Chapter Text
Beyond the walls of Capitol lies the remnants of absolute carnage. The ground is soaked in blood and littered with the still bodies of Waste Men and Triumvirate soldiers alike. Neither of their gods could save them from the brutality of battle. So many souls lost in the bloodiest conflict the kingdom had seen in centuries.
Men and women. Boys and girls. Young and old. Noble and common. Warrior or civilian. Friend or foe. It does not matter. Death came for all equally. Everyone bleeds the same red.
Madoka solemnly walks among the dead, whispering prayers to the Pillars to bring their souls some peace after death. She is no priest, but she knows the rights by heart. She has had to hear them over and over and over for the past few years. For Mami and Sayaka and Kyoko.
A breeze blows, and then picks up violently, and Madoka has to dig her heels in the dirt as she looks up and sees…
Something her mind cannot begin to comprehend, but the sight of it unsettles her far more than the lifeless battlefield ever does. It fills her with terror and fear and despair as it floods deep. So deep it fills the marrow of her bones.
A gauntleted hand clasps over her shoulder, startling her and pulling her backwards.
"Why are you not in the castle?" the voice underneath a helm painted deep purple demands, "It is dangerous for you out here."
Madoka knows her name. It lingers somewhere in the back of her mind, but she doesn't speak it. She can't. All she knows is the title she was given — the Bastard Knight.
The — the thing shrieks and conjures up a blast of wind strong enough to disturb the discarded weapons strewn all over the battlefield. One flies towards Madoka, a dagger aimed directly for her abdomen. It would've made contact if not for the knight scrambling in front of her, barely deflecting it with a swing from her short sword.
She turns to face her, and Madoka can see her burning gaze underneath her visor. Then, she shouts, "I told you to go!"
The hesitation immediately evaporates from Madoka when the creature shrieks again. Spotting a discarded tower shield, she dives for it, using every bit of her strength to lift the heavy steel and guard herself as another onslaught of displaced weapons flies around the battlefield. She hears maces, swords, axes, arrows — any weapon used in war collide against the shield. They clang loudly on the steel.
Daring to peek out from behind it, Madoka sees the knight effortlessly dodging the attacks of the creature despite being covered in heavy plate. Maneuvering with ease as if she were wearing mere cloth, she sprints up a hill for higher ground. Drawing her sword to her face with both hands wrapped tightly around the hilt, she almost appears to pray before a purple hue and glowing runes Madoka does not understand etch themselves along the blade.
Then, she throws it at the creature. A small weapon against something so impossibly massive. The sword shatters as it makes contact and sparks, and, like old Pillar stories of starfall, the remnants, still illuminated, fall to the ground. Her effort appears futile as the creature is unharmed and rears for another attack, catching the knight by surprise and sweeping her off her feet, forcing her to tumble painfully down the steep hill. Her helmet falls off and black hair spills out. Face contorted into a grimace, she struggles to stand upright, clutching at her ribs where her breastplate has dented. She draws another sword from her shield, seemingly pulling it out of nowhere.
"She knows her effort will not be enough, yet she persists regardless."
Madoka looks to her side, finding a creature that resembles a cat — not one she has ever seen — despite how filthy the surrounding environment is, its fur is silky and clean.
"She will lose?" Madoka asks.
"She does not possess the power to succeed."
The words make Madoka's heart sink. "And, there is nothing I can do."
Madoka is not a fighter. She is no soldier. She is hardly a princess. She does not possess the strength to carry a warhammer nor the skill to wield a sword. In conflict, she is worthless.
"You have the potential to end this," the white cat tells her. His mouth remains unmoving, "The power to save her from her fate. It is yours to take. You only need to wish for it."
She can do something. A determination fills her.
She glances back to the knight, knocked to the ground again and struggling to rise to her hands and knees. Using the leather on the palms of her gauntlet, she wipes the blood dripping down her chin and looks back towards Madoka and the white cat —
Panic floods her frame and she tries to shout something, but Madoka cannot hear her. She sounds… muffled.
"All I need to do is wish for it?"
Madoka opens her eyes, finding herself in her bed. She tries to dwell on her dream, but finds the details are beginning to escape her. It is falling now into a haze like most dreams do when she wakes.
She sits up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and wondering what meaning that dream had. It was abnormal, not like any she had before. She briefly wonders if it was prophetic, then dismisses the thought. She has never held any real belief for the supernatural and she would not start now.
Willing herself to climb out of bed, she prepares for her day, brushing her hair and slipping on a simple cotton dress — not particularly befitting of royalty, but she cared little. She exits her chambers, greeted by a royal guard at the end of the hall who snaps into a salute then follows behind her down the spiral staircase of her tower.
As she enters the royal dining hall, she finds her exasperated father, King Consort Tomohisa, trying to keep his son seated long enough to finish his breakfast. Her mother, the Queen, is not present.
"Papa," she asks, "Where is Mama?"
Her father gives her a winded sigh and answers, "She's preparing for small court. I'm amazed she's conscious this early after she downed an entire bottle of brandy before bed. Though, I suppose with a cough like hers it's hard to remain asleep."
"Small court?" Madoka asks, puzzled, "I thought there was no small court on tourney days?"
