Chapter Five: Following Thoughts, Worrying Thoughts
As Lux continued on walking with her master, the noises grew and became more cacophonous and varied.
Vendors shout of their products, hailing anyone close enough to the front of their stalls with products and offers of their wares. The conversations were spoken with louder voices, and it sometimes had the occasional shout and booming laugh that popped all of a sudden in the middle of the ambient market noise. A donkey drew a merchandise cart, neighing at anyone who came to close to its front, perhaps trained to do that. Armed guards stood by, conversing with the vendors they've grown acquainted with, and those who patrolled, patrolled in silence.
People were moving so quick that Lux hadn't even time to recognize their class. There were some, ragged street children running around too, shouting and laughing, some in rags, others bathed and clothed, carefully snaking around the moving forest of legs that they were in. Carts and people stopping in the middle or at the sides of the street compressed the already tight moving crowd even more. And suddenly, the pavement that she was treading on no longer felt so wide enough for an army; it was not even spacious enough for a rat to travel uninterrupted in the open.
The smells became noticeable too, pervading all around her. The sweet scents of perfume were overwhelmed by the stench of fish, horse, donkey, meat, and the sweat of hardworking people who only bathe twice a month. There were other strange smells in the air, but Lux didn't even want to trace their source.
This was one of the many markets that dot Noxus, and Lux knew that this place wasn't the worst of them all. She remembered walking in the 'markets' of the Lower districts, which made this market that she was walking in appear like a Grand Trade from Bandle City. At least here, a knife cutting open your purse wasn't guaranteed if you were not careful enough.
Holding the basket of clothes made it even harder for her to navigate through the crowd, much more follow her master who had been carrying nothing. "Stick close" was his only advice for Lux, and she found that difficult to do with a large basket and an ever-moving crowd which, strangely, would not make way for a Noxian general. Her feet wrapped in rags had begun to sore from the rougher cobblestone of this place combined with her quickened pace as to catch up with Darius, who barely glanced back to see if she was having any trouble.
They stopped walking.
There were fresh vegetables and other plant produce that were arranged in wooden boxes facing outward towards the street. Behind the stall, was an apron-wearing man—not too young, not too aged— whose size and height made his stall appear like a small overturned table. He had a brown finely waxed mustache and hair done neatly to the right of his forehead. A face of a handsome matured man, but a tall chiseled body of a barbarian who would wrestle bears and wolves in the wilderness. Darius had his chin up whilst looking at him.
He wore a great, welcoming smile, soft even with a large face, not shaken at all by the appearance of a revered Noxian general. Lux had glanced at Darius even, and he reflected a small fraction of this man's smile at one side of his lips.
"General Darius, sir." The man said, his voice broad yet gentle and greeting.
"Mavid," Darius and Mavid had offered their hands at the same time. They shook. "How's Bertha?"
They let go. "Oh, you know her, sir, very jealous of my Varvara." His smile grew. "Says I like her because she's bigger and I can bring her around more often, but I tell you this, sir, Bertha can crush a skull more than Varvara can!"
"Maybe you should wield your wife in both your hands next time." They laughed, Mavid's laugh booming and Darius going along with light chuckles, though his smile would not grow as wide.
It eventually died down. "So what can I do for you today, milord?"
"Pieces of the usual, please."
"Alright, coming up!" Mavid took a woven sack from underneath his stall counter and held it open in one hand.
He took one of each vegetable, starting from the carrots on the top left corner. His hands were large, able to crush a potato to a pulp in a single squeeze, and there were streaks of scars scattered on the skin of the back of his hand, which Lux had noticed. They continued up to his large arms. There were more scars, of varying lengths and of different weapons, some more faded than others. One scar looked fresh, perhaps a dagger slash, and another looked so old that it appeared only beneath the skin, a sword cut maybe, she judged from the broadness.
He must've gotten all of them a very long time ago... Lux thought. She had begun wondering why a man of such build and numerous marks operated a simple vegetable stall that he could viciously hurl at any time. She found it difficult to believe that a common street cutthroat or mugger could cause those scars. Perhaps he is too crippled to serve?
