A/N: I have so many ideas for this story—please let me know your thoughts so far! :)

"Always in the dream, it seemed as if there were a destination: a something—he could not grasp what—that lay beyond the place where the thickness of snow brought the sled to a stop. He was left, upon awakening, with the feeling that he wanted, even somehow needed, to reach the something that waited in the distance. The feeling that it was good. That it was welcoming. That it was significant. But he did not know how to get there."
—Jonas, "The Giver" by Lowis Lowery

Aurelia Pendragon groaned in pain as her leather cuirass dug into the skin of her back. She let her head fall back into the sand and groaned, again. A shadow passed over her closed lids and she pried her eyes open to see a tall, muscular woman with shorn, pale-blond hair towering over her.

"That was good, Lia!" she said. "Much better than last time."

Aurelia shot her a look. "How was that 'good?' You flipped me over your shoulder!"

"Because you almost managed to get free this time." Dame Brienne, Aurelia's personal guard, extended out a helping hand. Aurelia took it, and Brienne hoisted her to her feet. The princess slapped the sand off of herself, mentally grumbling. If she wanted to prove herself and be a Knight of the Round Table, she had to be better.

Most people—the men, especially—believed she shouldn't be training at all; that it wasn't right for a woman of her station. They certainly hadn't liked it when Brienne was made a knight. But Aurelia would prove them wrong. She could be just as good as they were. Women were just as, if not more so, capable of being warriors.

Aurelia squared up and growled, "Again!" through clenched teeth. Brienne met her half-way, and they grappled, but Aurelia ended up on her back once more.

"That is a hard hold to break out of," Brienne said, pulling Aurelia to her feet a second time. "You're improving."

"Doesn't feel like it." Aurelia pushed a loose, dark curl out of her face.

"No one masters fighting overnight." Brienne handed Aurelia a waterskin. "Patience, Lia. Drink."

Aurelia glared at her over the waterskin, but Brienne sent her a teasing wink. Aurelia wiped her mouth and handed the skin back to the female guard and picked up her practice sword. It was short and light, blunted for practice.

She had been attending lessons with Brienne nearly every morning for the past three yeas after finally getting her mother, Queen Guinevere, to let her train to be a Knight of the Round Table. Aurelia had begged her mother for years—ever since Brienne had arrived in Camelot nearly a decade ago. Brienne had been a warrior in her village from up north, and the ten-year-old princess had instantly been smitten when the woman in tarnished silver armor with two broadswords on her back had been knighted. Aurelia started carrying two sticks around, "fighting" in the gardens when she thought no one was looking, and had Lady Ilsa style her hair into a warrior's braid.

"Let us try again. Slower this time." Brienne picked up her own practice sword and walked Aurelia through the movements. Aurelia still ended up on her back, but when they tried for a third time, Aurelia broke free. Though, she suspected Brienne had let her.

"Good!" Brienne said when Aurelia scrambled away from her. "See? I told you it was all about patience."

"The princess, patient? Does such a thing exist?"

Aurelia whirled around to find Gwaine smirking characteristically as he leaned on the nearby gate. He was near her mother's age, and he had acted like a father figure to Aurelia and her brother, Galen, over the years. His dark-brown hair was freshly cut, showing off the gray at his temples that the women at court liked to swoon over. His beard was neat, as usual, but instead of the leathers Aurelia was used to seeing him in, he wore a green tunic over a shining mail hauberk and a matching velvet coat. Aurelia could practically hear the women now. It didn't matter that Gwaine was happily married to Lady Orla.

"Where's the party?" Aurelia asked the older man, motioning to his attire.

"Here." Gwaine opened the gate and stepped onto the training field with freshly polished boots. "Guests are arriving as we speak. Thought I'd actually look the part of general."

"Already?" exclaimed Aurelia, a panic rising in her stomach. Her mother would be very upset if she was not out and about in the courtyard to greet their guests. "Galen's wedding isn't until next week!"

"Aye, already," said Gwaine, taking her sword. He studied the nicks in the blade. "Hmm, this needs to be replaced."

"Is Mother expecting me somewhere?" Aurelia asked, already in the process of pulling her gloves off. She would have to bathe quickly and toss a gown on, or something—the thought of even styling her wild mane of curls made her pale. Her best friend and handmaid, Lady Mirah, wasn't due to arrive back to Camelot for another few days.

"No, no," Gwaine said, handing the sword back to her. "You're alright. I only came to see how you were progressing."

Aurelia breathed a sigh of relief and put her glove back on. Gwaine was one of the few who fully supported the princess in her training. Since he was a general, his opinions held weight, and while pushback had died down recently, Aurelia was still subjected to snide remarks and jeers every once in a while on the fields.

"Same as yesterday," she said, turning the sword in circles with her wrist.

