Wham. It was the sound of her wrapped fist hitting the punching bag for the hundredth and last time. She was in one of the smaller arenas, set up for close combat and practice. During her stays at the Institute of War, where generally no one would volunteer to practice with her, she worked out there, trying herself against the sand bags with a variety of kicks and punches. She found that, lacking proper practice with blades, it was an efficient way to keep herself on form.
Besides, it was a way to work out her frustrations. Dealings in peace times went too slow for her liking, and far too boring. It was tedious to sit at a table, discussing things. She would much rather just fight out it out and be done with it.
However, that was not how the Institute worked. Knowing her time was up in the small arena, she threw one final punch at the lifeless bag of sand hanging in the corner. The last week had been particularly rough, with the planning of the one-year anniversary of the truce that had followed the disaster in Kalamanda. She had spent the first part of her day in meetings with the demacians, and while they finally had agreed on parts of the celebration, it had been a long way getting there.
She let out a heavy breath as she started to unwrap her hands cursing herself internally of how hard she had tied them, but she finally let the hand wraps fall to the floor. Looking at the wall-to-wall mirror to the side, she saw that it had been a hard workout indeed; her white crop top was drenched in sweat. She had tied her hair up for once, but it had not exactly stayed that way; now it was mostly tied up, with several strands framing her face and hanging down her neck.
She would have to take a bath before the celebration.
"You seem to be really in need of the training time you booked." The sarcastic remark came from the side, where she knew the door to be. A bit surprised that she had not heard him enter, she turned to glare at him.
"Don't you have a mirror in your own rooms? Other people could use this arena you know."
She supposed she had been too lost in her own thoughts to notice him entering. Turning to look him over, she almost laughed.
"What did you do with the yordies, play in the mud?" Garen Crownguard stood a few feet away, dried mud stains splattered over his light shirt and trousers. His hair was slick with it.
"It was an ambush," he said, turning his glare on her. "Several of them were hiding in the bushes."
"How does it feel to be surprised in your own territory?"
"Very funny." The big man just looked annoyed. "Are you going to leave or will I have to carry you out?"
She shrugged before bending to pick up her hand wraps from the floor. "I suppose you could always be a gentleman and allow me to leave on my own."
"I could," he said, cocking his head to the side. He wondered how he had managed to not notice her clothes at the meeting earlier; he was quite sure the crop top and black trousers would have caught his attention, if only for the fact that they weren't her usual clothes.
"And I'm in a hurry to get started, so get out."
"As you wish, your majesty."
He rolled his eyes as he shrugged off his large jacket. "No need to be snarky." Watching her pick up her jacket, he started to take off his heavy shirt. He noticed her watching, and chuckled.
Her wrinkled nose amused him. "If you're trying to scare me away, it's working."
With a snide smile, he looked her over.
"Then why are you still here?"
She returned the smile. "Obnoxious as always, aren't you?"
"Only with you, my dear."
"Okay, I'm going!" He knew she would, of course, but pretending to start taking off his trousers had been too tempting for him to resist.
"I feel a bit bad that you have to use your body in that way to scare me, truly, I do. If you only felt confident enough in your abilities to actually fight me, maybe it would not be necessary."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Is that a challenge?"
"As if you'd dare."
It was as if she wanted to fight him. But why would she want that? She had to know he was ten times stronger than her, and there was no way she would stand a chance in a real fight without weapons. But he was a bit intrigued; she knew that he was stronger than her, but she would not taunt him if she did not wish a fight. Nor would she wish for a fight she was sure she would loose.
He took a few steps closer to her, measuring her. "What have you learned, Katarina?"
"Do you have the guts to find out?"
Her green eyes bored into his, looking dangerously suggestive. Her left eye was framed by a scar running down from her brow to her eyelid; the remnants of a demacian blade. He himself bore countless smaller scars on his upper body, but none of them as noticeable as hers, nor as distinguished. His were from the battlefield, and most of them had, in recent years, been left by her blades. They were as close as they could get to being equally matched on the battlefield; their styles of fighting were fundamentally different, but he could not deny that he always longed to fight her again. She was his match, and the fact that she did not use a sword was made up for by her skill with knives.