"Pay attention, servant." Darius said, his voice near to shouting so that he could be heard past the market noise. "He is taking single pieces of what I would usually purchase."
Lux nodded and continued on to what she was doing, looking and memorizing the pieces of produce that she was to buy whenever she would come back. The man eyed her for a moment, then it came upon him that she was accompanying Darius.
"She your new maid, sir? Does look pretty for a young one. My son Aravon might like her. What's her name?"
"Anna," Darius said, "and she isn't really up for courting, Mavid." Mavid had finished taking the vegetables and had begun roping the woven sack's opening with a lengthy tough sort of Talyak yarn.
His smiled hadn't faded. "Oh, a shame. But if you ever think she is getting lonely, you know who to call for." He winked at Darius as he gave the now filled sack to him. Darius then passed him silver from his pocket, not giving his wink or what he said any notice.
"Thank you, Mavid. We shall be off now."
"Take care, sir!" He said as Darius turned along with Lux, disappearing back into the flowing river of people. "Forever strong!" Mavid said, before kindly attending to another customer.
III
They stopped stall by stall. Darius did not even buy from some stalls, as if stopping only to check. Lux began think that this was an unnecessary, mere tour of this market, but she thought it better to know what Darius would want in his kitchen and not complain. Training taught her to be good at obeying.
Whenever they were trading, the stall vendors would always be acquainted with Darius as they greeted him and spoke of things concerning whoever they knew or whatever interested them, and not only that, they would always ask about the servant girl beside her, who had to stand being called a maid, a housekeeper, or just 'servant', something she was still finding the patience to be more familiar with. They'd compliment her though, with words such as 'pretty', 'nice face', and 'good looking', which made her feel more flattered than just embarrassed to be in front of them.
One thing became noticeable though, and Lux herself had observed it: that all of them had at least one scar somewhere. Even the fat lady who took care of the cheese stall, her cheek had a fissure-like scar of a slash that struck it long ago, a serrated blade maybe. The lean man operating the meat stall had a long scar tracing up his right arm. The man who worked at the fruit stall had no visible scars, but Lux had guessed that he had one somewhere, likely to be under his clothes, at his chest or stomach... She would glance at all their marks, but she felt it better not to ask about it, as it was nothing important that Darius or whoever had the old scars had to trouble himself about.
Other than that, Lux had taken care to memorize what she needed to buy if ever there was something missing in the 'kitchen', and, thankfully, it wasn't that much.
"She your servant, sir?" asked the apron-wearing tall rather fat woman who sold cheap, everyday spices in her stall. Her tied short brown hair was faintly whitening away to age, her skin fair but slowly drying of youth, and she had the worst scar among all that she has seen: a gash across her eyes, but they would not close, forever revealing the damaged, dead and gray cores. Her voice was a strange mixture of shrill and large, perhaps even a bit husky as well.
"Yes. Her name is Anna." Darius mentioned, no longer waiting for her to ask for his servant's name.
"Aye, she has the eyes of a strong woman." She had given a small woven sack to Darius.
It was unnerving to Lux, maybe even to Darius. Her head tilted almost all the way to her shoulder and she had begun quietly staring at Lux, who watched back at her with nervous, glancing eyes. Her still gaze was penetrating, unblinking, and almost lulling; for a single instance, Lux felt a tinge, a light prod in the back of her head that sparked a moment of surprise. There was a familiarity to that feeling...
Her eyes had began widening. Magic... Like a whisper in her mind.
She had began to speak again. "But... she also has eyes of a lo-"
"We will be going now, Hannsa. Thank you for your service." Darius pulled Lux, his reluctancy to stay near that woman evident in the quickness of his pull. "Let us go, Anna."
The woman had broken her look, and had smiled, not remembering that she had gazed. "Alright, sir! Forever strong!" She said, but her voice was lost to the crowd as the two hastily moved away.
As they have moved, the thought of the woman's watching, grayed eyes could not leave Lux. She did not know what was really bothering her. Was it the moment of faint magic prying inside her, or what the blind woman was about to say? Both perhaps, and that was worse. An unanswered curiosity grew beneath her, and it caused her to look back, like tugging her shoulder to catch sight of that strange woman past the busy moving figures, and she did see her.
