Avas Going To Make It Clear To Them - Tumblr Posts

It would have been fine, if not for the prophecy. Ava hates very few things but the prophecy is definitely one of them. Before the prophecy Shannon was Aunt Suzanne’s heir. All the responsibility for leading the kingdom fell on her. Ava spent her days roaming around doing whatever pleased her in the moment. Painting at the coast one week and learning a Gallien flourish to disarm an armed opponent the next. The world was hers and she relished it. Then the Oracle interpreted the prophecy. 

Ava is to be the next Queen and she will lead the kingdom to prosperity unseen in a dozen generations. No pressure. Aunt Suzanne looks as disbelieving as Ava’s sure she, herself, does. This wasn’t good. “Together with the steadfast love of her King by her side, Queen Ava will be an unstoppable force for good.” The Oracle says and Ava’s stomach drops straight through the floor and the cellar beneath it. 

“Fuck, the Hell, no.” Ava whispers. It was bad enough that she was being collared into a crown but this was the last nail in the coffin of her freedom. She could see Aunt Suzanne knew it too, judging by her guilty expression. Whatever freedom Ava had to choose her own spouse has just died ignobly in front of them. 

It’s Shannon who tells Ava what the Council’s decision is. Her sad eyes convey how much Shannon wishes she didn’t have to. “They’ve decided on a Grand Melee. The winner will earn your hand in marriage.” 

Ava grinds her teeth together, thinking furiously. “How many contestants?” She knows the Lords would try to stack the contest to maximize the chance of their child being the one that wins. The debate around the cut off must have been deadly.

Shannon grimaces. “They tried to narrow it to ten.” Ava grimaces back. She’s well acquainted with the most likely ten and none hold any appeal for her. “Aunt Suzanne insisted that anything but an open contest would be an attempt to control fate and doomed to backfire horribly.”

An idea sparks in Ava’s mind. A stupid enough it might just work idea. “There’s no limit?”

Shannon nods. She bites her lip then offers, “if you want Mary could-”

“No,” Ava cuts off her cousin. She knows where Shannon’s heart had lain for years. Knows also that Mary was too low of station, too foreign, to ever be allowed to marry the Crown Princess. Shannon’s not the Crown Princess anymore and has a chance now at the freedom that always brought Ava happiness. “But I am going to need her help. And yours?”

Shannon nods immediately, shoulders untensing. “You have it, Ava. Whatever you need.”

***

“This is a stupid idea and you should be ashamed for agreeing to help.” Mary says as she scowls at the woman she loves. 

Shannon shrugs, shamelessly uncaring. “It’s actually kind of brilliant,” she says. “There was nothing in the prophecy that counteracts the idea.”

“Except the whole King thing,” Mary deadpans. 

“I mean,” Ava protests from where she’s trying to get out of one set of armour. “It’s more implied than stated that Queen Ava isn’t also, y’know, King Ava.” Distracted from her tasks of squirming out of armour, Ava unbalances and lands on the ground with a thud. “Fuck! Little help?”

Mary sighs and starts helping Ava out of the armour. “This is going to backfire on us so bad, I just know it.” She grumbles. 

Shannon smiles and nudges at Mary’s shoulder. “Does that mean you won’t help us?”

Mary scowls at Shannon in offence. “Babe, I’d help you fight the moon. I just want to be able to say I told you so when it does, inevitably, blow up in our faces.”

Shannon giggles and places the most gentle kiss she can against her lover’s lips. Thrilling as she always does at this new ability. “Thank you.” The two blush at each other like school girls with their first crush.

“Why’s it so dark?” Comes Ava’s muffled voice. “Am I upside down? Guys, help!”

***

The armour they’d finally selected covered Ava completely. They’d forgone full plate (”Aww, but I’d be invincible,” Ava had protested. “Yeah,” Mary snorted agreement, “to everyone but yourself.”) in favour of more flexible chain mail. If Shannon hadn’t help Ava put on the armour herself she’d never imagine that the Crown Princess was the one standing in it. This was the first day of competitions and all over the kingdom groups as large as this one were gathering to fight for the right to be Ava’s King. Shannon watched impassively from the screened throne Ava was supposed to be sitting in. She was thankful Aunt Suzanne was still feeling too guilty to actually talk to Ava or their ruse would be discovered far too quickly. 

