The first day of the tournament came quickly. Tigris had taken to privately training with Roche and her brothers to avoid any of her potential opponents from learning about her fighting style. Roche, the clumsy oaf, was a nightmare to train with.

"What is wrong with you?" Tigris snapped after Roche managed to nearly fall on her sword for the tenth time. Even after the last nine scares, Tigris' heart still leapt to her throat. "Do you have working muscles?"

"I do," Roche grumbled, "Sorry." The maid looked absolutely miserable as she hauled herself off the ground. Her eyes were glazed with exhaustion.

Tigris sighed. Yelling at Roche was like kicking a puppy. "Shield up." was all Tigris said. Roche groaned but dutifully held up the large shield. Tigris noted the large shadows staining the girl's face.

"You look terrible." she noted as she struck the shield. Roche grunted but surprisingly managed to stay on her feet.

"Thanks." she muttered, twisting to the side as Tigris shifted into a new position. Tigris' muscles stretched delightfully, and Roche's face became even clearer.

"You look like you haven't slept in days." Tigris clarified. Roche scowled at her, shoving the shield forward against the next blow.

"Well," Roche grunted, the next hit jolting up her arms visibly, "I'm still worried about the tournament. It's starting today and I think Sir Harold is still going to fight."

Tigris smacked the shield hard enough to send Roche flying back. She didn't want to admit it, but Tigris had been harbouring the same worries.

"You do know that I'm a capable fighter, right?" she teased, trying to shove away her concerns. Roche still had her stupidly concerned expression on her face, which looked even more pathetic when she was laid out on the ground. Tigris reached out her hand to help her up. "Look, chances are, I won't even have to fight him. There are plenty of other fighters he has to battle first before he can even fight me."

"Let's hope so." Roche muttered, dusting off her pants. A clod of mud fell off her knee. She scowled. "I assume you want to practise something else?"

"Yep." Tigris shoved her sword at Roche who gathered it wearily, "I think I'll work on my throwing."

"You throw stuff at me every morning."

"Perfect, so you have experience dodging then!" Tigris noted cheerfully. She felt a spurt of glee when Roche paled. "Go on and strap a target to your back, would you?"

Roche groaned but didn't fight back. When she turned, Tigris noticed a small patch of red growing on the girl's side.

"What's that?" Tigris asked, her chest tightening. Roche followed her gaze, touching her bleeding side gingerly.

"A cut."

"I can see that," Tigris sidled closer as Roche paled, "Did you get actually manage to cut yourself on the sword?"

"It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?" Roche pressed her hand against her side. Tigris sighed at her pallor. Roche and her fear of blood would be the death of her.

"Come here, let me see."

Roche stumbled back a step, her hand pressed against her side. "No need, I'll just go to Leinos."

"Come on, Roche. It's just a cut, I have bandages here." Nicks were inevitable when training. Leinos had gifted Tigris with a first aid kit when she was a child after one too many slices with her sword. She rarely needed it nowadays, but it came in handy with clumsy fighters like Roche.

Roche looked shaky enough that Tigris didn't want her walking alone in case she passed out. Tigris snagged her by the elbow, tugging her towards one of the benches at the edge of the training yard.

"Sit." she insisted. Roche did so obediently, holding out a hand that trembled visibly.

"I know how to dress a wound. Leinos taught me." Roche muttered. Tigris shook her head.

"You'll stretch the cut more if you keep moving. Just hold still."

"Tigris-"

Roche didn't get another word out before Tigris unrolled a length of gauze. She gestured for Roche to lift the edge of her shirt. Roche hesitated for a moment but obeyed.

Tigris nearly dropped her roll of gauze.

Roche's midsection was littered with small cuts hastily treated with taped on bits of gauze. Only a few shallow scratches were left uncovered, one of which had been torn wide open and currently dripped blood down her warm brown skin, some of which was mottled with bruises.

Tigris gaped for a moment, drawing her eyes back up to Roche's face. Her shock made her voice falter.

"Who did this to you?"

Roche's eyes flashed with something that looked akin to panic. Then she gently batted Tigris away with her nimble hands, grabbing the gauze. Tigris was too stunned to protest.

"No one." Roche answered, "A shelf fell on me."

The bruises wrapped around Roche's midsection. A surge of protectiveness and unjustifiable fury burned in Tigris' chest at the sight.

