For Glory

Kate didn’t remember how she left the arena. 

She was half dragged, half pushed through the gate opposite the way she had entered, towards where The Warrior had emerged from. The Warrior she had just killed.

Did he have a name? A family? If he did Kate didn’t know. All she knew was that he was dead now, and she had killed him.

The man who had practically carried her pushed her down onto a stone bench that was propped against the wall. There were weapons strewn across tables and holders all around and she could assume this was the armoury where the man she’d just killed had been sat, preparing just minutes ago.

Everything was overwhelming. Everything was blurry. Everything ached and hurt.

“Don’t fall asleep.” The man spoke. His voice was gruff, but twinged with sympathy. In that moment with blurry vision he almost looked like her father. “You fall asleep and you might not wake up again.”

“What’s-“ Kate’s voice was hoarse from screaming, from pain. The man pulled the low quality chainmail she had spent the last of her money on off of her, then removed her tunic to leave her in her blood soaked chemise. “Who . . .”

“Clint Barton, of Her Majesty’s Military.” Clint explained. 

He somehow procured a bottle of alcohol and was pouring it onto cloth. A luxury bottle that Kate remembered seeing for way too much money in the back of higher class stores in the marketplace.

“Ah!” Clint just shushed her, holding her in place as she struggled weakly against the sting. 

It burned and pinched her already aching  shoulder. 

“I need to clean the wound, then patch you up.” Kate’s vision was turning black, she felt delirious. “Don’t fall asleep, Kate, you have a lot to do today.”

Well, as it turns out, that was easier said than done.

 Once Kate’s eyes peeled open once more it felt like she had been trampled by a thousand carriage horses. She didn’t think it was possible to hurt more than she already did but it was, and it was exhausting.

She was moving, somehow, and when she tried to stand the servants carrying her merely lifted her higher. Her boots scrambled against the floor before their movements ground to a halt and her head spun.

Their grips were tight, one on each side holding her underarms. Indistinguishable voices spoke around her as she struggled to keep awake.

“Put her up, on the platform.” 

She was moved once more. This time pushed up onto a short wooden stool and forced to stand herself. Her knees almost buckled immediately but she fought to remain still as who she assumed was a tailor began to take her measurements.

“You should be proud of yourself, daughter of Derek Bishop.” The tailor had long black hair, and he wore an exorbitant outfit of green and black. “You did it.”

Whatever it was remained a mystery in Kate’s weary mind, she was much too preoccupied with a moral dilemma to focus on the words he spoke to her.

“You slayed the Queen’s Favoured, you won the tournament, and you reestablished the Bishop name.” The Tailor grinned up at her and she flinched back, reminded of the smiles and joy from the crowd witnessing her ‘victory’. “You also have a lovely bride waiting for you. A princess! What more could you want?”

“I don’t-“ Everything was moving too fast. The Tailor was now scuttling around the room, throwing fabrics and armours at light speed and Kate wanted to tell him to please, stop because it made her head hurt. “What?”

“Don’t think too hard.” The Tailor laughed powerfully. “Only the peasantry remain stuck on frivolities like morals and ethics. You’re no longer one of them. You’re royalty now.”

“Royalty adjacent, Loki, and she isn’t wed yet so technically she is still a peasant.” Spat another voice from behind her. Kate made to turn but was pricked by one of the needles the Tailor was using.

“Don’t mind Eli,” The Tailor waved his hand noncommittally. “He is upset because his prospective bride is now yours.”

“My bride belongs to no one until the wedding,” Eli corrected harshly, “And if Melina wasn’t so deranged as to gamble off her youngest daughter to a peasant-“

“Treasonous talk in front of a Royal Military Commander is very brave, Elijah.” The loud crashing and the sound of Clint’s voice caught Kate’s attention but she was unable to look back as the Tailor scolded her for her movements. “And very stupid.”

Eli pushed fruitlessly against the strong forearm holding him against the wall, gasping for breath. Reluctantly, eventually, Clint relented and Eli coughed and choked, bracing himself against his knees.