Shannon was trained diligently in fighting as it was unbecoming of a heir to not be able to do so. She is, objectively, one of the greatest knights their kingdom has. Mary could match her only with her weird machines. She’d never sparred with her little cousin. Always too busy with other responsibilities. Shannon chews at her lip and prays to the Goddess Reya that Ava at least knows how to fight. 

Ava does know how to fight. Kind of. Shannon can’t pick a single concrete style out of the eclectic mix of moves Ava uses. There’s a certain brutal minimalism to the foundation of it that Shannon doesn’t expect. It takes two days and four fights before she realizes it’s because Ava never learned formally. What she’s seeing is every move that looked cool enough to learn combined with Ava’s general mouthiness picking way more street fights than a princess should be in. It’s very… Ava.

The preliminary rounds last a week. Ava dominates the smaller competition that occurs in the small town close to the Royal Summer Palace. The heavier competition has likely all gathered at the Capital where the finals will be held. The smarter competitors will have spread to other cities as the top winner of every town and city as well as the top five at the Capital will advance to the finals. Shannon and Mary will three weeks, minus two days of travel, to cram as much structure into Ava’s fighting style as they can before the finals start. 

***

Ava sees Micheal only after she came into the competitor’s mess hall. She’d felt confident without her obscuring helmet and armour because “it’s not like anyone knows me here, Shan. I’ll be fine.” Except there was Micheal Fucking Salvius, her best fucking friend who should not be in a competition to marry her.  She ducks behind the nearest set of broad shoulders she sees. There are an awful lot of broad shoulders here and in any other circumstances Ava would be eyeing the room up like an all she could eat smorgasbord. It’s a lot less appealing when she no longer has the option to not partake. 

Ava pops her head up, half behind her hand and half curled in to the straight backed form beside her. She glances away from watching for Micheal to look up into amused brown eyes and freckles and oh goddess, she’s pretty. 

“Can I help you?” The woman asks with soft openness. 

Ava grins, unconsciously leaning closer even though she’s already in the woman’s personal space bubble. “Sorry, just trying to avoid a, uh, ex.”

The woman nods solemnly in understanding. “I imagine it would be difficult deal with someone who doesn’t know how to let go.”

Ava draws her eyebrows together. “Why do you think he doesn’t know how to let go?”

Laughter twinkles in those alluring brown eyes. “Who could ever let you go?”

Ava gasps with delight feeling the fine hairs on her body stand up at attention. She’s flirted before, of course she has. And she’s been flirted with. Far to many times for her position, power, or wealth over her body. Since she started this ruse almost two weeks ago people had viewed her as the poor mercenary attempting to reach beyond her station. She’s been dismissed and demeaned and threatened. She’s been scorned and propositioned for sex in the same conversation (if it could be called that). What she hasn’t been is seen as worthy. Not until this woman with her serious expression and gentle eyes. Ava wiggles closer, intrigued by why a competitor for the princesses (Her) hand would flirt so genuinely with her (a poorer competitor). “Are you flirting with me?” Ava asks with clearly faked dismay.

The woman’s freckles stand out more when she blushes. “Yes, well,” she stumbles verbally before she swallows heavily. She fiddles a little with her fork and glances down shyly. “You’re very beautiful,” she confesses.

Ava had poetry written about looks her by some of the best poets in the world. None of it holds a candle to the warmth that blooms in her chest from this honest confession. “Careful,” Ava teases, “or I might fall a little bit in love with you.”

A tiny smile licks at the woman’s lips. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

Ava laughs and nudges at a well muscled arm. “Maybe not, but if I do I might convince you to run away from all this to marry me instead.” Ava doesn’t know where this is coming from. She doesn’t even know this woman’s name and she’s already threatening to steal her away from what everyone in this room wants bad enough to risk death and marry her instead. 

The woman looks at her with a serious expression. “Like I said,” she repeats, “that doesn’t sound so bad.”

Ava grins and rest her hand against the woman’s forearm, feeling the heat and strength with her fingertips. “That’s a pretty bold statement considering where we are.”

