Chapter 2

When the flames had all but fizzled out, and the screams turned to whispers, a hush enveloped the kingdom- no one dared to say anything. All was calm, but it was not prosperous, not harmonious, and there was certainly no honor left. People continued to be dragged out of their homes, until all others went into hiding and there were none left to be found. Many had their lives taken from them in the Great Purge, and many had given their lives in the Great Purge. King Uther was torn apart by the death of his one true love, Ygraine, a death that he blamed on magic. And so, with his newborn son still in his bassinet, Uther demanded that magic in the realm be banned, and all those practicing sorcery be burned at the pyre for the evil that resided within them. He'd deployed the Knights of Camelot, once men of honor, men destined of greatness, and they'd followed their orders, as was the Knight's Code. But one of Uther's most trusted knights had not even made it to the duration of the fiery glow that enveloped Camelot.

Ayseranwinn never had a Father that she could remember.

She'd been told stories, inquired as to what happened but was never given the answers she wanted. She didn't want to hear that he died bravely, or that he was 'the most dashing man I'd ever seen'. She wanted to hear how he died, and who stabbed him in the back. She wanted to know what kind of man he was, not what kind of fighter. But it was hard to find any truth when the man she'd heard so much -but understood so little- about was dead.

Growing up, the only Father figure she ever had was Uther, a man so busy being a King- she often wondered if he ever slept. Uther was not what she imagined a father to be, not what she'd heard from the knights and peasants who spoke adoringly of their fathers. The King of Camelot gave praise like he did trust, rarely. Ayser was never told bedtime stories or doted on like a little lady should. She was never taught to defend herself from malevolent men, she taught herself. And yet, there were times when she believed Uther truly cared for her, just as he did Arthur.

When Ayser had caught the fever as a child, Uther did not leave her bedside for four days. And the first time a man had leered and called to her, Uther made sure he was put into the stocks. Ayser made him smile the tiniest of smiles, reminding him of his lost love, Ygraine.

Uther spoke seldom of her father, who she'd gathered was some lord or knight. People seemed to skirt around the subject like a horse avoiding a snake. Did she look like him? Were they alike at all? Would he have been proud of her?

Ayseranwinn never had a father that she could remember.

But King Uther was the closest thing she had to one. She only hoped he'd give in to her wish.

Dressed in a red velvet dress that Uther had gifted her on her sixteenth birthday, trying as best she could to breath in the corset, Ayser stood before him in the throne room. The already tight dress felt as though it would burst at the seams, after all, Ayser was not the same she'd been at sixteen. Now a grown woman, with a woman's body, it was no longer so easy to butter Uther up with the dress. But she'd have to try.

"Why not?" She sighed, exasperated.

Uther chewed on an apple, looking at her with bored eyes. "It would be improper for me to allow you to compete. Especially now that you are betrothed to Prince Selver."

"I said I'd think about it. That's not exactly me rushing off to marry him."

"What is there to think about? Prince Selver is the best rider in all of Nemeth, and he happens to have a full armory at his disposal. Nemeth and Camelot have been close allies for years, your union will strengthen that bond." Uther stared at her with a blank look on his face, not wishing to entertain her idea that she had any sort of choice in the matter.

Ayser crossed her arms, no longer caring if she was acting proper or not. "Then let me live a little before you send me off to my death! Let me fight in the tourney before I must give up my freedom entirely."

"Oh don't be so dramatic. I'm beginning to think Morgana's rubbed off on you… Good, now that you will be marrying a prince, you'll need the proper skills of a princess." Uther rolled his eyes as Ayser huffed like a child.

Ayser was by this point, desperate. She'd do anything to stop her marriage to Prince Selver, anything. She'd even be willing to give up wearing trousers. "That's just it. Morgana's more fit for this than I will ever be. Her and Selver get along just fine, and you said it, she already has the proper skills of a princess. I'm just some ward with muddy trousers and a knack for winning battles. Please, Uther, you've watched me grow, you must know that I can't marry someone like him."

