Note: This is set before Riven's induction into the League. She's merely a wandering mercenary. And I used skins, 'cause they're purdy. Exile Riven and Infiltrator Irelia, don't ya' know.
Originally, I intended this to be a one-shot, but I decided on some shorter chapters instead. Hopefully that helps with the flow of things, seeing as this happens over a period of maybe a few months :3 Enjoy! Especially you, GoG ToXiC—good suggestion!
-A Simple Meeting, a Simple Request-
Demacia was an old-fashioned city made of stone and steel, horse-drawn carriages picking their way along narrow, winding cobblestone streets. It was divided into three zones surrounded by an impenetrable wall: at the center of the network of pathways sat the royal palace—an immense stone fortress swarming with armor-clad soldiers and impeccably dressed blue-bloods; the second zone consisted of squat buildings with smoking chimneys—blacksmiths, shoemakers, and other such sources of commerce; the third and outermost sector was the residential zone, consisting of many thatch-roofed houses of various shapes and sizes. Barns, stables, and fields of assorted grains and vegetables cropped up wherever there was room, the citizens working together to care for their livelihoods.
A woman stood at the palace gates, looking up from under the teal hood she wore. There was a ponderous look on her pretty face and she reached up to push silver strands of hair from her eyes, lowering it to rest on the giant sword at her hip. She wore a golden spaulder on her left shoulder and a wide, gold disk on her right wrist, a silver corset-like breastplate, vambraces, and knee-high boots for an asymmetrical sort of look that made her stand out among the uniform armor the Demacian soldiers wore.
She was clearly an outsider.
One of the guards standing in the tower overlooking the wooden gate noticed her and called down, "Hail, traveler. What business do you have with Demacia?"
"I've been hired by Prince Jarvan IV for added security." The woman's voice was somber, quiet, and it took a moment for her words to register.
"Ah! You must be Riven." The gate began to lift with the clanking of turning gears and the rattle of chains. "Please, go right on in. The Prince is in the throne room."
Riven, as she was called, nodded and ducked under the rising barrier, heading straight through the wide, open courtyard, her dark brown eyes flicking from the training dummies being used by soldiers to perfect combat moves to the fragrant garden to the nobles reclining in the sun, the latter of which looked at her with curious gazes and murmured amongst themselves.
There were buildings that formed a ring around the courtyard, the largest of which—the throne room—was directly across from the entry gate. The warrior strode inside, her footsteps muffled by the thick red carpet, and crossed the room towards a small, circular table where a tall man with an ornate suite of gold armor, his well-muscled body revealed by the black cloth that covered any bit of un-armored flesh, was gesturing to a scroll, clearly giving orders to his companion, a shorter man with a ruggedly handsome face and dark clothes criss-crossed with leather belts and metal bits of armor.
The taller man was the prince of Demacia, Jarvan Lightshield IV. He looked up at her, his young face lined with the stress of his position, though his smile erased some of that tiredness. "Riven. Thank you for coming on such short notice."
Since her exile from Noxus, the woman had been wandering between Demacia, Piltover, and Zaun, offering her services to whomever needed them and she had built up quite a name for herself.
"Of course. What is it that you require?"
"Dismissed, Garen. We will speak later."
The soldier saluted, shot Riven an appraising look, and exited the room.
Jarvan IV turned to his guest, his expression dead serious. "A little bird has informed me that our coffers are in danger of becoming drastically lighter and I need your talents to ensure that such a thing does not occur. You'll be paid handsomely, of course."
Riven nodded. "My blade is yours, Prince."
"Excellent. My home is at your disposal—the training grounds, the kitchen, the library…" Here, he looked to the blade at her hip. "I have an excellent blacksmith who could repair your sword for you—"
"Thank you for the generous offer, but I would rather it stay broken," the Exile interrupted, bowing her head apologetically when she realized how rude she was being. "Its state is symbolic to me."
"Say no more." The brunette gestured expansively. "Please, enjoy your stay here in Demacia. If there's anything you require, feel free to ask me."
"A blade mirrors its owner…"—it was an old adage that Riven lived and breathed by.
That was why she spent time polishing her greatsword every morning as she was now, just before practicing a series of attack combos to keep her wits and reflexes sharp. She could feel eyes watching her as she rose from where she had been sitting cross-legged under a tree with wide boughs in the center of the courtyard and headed over to the training dummies, but she ignored them.
Why concern herself with what others did or thought?
The sun was still struggling to rise above the horizon, its pink-orange light casting faint shadows and causing her armor to glint. She was running late. Normally, she was up before even the sun.
The silver-haired warrior raised her blade before her and it glowed a toxic green; she took a deep, steadying breath before executing a chain of swift flips and slashes, her Broken Wings striking the magic-enforced straw doll with enough force to send it reeling. She didn't pause in her assault even as she registered the approach of another, murmuring, "The time for talk is over…" as the blade became whole once again, the sickly emerald energy that suffused it solidifying into an edge sharp enough to cut through almost any material.
