Despite what her brothers thought, Tigris was not a fool. In fact, she could be quite smart. She had to be, what with being the first female heir to the throne in centuries. So even though Tigris dismissed her brother's claims publicly, she quietly vowed to watch Sir Harold, just in case her old friend wasn't as okay as he claimed.

Tigris watched from her window as Harold reported to Aodh on the beach after his patrol. He pointed towards the castle. Tigris was familiar with Harold, he was one of her father's best knights. He'd trained her when she was a youthful teenager, buzzing with energy. She knew his movements better than anyone else.

Harold's time in captivity seemed to have drained him of his usually spry steps. He moved robotically, his face carefully blank as he gave his report. He had the same robotic stiffness on the training field when he sparred with the other recruits, his movements slow and clunky and very un-Harold-like. For days, Tigris had written it off as the knight getting back into the swing of things. But during his fight with her, he'd shown more fervor and enthusiasm than she'd ever seen from the knight. He'd never been so reckless and powerful with his blows before he was captured.

The treated cut beneath Tigris' collarbone prickled.

She couldn't deny that something was wrong with her old friend and others were starting to catch onto it. Hell, Roche had figured it out. If Tigris' dumb as rocks maid could figure out that Harold was not in the right headspace to fight, Tigris should probably stop him. For his safety, the other knights' safety, and for her own safety. But such a public absence from the upcoming tournament would be seen as a stain against Sir Harold's honour.

Tigris rubbed the bandaged cut again, the skin itching beneath the fine fabric of her gown. Her father's words from the morning meeting echoed in her ears. Everyone had seen her struggle under the seasoned knight during training. If she told Harold to sit out of the tournament coming up next week, she'd be seen as a coward and weakling by her father and the court.

Heat filled Tigris' cheeks. She pulled herself away from the window. Whatever was going on with Harold could wait until after the tournament. For both of their sakes.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a loud clatter followed by furious muttering in the corner of the room. Roche sat on a small wooden stool, scrubbing furiously at Tigris' armour.

"I didn't know polishing my armour was such a loud affair." Tigris announced to the younger woman, crossing her arms. "What are you even muttering about?"

"I was wondering how you got this helmet over your giant, egotistical head." Roche snapped back. Said helmet slipped from her oily fingers, crashing into the ground deafeningly. Tigris smirked.

"I'd have you in the dungeons for saying such a thing, but fate seems to have punished you anyways." Tigris chuckled as Roche groaned and stooped to grab the fallen pieces of metal. Roche scowled sourly at Tigris.

"Don't you have a sword to swing?" Roche grumbled, "Or are you going to keep staring out that window like a lovesick damsel."

Tigris' cheeks heated. "I was not-" she heaved a breath when she saw Roche smirk at her, "I wasn't staring. I was... observing."

"Who?" Roche dropped the armour and sprang to her feet, hands rubbing together. "I love gossip."

"I'm sure you do, since you spend all your time gossiping instead of polishing my armour." Tigris noted. Roche pouted, almost adorably, bending to pick up the armour.

"You didn't answer the question." she pointed out, using a rag to wipe some oil off her hands. "Who were you watching? There's only guards on the beach right now."

Tigris turned back towards the window. Aodh's face was cold and unyielding as he addressed Sir Harold. He'd never been one for niceties with the knights. He hadn't grown up trained by them or helping them train. He only saw them as threats. Threats to him and Tigris and Finn and their father.

Sir Harold nodded at whatever he was saying and Tigris' stomach clenched.

Roche cleared her throat. "Is it someone I know?"

Tigris swallowed. "I just spotted Sir Harold on the beach, is all. He's finishing up patrol."

Roche went silent for a moment. When Tigris turned, she found the maid studying her face carefully. The maid kept silent, and that silence billowed, filling the room. Tigris hadn't realised how dependent she'd gotten on Roche's constant muttering to fill the silence until it was gone.

"What?" Tigris asked hotly, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Roche shrugged. "You looked like you had something to say."

The words had a strange lilt to them, so blunt and forward, like they weren't an opinion but a truth. Even more surprising was that Tigris, who had learned how to wield her silences as well as her words, felt compelled to fill the contemplative quiet that Roche had birthed.