"Show me that shoulder throw." Gwaine nodded at Brienne. Aurelia dropped into her stance, facing her guard. "Your stance is too strong," he critiqued her, pointing downward. "Your feet should be shoulder width apart."

"They are! ...Oh." Aurelia peered down at her boots and realized Gwaine was right. She adjusted her feet accordingly.

"Good," said Gwaine, dropping into a stance alongside her. "Strong foot forward when attacking, strong foot back when defending. Keep your hips squared and your eye on the opponent, but keep your ears open for anyone behind you."

Aurelia knew this already—both Brienne and Gwaine had already taught her—but she matched Gwaine's form, knowing he liked to make sure. When he backed away, she nodded at Brienne to let her know she was ready. Aurelia lunged, and Brienne was ready and countered, but Aurelia reacted quickly and met Brienne with her left side, locking them in place. The princess struggled, and Brienne let herself get thrown. At least she had gotten the movement.

"Not bad!" Gwaine said with approval as Brienne jumped back to her feet with ease. "Good, in fact. I told you you're a natural fighter, just as your father was."

Aurelia stiffened at Gwaine's words. Could she ever do anything without being compared to a dead man? A man she had never even known. He had died a few months following her and her brother's birth. And yet, nearly every day of her life, someone brought up Arthur's name any time she did, or said something, they deemed to be "great." Aurelia understood he had been a good and beloved leader, but people acted as if he were some sort of god. It also didn't help that the castle was crawling with artwork of Arthur's various achievements, adventures, and quests. Statues lined the courtyard and gardens; tapestries covered the walls of the castle, along with paintings and woodwork. Arthur was everywhere in Camelot—even in the city proper, where the streets were named after him: Arthur's Way, Pendragon Street, Excalibur Corners. There was no escaping him.

"Lia has many talents," Brienne cut in, folding her arms across her chest and smiling at her charge. "She is my best student."

"I'm your only student," said Aurelia pointedly, to which the older woman laughed at.

"Go wash up," Brienne instructed, taking the sword from the princess. "It's getting late."

"Thank you," said Aurelia, relieved to get away from Gwaine before he started another trip down memory lane. She bid the two goodbye and began her trek through the other fighting rings, where knights were practicing or training squires. The echoing of swords clanging slowed as she passed, but she otherwise ignored the stares. Even after all this time, they should have been used to her on the fields. She pushed another fallen black curl from her face as someone called out her name.

A flutter erupted in her stomach as Leander, youngest son of Sir Percival, hurried toward her from the stables. He was a few years older than her, and his light-brown air was tousled from the wind, but that was how Aurelia liked it best. He towered over her by only a few inches and was leanly toned with muscle, had angular features and deep-set eyes.

"Good morrow, Leander," she said all while slowing her pace.

"How were your lessons?" he asked, stepping in stride with her.

Aurelia shrugged. "Same, as per usual. I hear you're up for the Trials."

The Trials, the last set of tests a squire must pass in order to be considered for knighthood in Camelot, included a very difficult obstacle course and various tests run by the Knights of the Round Table every spring. It was Aurelia's goal to not only be considered for the Trials, but to pass them and make her way all the way to the top, as a Knight of the Round Table.

"Word spreads quick," said Leander, shaking his head. "I only just found out myself. They're recruiting more and more every day. These attacks on the abbeys are disturbing."

"Yes, they are," said Aurelia gravely. They were part of the reason she was pushing herself so hard. Although she was a princess, she had no real power. Sure, she sat in on council meetings and participated in the discussion, but she couldn't do anything—she couldn't even delegate festivity orders without permission from her mother or brother. She wasn't in line to the throne. Not really. While there was a succession for the High King of Albion, it was only passed to direct male heirs. If something happened to Galen before he had any boys, the High Throne would not pass to her. It would be up to the petty kings of Albion to vote in a new High King. A seat at the Round Table, however, would allow her to do something...to become someone.

"But, I believe congratulations are in order." Aurelia brushed her hand against his, pulling herself from her thoughts.

A flush spread on Leander's cheeks. "To be honest, princess, I'm downright terrified." He glanced over his shoulder, as if to make sure no one was listening; the fighters had gone back to their lessons or training, their eyes thankfully no longer on Aurelia. The dirt turned to grass as she and Leander walked through the gardens, and the noise from the training fields faded behind them into the background. Lush flowers and hedges swayed in the gentle wind, and the mix of various scents of flora was a welcome difference from the sweat and leather they had just come from. The trickling of the fountain grew louder the deeper they walked into the maze of the gardens.

"Why? Do you think Lyrion is going to sabotage you?" Aurelia gave him a nudge and a teasing smirk. Leander's older brother, Lyrion, was one of the youngest knights to be granted a seat at the Round Table. He was also a well-known prankster.

