Chapter Text
“Hey!”
Ava knows she is just a girl here. A scrawny little beggar with no power. No armed entourage following her around to protect her.
But still, she can’t really just let the sleazy merchant hurt that young woman.
Except that she has gotten the offender and victim backwards.
From the deep shadow of the alleyway, the young woman’s accomplices swarm as the merchant scrambles away. Now Ava is fucked.
She is wearing literal rags and her face is streaked with mud. It is clear that she doesn’t have any gold let alone copper on her. The shining viciousness in their eyes can only mean one thing. She’s about to get a good beating for sabotaging their little hunt.
“Look… one bottom dweller to another -“ apparently that is not the right thing to say. The woman leading the charge flashes a blade after baring her yellowing teeth. Ava can smell her rotten breath even at distance.
One guy with a messy mane raises a blacksmith’s hammer. Maybe before the border fell into unrest and the queen died in battle, he used to be an honest blacksmith, but now he is just a robber.
The last member of their troop is a burly man with meaty fists. There are welts across his knuckles already. Not his first fight this week, it seems. His hulking form and crooked smile make it clear that he does not care who he gets to pound as long as there's a thumping in the near future.
The young woman acting as bait earlier definitely has the best personal hygiene of the entire gang. She sits idly by picking her fingernails with a small knife. She seems a bit bored watching her cohorts as though she has seen more than enough people smashed into the cart tracks to last her a lifetime. Three against one means she does not also feel the need to participate. . Would these street bandits accept requests for duels? Honor probably means nothing to them…
Before Ava’s thoughts race further, the blacksmith charges forward and swings at her. Ava is faster though, she ducks beneath the hammer’s arc. Her side step takes her right into the burly man’s arms’ radius. He punches all the air out of her and her body coils up. She reaches a hand out to steady herself against the wall, only to see the woman with the knife in her peripheral vision. The blade of the ugly looking knife is headed right towards her shoulder.
Before Ava can do anything to parry the blow, a whistle slashes the air. When Ava blinks, the smelly woman is wailing in pain and holding her hand, her knife clattered to the ground. The other two toughs are looking over their shoulders at the source of the interruption to their fun.
At the mouth of the alley stands a cloaked figure. They take a step further into the alley. A long staff in one hand, and with the other, the figure bends down to pick up another rock from the ground. They toss and catch the rock, as if weighing it in their palm.
The blacksmith growls at the approaching figure, and raises his hammer again.
A flick of the wrist brings another whoosh. The rock hits the blacksmith square in the forehead this time. Since he was in mid-swing, he loses all his balance and falls backwards. He reaches out to touch his head - he’s not bleeding, but when he removes his hand, there is an angry red bump forming rapidly where the rock has hit him.
The cloaked stranger doesn’t stop their steady approach. Now it’s close enough Ava can tell that it is a woman slightly taller than she is - she had seemed a lot taller from afar. Must be the shadow playing tricks to her eyes. Underneath the cloak, she dons leather armor. There is a sword strapped to the her hip as well. But it seems Ava’s savior’s preferred weapon is the staff.
The burly man is at least a head taller than the cloaked woman, and twice as heavy, but the staff arcs quicker than Ava’s eyes can catch and hits the man in the shin with a satisfying “whack”. Burly man’s mouth opens to a silent “o” in pain just as the staff swipes horizontally at his big fat ears. This time there is blood.
The blacksmith tries to sneak up on the warrior while she is distracted by the burly fighter. Just as Ava is about to yell out “watch out”, the cloaked stranger, without even turning around, angles her staff just right and the butt of it hits backward right into the blacksmith’s abdomen. The way he collapses onto the ground holding his middle makes Ava think something might have ruptured inside him from the blow.
The knife-less woman and the “bait’ exchange a look. Clearly more sensible than their accomplices they decide to simply run away.
The cloaked stranger finally trains her eyes on Ava. Her look scrutinizing and piercing. Ava suddenly wishes she had arranged the rags into a more fashionable pattern and wiped some of the grease off of her face.
“Are you alright?” The stranger steps over the abandoned knife and offers Ava a hand, completely ignoring the two men groaning next to her feet.
“Been better.” Ava lets herself be pulled to her full height. The stranger’s hood slipped back to reveal a tight bun. “I mean I could totally handle myself. If it’s not obvious.”
The cloaked woman doesn’t seem to have gotten her self-deprecating joke. She lets go of her hand and says with a straight face matter-of-factedly, “I noticed them sneaking around earlier. Three against one is hardly fair.”
Her accent is northern. Ava notices her cloak brooch, and faint sigil on battle worn chest armor. This woman is no ordinary mercenary. She takes a guess. “Well, thank you, sir.”
The woman, the knight , blinks at her alarmingly and instinctively rests a hand on the pommel of her sword.
Ava plays dumb - first rule of survival - “you are a knight, right? You look just like how they describe them in fairy tales.” Not entirely true, the knights in the stories or the ones Ava has known usually have flowy hair, not an uptight bun; their capes intricately embroidered with gold or silver threads, not lined with gray wool; their armors shining, not made of dull leather; wielding a huge sword on chargers, not… Speaking of which, “where is your horse, good sir?”
The knight might have chuckled but didn't answer. “Don’t go after people all by yourself next time,” she turns to leave.
“Isn’t that what you just did?”
The knight keeps on walking.
“My name is Ava. What’s yours?” Ava jogs after the knight out of the alleyway, and the sight as they turn the corner makes her smile.
The horse in question is a gray mare on the smaller side, standing by waiting for her master. The knight mounts the horse and pulls her hood up again. “Take care, Ava.”
