she's wrong."

That shut her up for a moment, as Clint navigated the maze of hallways, eventually reaching the armory.

Beside him, Natalia let out a gasp, of surprise or joy or whatever, he didn't much care. She darted out from behind him, running her tiny hands along everything she could manage, curiosity igniting her eyes. It was only as she was reaching for a hanging broadsword that Clint hurried to her side, grasping her wrist not unkindly and pulling it back.

"Careful!" he hissed, his light brown hair falling into his face as he leaned to her eye level, "You could hurt yourself."

Her eyes met his in what seemed like shock, waiting a moment before he looked away and wriggling out of his grasp.

Against his better judgement, he left the small girl to her own devices as he retrieved what he'd come here for – his hand crafted bow he'd gotten for his tenth birthday, and a quiver of arrows.

Her silence was practically worse than her constant blabbering, Clint found, as she followed him out to the courtyard where he'd set up shooting targets the prior day. With a sigh, he turned back to her, finding her green eyes staring up at him, huge and pleading.

"Look," feeling more than slightly awkward, he scratched his neck. "I'm sorry for yelling at you, alright? I just… didn't want you to get hurt."

That seemed to do the trick, brightening her face from a pout into a childish grin, one he couldn't help but reciprocate.

"S'okay," she plopped herself onto a bale of straw behind him, making up the perimeter of the shooting lane. He felt her watching his every move as he strung his bow, testing the pull and nocking an arrow. His aim was just slightly too high, embedding an arrow in the third ring above the target. His second landed to the left of the bullseye.

Gritting his teeth, he took his time with the third, staring down the shaft, getting a feel for the wind, for his aim, narrowing his mind to just this-

Natalia's voice jarred him out of his trance, accidentally letting the arrow fly and hitting not the target, but the bale of straw propping it up. He let out an exasperated sigh, turning to face the child.

"Can I try?" she repeated, shifting in her seat anxiously, reaching out to grab the bow from his hands.

He raised his eyebrows as she fumbled with the bow, nearly larger than her entire body, but she somehow managed to knock her arrow and pull the string.

"I don't think-" his protest was lost as she loosed her arrow, hitting the target inches away from the bullseye.

This time, it was his turn to shut up.

"So." The doors had only just shut after their guests of the day left when Clint's mother turned her prying attentions to him. "What did you think of her?"

"Who?" Though he knew full well.

"Natalia."

He threw his manners, or what remained of them, aside. "She's small and annoying."

"Well, then, you've got eight years to change your mind."

That sinking feeling in his gut had been correct, then.

"She's going to be your future wife."