He knew he shouldn't. But he had never been able to resist fighting her, and such an opportunity was too good to miss.
Before she could move, he had her pinned against the wall, her wrists held above her head against the wall by his hands. He knew that several of the other League ambassadors thought he feelings of a rather more private kind towards the assassin, but while she might extremely enticing, and at times masterfully seductive, he did not feel that way towards her. Yes, she was hot. But she was noxian.
"Your move."
She looked surprisingly devious for a short moment. "Haven't you learned? It is always my move."
And then she was gone, slipped from his grasp in an instant. He had to admit, she was fast. When he turned around, she had her jacket slung over her shoulder and her hand wraps held tight in her fist.
With a sly smile on her face, she turned around when she was at the door.
"See you tonight, Crownguard."
"Give me two seconds to get dressed, will you?" He roared as he worked to fasten his towel around his waist. It had taken forever, but he had finally managed to get all the mud out of his hair, and now he was late. He guessed that was why Lux was trying to break down his door.
He was correct. Lux stormed in the moment he opened it, wearing a long formal dress. Her hair was done up in ringlets, bouncing around her shoulders as she looked around his room.
"Why aren't you dressed?"
"Because I just had a bath," he said, trying not to be annoyed at her. After all, it was he who was late, and in a bit of a bad temper after the small standoff with Katarina earlier.
"But we're already late," she complained, and started to go through his drawers, looking for what he could wear to a formal dance. With a nod of his head, he showed her his clothes already laid out on the bed.
"At least you've got some sense," she acceded, half-running over to inspect them. When she found no apparent flaws, she sighed, and headed back towards the door. "Two minutes," she warned, and shut it behind her.
Knowing full well she meant only two minutes, he hurriedly got dressed and dried his hair as best he could. The black eye he had gotten from the yordies earlier he was unable to hide, but he supposed he would not be the only one there with bruises: this was an institute of war after all, and nearly all the champions trained day in and day out; no bruises would be highly unnatural.
When Lux stormed back in, he had just finished putting on his dress coat. More accustomed to see him in armor, she stopped dead in her tracks, a wicked grin on her face.
"Garen, you are going to melt hearts tonight," she announced, twirling around to show off her dress as well. "As am I."
"Luxanna, you look stunning," he said, bowing to kiss the top of her forehead. "Now let's go."
She looked down at his hip, where he usually carried his sword.
"No weapons today?"
"I'm not expecting trouble at a dance."
"I don't think the dance will be any trouble at all," Lux said brightly, a wicked grin on her face. "I have higher hopes for the after party."
"Of course you do," he murmured, and offered his sister his arm. As if she was regularly escorted to balls, she accepted his arm as they started walking towards the courtyard.
"Remind me why we are celebrating again?" She asked when they arrived, her mouth hanging slightly agape. The dark courtyard outside the Institute was lit with hundreds of lanterns in the late twilight, as the attending champions streamed out of the living quarters and onto the paved square that was surrounded by several sections of garden.
"One year since our treaty following Kalamanda."
"Oh. I'd forgotten."
Of course she had. He loved his sister, of course he did, but she was a bit forgetful at times. That was likely because she hadn't been in Kalamanda, but he had, and it was not something he was likely to forget.
Walking onto the paved square, Garen saw several people he knew. Some of them he did not like much, like the pirate Gankplank or the gambler Twisted Fate, but he had been pretty sure they would all be there. Everyone present at the Institute had been invited, but only the diplomats of Demacia and Noxus were required to attend. Though, with as few dances and celebrations as was held at the Institute, he was not at all surprised to see most of the champions at tenting.
Lux pulled on his arm, taking his attention.
"What?"
"Do you see Ez anywhere?"
With a resigned sigh, he turned to look for the young man who seemed to take all of Lux attention lately.
"I don't see why you had me escort you to this, when you could've just asked him."
A flush crept up her cheeks onto her horrified expression. "What if he had said no?"
He shook his head, a small smile on his face. Lux, as brave as she could be in combat, had no clue how to handle people she had crushes on. Once she'd had a crush on Jarvan, and she hadn't spoken to him in months; it had been pretty awkward to tell Jarvan why.
As he thought of him, he looked around, a bit puzzled. "Where's Jarvan?"