The woman was happily tending to another customer. It was from afar did Lux see how crooked her wrinkling smile truly was. Then, the moving crowd blanketed the sight of her away.
A part of her curiosity left, but it had stayed, and maybe continued to grow, as she walked.
Darius carried a good four sacks of food all tied together by strong yarns that wouldn't snap, held in his right hand. Lux had stayed beside him, finding it easier to follow with him at that position. The market grew more lively(and smelly) as they continued on to its crowding core.
Lux couldn't help it anymore, and had to ask. "Who was she, my lord?"
"A former diviner." Darius said, head and eyes unturned. He sounded as if that is all he would want to tell her, and she sensed it and understood. At least he had remedied that portion of her wonder. Lux did not wish to pursue that line of questioning and followed on silently.
III
When Darius had visited every stall that he would purchase from, he had decided to leave the market along with his servant. They headed back to where they had entered this market.
The atmosphere finally more quiet as it was. The sounds of discreet street conversations, the presence of people with status, and the faint scents of perfume all returned, a more comfortable air. Lux had gained the silence to think without any louder noise to cloud her mind.
One little boy in the tunnels, another in an alley... They reminded her of coldness of Noxus, the face that Noxus was known for in Demacia.
She pitied them. The children of her enemies, she pitied them.
It was in Noxus that their harmless innocence was brutally shaped into a lust for war and a hatred for Demacia. She wanted to save that child in the alleyway, unlike her master, who only gave the dying child a thin chance to save himself. But it puzzled her, whether or not what Darius did was more right than taking the action to rescue the child. His morality for a Noxian grew more questionable, as well Darius himself.
It came to her thoughts once again.
Noxians were bloodthirsty monsters. Given the clear opportunity, they would conquer the lands of Demacia and annihilate her people like herds of cattle to murder. They cared little for what was right, for what was just, and cared more for what benefited them, and, at times, for what was enjoyable for them. They were selfish people, arrogant, warmonging, barbaric, and evil people bred by greed, suffering and violence. And Darius was one of their highest, most revered, exemplary leaders.
As she had arrived to that disturbing thought, she looked at him, and there was the man, silent with an almost unmoving face. A merciless conqueror... Lux thought, or, rather, reminded herself. There was no reason for her to deny that. It was who Darius was underneath. Nothing in Runeterra could change that. He was a butcher of men, the bleeding axe of Noxus, and the archrival of her brother, Garen. She wondered how many men have died because of him, how many men have been put under his axe and the axes of his fearsome, bloodthirsty soldiers...
She knew it well that he was a killer of his people, the right hand of the Raven scourge, a heartless conqueror, and an example for all Noxians and all that is Noxian.
Yet, here she was, beside him, carrying his laundry after he had subtly given her a tour of a Noxian market.
Truly, the sight of her right now with Darius would make her entire family faint.
Realizing that, she felt a sudden, invisible shame, as if all the living eyes of every born-Demacian begun staring at her. The sound of her footsteps seem to grow louder as she herself had stared to the ground, the basket that she held felt slightly heavier, and as blank, floating thoughts ran through her head. For a moment, her worries silenced, but she felt that they have not left.
"Servant," Darius said, breaking her away from her thinking. "I want that you make the same dish for my brother what you have served me this morning."
What he said had reminded her of Draven's visit. "Yes, lord." She answered, and continued on. "My lord, don't you have any duties today?"
"No, servant."
"Why so, my lord?"
"The High Command is generally inactive since the League, save for strategizing our movements overseas. I am seldom called to the Headquarters, and there are only certain days that I am to check on the Noxian barracks when Jericho cannot. When I do, you will accompany me.
"I see. Understood, lord."
Lux felt her chest lighten upon hearing that she won't have to stay alone to watch over the household. She did not know why though. Noxus definitely isn't a safe place, not even in the Middle district, but she wondered why a Noxian general, an enemy of her people and a killer who slaughtered men by hundreds granted her a small sense of relief and security. It was confusing.
And it was frightening.
With no magic and no way to defend herself, and with Darius claiming to own her, then that would mean that only he could choose to protect her amidst the Noxian darkness.