“You’re very silent for a Champion.” The Tailor, Loki, mused. Wholly ignoring the commotion going. “Well, it’s not like I have much experience with them seeing as it’s been about a decade since someone actually won the Tournament, but I would imagine a Champion would be a lot more . . . Chatty.”

“Maybe it’s the blood loss.” Kate mumbled, eliciting a laugh from Loki.

 He clapped his hands as if remembering something. “Right! Someone fetch me some rouge for her cheeks, they are much too pale. The Royal Wedding cannot occur with the Champion looking like she’s about to keel over.”

As the words left Loki’s lips, Kate’s eyes fluttered, then rolled into the back of her head as she fell backwards. Clint lunged forwards to catch her limp figure.

Loki shrugged, “Maybe that’ll get it out of her system.”

—————————————-

Natasha Maximoff was not happy with the new turn of events.

She was enjoying her life, in a neighbouring kingdom to the Vostokoff Empire. All was serene. All was peaceful. She was on a simple patrol across the town, ensuring all was in order. She had even stopped at a local market stall to buy some flowers for her wife, as they planned to enjoy a second honeymoon sometime soon. 

Imagine her surprise when she received notice from a frantic messenger that her baby sister was to be wed by the eve. 

Not the eve in a month’s time. Or a week’s notice. No, the eve of today.

Natasha Romanov, in her opinion, was completely justified to be less than happy with this news.

She managed to gather Wanda, their daughter and the barest of essentials in record time. Stuffing everything in the fastest carriage they could find and off they went.

On a normal day, the journey from the Maximoff Kingdom to the Vostokoff Empire took around two quarts of the day. Not including breaks for relief and tending to the horses. 

They made the trip in one.

In case that wasn’t already enough stress for a protective older sister, imagine how Natasha felt finding out Yelena’s future husband was a woman whom she had never spoken to, held no title and was not only a peasant, but a peasant of a disgraced and criminal name. 

To top off the bouquet of bad news; Yelena was only forced to wed to this woman because their mother had gambled away her hand on a whim.

Suffice to say, Natasha was not having a good day.

As soon as she arrived, her and the family were dragged away and stuffed into fancy dress for the wedding. She hadn’t a chance to voice her complaints as her parents were no where to be found. How convenient.

She hadn’t seen Yelena for the whole day, and by the time she did lay her eyes on her sister there was no time to talk as she was stood beside her at the entrance of the ballroom, awaiting their parents’ arrival.

Softly, firmly, discreetly, she held Yelena’s wrist to catch her attention. “You look beautiful.”

“Oh,” Yelena blinked, looking down at the stunning white dress she wore. “Спасибо. I do not know how the Tailor managed to make this so fast but-“ (Thank you)

“You do look really beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, so happy for you, Yelena. But what the fuck is going on?”

The grand doors to the entrance creaked open, followed by fanfare. 

Out stepped Melina - Natasha inhaled sharply through her nose, deeply annoyed - also wearing a fucking wedding dress. Hand in hand with Alexei who had also been wearing the same suit they were married in.

The nobles around the ballroom applauded politely, and Natasha glared daggers at the pair who were pointedly avoiding eye contact. 

“Shall we go then, my little светлячок?” (Firefly) Alexei outstretched his elbow for Yelena to take. 

On cue, the orchestra began to play. Violins began to mount, harpists were strumming and the three of them began to walk up the aisle. Alexei in the centre, Melina on one side and Yelena on the other.

As was tradition, the oldest brother of the family was supposed to remain at the entrance with his most faithful and bloodiest longsword. Seeing as the Vostokoffs had no sons, Natasha took on that duty, albeit begrudgingly.

Natasha would have no problem with playing that role, or even any role, on Yelena’s wedding. She would do anything for her sister and her happiness but these circumstances were not sitting well with her one bit.

Wanda was sat in the front row with their daughter, Anya. As she turned to watch the entrance, she caught Nat’s eyes and gave her a reassuring smile.