"I am concerned about a friend." Tigris muttered quietly. Saying it aloud felt like a weight lifted from her chest. "And I don't think I can help them."

Roche held her gaze even as her hands moved her rag in tight circles across the armour.

"Why can't you help them?"

"Because it might hurt him. And others. And me." Tigris answered, enjoying how her chest lightened with the admission. She narrowed her eyes at Roche. "Say a word of this to anyone and I'll have you in the dungeons."

Roche furrowed her brows, stacking the armour in her arms. She moved towards a cabinet next to one of the windows. Tigris felt a rush of defensiveness as Roche peered out carefully, her gaze catching on Aodh and Harold locked in conversation. Roche paled and stiffened.

"Don't." Tigris bit out as Roche turned back to her, lips parted. "I know you don't like him."

Roche stared at her with a dumbfounded expression. "Are you kidding? I love Sir Harold, he was the first person to be kind to me in this city."

Tigris blanched. "But you said-"

"I was worried about him. And you." Roche's eyes lowered to Tigris' collar where a small strip of gauze peeked out, "He hurt you. And the Harold I know wouldn't do that."

Tigris stopped herself from agreeing. She pursed her lips. "He isn't the Harold we know anymore." she admitted quietly. In her periphery, Roche straightened. "He's been through something unimaginable and it's taken a toll on him. But I don't want to give up on him."

"Then don't." Roche replied. Tigris lifted her gaze, and Roche was staring back at her plainly, her eyes hard and firm. "You can still help him. But maybe 'helping him' doesn't mean putting a sword in his hand and telling him to whack at things."

"I know," Tigris said, crossing her arms, "But..."

She trailed off. Harold wouldn't see it that way. Some of the other knights wouldn't see it that way. Her father wouldn't see it that way. They'd see it as a folly. They'd think of Tigris as a coward or Harold as a disgrace.

"But what?" Roche pressed. She had drawn closer, standing a few feet away. Her brown eyes gleamed intently with concern, like she actually cared about the turmoil in Tigris' eyes. And Tigris, damn her, actually felt inclined to answer that inquisitive, wide-eyed gaze.

"But stopping him might hurt him more. And me. And others." Tigris muttered, rubbing her chin.

Roche's eyes bored into hers. "I don't understand. He hurt you. He still might if he keeps fighting this way." Roche stepped closer, tugging on the ends of her short, dark hair nervously. "Do you think otherwise?"

Tigris gazed back out the window. "No," she admitted, and it felt like a betrayal, "I think that if he keeps fighting this way, he might hurt someone."

"Your safety is the priority, Tigris." Roche said urgently, "If he's a threat-"

"He's not a threat, he's my friend!" Tigris snapped, whirling back towards Roche, "He's just... just..."

Roche blinked. Tigris didn't see any judgement in her eyes, only bleak resignation.

"Tigris-"

"You don't understand, Roche." Tigris grumbled, "I can't make him withdraw from the tourney. I... my father..." Tigris shook her head, "It doesn't matter. I can't stop him. It'll stain his honour and mine if I do. He's my friend, I have to trust that he won't hurt me."

Roche's eyes darted back to her bandaged wound and Tigris had the strange urge to cover it. She steeled herself as Roche opened her mouth for some surly retort, but she didn't expect the reply that actually came.

"Alright." Roche's eyes shone with understanding that Tigris didn't know she possessed.

"Alright?" Tigris repeated, confused. Roche nodded.

"Yeah. You've made it clear. You can't stop someone for something they might do." Roche nodded curtly, "So don't."

The confidence in her voice was jarring. Tigris tilted her head at her strange maid.

"Are you... telling me what to do?"

Roche flashed a smirk, and the strange wisdom in her eyes receded. She was back to being a bouncy, clumsy maid. "Wouldn't dream of it, my lady."

"Good. Now, have you finished all your chores? Because I think the stables need mucking."

Roche's groans echoed off the walls.

A/N: Oops I accidentally posted the wrong chapter the first time around! Sorry about that!