Chapter Text
She’s six when she first sees the princess of Valla.
There’s a parade down the main road of the capitol, and her father props her up on his shoulders so she can get a glimpse of the royal family above the crowd of bystanders lining the side of the street.
Her tiny fingers cling onto her father’s ashen gray hair, and she watches in awe as parade floats amble down, vibrant performers walking alongside the massive contraptions tossing flowers and confetti to celebrate the Day of Dragons. The crowds cheer and clap as bands of musicians play songs of merriment and joy and as acrobats flip and tumble and cartwheel down the main road.
The last three floats are more grand than any before.
She sees the Dawn Dragon of Hoshido first, its mechanical white wings retracting to reveal the royal family standing at the forefront of the float, the king and queen smiling and waving, their children standing in front of them. The eldest son stands rapt at attention like his father, nodding at the crowd. The second son stands sullenly by his mother’s side, arms crossed, but even he occasionally gives a small wave to the crowd.
Right after comes the Dusk Dragon of Nohr, the black wings pulling apart to show its royal family clad in the signature black armor of the famous blacksmiths of the Western country. They politely wave and nod to the crowd, and a few wolf whistles makes the eldest son blush, while the eldest princess only blows kisses in response.
It’s the last dragon, the Silent Dragon of Valla, that makes the crowd really roar and cheer. There, atop its crested back, wave the beloved king and queen.
When her mother tugs at her sleeve and smiles, pointing at the small figure standing in between the king and queen, she squints.
The princess of Valla has the same hair as her mother, the same eyes as her father, and she clings to her father’s leg, shy and timid as a rain of flowers are thrown onto their great dragon float.
She doesn’t really think anything special then. She just feels disappointment when the Silent Dragon lumbers on down the street, and the parade ends, the crowd dispersing.
She’s too young to really understand fate and destiny anyway.
---
She’s eight when her father is promoted to captain of the Royal Guard.
When her mother brings her to the castle to watch her father’s formal appointment by the king, she bounces on the balls of her feet, bored with the formal decorum and somber voices in the main hall. Her mother shushes her, presses a hand to the top of her head to get her to stand still.
She watches as her father takes out his sword -- Yato -- and offers it to the king, who gently takes it in both hands and lightly taps the flat end of the blade on each of her father’s shoulders.
Behind the king, stands two grand thrones of polished white marble; the queen sits in one, and next to her stands the princess of Valla.
She still doesn’t really think anything special then. She gives a huff of impatience, and she wants to go home and pick up her wooden sword and spar with her friend Silas.
---
She’s ten when her father starts formally teaching her the ways of the warrior, the knight, the soldier.
Her mother watches from the doorway as she takes her lessons in the backyard of their home, her father’s sharp voice and commanding aura whipping her into shape. He deigns to bring Silas in for training too, just so they have someone to learn with.
The two pick things up quickly; she has a competitive streak fueled by her own determination and resolve, and he has a desire to fulfill his dream of becoming a knight of chivalry and heroism.
When practice is over and they’re panting, her mother comes forward to bring them drinks and to pat them both on the head, commending them for their progress.
She has no idea that after each practice, as she and her best friend lie down spread-eagled in the grass to watch the clouds chug along by, that her mother and father are discussing her skills and abilities, how they’re improving so rapidly, how she’s one of the best pupils he’s ever had.
She has no idea that her father and mother tell the king and queen of her talent, either.
She has no idea, as she and her best friend practice throwing punches at each other, that the king and queen wish for her to become a knight of the Royal Guard.
---
She’s sixteen when she next sees the princess of Valla.
Her father brings her to the castle to shadow him on his daily duties as captain of the Royal Guard. She’s grown a bit more serious now, taller and back ramrod straight, hands behind her back as she stands at her father’s side as he sits at his desk, mulling over recruitment paperwork.
To be a knight, he’d said as he skimmed a long resume, means not just fighting. You carry a great deal of responsibility with protecting those who keep our kingdom a good and just place. You are a blade that cuts the darkness, a shield that defends the light.
She nods in understanding, and a page scuttles into her father’s office, saying that the king is requesting his presence.
Her and her father depart for the main hall right away, her father’s sword at his hip, and she watches it as the sun glints off the golden hilt as they stride past stained glass windows. Someday, he’d said to her, you too will wield Yato to protect the peace.
When they reach the main hall, both the king and queen are seated at their thrones, and the princess stands at her mother’s side; her breath catches in her throat and she nearly stumbles in her smooth stride.
She can’t help but stare, and she nearly runs into her father’s back as he stops and stands at attention -- she hurriedly pulls herself together and salutes as well.
She has no words to describe how beautiful the princess is. And standing just fifteen paces away, she can truly see that the princess has her mother’s good looks, and the strapless dress she’s wearing shows off her curves and bare shoulders, nicely accenting the golden pendant that hangs at her neck.
She barely hears her father introducing her to the king and she has to swallow before almost stuttering through the polite greeting to the royalty of Valla, kneeling before them as she brushes her indigo cape behind her.
She’s humbled and surprised when the king and queen ask her a few questions, polite and cordial, about her training. She tells them the truth, that she looks forward to serving the crown, to bringing justice and peace to the realm. Next to her, her father puffs out his chest with pride.