Uther walked towards the woman that had grown like a daughter to him and smiled an unnervingly sweet grin. Ayser had never seen him smile so big, she was almost scared. "You will not participate in the tourney. If you try, I will have you locked in your chambers until the festivities have ended. And you will wed Prince Selver. I suggest you cooperate or face a sooner wedding."

Ayser stormed into her chambers ignoring Brunilda's worried voice, tugging off the goddamned dress. Grabbing the dagger on her table, she cut down the laces of her corset, throwing it to the ground in a huff. Brunilda was nearly screaming at Ayser's rash actions, horrified at the fit of anger her Lady was in.

Roughly shrugging on a white tunic and green trousers, she grabbed her baldric and scabbard, sheathing her sword and heading for the stables. Brunilda watched the entire scene with wide eyes, before shrugging and continuing hanging up her Lady's dresses. It was just another Tuesday.

Ayser was beyond furious. She'd kill Prince Selver before she ever married him. No one dared stop her as she stormed through the castle halls and tore into the stables like a tornado. By the stall, where her mountain of a horse nodded his head wildly at her arrival, Ayser ripped open her chest, stuffing the contents into a black sack. Hardwin, the Clydesdale given to Ayser on her fourteenth name day by the Duke of Kent, snorted in excitement of the presence of his rider. Ayser calmed slightly at the sight of her beloved friend, patting his snout with a small smile. "I'm going to win, consequences be damned."

Hardwin neighed in approval, bringing a grin to her face. Ayser had to admit she was a bit heated, probably having rammed through dozens of people on her way to the stables. But she was a woman on a mission.

By the time Ayser had made it to her destination, the morning was just leaving, the hot afternoon sun replacing it. She didn't bother knocking, bursting through the door, lugging the large sack over her shoulder. "The hauberk goes over your chest."

"The chest. The arms. The chest." Ayser watched with amused eyes as Merlin ran the armor over in his head, going over everything that they'd learned.

Leaning against the doorway with a smirk, Ayser called out to the oblivious pair. "The helmet goes on the head." Both heads turned, surprised to find the King's ward at Gwen's home. Ayser sauntered further into the home, dragging the sack behind her. The hair in her loose plait fell in soft tendrils, her cheeks red as she hauled it onto the kitchen table. "I need my armor prepared. Do you think Tom will be able to have it ready by tomorrow?"

"What do you need armor for?" Merlin asked, jumping up in curiosity. Gwen sighed, preparing for the long speech that Ayser had surely to declare the equality of women and that she could beat Arthur's knights with one hand behind her back.

"Umm…" Ayser racked her brain for a plausible excuse, anything to throw the trail off of her. "Oh! It was my father's. I've been thinking, and I want it to get fixed to give to Prince Selver. As sort of thanks for his invitation to Nemeth."

Merlin raised a brow but nodded nonetheless. He didn't know Lady Ayseranwinn very well, but he'd quickly learned not to get on her bad side. If she was willing to slap a Prince, imagine what she'd do to him. Gwen however, smirked, knowing three truths.

One, Ayser would never gift her Father's armor to anyone.

Two, she was far from thankful for Selver's invitation.

And three, she was going to fight in the tournament.

Arthur stood with his arm being tugged on by Merlin, who struggled to put on Arthur's vambrace. His icy blue eyes scanned the tourney grounds, hoping to see cinnamon hair sticking out from the crowd. Half annoyed, and half disappointed when he found none, Arthur resorted to actually speaking to Merlin. "You do know the tournament starts today?"

Merlin rolled his eyes but answered nonetheless. "Yes, Sire."

As Merlin moved to fix the gorget, Arthur sighed, eyes still searching for the muddied trousers and tawny brown eyes to put him at ease. The familiar sinking feeling that came before every fight tugged at his stomach. "You nervous?"

Arthur blinked, as his thoughts were broken by Merlin, whose presence was becoming less and less wanted by the second. "I don't get nervous." He deadpanned.

"Really? I thought everyone got nervous."