"There are rumors of skirmishes along the border to the west. Many lords and ladies are concerned about defending their holds."
The west? Waste Men? There have been tensions between Triumvirate and the Wastes for decades now, especially since the war years before Madoka was born, but they haven't tried to invade in full force since then. The militaries of Triumvirate were too well-equipped and numerous. They have been at relative 'peace' for years. Were they prepared for war?
"That sounds troubling," Madoka mutters into her breakfast.
In his infinite enthusiasm — and a mouthful of his meal — her brother exclaims, "We're the strongest kingdom in the world! Our army can fight them off easily."
Tomohisa ruffles his son's hair before dabbing away leftover food from his chin, "And, with your mother heading our armies, we will have nothing to worry about."
Madoka would usually trust his word and his confidence in her mother, but…
The White Cloaks seem to fear she has come down with consumption. She has been coughing brutally, staining every embroidered handkerchief with blood. There were cases where those how contracted the sickness of the lungs we're fortunate enough to live long lives and her mother had a rather strong spirit, but… those cases were rare. So few and far between. And rarely documented.
"She did not wake me for small court," Madoka observes, picking at her meal, but not taking a bite.
That is odd. Her mother is meant to be preparing her to rule, allowing her to observe small court and council meetings so she can learn how to lead. Leaving Madoka out of important business is far outside of the norm.
"Perhaps she does not want to worry you," her father muses, "You have only known peace your entire life. The prospect of war would seem too daunting for you."
"Of course it's daunting," Madoka says, abandoning her half-eaten plate. Her appetite has faded, "War is terrifying. People should never slaughter each other for any reason. We should be able to come to an accord with each other no matter what."
"A great philosophy in theory, but violence is the nature of humanity."
"It is not my nature…"
The bell tolls, signaling the start of the workday.
Looking pensively at her half-eaten meal, Madoka decides she is finished. She scoots her chair back, folding her napkin neatly. "I should check on the tourney preparations. I must find something to occupy my time."
"Give Sayaka my regards!" Her father adds as she leaves the dining hall.
Guards patrolling salute her as she passes. Most of them are young. They haven't seen war. How would they feel if one broke out? If they are forced to defend their lands and families in battle? Would they be eager to kill? Or would they accept it as a necessary evil? As a consequence of protecting the things they care about?
Would Sayaka be willing to go to war?
She finds her childhood friend being hounded by the daughter of the Treasurer, Hitomi, as she polishes her specially crafted armor, forged only for the tourney.
"I still don't understand the point of this when I'm just going to dirty it up during the joust anyway."
"Would you rather appear as a mess?" Hitomi asks in a scolding tone, "Bringing shame to your house?"
"No," Sayaka scoffs, "But, it is a stupid tradition regardless."
"It has persisted since before you were born, and, Pillars willing, it shall persist after your retirement. If only to spite you."
"Doesn't make it any less stupid," Sayaka grumbles.
Hitomi, noticing Madoka has arrived, quickly reprimands Sayaka, "The Princess is here! You should mind your tongue!"
With a barely suppressed roll of her eyes, Sayaka deadpans, "Madoka has heard me say far worse than 'stupid'."
"She is still royalty! She should be surrounded by more refined individuals."
"'Refined individuals'," Sayaka repeats in a tone eerily similar to Hitomi's, "What — like you?"
"Precisely."
Sayaka shakes her head, exasperated, but Madoka can see the slight turn in the corner of her mouth. She's always enjoyed bantering back and forth with Hitomi, even if the other girl had a knack for drama at times. Despite uncertainty looming over the horizon, at least they haven't changed.
"What do you think, Madoka? Am I not 'refined' enough for you?"
Madoka pretends to think on it, tapping her chin, "Technically, Sayaka is still noble born…"
"You must admit she hardly acts that way, Your Grace," Hitomi sniffs, turning up her nose.
They have known each other since they were toddlers, yet Hitomi still insists on addressing her so formerly.
"I'm a warrior, Hitomi, we are known for vulgarity."
"We have had the same tutor since we were small! We've lived adjacent to royalty in the castle of Capitol for most of our lives," Hitomi points out, "And, you have only been knighted barely a month!"
"In Sayaka's defense," Madoka interjects, "Saotome has been spending more of her time complaining about the terrible men she has courted than teaching lessons as of late."
"That gives her no cause to act like some common soldier!"
"I've been training for half of my life! Not all of us want to marry some stuck-up lord."
Hitomi humphs. "Not like one would want you anyway. You prefer getting knocked into the mud and hacking away at training dummies."
"Why would I want some boring lord when I could marry the Princess," Sayaka grins, dropping her polishing cloth on the table and embracing Madoka in a tight hug before she can escape, "She can be Queen and I'll be her Queen Consort and put my blade to the throats of anyone who doubts her."
"Sayaka!" Madoka whines, trying to escape her friend's tight hold on her, "Stop it!"
Hitomi looks scandalized at Sayaka treating Madoka so casually, even though she has seen this so often in the time they have known each other. "You cannot give her an heir!"
"What's the saying," Sayaka asks rhetorically, and Madoka rolls her eyes already knowing her next sentence, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."
"You are so crude."
Sayaka finally releases her and Madoka can take a full breath again. As she smooths out her robes, Sayaka says, "So, I've heard the castle will have a new guest arriving."