She released a shout as she swung her weapon, dark eyes glowing green for a brief moment as she released a Wind Slash—a shockwave of like-coloured energy that lashed out in a conical shape, shattering the training dummy's protective spell and rending the unfortunate object in two.
As it hit the ground a few meters away, there was a slow, almost mocking round of applause.
"Impressive."
Riven turned her head to look over her shoulder: a striking young woman with long, burgundy hair was leaning against the tree she had moved away from moments before, her petite form covered almost completely in metal—from her spaulders to the clawed gauntlets on her hands to the skirt-like protrusions from her hips, to the knee-high boots on her feet. She didn't appear to be armed and Riven sensed no ill intent, but the silver-haired fighter knew better than to let her guard down—there was no telling what this woman's intentions were.
There was no one else around as it was far too early for the spoiled blue-bloods to be out of bed, much less outdoors.
"Who are you?" the warrior demanded, clutching the hilt of her greatsword a bit more firmly.
"No need for that." Bright blue eyes flicked to the blade at her hip and a faint smile curved the woman's pale pink lips. "I mean you no harm."
Despite her words, her fingers twitched restlessly—as though searching for a weapon.
"Answer the question."
"Are you always this friendly?" The woman laughed, the sound like birdsong, and Riven felt strangely inclined to join her, though she wasn't sure of the joke. Her gaze flicked around, clearly searching for something (or someone), but they returned quickly to her present company. "We should talk some other time—I really must be off. I was passing through and I couldn't help but watch." There was something… suggestive? about her tone, but again, the warrior wasn't sure of what was being suggested exactly. "Until we meet again."
The Exile took a step forward, a protest in her throat,—she, a guardian of the royal family's possessions, couldn't very well allow this strange person to walk around as she wished—but the sound died out before it could emerge.
The mysterious woman had disappeared without a trace.
-w-
"I warned you against approaching anyone, did I not?" the shorter woman demanded through the green cloth that hid the lower portion of her face. The rest of her was clothed in a rather revealing one piece with a flowing loincloth, pouches of various herbal remedies, weapons, and the like hidden within its green folds, and a pair of chopsticks stuck out of long brown hair, pinning it up in a ponytail. "Your willful foolishness will be your undoing."
The burgundy-haired assassin pushed her companion off of her and very purposefully brushed off her shoulders. "I know what I'm doing, Akali. Relax."
Akali bristled. "Do you? And that is why you've thrown caution to the wind—for what?"
"I was curious."
"No errant curiosity is worth failing your mission. Unless, of course, you do not care about what happens to Ionia."
"Ionia shall not fall," she snapped, bristling righteously.
The brunette sighed. "I am doing you a favor because my master is old friends with your master. I wish you would at least make an attempt to cooperate."
"Master Yi is more of a wise old guru to me. He has advised me in combat before, but I have never studied under him like you have with Shen," she corrected. "And I have been listening to you."
"Have you?" There was disbelief in her tone. "Then pleasecontinue to stay out of sight. This means no speaking to anyone or approaching anyone—especially not that mercenary. The less Demacians who know of our presence, the better."
"Why? She isn't exactly tied to Demacia, so why would it matter if—"
"No. Contact."
"Ugh. Fine."
Akali canted her head to the right, extending her unusually sharp senses outwards. "I must return to my village. We shall meet again in one week's time."
"One week," the red-head woman repeated duly. As the shorter woman turned to leave, she said, "Akali?"
"What is it?"
"Thank you. I may not be the best of assassins just yet, but with your training, I will be."
"Hmph." Still, the brunette nodded before she disappeared in a bubble of smoke.
"Damnit, Karma," the woman muttered. "What's gotten into you?"
Ever since the dark-skinned leader of the Ionian resistance had discovered her powers' propensity for destruction, she had been on a quest to right the wrongs that Noxus had committed against their homeland. And, while that was all fine and dandy, the past month had been riddled with espionage, secret meetings, whispers of rebellion, and training, training, more training. Things had gotten deadly serious after the Enlightened One had recruited the aid of the honor-bound shadow warriors known as the Kinkou.
All of this really was a pain.
"Irelia."
The woman flinched, still not used to hearing her leader's voice in her head like that. "Yes?"
"Return to Ionia. I have news for you—a change of plans."
"Fine."
Irelia sighed and her weapon, four ornate blades whirling around a pulsating core of magical energy at their meeting point, appeared next to her, bobbing patiently. It had been created by her father… His life's work and the last thing he had done before some mysterious illness had taken him from her and her young brother. The warrior rested a hand on the core, felt the warmth that it gave off, and imagined that it was her father's approval. He would have wanted her to do this—to restore their precious Ionia back to the way it had been before Noxus had struck it a terrible blow.
She hopped onto the blade as though it were a balance beam, centering her balance as she crouched low, and it began to gain altitude.
This plan would have to work—it just had to.
-End Chapter-