The woman nods, looking around the room as though to remind herself of her purpose. “My parents might kill me if I ran away,” she comments. 

It could be an offhand comment but Ava already has a firm impression that the woman doesn’t do off hand comments. “Besides which, I don’t even know your name.” Ava says to get the conversation back to something lighter, to free the woman from whatever burden Ava can see weighing down her shoulders. “I think I should at least know what name to call out on my marriage bed.”

That startles a bark of laughter from the woman, leaving her looking as adorably confused as a pup whose never barked before making a noise it doesn’t understand. “Beatrice.”

“Ava,” Ava says with a smile. Beatrice is a beautiful and elegant name for a beautiful and elegant woman. 

Beatrice’s eyebrows furrow. “Like the Princess?”

Oh shit, Ava realizes. She was supposed to use a fake name. Should have, even  if it meant missing out on hearing Beatrice say her name. “Uh, mmhmm, yep. That’s, it’s a really odd coincidence but, well, I didn’t pick my name.” Ava shrugs and catching the quick flicker of Beatrice’s eyes dropping from her face to her chest then back up to her lips. Ava’s licks her lips and leans forwards slightly, allowing a better sight down her chest. Just to distract Beatrice from her totally not suspicious fumble. 

***

Hanging out with Beatrice is easy. They banter and talk like they’ve known each other for years. Beatrice has spent the majority of her life away from the Kingdom, travelling with her diplomat parents. Ava’s spent the majority of her life in the Kingdom, seeing all the life it has to offer. They share stories and secrets as easily as they trade blows while sparring. There’s a certain rhythm between them that makes it feel more like a dance than a fight. Ava grows more tempted to steal Beatrice away and disappear into the obscurity of being a roaming mercenary by the day. Beatrice would probably let her. Even if Beatrice’s parents wouldn’t. 

The final fights start a week and a half after she first meets Beatrice. Her first match is against some Lord’s son, J.C. Fortunately he’s too interested in the ladies and their displayed bosoms to offer much of a fight. Ava doesn’t want to admit it but he might have been able to beat her if he’d actually focused on it. She’s pretty sure he’s just here to get laid and get his dad off his back. Ava can respect those goals so she holds her hand out to help him up after she wins. He nods amicably back at her and disappears with the first girl who compliments him with a hand on his chest. 

Ava watches Beatrice’s fight afterwards, wishing it could be as easy as that with her woman. Only, just for her. Not for any girl who tried. Beatrice is a force of nature. Ava wonders how she missed it before now. She trades a glance with Shannon through the screen that protects her identity. Beatrice doesn’t win her fight, she dominates it. Ava’s thighs clench at how easily Beatrice floors a bloodied knight with ten years experience on her. It had been like he was standing still, a training dummy before her.

Shannon sends Mary with a message that night and Mary raises a judgemental eyebrow at how she finds Ava nearly sitting in Beatrice’s lap they’re eating so close together. Ava shrugs shamelessly. Mary just sighs and motions for Ava to meet up with her. Ava leaves Beatrice with a visible reluctance. 

“This mean you have a favoured winner?” Mary asks ruthlessly the moment they’re alone. 

Ava scowls at her pseudo big sister. “Yeah, me.” She replies. “Just because I want to lick her sweat from her forearms doesn’t mean I want to give up my freedom.”

Mary grimaces at the, to her unnecessary, visual. “Ew, I regret asking already.” Ava raises a challenging eyebrow. “Shan sent me with a list to watch for. She’s pretty sure your, hmm, unorthodox fight style would let you win against most fighters. There’s only three she’s concerned about. Micheal knows how you fight.”

Ava scoffs. “I got Micheal,” she reassures. “I don’t know what that brat thinks he’s doing but I know how he fights too. Leave him to me.”

Mary nods easily. “The other two, well, they’re just better than you. Don’t pout baby girl. You know we’re not trying to be mean.” Ava pouts harder. “Shan’s going to try to get them to fight each other before they fight you. That way you only have to fight one of them.”

Ava’s pretty sure she already knows but she has to ask. “Who?”