"That's today?" Hitomi nearly gasps, bringing her hands to her mouth, "How exciting!"
Madoka nods in confirmation, "Mama says that Lord Akemi and his heir are arriving. She intends to make her my Counselor."
"Akemi's heir…" Hitomi frowns, looking to the side in an attempt to search her mind for something, "Isn't that the —"
Sayaka snaps her fingers, "The noble bastard!"
"Sayaka," Madoka scolds, "She's been legitimized! Do not call her that!"
Sayaka puts her hands up defensively, "I'm sorry, that is just what I've heard her called around the dining halls. Constant training gets boring at times so we find our entertainment in the news of the kingdom."
"That does not make it right," Madoka emphasizes, "Perhaps I should ask Mama to have a talk with the commander of the guard."
Hitomi nods, "I have to agree with Her Grace. Royal guards should learn to curb their tongues."
"Still," Sayaka continues, rubbing her chin, "It is odd that a bas — someone born illegitimately is allowed to be a Counselor. Even if she has been recognized by the crown."
"It is just as odd that a noble man's daughter is allowed to be a knight and serve as a royal guard," Hitomi retorted, "At the age of seven-and-ten, no less."
Sayaka pointedly ignores her comment.
"I, too, find it rather odd, but Mama says this is a chance to strengthen ties with another house."
Madoka trusts her mother in that regard. Whoever sits on the throne is deemed the wisest of the land. And, even if she was not Queen, her mother is still the wisest person Madoka has ever known.
"If the Queen says it, then it must be true," Hitomi says sagely.
Sayaka hums, picking up her cloth again and resuming her polishing, "I suppose I cannot argue with that."
The afternoon finds Madoka far sooner than she expects. According to the messenger in front of her, the Akemi guests have arrived and are making their way to the castle. Madoka, ensuring the wrinkles are smoothed out of her dress, heads to the throne room, tailed by a royal guard escort.
Usually it is Sayaka accompanying her during this time of the day, but, considering she will be competing in the tourney later that day, she is forced to spend her time on the training grounds.
Madoka enters the throne room, finding her mother coughing into yet another handkerchief. The room is sparse at the moment, with only a few guards standing at attention near the doors and a handmaiden who is providing Junko with clean handkerchiefs.
She smiles when she catches sight of her daughter, "Madoka, my sweet! Are you prepared to welcome our newest guests?"
"As prepared as I can be."
She takes her seat to the side of the throne room, between her father and her brother — who is shifting uncomfortably because he hates wearing 'fancy clothes' — and waits. Counselors and council members, including Hitomi and Sayaka's fathers, trickle in during the next quarter hour of waiting.
After what feels like an eternity, royal guards mingled with guards bearing the sigil of House Akemi begin filing into the throne room, taking their places at both ends and standing at attention. Behind them follows a rather unremarkable man — if he did not bear the sigil of Akemi, skillfully embroidered on his clothing, then Madoka would have never known he was noble.
Back straight and chin held high, a girl trails behind him, one that seems to be Madoka's own age. She appears confident, serious, and she is not what Madoka had expected from someone who she had previously assumed had been treated as a commoner most of her life until recently. The very image of nobility. Even more so than her own father. Besides long hair colored a deep black, she does not share much of her father's appearance. Madoka wonders how he even knew she was his child in the first place.
And, above all, she is beautiful.
Then, Madoka realizes, something about her seems eerily familiar.
That's it! She appears completely identical to the knight who appeared in her dreams, albeit she seems to be a few years younger. Perhaps her dream was prophetic? She isn't as stalwart a believer in the Three Pillars as many in the kingdom are, but this does not seem to be a coincidence.
Alongside her father, she kneels in front of the throne. Gracefully. Perfectly. Like she had been practicing for her entire life.
"You may stand," Queen Junko commands.
Lord Akemi stands, bowing his head again shallowly as he says, "Your Majesty, I thank you for hosting us. Your hospitality is appreciated."
"Of course, Lord Akemi," Queen Junko accepts the compliments graciously, "But, I must say, I did not receive a letter of acceptance that your daughter will become a Counselor."
What? Did Lord Akemi reject the proposal on his daughter's behalf? Or did she not want to be Counselor to Madoka?
If she doesn't, Madoka cannot blame her. There aren't many nobles in Triumvirate — besides the few that lived in Capitol — that like her. She has heard many feared their lavish lifestyles will become harder to maintain under her rule. All because she is kinder to common folk than most. Counselor to an heir so controversial is bound to be a stressful job for anyone.
Though, Lord Akemi looks puzzled. Entirely unaware of the fact that he has apparently not sent any word to the seat of the crown.
"Your Majesty, I do not understand, I sent a pigeon —" He pauses in realization, then he contorts his face in barely concealed anger and turns to his daughter, "What did you do? Did you seek to embarrass me in front of the Queen?"
The Akemi heir does not deign her father a reply, she steps past him, falling to her knee and stating, "Yes, Your Majesty, I have rejected the offer, but only to bring you a new one. Allow me, Homura of House Akemi, to participate in the tourney. When I win, I ask to be knighted and allowed to serve in the royal guard to directly protect Her Grace, the Princess, Madoka Kaname."