She doesn’t know, as the king dismisses them with a smile and nod and she turns around, following her father out the hall, that the princess too, remained a bit speechless as the king and queen ask her what she thinks of the captain’s daughter.
---
She’s eighteen when she hears of the tourney.
The capitol is abuzz with the news of it. Whispers and hushed voices fill the taverns in the evenings, that the king is looking for a knight for his daughter, the great princess of Valla. Only the best can be her knight, he’d announced, and a competition will determine who is worthy -- and fate will crown the winner.
Silas claps her on the shoulder, grinning, jerking his thumb at the sign on the board. He suggests they try, couldn’t hurt, right?
Besides, he says as he takes a swig of his tankard, you’ve bested every fool who’s challenged you.
She leans her head on her hand, elbow on the table as she reads over the sign again. Sure, she’s good. But she doesn’t know if she’s good enough to face off against the kingdom’s greatest warriors. She’s not arrogant enough to say that she’s the best.
And in the back of her mind, she wonders what the princess of Valla thinks of this, and she wonders if she’ll get to see the princess again at the tourney.
The day of the tourney, she dons her armor and places Yato in its sheath at her hip. She looks at herself in the mirror, and her mother behind her smiles encouragingly and presses a kiss to her cheek. Her father, meanwhile, claps her on the shoulder and gives her a nod of reassurance, and she takes a deep breath. There’s no harm in trying.
What she doesn’t know, as she enters the arena, is that the king and queen are closely observing her, and her father stands at the king’s side, biting his lip as he watches his daughter pull Yato out. The queen and the princess sit on either side of the king, and the princess clutches her pendant in her hand as she watches the fights unfold.
It’s duel after duel after duel. Yato grows heavy in her hand, but she fights on, panting and feeling her blood running hot through her veins as her opponent falls to the ground, shouting surrender. The only reprieve she has from the next fight is one or two battles of other warriors duking it out for knighthood.
Sadly, Silas hadn’t made it far, cut down by a stealthy ninja from Hoshido. He nurses his wounds, mainly his pride, as he helps her recover in the breakroom. As the battles continue, the breakroom empties of would-be fighters, having lost their hope to win, and soon enough, it’s only her and Silas.
You’ve done it, he says in awe, you’ve gotten this far. Just one more and you’ll win.
But she’s so exhausted. Her muscles scream with pain each time she moves, and the last battle she’d been body slammed into the wall by a massive armored brute from Nohr, and she swears a few ribs are broken as each ragged breath she takes feels like a stab in her chest. She can barely reach up to wipe away blood from her busted lip, and her hand falls limp to her side as she closes her eyes, taking advantage of every second she has before she has to walk out into the arena again.
Silas frowns at her in worry, unsure of what he can do, he’s not a mage, he doesn’t know how to heal, and she can hear the anxiety in his voice. No, it’s alright, this might be the end of her tourney stakes.
The next opponent, they both knew, was no pushover. She was a practiced ninja who was quick with daggers whose poison could knock out a grown man in seconds, a lethal enemy who won each battle through quick and decisive throws of the dagger in her hands or through the rapid jabs of her hands at opponents’ pressure points. Whispers had abound the breakroom earlier that she was an unknown, and those who faced her all had the same thing -- that this woman was someone to be feared, and that she was formerly a retainer for the royal family of Hoshido.
She hears the call of her name, and she staggers up, wincing and gritting her teeth as she grips the heavy weight of Yato in her hand.
When she enters the arena, the sun glaring relentlessly from the center of the sky, she hears it for the first time.
The shouts and whoops and cheers of the crowd somehow fade into silence in her ears, and her vision goes crystal clear as she turns to look up in the stands, at where the king and the queen and the princess reside. Even from all the way down on the ground floor, she can see the princess mouthing words, and she somehow hears them, by some kind of magic or godly intervention, she hears them.
A song. The pendant at the princess’ neck glows a radiant blue, the crystal within shining with light.
Their eyes meet, and the song fills her heart, and the sound of her pulse rings in her ears, reinvigorated with life.
Strength returns to her body, the aches in her joints fading away and she stands tall as her opponent enters opposite her.
She doesn’t understand what’s happening, but fueled with newfound determination and power to push on, she tears her gaze away from the princess, and looks her opponent in the eye.
She places Yato before her and faces fate.
---
She hears the deafening roar of the crowd as she sees her opponent collapse on the ground, and she staggers, vision blurring as she barely hears the king announce her victory to the people. Yato falls from her fingers as Silas comes sprinting to her from the entry gate, shouting something at her, and as the woman’s tranquilizing poison saps away her consciousness, she falls to the ground.
The last thing she sees before she passes out is the princess on her feet in the stands, looking straight at her.
---
She comes to in her bed about a day later, sore and exhausted and groggy. It’s late morning, from what she can tell from the slant of sunlight through her bedroom window.
She expects to see her mother, or her father, or Silas, but instead when she looks to her left she almost blacks out again from shock.
The princess of Valla. At her bedside.
She’s too tired and stunned to say anything, instead stupidly opening and closing her mouth, unable to find words or summon the brain power to even say the proper royal greeting.
Instead, the princess speaks first, her smile gentle and kind, and her voice sounds like starlight.
“Good morning, Corrin, my knight.”