“Lilith Villaumbrosia,” Mary says and they share a knowing grimace. The Villaumbrosia’s pride themselves on being the best warriors. Ever. Ava’s not even sure they care about winning her hand as much as they do proving their heir kicks ass. “And the Leonidas heir.”

“The who?” Ava frowns with the question. She doesn’t think she’s heard of him. Mary’s jaw drops. “What?” Ava asks.

“You’re so into her it’s made you stupid.” Mary responds, half to herself. At Ava’s continued confusion Mary clarifies. “Beatrice, you idiot. Beatrice Leonidas. Or as she’s publicly known, the Lion’s Pride.”

Ava pales and the world side steps beneath her feet. The Lion’s Pride. She knows that moniker. Everyone does. They youngest general in their neighbouring, thankfully much smaller, Steral Kingdom. The warrior who single handedly fought an ogre chieftain in ritual combat. Who took only a company and razed the thousand bandits of Wild Deer Grove in an absolutely impossible coup. “Who?”

Mary laughs. “You heard me,” she says mercilessly. She shakes her head at Ava’s pleading expression. “Face it baby girl, you’ve got a crush on the pretty girl your whole country would give it’s left nut to have win this competition.”

“Fate is such a bitch,” Ava groans.

***

As Ava promised, it’s easy to win against Micheal. Her longest friend puts up a good fight but her familiar voice shouting “dick” is enough a distraction for her to disarm her at a pivotal moment. “Ava?” He asks soft enough the crowd can’t hear him. His tone is full of disbelief and wonder. 

“Duh,” her response is unsympathetic. “Now surrender and tell me what the hell you think you’re doing.”

Micheal raises his voice loudly. “I am defeated. I surrender the fight.” The referee nods acknowledgement and Ava helps her friend up. “What are you doing here? Have you been, well, you this entire time?” He asks impatiently.

“Of course I have,” Ava dismisses. “And where else would I be? Letting some idiot control my choices?” She slaps her friend gently upside his head in pointed emphasis. 

Micheal pouts at her. “It’s not like I wanted to,” he protests. At Ava’s fierce scowl he hastily backtracks. “I mean, I just, I wasn’t going to let someone force you into something you don’t want. You’re my best friend.” He shrugs and Ava gets it. They were both sick often as kids, both stuck until his mother’s loving but slightly tyrannical thumb until she could heal them. He says ‘best friend’ but Ava really knows he means ‘sibling’. 

“Well, good. I wouldn’t marry you anyway.” She teases. He makes a sour expression at the idea of them marrying. “Now let’s go watch Bea kick Lilith’s ass.” 

His eyes crinkle together in confusion. “I thought Lilith was fighting Leonidas?”

Ava blushes. Ava never blushes but she can feel how hot her cheeks get right now. Can feel his stare and jaw dropped shock. “Right. Yeah. Her.”

“A-Ava,” Micheal stutters. “Ava what was that?”

“Nothing!” Ava denies. They both know she’s lying. If not then he certainly knows it by her wide eyed heavy panting awe as she watches the legendary fight between Beatrice and Lilith. Beatrice wins flawlessly, her hair dark with sweat and escaping her cowl as she makes her way to where Ava’s watching her breathless. “That’s my girl,” Ava cheers. Beatrice stumbles and almost trips. “Oh shit! Are you ok? Do you need a healer?” Ava asks with concern. 

“Or laid?” Lilith snarks from behind Beatrice. 

Beatrice flushes red and Ava bites at her bottom lip at the sight. “I’m fine,” Beatrice says to Lilith, then softer to Ava, “I’m fine.”

“Yeah you are,” Ava growls her agreement and thrills at how Beatrice smiles shyly in response. 

She ignores Micheal’s mumbled, “this isn’t nothing” like the professional she is.

***

It comes down to Ava and Beatrice. Like it was fated. Written in prophecy and spoken by an Oracle. All Ava’s freedom locked on the other side of the woman Ava desperately wants to gift it to. On the other side of a woman she can’t defeat, and not for lack of trying. Ava hates it. Hates that she’s fallen in love and probably going to marry this woman only to resent Beatrice for being forced into this. 