The throne room erupts into murmurs. All except for Queen Junko, who studies Homura with an unreadable expression.
"You are no warrior," Lord Akemi hisses.
"My entire childhood was war of the mind, father."
Lord Akemi turns to Junko, a pleading look on his face, "Please forgive my wayward daughter. She seems to deem it appropriate to jest."
Junko raises her eyebrow and Madoka can easily recognize the curiosity building in her, "No, this is no mere jest. She is serious," then she huffs a laugh, "I cannot help but to admire her gumption. I will allow this."
He shoots one last glare at Homura, who remains stoic, "I understand, Your Majesty."
She waves towards Madoka, "Madoka, my dear, escort this prospect to the training grounds. She only has a few hours to prepare for the tourney after all."
Madoka stands from her seat, still confused on what exactly just happened. Approaching Homura, whose stare is so intense it burns like the First Pillar, she barely refrains from stumbling over her words, "Lady Akemi, if I may escort you?"
"Of course, Your Grace."
Then, ahead of Madoka, she leaves the throne room. Madoka hesitates for a moment before hiking up the hem of her dress and speeding along after her. She is out of breath by the time she catches up.
"Have you been to Capitol before, Lady Akemi?"
Homura hesitates for a second before answering, "No."
Madoka chuckles nervously, "If you said you had, I would believe you. You seem to know exactly where you're going."
"I passed by the training grounds on the way through the city."
"Oh, that makes sense," Madoka mutters to herself before asking again, "Lady Akemi?"
"Homura," she replies.
"Pardon me?"
"Please call me Homura," she clarifies, her voice marginally softer.
"Homura…" Madoka repeats, "Your name is very beautiful. It comes from the old language, doesn't it? The meaning is fitting for your house too! Since the symbol of the is a salamander, of course. And, your name means —"
Homura stops in her tracks suddenly, and Madoka almost collides with her back. Then, she utters, "Flame."
"R — right. Flame."
Homura turns and Madoka cannot tell what she is thinking. Her eyes rove Madoka's face for a brief moment before she asks, "Are you happy, Madoka?"
Madoka blinks in disbelief. This was the first time in her entire life a stranger has not referred to her formally before she can even ask them not to. She doesn't mind it, of course. In fact, she prefersit, but she does not expect it.
"I — I believe so, why —"
"Do you feel safe? Loved?"
"Of course, but —"
Homura interrupts again, "You are perfect the way you are. Do not allow anyone convince you otherwise. And, never let them try to change you."
"I —" Madoka isn't sure what to say. This is an abnormal interaction, "Alright, Homura."
Homura gives her a warm smile, though it lasts only a fraction of a second before she starts off again, "You do not need to escort me. I can find my own way."
Madoka stands in the hallway in utter confusion. How long she remains, she cannot not tell.
A guard taps on her shoulder, snapping her out of her paralysis, "Your Grace?"
"That is an odd thing to say to a person," Hitomi comments after Madoka relays the events of earlier to her, "And, she's competing in the tourney?"
Madoka begins climbing the stairs of the royal stands, "Yes, she petitioned Mama for the right to compete. She said when she won, she would request a place in the royal guard to protect me."
"When? Not if?"
"When."
Hitomi shakes her head, "Perhaps we should be grateful our dear Ser Miki wasn't present to hear that. She would have challenged her to a duel then. Though, I do admire her confidence."
"You haven't even met her."
"This is true, but, from what you've told me, she seems to be quite the character. And, you have told me she is beautiful! It is rare to hear such praises on a stranger's appearance from you!"
Madoka can feel the heat creeping up her neck, grateful for the high collar her dress provides. "She is a mystery, indeed."
Once they make it up the steps, Hitomi bids her farewell with a polite nod, leaving to sit with her parents. Madoka scans the rest of the seats, spotting her little brother seated in the very front row. Naturally.
She walks up to him, politely asking, "May I have this seat, Your Grace?"
Her brother pretends to think about it, "I guess."
She sits, then reaches across her armrest to pinch as his cheeks. She can't resist it because he is too cute, "Thank you so much for the honor, my Prince."
He swats away her hand, clearly annoyed, "Madoka…"
She relents, if only for right now, and leans back in her seat, "Are you going to offer Sayaka your favor this year?"
Her brother thinks hard on that, then he admits, "Well, I was, but Lady At — Aka —"
"Akemi," Madoka corrects gently.
"Lady Akemi also seems really strong and brave. Like Sayaka!"
"She does, doesn't she," Madoka muses, before turning to her brother with a grin and a proposition, "How about this? I give my favor to Lady Akemi and you can give yours to Sayaka! That way they'll both have a fair chance."
Her brother shakes her hand, "Deal."
She spots Homura, now donning in armor of black steel, swinging around a blunted blade as if it weighs nothing. Like it is a mere extension of her arm. The other combatants leave a wide berth around her. From the few who did not wear their helmets, Madoka can see their uncertainty at a new participant being added last minute.
Sayaka just crosses her arms, observing Homura from across the grounds with unconcealed suspicion. Madoka can't see her face at this angle, but she doesn't need to. Sayaka is definitely frowning.
She climbs onto her horse, slips on her helm, and rides to the royal stands.