Ignoring Merlin, his ice blue eyes zeroed in on her. Ayser stood close to a young man, head bowed closely to his, lips whispering in his ear. The muscles in his neck twitched, "Will you shut up!" Arthur burst. To which Merlin backed away shocked by the sudden yell.

"Now remember, your name is Sir Berwick Randall, my mother Kalana's nephew. You're from…"

"Kent."

Ayser sighed. "No, Anglia. You're from Anglia." The young man nodded, grabbing Ayser's hands which fidgeted with his helmet. Her tawny brown eyes stared into his, which sent a wave of ease into her. It was his silent message, he'd do everything in his power to see this through. "Taran, thank you, truly. This means more to me than anyone could ever understand."

Brunilda nearly shrieked as the drums sounded, her delicate hands gripping tightly to her seat. She grabbed Ayser's hand, squeezing tightly as all the dashing young knights filed into the arena, nearly jumping out of the stands as they did so. Their capes were a variety of colors, family crests depicting backgrounds of honor and power. The trumpets bellowed beautifully, as the brave knights stood side by side, proudly puffing out their chests in a display Brunilda thought to be incredibly… arousing.

Ayser may have gotten all the princes, but Brunilda was certain that with one bat of her long lashes, she'd have herself a husband to ogle at all day. Her lady told her the notion was ridiculous.

But Brunilda held onto the hope that one of the knights would sweep her off her feet and save her from the evil forces like in all the great stories of old.

The music halted as King Uther marched out onto the fighting grounds, his brilliant red cape flowing behind him. "Knights of the realm, it's a great honor to welcome you to a tournament at Camelot. Over the next three days, you will come to put your bravery to the test, your skills as warriors, and of course, to challenge the reigning champion, my son, Prince Arthur."

Brunilda let out a silent squeal of excitement. Most of all, she was excited to see the prince face off with the men brave enough to challenge him. As much as she, as any mannerful lady should, denied it, Brunilda was completely amazed by sword fighting. While Ayser was led to believe that her maidservant hated their weekly trips to the practice grounds, Brunilda was amazed by the things her lady could do, unlike any other. She knew she could never be like that, as brave and strong as Ayseranwinn, no matter how much she wished to be. So she could only watch with childlike eyes, as the brave men fought for the honor of winning the King's applause and the company of the beautiful Lady Morgana at the feast in his honor.

"Only one can have the honor of being crowned champion, and he will receive a prize of 1,000 gold pieces." Uther opened a chest full of brilliant gold, shining against the contrast of the grey skies. "It is in combat that we learn a knight's true nature, whether he is indeed a warrior or a coward. The tournament begins!"

The crowd cheered as each night exited the arena with grace. Ayser watched with worried eyes as Arthur and a knight wearing a brown cape remained. Arthur stepped to the side, Uther whispering in his ear. Ayser frowned as she saw Arthur visibly tense, his jaw set.

Ayser watched in the stands, as Arthur and the other knight fought well, and let out a sigh of relief as Arthur ultimately won. The King's other ward knew what a talented fighter Arthur was, that much was known by the entire realm, however, she never felt at ease. She knew, more than most, how in the heat of battle things could change in the blink of an eye. She didn't pop up out of her seat and cheer as did Brunilda, Gwen, and Morgana. Ayser simply waited for Arthur to look up at her in the stands, as he always did, so that she could send him the proud grin he'd come to fight for. And after waiting just a moment, ice blue eyes locked with tawny brown, and she did just that. It was the way they worked.

Taran Bennett had been a boy from the lower towns that Ayser knew for almost as long as she did Arthur. Whenever Ayser wasn't glued to Arthur's side, it was not uncommon for her to be found in the stables aiding Taran with his duties. Ayser had considered them friends, but Taran could never. There were few times when he'd actually recoiled from her touch, worried a knight would choose that exact moment to traipse in and catch them as if they were in some compromising position. They never were, but Taran almost felt as if it was. For someone like him to be touching someone like her, was almost unheard of, and he was sure the King would have him killed.

But he would do anything for the kind young woman he'd grown so fond of, a fondness he was sure she didn't reciprocate; he'd even impersonate a knight.