Beatrice stands polished and proud. Looking every bit the amazing King she’s going to be. Her grip on her spear is easy and firm, practiced and perfected over countless hours. Ava looks pathetic in comparison. It’s intentional, the mismatched colours and contours intended to make people overlook her. No self-respecting Princess would wear this. Ava’s full face cover is down, protecting her face from the scrutiny of the Queen and her Council. Beatrice is holding her helmet under her arm, her serious eyes locked on Ava’s fidgeting form. The referee called start two minutes ago and neither of them have moved. 

Ava’s sword is still sheathed. Beatrice’s spear is butted against the ground. The most they’ve done is nod at each other. Ava’s seen Beatrice fight before. Knows that she advances like a storm the moment the referee calls a start. Like the hand of the goddess touching down against vulnerable earth, moving everywhere at once. No hesitation and no regret. Beatrice is chewing a bit at her bottom lip and Ava’s a tiny bit distracted by her jealousy that she’s not allowed to chew at Beatrice’s bottom lip. The referee called start five minutes and the crowd is murmuring loudly in the silence between them. 

“Fight.” A voice calls out and the crowd takes up the chant. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Beatrice’s eyes don’t waver from the lock they have on Ava. Ava feels naked before her, despite being more covered than ever before. Ava wants and wants and curses herself for not finding the words to explain herself. Ava wants to beg Beatrice to walk away, to surrender this competition she’s going to win. Wants to explain that Bea’s Ava is that Ava, the one who should be sitting like a princess behind a protective screen. Present and not seen, like she’s felt her entire life until Beatrice saw her. Would Beatrice? Could she bare it if Beatrice didn’t? If she chose what her family wants her over what Ava asked of her? Ava’s never felt so weak, so alone. The referee called start ten minutes ago and the stadium rocks with the shouts of ‘fight!’

Beatrice breaks eye contact and Ava breathes through the tears spilling down her face. She turns to look at the stern couple who carry her same colours and standard. They nod at her, imperious and commanding. She tilts her head and smiles. Beatrice’s spear stays standing for a moment after she releases it, perfectly balanced until the wind knocks it down. The crowd goes silent enough between her open hand and the wind that Ava can hear the spear hit the ground. Beatrice drops her helmet next, without care for how the shiny metal hits the ground. She steps forward, away from her weapon. Her gauntlets fall right first, then left. Her cloak is ripped off her shoulders the step after. Beatrice slows, pulling at the buckles of her cuirass and it hits the ground with a solid thunk when she’s five steps away from Ava. Ava can’t breathe. The referee called start fifteen minutes ago and Beatrice is unarmed and half defenceless in front of her. 

“My whole life, people have tried to make me into something I’m not. To make me normal. Or at least… acceptable,” Beatrice explains as she continues stripping off her armour. “I became skilled at so many things just so I would still have value, despite my flaws. Or what I’d been taught was a flaw.” Beatrice scoffs. “Of course, I tried to fit in. But when you’re punished just for being different, you begin to hate what you are.” She pauses in kicking off her greaves to look at Ava. Ava’s too stunned to lift her helmet so she hopes Beatrice can see how much she’s listening in her eyes. “And what you love, what should make you happy. Only brings you pain. Pain is what made me a warrior.”

Ava blinks tears from her eyes. “Don’t hate what you are. What you are is beautiful.”

Beatrice, stripped down to the soft clothes worn beneath her heavy armour, laughs. “When I’m with you,” she says softly, “I can actually believe that.”

Ava thinks they must have been overheard because her aunt chooses this moment to interrupt. “Contestant Leonidas,” Queen Suzanne’s sharp tone cuts through the understanding between them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m falling in love,” Beatrice shouts back and Ava swoons. 

“What about the competition?” Suzanne demands. 

Beatrice blushes, as though she’d forgotten they were surrounded by a crowd and why. “Sorry,” she whispers to Ava first. Beatrice turns to Shannon’s hidden form. “I’m sorry Princess. I’m sure you’re lovely and I do wish you luck in finding you’re King to sit beside you. It just won’t be me.”

Suzanne sighs and rubs at her temples. “Contestant Leonidas, your assuming Contestant Silva will agree with you.”