“We are gathered here today,” Began the officiant, “To celebrate the union between Her Royal Highness, Princess Yelena Belova and Katherine Elizabeth Bishop, daughter of Derek Bishop. This occasion is a momentous one, as it is the holy union of our royalty-“

Natasha couldn’t have cared less. As the officiant droned on and on, she waited anxiously for the arrival of her baby sister’s new husband. 

Just as she was debating how bad the consequences would be if she objected, the entrance doors slid open behind her.

The ballroom fell quiet as the gentry of the Empire laid their eyes on the fresh blood about to be spilled into their ranks.

Strong. Natasha noted. And tall.

Kate wore what was a traditional - and vastly expensive - outfit. Classic dress trousers laced with chainmail and covered with black cloth so the armour remained visible, swirling with gold patterns. 

A metal chest plate with the Bishop family crest, (two arrows crossed over an insignia) chain sleeves and a black floor length cape embroidered with matching gold speckled around. She adorned a Knight’s helmet, a golden feather emerging from the head. The Vostokoff’s national colour.

Behind her stood a familiar face. Clint Barton, as well as a few other knights and knights in training.

Natasha felt a pang of sympathy for Kate at the sight. Tradition dictated it was the husband’s closest friends and family who were to stand behind them as they walked to meet their bride. To show their support and respect for them, to usher them into the next stage of their life. But the people behind Kate were all practically strangers to her, offering her little, if any reassurance.

The Champion made to step forward, but stumbled back as Natasha blocked the entrance with one swift movement of her longsword.

“To marry my sister is a high honour. Prove your worth, your desire to marry, and your ability to provide and I will consider letting you pass.” She recited.

All heads turned to Kate, who was shoved forward by one of the knights behind her. Stumbling, she narrowly avoided walking right into the blade. 

“I-“ She looked around, “I don’t-”

Kate was unused to these traditions. Her father was a travelling merchant which meant that while her home was in the Vostokoff Empire, she spent a majority of her time away. 

Traditions like this were also reserved only for families of noble standing. The only wedding she had attended since her family was disgraced was an elopement to the neighbouring Kingdom.

A thousand eyes were on her. All the gentry waiting for the next step but Kate held nothing but confusion. 

Once more, a sickening dread filled her being. Reminders of the nightmarish images, of the crowds that watched her suffering filled her head and suddenly her chest was tight. 

Suddenly, her heart was racing, pounding and suddenly the helmet she wore felt far too tight around her skull.

“She cannot possibly prove her desire to marry, as it is unquantifiable.” Clint stepped forward. “Nor can she insult her bride by assigning a value to her worth.”

Clint grabbed Kate’s wrist and raised her hand, pushing the palm to the blade and softly pushing down, drawing blood. Kate winced at the incision.

“She can only offer herself, her soul, her body and her heart.” 

Then, he reached into the pocket of his formal wear and pulled out a modest sack of gold coins, handing it to Natasha.

That seemed to satisfy her, as she relented and removed the sword from the entrance. 

Orchestral music started once more, serenading the ballroom and as Natasha moved out of the way, letting Kate see the daunting pairs of eyes and eyes and eyes all on her.

“Come on,” Clint whispered. His hand softly pushed her forward, stepping in tandem as they began to walk down the aisle. 

Kate was glad for Clint. If he wasn’t there she probably would have passed out by now. Or ran away. Or threw up.

The sting of her palm helped distract her from the crowd and Kate just tried to focus on walking forward in a natural, human-like way. 

Unfortunately, her already very weak, very fragile state was not helped by the extra blood loss.

“When we get up there, do you know what to say?” Clint spoke lowly. Kate mumbled something unintelligible. “What?”

“‘M gonna pass out again.” She whimpered.

“No you’re not.” Please, God, please don’t let this kid make a fool of herself in front of these vultures. “Come on, Kate. Just take deep breaths. Kate?”

By now she was stumbling over her steps. Low murmurs filled the crowd at the decrepit state of the ‘future prince’ and oh God she’s passing out.