They stood hidden away in what was to be his tent for the remainder of the tourney, Ayser calmly removing the buckles that held the armor on his body. Taran let out an audible sigh of relief when the weight had dropped off of him, rolling out the tenseness in his shoulders.

Ayser chuckled at his animated expressions, before moving behind the changing screen. Ayser pulled the dress Brunilda had made her wear over her head, "You looked quite dashing out there, Taran."

Taran grinned, his cheeks flushing a deep red, as he averted his eyes from the shadow of her figure cast on the screen. "You think?"

The young woman took a knife and cut down the laces of her corset, breathing out loudly as the pressure was released. "Mhm. And judging by the reactions of Brunilda and Morgana, I'm not the only one who thought so." Ayser slid on her trousers, lacing up the front.

Taran ran a hand down his neck nervously, glancing over in shock. He never really got noticed by women, especially those of nobility. To think that Ayser had thought that of him was enough to make his heart soar. He gulped loudly as he paused his pacing, eyes roaming over the expanse of her exposed tan shoulders. Her back was facing him, bare and colored from the days spent out in the sun. Taran quickly turned around, blushing even deeper if it was even possible. He felt like he'd seen something he shouldn't have, and yet, he yearned to look again.

The stable boy collapsed onto the chair placed by a small table, throwing his head in his hands in embarrassment. Ayser would never feel the same, that much he knew. She'd always see him as a friend, and he'd always see himself as her humble servant, a man unworthy of her love.

As Ayser step out from behind the screen, sporting black trousers, and a white linen tunic. Her hair was fixed up into a top knot. Wordlessly, Taran began fitting her with her armor. "You know, I can't thank you enough for this. You are a true friend." Taran simply smiled, ignoring the pang in his chest at the word friend. "I feel like I have something to prove. I am not some Lady of the court who can be sold off to neighboring kingdoms like livestock. I want to make my father proud."

Taran bit his lip, trying to push back the worry that nagged him. But after years of friendship, Ayser could see right through him. "What is it?"

"It's just…" Taran struggled to find the right words, "Who exactly are you trying to prove yourself to? You're always putting yourself in danger. I can't imagine your father would approve of this. It's not about your father, Ayser, you know that. This is about you."

Ayser's shoulders grew tense, the familiar defensive mode kicking in. "Don't presume to know anything about my father or me." Taran moved back slightly as if cowering from her harsh tone. The stable boy simply scoffed, and silently continued fastening her armor. No words were uttered for the remainder of the time.

Squinted ice blue eyes watched off to the side as the purple knight entered the arena eliciting cheers from the crowd. Lord Corwinn of Kent sported his family's crest, chest puffing out proudly as the crowd cheered his name.

"And may I present to you Sir Berwick Randall of Anglia!" The crowd cheered, but most of them had no idea who the young blue knight was. Arthur had never heard of a Sir Berwick but recognized the white stag on a field of blue. It was the knight Ayser was speaking rather closely with. Arthur leaned forward in interest, curious to know who this knight was if they had been able to win Ayser's company.

The unknown knight's helmet was already placed firmly on his head, as he calmly entered the arena, his blue cape lightly blowing behind him. Sir Berwick was short for a knight and rather slim, but what he lacked in size, Arthur was sure he made up for in speed. He had no squire accompanying him, as his discarded his cape off to the side, and tested the grip of his shield.

Arthur had already decided that although this man looked capable, he did not like him in the slightest. How was it that Ayser knew him? And why did she let him closer than any prince asking for her hand? These were the kinds of things that had distracted Arthur, and his eyes widened in surprise as he already heard the clanging of metal against metal.

Lord Corwinn moved to swipe horizontally, hoping to catch his opponent in the stomach. However, Sir Berwick ducked swiftly, knocking the older lord in the legs with his shoulder, and standing tall as he collapsed to the ground on his back. By the time Corwinn could even make an attempt to rise, Berwick already had the tip of his sword pointed dangerously to his throat.