She did not understand why she arrived to that realization, but thankfully for her, that disturbing thought quickly escaped her mind as she believed it should.
III
The door to Darius's household opened, its quiet invaded by creaking wood.
"Take your clothes upstairs, servant." Darius said as he entered, followed by Lux. "When you're finished, you should begin cooking. Make it quick."
Lux nodded and hurried on to the stairs on the way to her room; the wooden stairs sounding light bumps as her small rag-covered feet moved on, fading away as she reached the next floor. Darius closed the door behind him and removed his sandals, leaving them beside the door frame's bottom, where they were usually placed.
He turned to the kitchen, but stopped.
The sacks that he held hung tightly, but gripped even tighter as Darius heard faint sounds from the cooking room, faint, moaning sounds, followed by a very familiar voice.
"You wanna see Draven's third axe, baby?"
Female giggles erupted. Darius's fists clenched. Draven...
Frustration evident in the thud of his steps, Darius moved on to the kitchen.
He stopped by the entrance, breathing heavily at the sight of three uninvited Noxian women in thin, almost-revealing dresses near his brother with their bodies so close that at least one feminine limb touched Draven's upper muscular frame.
And there was his brother, wearing the light yet exposing fur clothes that he wore at the Fleshing, sitting at the mat in front of the cooking pot opposite to the entrance, necking one of his female admirers in the presence of other two female admirers, the tips of his axes peeking out of his shoulders, and apparently unaware of his elder brother. There was a small, malicious smile as he suckled upon the clean milky neck of an apparent lover, followed by the soft moans that Darius had heard not long ago.
One of the women, a short-haired one with brownish skin, caught sight of her idol's brother leaning and watching them. Her delicate, flirtatious smile faded in an instant, but then, she smiled again and she tugged a finger at Draven's shoulder..
"Your big brother's here." She said, her voice shrill and catching the attention of everyone else.
Draven raised a brow and looked to the kitchen's entrance, where his brother was. His mouth had let go of the woman, and his smile grew larger as he met eyes with his brother.
Darius looked back, unimpressed and silent. Being here to visit was one thing, but bringing along three whores was another.
"Well, greetings, big brother!" Draven said, smile piercing through his tone.
"You're a bit early, Draven." Darius said. "And you've brought your..."
"Friends?" Draven chuckled, then kissing the nearest woman by her cheeks, a fine long-haired one, who blushed and smiled after. He spoke again. "Actually, they're more of gifts, offerings by the generous Draven to his brother!" Almost in synchrony, the smiles of the women grew sharper, and the glints of their eyes shined a hint of seduction towards Darius's impenetrable guise.
"I've noticed that you seem a bit lonely since my last visit, brother, and I could only oblige! The pretty birds I brought are the prettiest of my following... Pick one, and I'll have fun with the other two..."
Darius's eyes moved to each one of them, glaring back with a disgust cutting through their flirting looks. One was rubbing her leg as she looked back, another was embracing Draven from behind as she looked up to Darius, and the final one leaned against Draven's shoulder.
Draven spoke, his voice at the edge of purring. "Any place is a place to make love. Don't you agree, brother?" He gave his still silent brother a wink past the short giggles of his female company. "Choose and maybe after our meal, we could have a bite at them for dessert, eh?" His smile more malicious.
A long breath, then Darius broke his own quiet.
"Brother," He began. "I would appreciate it if you do not bring anyone else that you did not mention in your letter next time, especially brothel whores." If he had hardened his voice even more, Darius's calm tone would've sounded bitterly threatening to all of them. "And I would also like that you do not reveal or swing your third axe inside my household."
The sharp smiles of the opposite party had faded into weak and defeated smirks.
Draven let out a quick chuckle, not at all affected by what his brother said. "Oh, why? Would I break something because of its huge size?" Then laughter filled the room, only that Darius didn't contribute to it. "Come on brother, just a little fun with you, think of it as a bonding moment, yeah?"
When their short moment of merriment had died down, they had looked back to Darius, who had been waiting for them to silence.
He was no longer going to have any of this. "Would you send them out?"
"Oh, please, brother, won't you pick at least one?"
"No. Send them out or I will do it myself."