Tatsuya flies out of his seat and Madoka barely catches him in time before he falls over the edge, "Sayaka! Sayaka! Sayaka!"
Lifting up her visor, she smiles up at him, "Hello, my brave Prince! May I ask for you and your sister's favor?"
Madoka, using her longer arms, helps her brother maneuver his wreath around Sayaka's lance.
"Now, you're going to be really strong."
Sayaka laughs, "I feel much more powerful already. Now, all I need is your sister's and my victory will be ensured."
"About that…"
Sayaka furrows her brow in confusion, "Have you given it away already?"
"No, but…" Her gaze falls back to Homura, who is now grabbing a lance and pulling on her helmet.
Sayaka follows her stare, then frowns, "That is the Akemi bastard, yes? I thought she was to be your Counselor, not compete in the tourney."
"You shouldn't call her that."
"Why shouldn't I?" Sayaka scoffs, "That's what she is. What does she seek to gain from competing?"
"She says she intends to be knighted and serve on the royal guard when she wins. Under direct service of me."
"When she wins? Who knew someone like her could be so… sure of herself. Especially one birthed from a whore."
Madoka immediately covers her brother's ears with her hands, "Sayaka, that is rude!"
"She is currently attempting to step on everything I have worked for in my life, Madoka," Sayaka exclaimed, making a sweeping gesture across the grounds to emphasize her point, "And, she —" Sayaka pauses, then realization passes through her, "And, you intend to give her your favor?"
Madoka wrings her hands, "It would be the kind thing — the right thing — to do. She requested the right to compete from my mother herself. She came all this way for me."
Sayaka does not reply for a long moment, then a false smile graces her lips, "I suppose it is only fair. I would wish your opponent good luck, but it will be wasted. I will knock her to the dirt regardless."
"Sayaka —" Madoka's plea falls on deaf ears. Sayaka merely covers her face with her visor again and rides off.
"She really doesn't like Lady Akemi," Tatsuya says.
"She doesn't, no," Madoka agrees with a sigh.
She understands where Sayaka's frustrations stem from. If she is striving for something — something unique — that will make her a legend in the history books, and someone seeks to undermine it — whether or not it is intentional — then, Madoka may be a little... irked. Would she insult and curse them like Sayaka had? Definitely not, but Sayaka can be… ornery at times.
Or, just outright belligerent.
While she is hardly paying attention to her surroundings, another rider comes to the royal stands and Madoka glances down to see —
Homura.
She has left her visor down, and she presents her lance, "Your Grace, I humbly ask for your favor."
Madoka picks up her wreath, twirling it in her hands over and over before asking, "Say you do win. You are knighted and given a position on my royal guard. What do you seek?"
With no hesitation, Homura answers, "To serve you valiantly, Your Grace. To protect you and your ideas. To fight in your name and lay down my life for yours if the time comes. To fall on my own sword should you command it."
Madoka cannot see her face, but she senses no lie in her tone, in the way she carries herself. Homura seems genuine, as if she means every single one of her words. And, so, Madoka gracefully places her wreath as the tip of Homura's lance, allowing it to slide down with ease until it reaches her gauntlet where she grips the handle.
"Pillars guide you, Homura."
Homura bows her head humbly, "Thank you, Your Grace. I am honored to bear your favor."
The horn blows, and Homura gives her what she assumes is one more meaningful glance before she rides off.
Dragging Tatsuya away from the fence and to his own seat, Madoka sits down and mentally prepares herself for the tourney. A woman hailing from some land in the far north of Triumvirate — in the Kamihama region — gallops to her lane. Her opponent, a man from Capitol takes his place at the other end. They adjust their lances and shields and stand as still as they can on horseback, like a crossbow ready to fire.
The bell rings and they dig their heels into the horse's haunches, speeding off.
This joust does not last long, the woman unseats him on the first pass and he unceremoniously falls to the ground. Madoka cannot help but wince in sympathy. Heavy armor combined with falls from a horse do not seem very comfortable.
Much to her relief, he can stand and gives a shaky bow to his opponent before hobbling off.
The next on the roster is Sayaka.
Tatsuya begins chanting her name excitedly as she replaces the man from Capitol in his lane. The woman from Kamihama trades her lance for a fresh one and gallops back to the edge of her lane.
Sayaka's horse's hoof scraps at the dirt and determination fills her frame.
The bell rings and the combatants are off. Closing the distance at speeds that almost seem unnatural until they meet at the center.
Sayaka's lance glances off of her opponent's shield and the other combatant's snaps entirely. Neither are unseated, however, and they speed to the end of the lane, the woman from Kamihama taking a new lance immediately and sprinting back into the fray.
They close ranks once again and Sayaka's aim is true this time. She strikes the other in the middle of her shield, knocking her cleanly from her horse and into the dirt.
The crowd, Tatsuya included, erupt into cheers. With a proud smile on her face, Madoka joins him, applauding the victory of her childhood friend.
Then, again. And again. Sayaka's lance stays strong. She is victorious against every opponent on her bracket.
"She has a magic lance!" Tatsuya says, "My favor gave her a magic lance!"
Madoka ruffles his hair, "I'm sure she's grateful to you for bringing her great fortune."