Arthur gaped as the crowd cheered. That was one of the quickest matches he'd ever seen. Quickly, he searched the crowd for a cheeringAyser, but found none. Something was off with Sir Berwick, Arthur just knew it.

Ayser breathed out, a wild grin spreading on her lips as she basked in the cheers of the crowd. Her eyes watched excitedly as her own coat of arms was raised and Lord Corwinn's thrown to the ground. With a quick bow to the King, she rushed out, unable to contain her girlish giggles for much longer. Rushing out, her arm was caught by another, immediately jerking backward.

The face she saw, was probably the last she wanted to see right now. There, with her arm still clutched dangerously in his grasp, stood Arthur Pendragon, with a sour expression on his face. "Sir Berwick, that was an amazing match. Please accept my congratulations."

Inside her helmet, Ayser was the picture of panic. She knew if she answered, her voice would be immediately recognized as feminine, and even worse, as herself by Arthur.

With the best solution she could come up with in her state, Ayser simply nodded and tugged her arm from his grasp and hurried off into her tent. Taran was there waiting for her, a grimace on his face as she peeled the helmet off and took a deep breath. "So?"

Ayser shook off the panic from just moments earlier as a Cheshire grin slowly enveloped her entire face. "I won."

Taran smiled, but couldn't bring himself to cheer. As much as he supported her, Taran wasn't so sure this was great news. It would mean Ayser would go on to fight bigger, stronger opponents, and increase her chances of getting wounded. "That's great, Ayser." Ayser bit her lip, Taran hardly seemed excited. She ignored the awkwardness still hanging in the air from their exchange prior to her match, and began to loosen the fastenings on her armor. But Taran couldn't hold his tongue for much longer. "You have to stop this, Ayser. You're only going to get hurt."

"Well, then I shall wear my battle scars proudly."

"We've defied the King. You may be in his good graces, but I will not get off so easily. You've been so caught up in proving yourself that you haven't thought about anyone but yourself." Taran spoke softly, trailing off towards the end. Truthfully, he didn't care if he died for her sake, he'd be glad to. But, he'd hoped this would be enough to convince Ayser to stop this foolishness.

It wasn't.

Ayser sighed, removing the last piece of her armor and sitting in the seat across from him and laying her hand atop his. "If you want out, just say so, Taran. You've gotten me this far. I can take it from here on out."

Knowing he wasn't getting anywhere, Taran gave up. "No… we're doing this together."

Morgana, unlike Ayser, had always enjoyed the attention of Knights and Princes. There was something about being desired, and knowing it too, that left the King's ward feeling on top of the world. From a young age, she'd loved it, craved it even, the moments she'd enter a feast and all eyes would be on her. That moment of hush that befell the crowds as they marveled her beauty was all it took to make Morgana happy.

The tournaments were always her favorite. Young handsome knights fighting for the honor of escorting her to a feast in their honor, flashing eyes of lust at her, and pressing fluttering kisses to her knuckles. It was pure joy. Morgana was dressed in a gown of deep purple, the fabric just dancing across her milky white skin. Her dark hair was tucked into a low hanging knot, soft tendrils framing her face here and there, she was a vision. The Knights came and go, each more handsome than the last, greeting Uther and herself with smiles and grace. As each left, she'd turn to the left to face Gwen, ignoring the mumbling coming from her right, and claim he'd be the winner. Anyone but Arthur.

Ayser, however, was less than charmed. With each Knight that passed, her good temper grew thinner, and it took all she had in herself not to deliver the verbal beat down of the century. They were all too proud and smug, sure they'd be the one escorting the Lady Morgana. Ayser was at least glad that she wouldn't be held as the consolation prize, considering her 'engagement' to the Prince Selver. Which, in her own mind, was never happening.

Half the night, she stood on her tippy toes, just itching for a glance at Taran, who was further down the line than she'd originally thought. Nerves bubbled in her stomach as he grew closer, almost sure that the second Uther laid his eyes on him, he'd know and she'd be marrying Selver by the next day. It was a ridiculous notion, but nonetheless, it still crept at the back of her mind. To distracted in the thoughts of her horrid marriage to Nemeth's beloved prince, Ayser had barely noticed the knight of a yellow cape step forward in the line, his greeting to Uther already in progress.

