Chapter One

If Blake had known this was the day she would completely, irrevocably ruin her life, she probably would have stayed in bed. She would have ignored her duties. She would have ignored the sound of hooves pounding across the other side of the river. She would have wrapped herself even tighter in her bedroll, hunkered down even deeper into her scout's nest, and never poked her head out until the next dawn.

But she hadn't known. So she woke with the dawn and prepped her daily breakfast of cold rations, as she always did. And as she did every single monotonous morning, she sent her messenger bird back to the forward camp, a little not tied to its leg saying that, once again, this section of the border was utterly deserted. Once that was done, she settled down, her longbow ready at her side, waiting to see if today was the day that the Atlesian forces would try to cross the border.

It was much like any other day she had spent as part of the border patrol. The Acier River before her coursed along, marking the border between the Atlesian Empire's western edge and her own nation of Mistral. She shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The fall air was just a shade too cool, every other breeze making her dread the coming winter. Every so often, one of the leaves would fall, carpeting the ground in reds and yellows. Eventually she would have to change her vantage point – in a few weeks there wouldn't be enough leaves left to serve as cover.

Birds passed, chirping their songs, flying by on their way south. Apart from them, the place was abandoned. No one came by – no one ever came by – except for the occasional woodsman following a deer track.

Her post had always been quiet. In hindsight, it was probably why she had been put there to begin with. It let her serve, let Blake do her duty to her country, and still managed to keep the crown princess of Mistral out of harm's way.

It wasn't what she had been hoping for, when she spoke to her parents and insisted they let her do her duty to the nation. Made the point that the heir to the throne had a responsibility to serve the kingdom, same as every other Mistrallan of an age to fight. That it would be cowardice to remain safe and secure at the palace while Atlas tested their borders.

Still, Blake understood. It made sense they would want their daughter, their only heir, as far away from the action as they could get her. Why no commander would want to be responsible for her, would want to risk ordering their rulers' child to her death.

I suppose it's best for everyone, Blake sighed, breathing on her hands to warm them. I get to serve in some small way, and they avoid the succession crisis that would happen if I died. It made sense. She understood. She really did.

She still hated it.

The monotony, the endless boredom, the hours upon hours of absolutely nothing were so normal that it took her longer than she would ever admit to notice the sound of hooves pounding across the ground.

Blake looked up, just in time to watch as a carriage raced down the riverbank, the driver flailing with the reins and nursing an arrow wound in his shoulder. A riderless horse ran beside them, the red-stained saddle leaving little doubt about what happened to the owner. Six – no – seven riders raced behind, dressed in furs and tattered leather, with rough iron axes hanging from their belts. Arrows soared through the air, the pursuers firing shot after shot towards the desperately weaving carriage as they pounded across the dirt.

Bandits. Blake cursed under her breath and hunkered deeper behind her cover. An arrow was already nocked in her bow, the string half-pulled before she realized what she was doing. Slowly, she let her bow slack, every millimeter a painful exercise of will.

There wasn't anything she could do. Whatever happened, it was on the other side of the border. If an enemy scout crossed the river, it would practically be a declaration of war. Even worse, if the Mistrallan heir crossed into Atlas ... it would give the Atlesian Emperor exactly the kind of justification he needed to invade. There wasn't a choice. She had to stay put, had to do nothing but watch as the raiders descended on the carriage.

No matter how much she hated it.

The driver looked back once and cracked the reins, swerving to the right before making a wide turn left towards the water. Blake followed the path with her eyes, trying to think of something, anything she could do. Then she saw where the carriage was headed, and in one swift motion she grabbed her bow and dropped from her post to the ground below.

The carriage was making for the bridge, an older wooden structure that crossed the border a few dozen feet downstream from Blake's position. There wasn't anything she could do about the Atlesian side of the river. But if they crossed the bridge, if they made it into Mistral ... well, she'd happily take the reprimand for abandoning her post if it saved whoever was in the carriage.

Maybe in Atlas, they could get away with attacking travelers on the road, she thought, fingers clenched tight around the handle of her bow. But not here. Not with me.

Moving through the trees, she ducked and weaved, yanking her hood up and over her head as she ran. She was practically silent – months of watching this one spot had given her an instinctive knowledge of the terrain. Blake knew where the branches were, had spent days moving silently through the trees, avoiding every twig and crinkled leaf that might give her away. Keeping her eyes on the horses, she pulled back the string on her longbow, ready to fire the second the carriage was on her side of the river. If they could just-

Her heart dropped as an arrow flew from one of the brigands and caught the driver right at the base of the neck. The man went stiff, then toppled sideways, dragging the reins with him as he fell from the carriage seat. The horses turned, yanked to the side by the dragging reins, before a massive crack filled the air.

The carriage, already damaged from the chase, hadn't survived the turn. One of the axels cracked, shattered, and sent pieces flying out behind it. Yanked to the side by the horses, the carriage scraped sideways along the bridge, tried to stay upright, then toppled onto its side. The leads snapped, leaving the horses to run free across the bridge as the carriage slammed headlong into the support struts, crashing in an explosion of wood and splinters.

Blake swore. Even from this distance, she could see the shattered spokes and the axel haft sailing out into the river.

Ten more feet. They couldn't have made it ten more, gods-cursed feet. She carriage had made it to the bridge, sure, but they crashed on the Atlas side.

Blake froze behind the cover of the trees, an arrow already cocked and ready to fire. There wasn't anything she could do. As far as anyone would care, they were still on Atlesian soil. Atlas was bound to have scouts on their side of the river, just as Mistral had her. If she crossed the bridge, if someone happened to see her, if she went to help ...

