. prologue
( AN: Cover art by Chewiebaka. This is my first time attempting to write a multi-chapter fanfic, for a couple that I have difficulty finding much of anything for! I hope you like it as much as I've poured my heart and soul into it! This fic will be interspersed with some personal headcanons and Valoran worldbuilding. Enjoy!)
A celestial had no business in a place like this.
Scorned by the stars and fallen from grace, Soraka was a pariah even among the mortal-world she once fought so fervently to protect. Mortal pains and desires drove the sometimes-spirit from her glade, and with it, claimed her softer elements.
Suspicion and misgiving seemed to claim her very being. Soraka was powerful, yes, but she was also horribly, horribly alone. The scar below the curve of her ribs served as cold reminder to her newfound vulnerability.
And with the current situation she found herself in, that was grossly apparent.
Two guards flanked Soraka on either side, sandwiching the tall albeit spindly woman between them. The hallway stretched on long enough to make her vision swim, hoofsteps uneven and echoing mockingly against the sullied tile.
Being susceptible to hunger and exposure, Soraka needed to ply the natural nakedness of mortals in exchange for coin. The scald of starfire was vivid in her mind, and therefore, she'd taken great pains to educate herself in natural remedies and first-aid. Confident in her abilities, Soraka had drifted from town-to-town across Valoran and its outlying land-masses alike.
The Demacians took special affection to her. The yordles of Bandle City greeted the like-minded spirit with open arms.
And then there were the Noxians.
Noxus. Ionian by not only choice but by temper, Soraka should have been far, far away from the presence of the jailers. But, coin was coin, and part of her reasoned that the conditions of innocents gave her reason to pause the staying of her hand. She lived to heal and protect; who was Soraka to deny them salvation?
But her employers were not innocents. These were the people that had slaughtered her kind, raided and pillaged their villages and taken countless scores of lives in their wake. Even as she walked, her constitution shook, knees threatening to buckle under the weight of the world on her shoulders.
They came to an office.
The guard on her right shouldered the wrought door aside, with his peer assuring that Soraka shuffled in, however wary she may've been.
A man stood, situated behind a desk and leaning heavily against what appeared to be a crutch. Soraka bent her head to steal a better look, but his weathered face belied no weakness. Those harsh eyes met hers, and Soraka dropped her gaze. It was obvious who was in charge of this situation.
"This is the healer."
It was a statement, not a question. "Bring her to me."
Soraka was elbowed forwards, her posture submissive and above all, obedient. If he pitied her, there was no change in disposition, as the man continued to speak as if the celestial was no more than a common footsoldier.
"I would extend my welcome, but it appears as if your guardians have already done an impeccable job at giving you a fair Noxian greeting. I am Jericho Swain, Grand General of Noxus. We corresponded about an opportune application for your..." He pauses, letting the words roll behind his lips.
"talents… Let's get to the point, shall we? You are to speak when spoken to. I expect you to perform your job dutifully, with or without magic. I truly do not care as long as I receive results. You are to keep any and all political conflicts squarely to yourself." Swain's voice levels itself, and there is a long pause before he breaches the silence once more.
"You are to be assigned to our executioner. Let me firmly state that you are not the first, and you certainly will not be the last. I wholeheartedly expect your full cooperation with him where others have failed. Understood?"
There was a numb nod from the celestial, her head low whilst the guards on either side of her fought the urge to steal glances with each other. Even they knew not to test Swain's patience.
There was the thud of heavy footsteps. A jeering voice down the hall, the sound of a massive door being pushed aside effortlessly. And a pause. Soraka dared not turn her head, fearful of anything that vaguely resembled disobedience to Swain. The remaining guards were ushered out with a nod of the grizzled general's head, but the voice that speaks is not his.
"Is this really it?"
The voice was confident, controlled. Soraka steeled herself, an imperceptibly small part of the celestial daring to hope that she wasn't stuck with some ruffian. The general before her rose his mighty head, eyes narrowing. The crow on his shoulder uttered a caw, its wings ruffling as it managed to hop to his opposite shoulder.
"Draven. This is your charge. I expect your full cooperation with this one. Is that understood?"
Soraka could practically hear the smirk in the executioner's voice. "Yeah, yeah. Would you ever expect less from Draven? C'mon, sweetheart. Look upon perfection, I'll wait."
Her heart seized up in apprehension, a sense of dread broiling in the pit of Soraka's stomach. The man's cockiness careened her into a state of unease, and she had no idea what to expect even as she turned with hooves of lead. Raising her head uneasily, Soraka's stare locked onto her newfound companion's.
Draven was the perfect picture of a Noxian, tall and muscled with wild hair and a wilder persona. All this was gathered from a glance, smirk plastered against his lips and axes sheathed against his back; ever-dangerous, ever-threatening. Soraka's mouth felt dry. Her mind swam. Who's to say he wouldn't turn his weapons on her for his own amusement?
"Man, I'm good. Keep on staring. Think you can handle being with Draven?"
Draven's head bows, trying to sneak a better look at the shorter woman. That grin of his threatened to shatter his face in two. Against the searing of his gaze, Soraka finds it within herself to speak.
"I think you will find myself perfectly capable to assist you," She starts, voice flat and expression deadpan. "I was called here to keep you from harm. Not the other way around."
The silence following is palpable, though Draven takes the pause to raise his head and affix the most illegible expression to his countenance. Behind her, Swain is inert, viewing the exchange with his ever-watchful eye. Draven broke the quiet, as he normally does, she would learn.
"Heh… Try to keep up with the Dray, sweetheart."
There is the sound of a throat clearing, rousing the attentions of both Noxian and Ionian to the grim figure of the general. "Now that you two are properly acquainted, I expect a healthy working relationship and nothing less. Draven, go about your duties as expected. Healer, keep his head attached to his body. Understood?"
"Understood," The pair spoke in unison, the executioner's gaze lingering on his charge for the briefest of seconds.
There's that grin again, challenging Soraka's patience and goodwill alike. Even without turning to glance, she can hear it in his voice, dripping with assumed charisma and machismo. The kind that makes her heart twist in a very, very foreign feeling; revulsion.
"I think we're going to get along just fine, starchild."