Homura is in the opposite bracket. And, it is now her turn.
One would not expect it, but, while seated on a pale horse that contrasts her armor, Homura manages to outshine Sayaka in every aspect. She knocks every one of her opponents into the ground in a singular pass. She doesn't even appear winded, hardly breaking a sweat.
And, her lance stays just as strong as Sayaka does.
Tatsuya seems to be in awe and Madoka almost feels the same way. She glances up at the rest of those seated in the royal stands. Her mother merely studies the grounds, unreadable. Lord Akemi does not look happy, judging by his grimace. Hitomi is practically swooning — causing an eye roll from Madoka — hands clasped together as she pays rapt attention to every moment.
Now, it is up to the victors of each bracket. Sayaka and Homura take their places in their respective lanes. They do not remove their eyes from each other. Not when being handed their lances, nor when they adjust their shields.
The bell rings and they set off. Madoka can see the anger in Sayaka's body, how tightly she grips her lance. Homura does not belie any of that. She is calm. She holds her lance casually. She is barely jostled by the quick gallop of her horse. They close in quickly — far faster than any joust before this — and the audience is practically on the edge of their seats.
They collide.
Then, Sayaka's shield splinters and cracks in two, she flies off of her horse, landing painfully on the ground.
The crowd collectively gasp. Then, a few start applauding before the rest of the audience joins them.
"She won," Madoka mutters to herself, "She knew she would win."
Sayaka stands up shakily in armor caked in dirt, before tearing off her helmet, drawing her sword, and demanding, "I challenge you to a duel!"
Homura barely spares her a glance, climbing off her horse, handing a squire her lance, and discarding her shield, "You have lost, Ser Miki. Take your defeat with dignity and learn from your failure."
"I have challenged you," Sayaka spits, "Draw your sword and fight me."
Homura sighs. Then, she obliges, removing her helmet and unsheathing a long sword that looks newly forged, "If you insist."
Sayaka hesitates for a moment before charging forward ungracefully with a yell, both hands gripping the hilt of her blade as she swings it up over her head. Homura parries her blow with a swift, fluid motion. She makes it look easy. As if she merely swatting away a bothersome fly. Then, she shoves Sayaka away with her free hand. Sayaka swings again and Homura dodges this time, catching her arm and maneuvering her face down into the ground.
Sayaka cannot break out of her hold. She is helpless against the weight of her own armor and Homura kneeling on her back. She struggles against the hold regardless with unhindered rage.
Homura's blade hovers above her neck and Sayaka stills as she utters two words. Madoka cannot hear them, but she can read her lips, "You lost."
She releases her, sheathing her sword and walking to the front of the royal stands. She falls to her knee and proclaims, "I am here to accept my prize."
Behind her Sayaka is seething. She tosses her sword angrily and storms off towards the direction of the barracks, leaving her helm behind. A squire hastily picks up her discarded items and follows after her. The audience is silent, wondering if the Queen will follow through on her word.
Queen Junko stands, "I did promise."
She draws the blade presented to her on a pillow — a masterfully forged weapon, with a rose carved into the hilt. Their house sigil — then begins making her way down the stairs, trailed by two guards.
She comes to a halt directly in front of Homura.
"Homura of House Akemi," she begins, hovering the blade flatly over her head, "Do you accept the honor you are to be bestowed?"
"I do, Your Majesty."
"Good," she then begins relaying the same words she had for Sayaka only a month ago, "With the powers invested in me by the Pillars, I deem you, Homura of House Akemi, a protector of the realm and the crown," She taps the flat of the blade against the plate covering Homura's shoulder, "I deem you a representative of the strength of our armies," She taps the other shoulder, "Until death releases you from service."
"I accept my duty with pride, Your Majesty."
Junko grins, "Excellent. Now, rise, Ser Akemi. You have been reborn."
Homura stands, glancing at Madoka with a look so intense Madoka's throat feels constricted before returning her attention to the Queen.
"I shall serve to my fullest ability, Your Majesty."
Junko laughs, "After what's happened at this tourney, I am truly excited to see your growth," she gestures to one of the guards, "Please lead Ser Akemi to the barracks and ensure she settles in," she pauses before adding, "And, that she is not bunked in the same room as Ser Miki."
The guard salutes, leading Homura away.
She promised she would win. She did not give way to any doubt in her face, her body, language, or her words. She knew. Even though it was her first tourney, she knew.
What an interesting person.
"Every tourney after this is going to be so boring now," Tatsuya laments.
Madoka cannot help but to agree.
Sayaka finds Madoka later that evening during her meditation in the Temple. She has long since removed her armor, not on duty at the moment. She is clad only in a simple long-sleeved tunic and trousers. She does not carry her sword, however, as weapons are not allowed in such a sacred place.
"The Queen actually knighted her," she hisses as quietly as she could to not disturb those bowing their heads in prayer.
"Sayaka —"
"She humiliated me. Destroyed my legacy before I could even begin to build it," Sayaka continues, "And she was knighted for it."
Madoka sighs, "Your legacy isn't ruined. You are still the youngest knight and the youngest to serve in the royal guard."
"And then I lost. To a —" she bares her teeth in frustration, "To a bastard."