Beatrice shakes her head ‘no’. “She makes her own decisions,” the vulnerable woman says. She turns to make eye contact with Ava again, as serious as she’s ever been. “Whatever you chose, I support. I’m yours. If you want to marry me, well, nothing would make me happier. If you want to strike me down and win a kingdom,” Beatrice holds out her empty hands leaving her utterly vulnerable. “I won’t stop you.”

Ava laughs. She can’t help it, even as Beatrice blinks at her with surprise. She laughs so hard her shoulders shake. 

“Contestant Silva,” Suzanne calls over Ava’s laughter and points at Beatrice’s patiently waiting form. “Perhaps you’d like to end this charade.” Ava’s eyes widen. Her aunt knows? And let it happen? Did Suzanne know this  would happen? Her shock must be obvious in her body language because Suzanne smiles. “After all,” she calls looking at her Council with an imperious expression, “Fate cannot be denied.”

Ava fumbles with the latch of her helmet and silently curses Mary’s diligence at making sure it wouldn’t accidentally come off. “You promise you’re mine?” She asks, hesitating with the weight of her helmet in her hands. “No matter what?”

Beatrice nods. “In this life and the next.” 

Ava tosses her own helmet off and throws herself at Beatrice. Her lips feels exactly as soft and perfect against her own as she dreamed. Beatrice pulls her closer and Ava can feel Beatrice’s smile with her tongue. Her hands wander a little more than is socially acceptable but Beatrice doesn’t protest so Ava doesn’t care either. Ava pulls back from the kiss to meet Beatrice’s heavily lidded eyes. Beatrice cups her face gently with both calloused hands. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she threatens. Beatrice presses their foreheads together and Ava can’t stop grinning. 

“Thank fuck!” A voice shouts behind the protective screen hiding the Crown Princess and Shannon stumbles out from behind it. 

“Princess Shannon?!” The Council gasps in shock, a few looking behind her for their Crown Princess to magically appear. “Where is the Crown Princess?”

Ava laughs and pulls back from Beatrice enough to turn and face her aunt and the Council of Lords. “It seems the final contestants have tied,” she shouts. “So we’ll be splitting the rewards accordingly. Bea will have the Princess and I’ll get married.” Beatrice pouts and Ava doesn’t have to prevent herself from poking at that tempting lower lip so she does’t. “Don’t be jealous honey,” Ava teases.

“I don’t want some Princess,” Beatrice protests, “I want you.” 

The gathered crowd of onlookers murmur to themselves, wondering if such a thing is allowed. Queen Suzanne slams her cane against the ground, bringing all attention to her. “You’ve heard my niece,” she says with a growing smile. “Now, come over here and let me give my congratulations on your upcoming marriage Ava. And welcome your King into our family.”

Ava grabs Beatrice’s hand and skips forward only to pull to an awkward halt when Beatrice does’t come with her. She looks over her shoulder to find Beatrice looking stunned. “Niece?” Beatrice croaks out.

Ava grins and rushes back to press a quick kiss to Beatrice’s lips once more. “So, turns out the reason I share a name with the Princess is because I am the Princess.”

Beatrice’s jaw drops and her eyes look between Ava and her aunt, The Queen. “What?” It comes out half strangled. 

“Surprise!” Ava flourishes her hands. “I choose to marry you and win a kingdom. You promised so no take-backies.” She steals another quick kiss and returns to pulling her fiancé over to her family. This time Beatrice goes willingly, if a little stiffly.

“I wouldn’t take it back,” Beatrice protests.

Ava grins. “I know. You’re much too steadfast for that love.”

given how she hates being powerless, ava would be the exact type of person who would enter in as a knight in a contest for her own hand so she can maintain her independence

so, knight!ava-who’s-secretly-the-princess in a contest for the princess’ hand with one of her main rivals being one Sir Beatrice Young, and as the contest drags on Ava quickly discovers that while she would rather die than loose regardless, if she has to loose to anyone she’d rather it be Beatrice

meanwhile Sir Beatrice, who was never all that interested in winning the princess’ hand to begin with, and only entered the contest at the behest of her father, finds that the urge to say to hell with it all and run away with the mysterious, constantly punning, rival knight who fights almost like their life depends on it grows stronger by the day