"I saw you fighting today. You have a very aggressive style." Ayser rolled her eyes at Uther's impressed face, knowing he just loved the aggressive ones, the ones that fought with the same style he once did as a young man. She'd seen him fight recently, Uther wasn't exactly well-practiced, he left that all to Arthur.

The Knight Valiant was one she'd never heard of before, a new name in the long list of forgotten ones that would be drowned out when the tournament ended, winner or not. "Well, as My Lord said, 'To lose is to be disgraced'".

Ayser nearly snorted as Uther's reply came out, seemingly pleased by the answer, "I couldn't agree more. Knight Valiant, may I present the Lady Morgana, my ward." Ayser couldn't be bothered to pay attention to the rest of their conversation, as she was beside herself when Taran stepped up to meet the King.

She struggled to hear what was being said, over Morgana and the Knight Valiant's shameless flirting, nearly growling as the yellow knight stood before her, her hand already clasped in his own clammy one. "Lady Ayseranwinn," Ayser crinkled her nose at her full name, one so rarely used, that it almost became obsolete. Still focused on the conversation going on just over his stupid fat head, Ayser nodded, squinting hard to read their lips. "I've heard you yourself like to play around with swords,"

The tone in his voice caught her attention, Ayser tearing her gaze away from Taran, and placing a heated stare towards Valiant. "I hardly call it playing, but I suppose so, yes."

"Well, I hope you watch me tomorrow, I'll show you what real fighting looks like,"

Ayser saw red, her fists clenching at the fabric of her dress, "I'll show you fighting when my sword is rammed through your-"

"And the Lady Ayseranwinn, also my ward." Ayser stilled as Uther's gloved hand came down on her shoulder, angling her towards his latest knight, Taran. Nearly forgetting Valiant entirely, Ayser swallowed the lump in her throat as Taran carefully placed his lips on her knuckles, trying to wipe away any sort of familiarity he had with her.

"My Lady,"

"I believe you two have met." Taran nearly threw up right then and there, thinking he was dead for sure. The King had found them out, and he was going to die, it was all over, he'd failed, this was a nightmare.

"Yes, Berwick is my cousin on my mother's side. We've met on one of my trips to Kent, was it?"

Suddenly, as if God had given him some blessing, Taran breathed a sigh of relief, remembering who he was supposed to be, and not who he actually was. "Yes, Kalana was my mother's sister." His voice came out smooth and proud, something that surprised Ayser and himself. Brunilda watched with wide eyes as Sir Berwick Randall stood before her in all his glory, tall, dark, and handsome- a dream.

"I must say, I watched you out there today, and you seem quite quick for your size…"

Taran stood there in panic, not knowing how to respond to the King. Surely they were caught now, why didn't he think of it earlier, Ayser was small and quick, he had long gangly legs, that made for a very swift fighter not. "Must be all those dancing lessons your mother put you through then," Ayser laughed, playing the part just perfectly. Taran dared to laugh as well, delighted to find the King was buying it, amused by it even.

"Well, I am glad to see Ayseranwinn among family, again, I fear it has been too long."

Ayser bit back a sarcastic comment, and the thousands of angry words flying around that head of hers, as Uther turned to the next Knight, leaving Ayser, Taran, and Brunilda to themselves. "Calm down, it's fine, see?" Taran spared a glance to the King who was speaking to a Knight in an orange cloak, seemingly unaffected by the last conversation. The young man released the breath he'd been holding, nodding to her in relief. "Are you all set for tomorrow?"

"About that, I really need to talk to you about this. I'm worried, what if they find out? Surely the King won't be pleased, nevermind that, you're betrothed!" Brunilda tilted her head to the side, obviously missing important details from the conversation.