The door to the carriage swung open, cracking against the broken bridge supports, and suddenly Blake's choice was made for her. A hooded figure struggled free of the wreckage and dropped down onto the bridge, catching themselves on hands and knees before struggling onto their feet.

It was a woman, Blake realized, billowing white cloak obscuring most of her form apart from the feminine line of her hips and the thin-bladed longsword she drew from her side. Turning to face the onrushing brigands, the carriage passenger planted her feet and leveled the blade in front of her, shifting into a defensive stance as the bandits charged forward. They howled war cries as they charged, laughter echoing off the water, the mere sound making Blake's blood run cold.

Blake had heard that sound before – seen the aftermath of bandit attacks when her father and mother took her on their trips to aid the survivors. Despite her parent's best efforts to hide the worst from her, she'd seen the bodies. She heard what happened to the survivors – the grieving, the injured, the ones unlucky enough to be carried off by the brigands. She had hidden, a ten year-old behind a ring of guards, as raiders descended on one of the villages, only to panic when they found the royal guard had moved in to defend the townsfolk.

Not here.

Blake's arrow caught the first bandit in the throat. The man jerked and toppled forwards, dragging the reins with him as he fell. He landed, tangled among his horse's feet. The animal brayed and stumbled, then crashed to the ground atop its rider, kicking and trying to free itself as the other bandits reared to a halt behind it.

She acknowledged a surge of sympathy for the horse – it couldn't be blamed for its rider – and nocked another arrow. As it is, the poor thing should slow the other bandits down.

Her second arrow caught one man in the shoulder, but the third thudded harmlessly into the bridge. By then, the brigands had noticed, were wise to the archer in the woods. Grabbing shields covered in hide, they leapt from their mounts and ran forward, shields held up to protect their faces. Blake tried to sight on their legs, tried to take them out at the knees.

There wasn't a clean shot, not with the bridge and the carriage wreck blocking her line of sight.

"Make for the trees!" she shouted to the passenger, stepping out towards the bridge, still firing towards the raiders. She couldn't cross the bridge, couldn't step onto enemy territory ... But no one ever said I couldn't defend this side.

Either the woman couldn't hear her, or simply chose to ignore her. Instead of running, instead of taking shelter on the one side of the bridge Blake could actually protect, she stood her ground as the first brigand closed with her.

Is she deaf, or just insane? Blake thought, firing as quickly as she dared, feet pounding against the dirt as she ran forward. None of her shots found their mark, but they kept the raiders careful. Forced them to be wary of the falling barbs, rather than surround the one poor woman on the bridge. The poor woman who ...

Blake blinked with surprise as the cloaked woman sidestepped neatly away from the bandit's swing. Her thin blade sliced down his arm, severing muscles and tendons, before moving on to the next bandit coming across the wooden slats. She was quick and nimble, avoiding blows rather than parrying them, and finding just the right time for a counter attack before dancing back out of reach.

Five-on-one were still poor odds, and it wasn't long before the woman was forced back, blade whipping about wildly as she tried to keep them from surrounding her. One bad blow caught on the guard of her blade and threw her aside. She slammed into the side of the bridge with a painful thwack. In seconds, the bandits had her surrounded, trapped with her back against the wooden sides.

Blake's blade was halfway through the nearest bandit's chest before he noticed she was there.

The next few seconds of the fight were a blur. Before she knew it, Blake was standing back-to back with the hooded woman, parrying and lunging with lightning speed at the surrounding brigands. The raiders' weapons were old and scrounged, pitted wood and clumsy iron. They were no match for a well-swung longsword, and within three swings, Blake sent two of their weapons spinning into the water.

She fell into a rhythm, parrying, riposting, stepping to the side as the hooded woman whipped by to take advantage of one opening or another. They moved like a pair of matched blades, circumstance and need somehow putting them in almost perfect sync.

Her breath came in short, heavy pants, her teeth bared as she blocked another downswing. They could do this, she realized, sparing the white-cloaked woman a brief glance. Four of the bandits were already down. If they could just ...

Everyone froze as a mighty crack split the air. Tearing her eyes away from the battle, Blake looked up, and swallowed as ice water shot down her veins.

The carriage had split the central support when it crashed. The crack extended up and up, traveling along the grain until it began to buckle, shift, then finally snapped. The whole bridge shook, knocking a few of the bandits off their feet as the wooden supports began to fall, the floorboards curving and snapping as the bridge collapsed.

Shit, Blake thought, and grabbed the hooded woman. They needed to move. To run. Now. If they could make it off the bridge ...

"Watch out!"

A hand slammed hard into her shoulder before she could realize who had spoken. Blake stumbled, tripping over the bucking floorboards, and turned back just in time to watch one of the support beams fall exactly on the spot where she'd been standing. Instead, it hit the boards and twisted, cracking into the head of the woman who had pushed Blake out of harm's way.

The woman went down, collapsing just as the bridge finally fell apart. Blake felt the ground fall out from under her, frigid water slamming into her as she plunged, helpless, into the depths.

Author's Note: Bit of background. This started as a prompt on my tumblr for TheIvoryTowerCrumbles, got expanded by another royalty prompt by another tumblr account, and kinda turned into a thing when I made videos and pics using the Fire Emblem GBA engine for it. So, I thought I might as well post what I have for it - since I was too busy to get any other writing done this week. Sorry about that.

Anyway, please review if you can spare the time. I read all of them, and it's great to hear people's insights and get constructive criticism from time to time. Also, I'll answer pretty much any question I can, so feel free to ask those here or on my tumblr - redsuitwriter.

You can also find the pics and videos for this AU there. Just search for 'Two Kingdoms' on my blog page. Or send in your own royalty prompts off the prompt list. Thanks for reading!