"I understand your anger, but —"
"Does that make me weak?" Sayaka asks, her voice quiet. Almost broken, "Did I lose because I am weak?"
Madoka frowns at the tone in Sayaka's voice. Does she truly believe Homura beat her because she is weak? Sayaka has trained her entire life for this and Homura came and practically swept her victory out from under her. From the scene earlier in the throne room and the reactions of Lord Akemi, it has been made abundantly clear to Madoka that Homura had not been formerly trained in combat prior to coming to Capitol.
Or, perhaps she was and her father was just unaware of it.
But, that does not make Sayaka weak. She is tall and fit and she can run around the castle nearly ten times before she is too out of breath to continue.
"You won every joust besides the last," Madoka points out, "You are stronger that most others who rode today."
"Most others," Sayaka repeats, before blinking in confusion, "Weren't there rumors she was sickly? Haven't I lost to someone with an ill heart?"
Madoka has heard those rumors too, but nothing in Homura revealed any such weakness today. She wasn't even out of breath.
"Perhaps she has trained out of it?" Madoka tries, "Or, it was some miracle by the Pillars?"
"Do you truly believe gods have healed her heart?"
Of course not, Madoka believes the stories and the prayers to be metaphorical. To bring peace and comfort to people and provide them with something to nourish their soul. Her, like any other person in this Kingdom, finds solace in prayer. A way to justify the complexity of life. Does she believe the embellished tales, however? She cannot say she does.
But, she is willing to grasp at anything to soothe Sayaka at this point.
Sayaka apparently shares the same sentiments. Clasping her hands together in prayer, she mutters, "Perhaps this is a lesson the Pillars are teaching me. Something from the moon on the consequences of too much pride or — or something."
"Maybe the Third — the stars — are telling you to foster community with your fellows, even when they best you. The two of you do serve the crown equally now, you know."
"I know, Madoka, I just — something about her unsettles my spirit. Something unnatural."
"Jealousy?" Madoka offers.
"No, definitely not jealousy."
The corner of Madoka's mouth twitch upwards at Sayaka's immediate defensiveness, "Are you sure?"
Sayaka smacks her — softly — in the shoulder, eliciting a giggle from Madoka. If Hitomi were here, she would faint at the action.
"You are not as funny as you think you are," she grumbles before standing, "I shall stop intruding on your personal time now. I have to sleep this off because Ser Akemi gave me a bruise bigger than the damned country."
She pulls up her sleeve past her bicep, showing how most of the skin is discolored. It is a massive bruise and Madoka's own arm tingles in sympathy.
"Make sure you see the White Cloaks for a soothing balm. That does not seem very comfortable."
"Soothing balm?" Sayaka scoffs, "I have no need for any 'balm'. I am strong enough to ignore pain."
Madoka does not miss her slight wince as she rolls her shoulder, "Whatever you say, Sayaka."
"Oh hush, I'll see you in the morning."
She leaves Madoka alone again, walking out of the temple with a slight difference in her normal gait. Madoka shakes her head with a smile, now knowing that Sayaka was bruised in more places than just her upper arm.
Even at the expense of her friend, Madoka can't help but wonder if this will be where Sayaka begins to learn some humility.
Sayaka did have a point, though. There is something off about Homura. From the way Madoka is almost confident she had dreamed of her. The way she carries herself as a trained soldier despite nothing of her past indicating she has ever been in combat. How casually she referred to Madoka when she was being escorted in the halls. And, something about her feels so familiar to Madoka. Something in the back of her mind telling her she knows more of this strange person than she realizes.
She is an enigma, yet Madoka cannot help but admire her tenacity and strength. She is truly a prodigy.
The bell tower rings, signaling nine o'clock — Pillars, it was getting late — and she blows out her candles and makes her way outside.
Her guard is waiting for her, saluting and following behind her as she makes her way back to the castle.
It is dim and quiet, and, with only a few lanterns burning in the hall, it is cold. Madoka cannot wait to return to her chambers and take a warm bath. She climbs up the stairs to her tower, peering out the windows to look down on the quiet city. Most are settling down for the night as the excitement from the tourney fades away. Merriment cannot last forever, unfortunately, otherwise no work would ever be done.
When she reaches the top of the stairs, she nearly collides with an armored body. Squinting up in the dim lighting she recognizes —
"Homura?"
There, she stands. Guarding the short hall in the tower that leads to Madoka's bedroom. She is now wearing the armor of the royal guard, with the symbol for Madoka's house painted on. One hand rests on the hilt of her blade and the other cradles her helmet to her side.
Homura nods in greeting, "Evening, Your Grace," then, she turns to the guard accompanying Madoka, "I shall handle the watch for the night. You should spend the rest of your night resting."
Behind his helmet, Madoka can tell he is puzzled, "Er, Ser Akemi, you are still… new."
But, Madoka can see the bags under his eyes. And, Homura seems to be very awake and aware. So, she makes a decision she hopes is wise.
"Homura is right, you absolutely must get some sleep tonight," Madoka agrees.
"I —" he begins to argue, but pauses and concedes instead, "As you wish, Your Grace."
With heavy footsteps, he reluctantly makes his way down the tower stairs.
Homura lowers her voice so it doesn't carry down the stairwell and mentions, "Ser Furukawa frequently takes naps during his evening watch."
