The gorgeous fanart 'The Maiden's Tryst' belongs to myrddinwylt on Tumblr. All rights reserved by him etc etc.
Mithian hated tournaments.
Since she was old enough to sit up, the princess of Nemeth was expected to attend each tournament in her royal regalia, surrounded by her maids beneath a flowery dais, offering tokens to the Knights who asked.
She would much rather be in a summer dress and boots, galloping the hillsides of Nemeth on her favorite mare with her bloodhound Brie at her side, outpacing her cousins and even many of her father's Knights.
The midsummer heat was stifling, and she shifted uncomfortably in the frothy blue-silk gown her mother had insisted on. A gold circlet dug its tiny teeth into her chestnut hair, squeezing to a point at her forehead.
Another Knight was flung to the ground, the sword falling helpless from a bloodied hand. The prince of Camelot faced the roaring crowd, all unblemished armor and sunlit hair, and King Uther Pendragon nodded slow approval.
She was bored.
She picked absently at the embroidered roses on her skirt, wondering if she could affect a swooning spell and be excused. After all, King Uther's ward Morgana had stayed in Camelot due to illness, so why shouldn't she be allowed to escape?
A sudden hush had taken the crowd and she squinted up. A nameless Knight was walking across the field, bearing no sigil, armored plainly in mailshirt and helm.
The gauntlet was thrown, the challenge accepted. Prince Arthur bowed to the crowd and a noblewoman's hankerchief fluttered to his feet.
Mithian rolled her eyes.
"Would you do me the honor, milady?"
The mystery Knight stood before her, hand outstretched. Startled, Mithian blinked for a few moments before regaining her composure.
"Of course," she fumbled at her sleeve and drew out a ribbon. Cool green eyes appraised her.
"If you would," the Knight leaned closer, and Mithian started to tie on the token, but the ribbon slipped from her sweaty fingers to slide along his arm. A slim gloved hand closed over it, tucking it beneath the mail-shirt in an intimacy that startled her, and she saw amusement glittering in those eyes.
Something between irritation and excitement fluttered low in her belly.
At first it seemed the match would be short work for the prince. He stood a head taller and much broader in the shoulder than the Knight, and his greatsword was new-forged steel. But the Knight proved quick and nimble on his feet, dodging the prince's blows easily and darting around him like a fish.
The clang of swords meeting was a sharp music and dust smoked around their boots as the agile Knight defended and parried each blow.
It's almost like he's studied the Prince's every move.
Mithian had never seen a Knight move with such swift grace. It was almost poetic. She found herself impatient for the fight to end.
I want to see what he looks like.
It happened so quickly that the crowd was stunned into silence. The Knight saw an opening and attacked quick as a swooping falcon. The slot-shot was clean and precise, and he used his lithe form to his advantage, ducking beneath the Prince to upend him with the rough wooden shield.
"Yield." His swordpoint hovered over the Prince's chin. Uther nearly upset his chair standing up.
"Show yourself!" he barked.
The Knight stood unmoving, until the Prince raised his hands and muttered "yield".
"Who are you?" King Roland, her own father, demanded.
The Knight extended a hand and helped the prince to his feet with a curt nod. Then he walked to the royal dais and pushed his helmet off to release a long raven braid of hair.
The face beneath was clear-cut and beautiful, green eyes blazing challenge, mouth smouldering defiance.
"Morgana...!" Uther's voice was swallowed in the sudden hum that went up.
Mithian blinked in disbelief.
"Guards! Remove her from the field."
But the lady would not be so easily dismissed. She swung her blade around and met the two guards head on. She disarmed the first easily. The second was dispatched with a swift kick and a blow from the sword pommel in a sickening crunch across the bridge of his nose.
The prince gaped from the middle of the field, and Uther was white with rage. "Morgana, you will stop this instant. Leave the field now, I command it!"
Morgana raised her head. A smear of blood marked her fine cheek, and Mithian had the strangest urge to wipe it away.
"You do not dismiss me, sire.," she sheathed her sword smoothly, "I leave this field of my own accord. And on my terms," she jerked her chin at the field where she had defeated his son but moments ago.
"Remember that."
The two guards were crawling to their feet. Morgana retrieved the ribbon from beneath her shirt, then wiped her cheek with a smirk.
She felt a bead of gathered sweat trickling between her breasts.
Morgana sauntered over, throwing one last defiant glare at Uther before pressing a kiss to the ribbon. A careless smirk curved that perfect upper lip.
"Well met, milady."
My first femslash fic! Please comment if you can, I'd love to hear your thoughts. xoxox