"I don't care about Selver," Brunilda tugged at Ayser's sleeve, clearing her throat repeatedly, though like most times, Ayser ignored her, "I'm doing what my heart wants," Again came a rather loud and unwarranted clearing of the throat of Brunilda, who stared wide-eyed at the new addition to the conversation, "And I'm glad I could share it with you,"

"I can' imagine Selver would be too happy to find out his betrothed is having an affair with her cousin, or anyone for that matter,"

"Arthur!" Ayser shouted in surprise, drawing the attention of nearly everyone in the throne room. Arthur had a rather sour expression on his face, one Ayser had become very familiar with over the years. "You have no right butting yourself into my conversations, besides, the state of Selver's feelings is hardly a concern of mine."

"So you don't deny your affair with your cousin?"

Ayser frowned, crossing her arms over her chest, "Of course I do, you prat! Maybe if you hadn't weaseled yourself in mid-conversation, you'd understand the context."

Taran looked back in forth between the two as each through words back in forth, in the famous banter he'd heard so much of in the lower towns. It was no secret that the Prince and the King's other ward were close, even to the citizens of the lower towns. Everyone knew of their friendship, and of their tempers, even worse when put together. Taran saw something light up in Ayser's eyes that he'd never caused in her before, it was something he immediately longed to be the cause of. But no, that honor was given to Prince Arthur. Taran edged away, bowing his head slightly to Brunilda, who giggled and waggled her fingers flirtatiously in his direction.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, baiting Ayser, but also genuinely curious who had gained Ayser's whispers, "You seem awfully close to your cousin…"

"Well, I do cherish my times away from here, or more so, away from you."

"Oh do you now?" Arthur let out a humorless laugh.

Ayser smirked, "Yes, and I'll have you know, Berwick is one of the best fighters I've seen, he might even give you a run for your money…

"I guess we'll see about that tomorrow then, huh?"

Ayser had always liked to surround herself with nature. Whenever she needed to think, or just escape from the castle, she always came back to the same place. There was something about the treeline just outside of the city limits that had given her a sense of calm. She'd lay in the vibrant greens of the grasses, staring up at the cloud that drifted by. Ayser could spend hours there and not realize a minute had passed.

A day had gone by, and four men remained in the tournament. The Knight Lior from the Isle of Man was a beast of a man, with size and strength on his side. The Knight Valiant hailing from the Western Isles was aggressive, fighting with every bit of the strength he had in him, to violently take down his opponents. The Prince Arthur of Camelot was both strong and swift and held the current title of Champion. The Knight Berwick from Kent was fast and effective, sending quick blows that didn't waste his energy.

Each man alone stood as a great fighter. But when matched against the others, his weaknesses showed. Lior was slow, Valiant was impatient, Arthur was too confident, and Berwick lacked in the sheer power that his predecessors possessed.

Ayser, despite numerous claims to Taran saying otherwise, was more nervous than she'd ever been. She'd like to think that she wasn't rattled by a prick like Valiant, but his excessively injured opponents stood to scare her off. In the event of loss, she only hoped he'd damage her face to the point where Selver would no longer want her.

The only thing now, that stood between her and her victory match against Arthur-who let's face it, was most definitely going to beat Lior- was a big hulking, aggressive, ray of sunshine, named Valiant. Normally, she'd jump at the chance to fight him, to show him what real fighting was, however, with one of his opponents in the care of Gaius and another dead, the odds weren't exactly in her favor. Ayser had requested Taran leave her alone, given that most of their time together was spent arguing over pursuing something they were already too deep into to pull out. She wanted to spend the morning with herself and her thoughts, to focus on the fight.

There were only two people in this world who knew of Ayser's safe haven away from the city. One of which Ayser knew for a fact was watching the Knights with Morgana and Gwen. A large shadow lurked over her, blocking out the visions of fluffy clouds and blue skies. Ayser sighed, patting the ground next to her, not even opening her eyes as the figure laid on the ground beside her. "I fight Lior today."

"I know."

"You're not worried?"

"Why would I be? He's slow, quite possibly part tortoise."

Arthur chuckled, twirling a piece of grass between his fingers. "You'll be there to watch, right?"