"Jarvan went back to Demacia," she said, clearing her throat. "He did not want to open the dance; he'll be back tomorrow."
Suspicion crept into his voice. "What do you mean, open the dance?"
"Oh you know, the diplomats from Demacia and Noxus are required to open the dance with a dance," she said, as if it was only a small detail she had forgotten to mention. He knew that with Jarvan gone, he would be the next diplomat in line for the 'honor'.
He narrowed his eyes. "Why can't you do it?"
She cleared her throat again. "Well, because there are no male noxian diplomats."
No male noxian diplomats. He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach; he knew who the noxian diplomat had to be.
As if on cue, one of the men who sat on the council of war standing on the small raised platform started speaking.
"Honored guests," he started, looking at them all with glistening eyes. To Garen, it looked like he had started a bit early with the brew.
"I am honored to be here to commemorate the one year anniversary of a war-free Valoran, following the treaty of Kalamanda between Noxus and Demacia. This past year all our conflicts have been resolved peacefully, with the help of the diplomats of all the city-states who continue to serve their states as emissaries to the Council."
Garen only half-listened as the councilman continued to speak of their great peacetime achievements, and his ears only barely caught the last lines of the speech.
"And now, to start off our celebration, a dance to symbolize the treaty! Please welcome to the floor Garen Crownguard and Katarina DuCouteau."
Reluctant to enter the lit square surrounded by all those people he knew, he only did because of the stern look Lux gave him when he was about to chicken out. As he stepped into the spotlights, he internally cursed Jarvan for not at the very least warning him of this.
For a long moment, he stood there alone, not seeing the faintest trace of Katarina. Maybe she had chickened out when she'd heard it would be him, and refused to do the dance. He was a bit amused by the image; then who would he dance with? Maybe Talon would volunteer or something.
His train of half-amusing thoughts were cut off short when he saw the crowd parting, and spotted Katarina moving towards him. For a moment, he was struck speechless. She wore a dress of dark grey material that shimmered when she walked, with a very deep cut that showed off so much of her that he was a bit surprised she had dared step out of her room in it. He had never thought Katarina for a girl who would ever be caught dead in a dress, and had half-expected that she would show up in her usual tight leather trousers and barely-there chest piece.
He had thought Lux's dress of blue silk had been exceptional, but it paled in comparison to, what could barely be called a dress, on Katarina.
The woman in front of him now, so familiar, yet so new, so worryingly alluring, gave him a curt nod before she curtsied slightly, a tradition before starting a dance. Shaking himself mentally, he grasped her hand and kissed her fingers as he bowed, the customary thing to do.
If he had to do this, at least he would do it properly.
"I see you got the mud out of your hair," she said quietly, all eyes on them.
"That doesn't sound like an insult."
"It wouldn't do on a dance floor."
With practiced movements, she placed one arm on his shoulder and another in his hand, giving him a slight nod. He reluctantly placed his hand on her waist when he heard the music starting to play, and started twirling around on the dance floor.
To his surprise, Katarina was a very graceful dancer. He was not at all sure why he was surprised, seeing as he had more than once seen her move with the speed and grace of a cheetah from the savannah. The song seemed to last forever as they made their way across the dance floor, but eventually they were joined by several couples who had finally received the okay to step onto the floor. On a turn, he spotted Lux's fleeting grin as she twirled by in Ezreal's arms.
The music continued to build, and as the pace of the dance escalated, so did their movements. What had before been one slow turn for Katarina suddenly became three in the same space of time as the one had taken, and before he knew it they had reached the end of the dance.
As the drum sounded its final beat, he stood bent over Katarina, holding her up by her waist so she would not fall. Her chest heaved with the strain of dancing, pushing the material of her dress to fall so that he was surprised it still covered her.
Her green eyes showed the exhilaration of the dance, but it faded somewhat when he straightened, pulling her with him. She loosened her hands and gave him a small smile. "You were decent."
"I didn't know that assassins were taught to dance," he retorted, as they walked side by side off the dance floor, clearing the way for the rest of the couples who wanted their turn.
"Assassins aren't. Daughters of Generals are."
"Even you."
"It should not surprise you that I have many talents you will never get to experience, Crownguard."