"How do you know that?"
Homura tightens her mouth and looks away, before answering, "I have heard much gossip in my brief time in the barracks."
Madoka hums, then begins making her way down to her room.
"Sleep well, Madoka."
There it was again. That lapse in formality. Does it only appear when they are alone together? Madoka should correct her and remind her that they are still strangers at the moment, but… she can't. Hearing her name spill from Homura's mouth fills her with something she doesn't fully understand. Something warm.
She opens her door and stands in the threshold, debating in her head for a brief moment.
"Homura? Can you come inside for a moment?"
Something flits across Homura's expression briefly — Anxiety? Fear? — before she buries it and nods, "At your command, Madoka."
"It is not a command, Homura. You may remain in the hall if you wish."
Homura pauses momentarily. She mulls it over in her mind before taking another step forward, "I wish to hear what you have to say."
"Excellent," Madoka replies, leaving the door open as she steps through.
She does not need to look behind her to know that Homura is following. The rustle of her armor tells Madoka enough.
The fire is blazing. The handmaidens must have ensured it would still be burning by the time Madoka made it back to her chambers. She should thank them and offer them a respite for a day or two.
The door closes and Madoka turns and faces Homura, "How have you been settling in?"
"As easily as I can. My fellow guards do not seem to know what to think of me yet."
"What do they say about you?" Madoka asks out of curiosity.
"They call me 'the Bastard Knight'," Homura states. Even as she relays the insult, her back is straight and she does not seem bothered by it.
Madoka frowns, "That is not a very kind name for their new comrade in arms."
"I am told that it is meant in an endearing way. To foster camaraderie amongst each other," Homura adds, "I prefer that name far more than the other they've taken to calling me."
"And what name is that?"
"Ser Bastard."
Madoka's frown deepens. "Maybe I should have my mother lecture the guards on how to treat their fellows."
"There is no need," Homura says, "I do not mind it. In fact, I am used to it."
Madoka studies her. She does not look particularly upset bringing up names and insults she has been called since she arrived at Capitol. Though, it bothers Madoka to no end. And, even Sayaka seems to be following their lead.
Madoka rubs her chin, "May I ask you a question?"
"You may ask anything you wish of me, Madoka."
"Why did you want to serve under me?"
Homura ponders her answer. For so long that Madoka begins to think she may not answer the question at all.
"I believe in you. Your ideals. Your values."
Madoka huffs a laugh at her simple answer, "But, you do not know me."
"I —" Homura snaps her mouth shut and tries again, "I know that you stand for the small folk. That things such as nobility and the so-called 'purity' of blood do not concern you. That you believe every man, woman, and child, noble or not — royal or not — are equal under the eyes of the Three Pillars. I know you are kind and just and you carry a heart full of love for your people."
"You… are not wrong. You are very correct, actually," Madoka admits, "Not many view these qualities of mine as necessarily good for the kingdom."
"Only those who view others below them as lesser. The common folk love you."
"You believe so?"
Homura nods.
Madoka hums again. "I apologize for Sayaka. She can let her pride get the best of her at times."
"Her ego may destroy her if she does not keep it in check," Homura mutters, gripping the hilt of her sword tighter.
Madoka turns her gaze to the fireplace, "What of your ego? You have won a tourney despite allegedly having no formal combat training. Then, you were knighted immediately afterwards. Does that not stoke your own ego?"
"I have none."
Madoka looks back to the stoic knight in disbelief. "None at all?"
"I have only done what is necessary to secure what I want," she answers immediately.
"May I ask what it is that you want?"
Homura doesn't answer. She directs her gaze to the floor, eyes roving over the lines of stone as if the answer is etched below her feet. She looks distant and withdrawn. As if she is reviewing her memory to garner whatever it is that she truly desires.
Then, she answers in a small voice, "Just your happiness, Madoka."
Madoka laughs, "I am heir to the throne and the most powerful of my subjects do not like me. My happiness will never come."
"It will. I will ensure it."
Madoka smiles slightly, "You have a noble heart then."
"I would do not believe so, but…" she looks towards the fireplace, "I appreciate your kind words."
Madoka follows her gaze, then looks back at Homura's face. There is emotion bleeding through, but Madoka cannot decipher it.
"Would you like to have a seat and rest your feet, Homura? I know your journey was long and the tourney must have exhausted you."
Homura nods, "I —," then, she blinks and shakes her head imperceptibly. Her stony mask falls right back over her face, "I must decline, Your Grace. I have to return to my post."
The return of formality. She wants to learn more about Homura. What it is that draws Madoka in. She is curious of her past, where she learned to fight, what her life at her own hold consisted of. Everything.
But, it is probably for the best. Homura seems far more skittish than she had earlier in the conversation, and a part of Madoka just wants to take a bath before the water ran cold.
She bows her head in farewell, "You are free to go then, Homura. I will see you tomorrow."
Homura bows politely, before placing her helmet on her head. Then, in speeds usually deemed impossible for someone covered in plate armor, Homura is out of the door, shutting it neatly behind her, and Madoka could hear her booted footsteps down the hall before they finally come to a halt.
One day — hopefully soon — she would understand Homura. And, perhaps, make sense of their connection.