Ayser opened her eyes, turning her head to the side to catch his icy blue eyes. With a smirk she threw a clump of grass at his face, grinning as he groaned. "Of course, when have I ever missed one of your fights?"

"Good, cause I need my good luck charm."

Her heart beat against the silver breastplate with each shaky breath she took. Valiant came out in what could only be described as some great theatrical number. He called out to the crowd, demanding praise, as he slid his helmet over his head and twirled his sword around in his grip. Berwick stood at the opposite side of the arena, already prepared to fight. The figure stood reserved as Valiant threw his arms up, inciting more cheers from the crowd. Berwick tightened the grip on his shield, ignoring the churning in his stomach as he faced his opponent.

A deafening hush fell over the crowd, and Ayser struggled to keep her composure. It was like a game, neither too keen on making the first move. Valiant glanced to the King, discovering the bored expression on his face. And so, to impress the King, Valiant barreled towards Ayser, bringing his sword down full force, only giving her seconds to respond, Ayser twister her body out of the way, bodyguarded as he turned around to face her, anger evident in his mannerisms. Their swords clashed in a brilliant clang of metal against metal, the crowd letting out cheers.

The fight had begun.

Valiant charged Ayser again, this time, she dodged his incoming body, kicking him in the back and forcing his face into the dirt. Anger taking over, he swiped at her legs, Ayser falling as well, fighting to catch her breath under the weight of all her armor. Valiant was able to rise before her, slamming his foot down onto her shield and bending her arm back further than it should go. Ayser howled in pain, hearing a popping sound that was far from reassuring.

The crowd let out sounds of disgust, cringing at the injury which was sure to end Berwick. Valiant backed off as she rolled over onto her stomach, gasping for air. Ayser had never known pain like this, and it was a fight to even stand upright again. Shaking her head and regaining her bearings, Ayser tightened her hold on her shield, preparing for another round. Valiant brought his fist down upon her, but Ayser's vambrace came up to block it, which left his face open for her to send a devastating blow to. Valiant stumbled back, the punch rattling him, as he grew more frustrated by the second.

Ayser could see that Valiant was quickly losing his patience, and using it to her advantage, decided to toy with him a little. She twirled her sword, swiping at him multiple times, watching as his feet slowly inched backward. Their swords clashed, again and again, Ayser forcing Valiant back with the little strength she had left. Before he even knew it, Valiant's back was against the wall, and Ayser raised her sword to strike.

Valiant took his opportunity, using his power to force her backward, shoving her on the ground. Again and again, his sword came down, delivering hard blows to her shield, as Ayser struggled to defend herself. Further and further back she crawled, Valiant stepping forward and keeping the pressure on her, as Ayser struggled to find an opening for escape.

As Valiant raised his sword high for another blow, Ayser forced her shield forward, knocking Valiant backward, giving her enough time to stand. Ayser was quick, moving around to his side and delivering a harsh cut to his abdomen. Valiant stumbled back as his own blood coated his chainmail, the injury not serious enough to stop the fight.

Overcome with rage, Valiant shoved his shield forward with the force of half a ton, knocking Ayser's head back, the helmet once protecting her identity flying off along with her gorget. The crowd gasped in shock as her tawny locks tumbled out, her head whipping back at the force. There were shouts of outcry as they fought on, the King's voice booming above all others to stop the fight. But Ayser and Valiant were too invested, too charged by feelings to give up. Ayser didn't give the helmet a second thought as she charged Valiant, her sword raised high in the air. Valiant raised his own with equal ferocity, their swords clashing in an ear-piercing ring. They parried and blocked all the crowd went wild for the King's other ward.

A single voice stood out above all the rest, and as Ayser turned her head to hear the calls of Arthur, Valiant slammed her with his shield, her eyes going wide as she saw fangs coming at his with lightning speed and within seconds, Ayseranwinn, the King's other ward, lay still on the ground, eyes fluttering. All Ayser saw before the darkness and pain overcame her, was a single face amongst the crowd, the one who'd warned her, the one she'd ignored. Taran, looking absolutely crushed.