—
Ava can’t explain why. She was wandering aimlessly before she met the knight, heading to nowhere except for “far far away’. Now she has been following the knight for a few hours. And she knows the knight knows she’s following her. If the knight can see her enemy’s attack behind her back, she can tell that she’s got a tail in the shape of a scrawny little beggar.
To Ava’s defense, the knight could have just rode away at a faster pace and Ava would not have stood a chance of catching up to her. That’s permission enough.
The coldness and the moisture has started to seep into Ava’s few layers of rags. She hugs her body and shuffles on. She really hopes that the knight doesn’t plan on traveling all night.
Luckily for her, the knight stops in front of an inn. She hands a few coins to the innkeeper and hands the horse off to the stable hand.
Ava enters the inn and sits down unsubtly just kitty corner to where the knight is seated. The knight has ordered and is sipping a mug of something with her back towards Ava.
The innkeeper comes by Ava. His nose is scrunched up seeing how beggarly she appears. Ava puts on a big smile before he can kick her out and says, “give me your best-“ feeling the lone coin in her pocket, “- hot water.”
The innkeeper rolls his eyes and goes back to pour her hot water.
The knight stops the innkeeper on the way and whispers a few words before flicking another coin at him. The innkeeper catches it clumsily and sheds a disdainful glance at Ava’s direction.
She really hopes the knight wasn’t telling him to chase her out. Or worse, call the local peacekeepers who are just a band of corrupted lazy men to shove her along.
Just as Ava weighs spending a night in the stable versus stealing a few coins off some other patrons, the innkeeper brings over a bowl of warm steamy slop. No doubt the menu of the day and the best the inn can manage this far from the city and this close to the war-ridden border. Nonetheless it’s still more than Ava has expected or paid for.
Seeing Ava’s surprised face, the innkeeper inclines his head to the knight and says dryly, “the good sir there is generous.”
The knight doesn’t even turn her head, just focuses on her own slop, eating in silence.
The moment the innkeeper leaves, Ava picks up her bowl and sits down right by the knight.
The knight only glances at her from the corner of her eye, clearly having anticipated this.
“Thanks for the food.”
The knight nods back politely.
“So I was right. You are a knight.”
Ava takes the silent eating as another invitation to fill the void.
“I’ve never seen a knight like you.” It’s the truth. She has seen many other knights, but none like this one. Maybe it’s the ruggedness, or the reticence, Ava is curious.
“I thought I looked ‘ just like how they described in the fairytales’?”
Ava grins sheepishly. “How can I repay you for saving my life back then and this gourmet meal?”
The knight smiles a little. It’s so little Ava is not sure she actually did. “It’s not necessary. But it is quite dangerous around here, you should be careful by yourself.”
“Would it be safer for both of us if I travel with you? Where are you headed?”
The knight puts down her spoon and regards Ava, considering the seriousness of her question. “West.”
Damn, that’s the last direction she wants to go. But since there are only impassable mountains further east, and she has no paper to cross the southern border or boat fare to reach the northern islands, she doesn't have many options left. “I can go west.”
The knight looks at her again with the half surprised, half amused look.
“Maybe I can work for you and…” An idea pops into Ava’s head, “be your squire?”
“I don’t need a squire.”
“No?” Ava gives her an once over. “Your armor needs a bit of polish, your cloak needs mending before the threads unravel near your pin and your horse could probably use a good brushing. I bet that sword of yours needs sharpening, too.”
The knight seems a little embarrassed and uneasy upon Ava mentioning all of her flaws. Her hand goes protectively over the pommel of the sword again.
“All of that from fairytale books, too?” She asks quietly.
Ava shrugs, fearing she has said too much. “Where is your squire anyways?”
“Died in battle.” The knight answers calmly.
“Oh, shit. Sorry.”
“My commander said I had bad luck with squires. They don’t last long.” The knight takes a sip of her drink and looks Ava above the rim of her mug.
Ava swallows, “I’m not afraid of curses.”
“No?”
“No.”
The knight fully regards her before letting out a long sigh and sets down her mug. “Alright.”
“Alright?” Ava smiles broadly.
The knight stands up and picks up the woolen cloak. “Mend the cloak, then.” She drops the heavy winter wool into Ava’s lap unceremoniously, with what might be a smirk on her face. “Ask the proprietor for needle and thread. I am going to rest. He will show you the room.” She points at the innkeeper. “And don’t wake me when you come in.”
“Wait!” Ava yells after her, “I still don’t get your name, sir.”
“Beatrice.”
Sir Beatrice turns and disappears up the narrow stairs.
It’s well past bedtime when Ava is done with the mending. All the other patrons have left and the innkeeper has been shooting stinky looks at her. But she has never mended something thick and heavy like this cloak. She got distracted every time Chanel tried to teach her the proper technique. It felt like a lifetime ago. And since then… She hasn’t needed to mend anything.
Ava yawns as she reaches the door the innkeeper told her. She waits for the yawn to pass. The knight clearly instructed Ava not to wake her.
When she pushes the door open as quietly as she can, she is surprised to see a candle still burning on the small wooden table, down to the last inch. A bedroll laid out on the floor. The heavy leather armor laid across the back of a chair. The staff is leaning against the bed. Ava barely registers its presence before the knight’s hand shoots out to grab it. Beatrice’s eyes are open and they are looking right at her.
Startled, Ava freezes. She has seen what that staff can do and she doesn’t want to be at the receiving end of it.
When her vision clears, Beatrice relaxes and retracts her hand from the staff. “What took you so long?” Her voice sounds groggy.
“I didn’t mean to wake you. Sorry.” Ava sets the fruit of her labor, the cloak over the armor and walks over to the bedroll.
“I am a light sleeper.” Beatrice blows out the candle and the room dips into darkness.