"Don't lie to me." Tigris growled, pointing at the ring of marks, "That doesn't happen from a fallen shelf. You look like you were squeezed by something."

Roche winced, plastering on the piece of gauze. "If you must know, the shelf caught on fire and I banged myself up while trying to escape. See?" Roche twisted, pulling out a splinter of wood from one of the more shallow cuts. Tigris' chest relaxed as Roche flicked it away. "It was a shelf."

"Right," Tigris rubbed her forehead, her anger burnt out. Then the explanation hit her. "There was a fire in the library?!"

Roche bit her lip nervously. "I might have lit a candle."

"Roche!"

"I know," Roche grumbled, "I've already gotten an earful from Verita and Leinos."

Finn would have a fit if he knew what had happened. The king himself probably would have Roche exiled. Fortunately, Tigris never cared much for books, even if she knew how valuable and dangerous they were.

"Well, now I'm feeling much less sympathetic. Strap that target on and run as far as you can."

Roche groaned but obliged, carefully wrapping the straps of the target around her midsection with a slight wince. She turned and Tigris braced for a complaint. But Roche merely grinned.

"Thanks, princess."

Tigris knew she wasn't thanking her for the target. Her heart ached a little bit. "Run."

Roche dutifully began to sprint as Tigris aimed her training spear.

-------

"You should have never picked that dress. It felt terrible." Roche grumbled as they stood behind the king on the elevated dais. Tigris stomped on Roche's foot to shut her up.

"It feels fine."

"The material feels like fluffy sand, I think it'll haunt my nightmares!"

"Shut up, Roche!" Tigris gritted out, because they'd already argued over this a hundred times, "The real nightmare is the way you've done my makeup. Do you not know how to apply liner?"

"You blinked." Roche hissed, "Your right eye turned out wonderfully!"

"And I look like I've been punched in the left."

"Would you both be quiet? Father's about to speak." Aodh snapped as royal fanfare split the air, the blare of a hundred trumpets and pounding drums drawing the buzzing crowd to silence. Tigris always enjoyed the regal music.

Roche, on the other hand, flinched with every deafening beat. Finn looked like he was battling a headache.

"This is terrible," he muttered. Tigris chuckled quietly.

"You need to get out of the library more."

"Welcome, all, to the first tourney of the fall!" the king boomed, effectively shutting them all up. He lifted his arms, his fine coat snug against his muscled body, a testament to all the tournaments he'd won as king.

The crowd cheered loudly, hands clapping and feet stomping. Tigris' father smiled at the cacophony. He held his hand up to gather their silence.

"Over the next three days, we will witness the full fighting prowess of each participating knight. It is an honour to lead such a fine force, and I look forward to seeing what skills they each have to offer. As a group with such unique fighting styles and tools, the Faultless Kingdom can boast an unstoppable, powerful army. And today, we will celebrate what each individual contributes to our wonderful cadre."

Tigris clapped along politely from behind her father. His jaw shifted with what might have been a smile. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd in the stands, and then shifted to the knights waiting on the training grounds transformed into a tournament ring. They waited, regal gray cloaks fluttering in the wind.

The king stood over them, ever the dutiful monarch.

"Let the tournament begin!" he announced, and the cheering became thunderous. He stepped back, closer to where Tigris and her brothers waited. The knights dispersed in rigid, practised movements, evenly spread along the perimeter of the tournament ring. A horde of servants wheeled in a large board, the bottom lined with the crests of each knight paired together. Tigris' throat tightened as she spotted Harold's crest.

Why are you fighting, my friend? You aren't ready, someone will get hurt. The thought was painful. Tigris' eyes drifted to the knights, two of them entering the ring in full armour. Her gaze landed on a familiar, wiry figure. He stared back at her, his green eyes glittering in the afternoon sun.

Tigris jolted as a hand came down on her shoulder.

"I trust you'll make me proud, Tigris." her father muttered, squeezing her shoulder just hard enough to be noticeable.

Tigris repressed a sigh. "I will, Father."

He let her go and Tigris retreated back into the castle to get ready as the first battle began. She could feel Harold's gaze boring into her back.

A/N: Ohoho, the tournament begins! And in case you were a bit confused by the first part of this chapter, the injuries Tigris saw were from when Roche was bound in chains by Fake Harold, so Roche couldn't tell the truth of her injuries just yet.

What did you think of this chapter? As always, happy reading!