"I'm afraid I'll fail in front of him and Father." He face fell, and Aurelia stopped in her tracks and grabbed his wrist.

"You'll be fine," she said, squeezing his hand. "You're a good fighter."

Leander shook his head. "But the Trials are more than that. What if I can't pass them?"

Leander had never been so open with her before. She leaned toward him, their chests almost touching. The smell of the stables wafted into her nose, along with a hint of musk. "Well," she whispered, trailing a finger up his arm, "then I'll take your place at the Trials and obtain the knighthood."

"Oh, will you now?" His face softened, and he lifted a hand to brush some wild curls behind her ears.

"Yes." She leaned into his hand. "And then, you can squire for me while I win all of the tournaments."

Leander laughed, but shook his head. "I am sorry to lay this on you. I am sure you have plenty of other things to worry about, what with the price's wedding and all."

"Everyone needs someone to talk to, Leander," Aurelia whispered. They were so close now she could see the small flecks of green and gold amongst the brown in his eyes. His lips twitched into a soft smile, and his hand slid around her neck—

"Your Majesty!" Leander jumped back from the princess, his eyes wide and face suddenly a ghostly-white, staring at something—or someone, rather—over Aurelia's shoulder. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw; she couldn't go anywhere without everyone knowing where she was, or what she was doing. Privacy, unfortunately, was not part of normal life as royalty.

"Hello, Mother." Aurelia put on a pleasant enough smile as she turned around to face the queen.

Queen Guinevere stood in one of the hedge archways speckled with roses. She worse a dark-brown dress with an apron and held a small spade in her gloved hands. One day a week, the queen hid away in the gardens, planting and pruning her beloved flowers. No one was to bother her with royal duties except for emergencies. It had been that way for as long as Aurelia could remember. Many noble women hated that Guinevere got on her knees with the servants and wasn't afraid to dig her hands into the soil, but it made her beloved by the castle staff and the people of the city. They thought it humble.

After all, she used to be one of them.

Guinevere folded her arms across her chest, and a sly smile spread across her face. "I seem to be interrupting something," she said. "I do apologize, but may I have a moment alone with my daughter?"

"O—Of course, my queen," Leander stammered, bowed, and scurried off.

Aurelia watched him go with a frustrated sigh. "Mother!" she whirled around. "What that necessary?"

"I was going to sneak away," said her mother, an apologetic look on her face, "but Leander had already seen me. I didn't mean to pry, love, I promise. I was only heading back inside."

Aurelia sighed, again, and took a quick moment to calm herself. "What as it that you needed?" she asked in a gentler tone.

"Well." Guinevere switched the small spade to her other hand and linked arms with her daughter. "Nothing urgent. I received a letter from the king of Gaul sending us well wishes, but he cannot make the trip for your brother's wedding. So, we have a room in the guest wing open."

"He had the double-wide room near the fountains, yes?" inquired Aurelia, straining to remember the list she had helped her mother with.

"Yes," confirmed Guinevere. "So, I was thinking of moving Lady Elaine there."

"Oh, that's good. Now, she won't complain about her room being 'too small.' But, that isn't what you really wanted to ask me, was it?"

"Am I that obvious?" Her mother sighed. "Well, I have a rather enormous pile of letter on my desk, all asking permission for a marriage arrangement with—"

Aurelia groaned. "Mother, no! Not now!" She had already been bombarded with courtships and marriage proposals from the noblemen of court on her own. She had hoped her mother wouldn't concern her with it, as well.

"Aurelia, you are nearly twenty..."

"If I marry a foreign royal, I cannot be a knight," argued the princess. "Mother, this is all I want."

"Aurelia." Her mother took her by the shoulders. "You are destined for more than this. You were born to rule—to be a queen."

"I wasn't born to be a queen at all," Aurelia insisted, brushing her mother's hands away. "Let alone a queen of a foreign land. I am not in line to the High Throne. My place is here, in Camelot, by my brother's side. That is my destiny."

Guinevere frowned, causing the wrinkles around her mouth to become more prominent. After a moment, she let out a soft laugh and shook her head, her dark curls—the very same ones her daughter had inherited—fall over her shoulders. "You are a Pendragon, through and through," she mused, a certain glint in her eye. "Very well. I shall send them away."

Aurelia's eyes widened. She wasn't sure she'd heard her mother correctly. "Truly?"

Guinevere nodded. "For now. I do admit, I am not so fond of you being far away. Call me selfish, but I am your mother first and foremost."

Aurelia threw her arms around the queen, causing her to stumble.

"Oomph! Careful, love!" Guinevere chuckled and returned the embrace.

"Thank you, Mother," Aurelia said, relief washing through her. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Of course, darling." Her mother pulled away and brushed a few stray tendrils from Aurelia's temple. "But...what about Leander?"

"Mother!"