All of them had frowned, except for Draven, whose smile only grew weaker but never left. "There you are again, always leaving out the fun and enjoyment."
"I will not allow mindless fornication inside this house, nor will I have harlots for company."
"Fine, you don't have to pick and we don't have to make some fun, but can't they just stay? Being in my glorious presence pleasures them, isn't that right, my tasty pets?" They nodded in silence, while growing even nearer to Draven.
After a quick, heavy breath, Darius had shattered his composure. "OUT!" He pointed a stiff arm and finger to the door. "OUT, NOW!"
Draven spoke. "But-"
"OUT!" His voice even louder, nearing to his commanding voice, one that is enough to split the ears of a thousand helmeted men to march onward, but he knew well not to waste that voice on three wenches.
The women stood up as the voice of a general shook a compelling terror in them. They covered their faces, now ashamed and afraid, or, perhaps, aware of Darius's status and his showing pity and disgust towards them.
The door was opened by one of them, and soon, the door closed. Darius had been watching them leave before he looked back towards his brother, whose smile had gone stiff.
They had looked at each other first. "Do not ever do that again. This meeting is supposed to be for the both of us." Darius said, his voice cold.
Draven sighed. "Fine, fine, whatever you say, brother. I was just trying to give you a little enjoyment, that's all. I am generous and you were getting lonely..."
Darius had no time to argue, and wasn't eager to scold his brother. He continued on inside. "Just don't bring harlots inside my household ever again, and if you're bringing along anyone, mention it." He went on to the cupboard. "So, what brings you here so early?" He said, aiming to remove the tension in their atmosphere. He opened the cupboard's doors and placed the sacks inside.
"Hah! I nearly beat my fastest record in the Fleshing today!" Draven boasted, alive again. "The... unlucky ones were all so slow and limping that I thought it the best opportunity to set a new record! But anyway, I placed a new record for the second most fastest record though!"
"Mm." Darius responded. "There isn't any food yet. It will be cooked in a moment."
"Oh, don't give me anything cheap this time, brother. Surprise the glorious and awesome Draven! I deserve good food!"
Darius closed the cupboard's doors. "With the expensive food you eat, I think it will be difficult to surprise you."
"That doesn't mean you can't give me something new at all, eh?"
"You know I don't cook well, Draven."
"And I am too glorious to cook at all! Come on, brother, be creative. What will you cook?"
"I'm not going to be the one to cook."
Draven furrowed a brow. "Then who will?"
"You'll see. She hasn't arrived yet."
Draven's head was turned aback. "She? Wait wait, you're serious? You have someone else with you, and it's a woman?" His voice implied that he was near to laughter.
"Yes, a servant. She will be here in a moment."
"Oh, so that's why you didn't want to choose. You already have one, eh?" Draven chuckled. "You're finally a man!"
"Don't be silly. She is only here to serve me."
That, Draven ignored. "How often do you play with her? Once a day? Twice? Thrice? All the time?"
Darius sighed. Somehow he expected his brother to act this way upon mentioning that his servant was female. Perhaps it could have been worse if his servant was male. He didn't bother to delve into that thought.
"She is a servant, not a plaything." Darius said. And besides, fornicating with a Demacian is below me.
"Hah! Servant or not, so long as it is a pretty woman, then go ahead! Question is, is she pretty, eh? Don't tell me it's an old hag all along. That would be a kinda weird taste, even for I, Draven! So, is she pretty?"
That was difficult to answer, for some reason. He found himself taking a moment to think of it. And he thought it strange of him.
"My lord," Lux's voice. All eyes turned to her. She had been stopping by the kitchen's entrance. "I-" She quieted as she had met eyes with Draven.
His smirk was removed.
Lux had only glanced and looked back to her master, but as she was beginning to speak, Draven had spoken.
"My, oh my, she really is." In an instant, his look had become a stare.
She was about to ask her master. "My lord, is he-"
"The powerful, glorious, handsome, and great Draven?" He stood up, pointing his thumbs towards himself, his axes softly tapping as he stood. "That's me. A shame you don't instantly recognize a Fleshing superstar such as myself, but that I think I'll forgive... And you are?"
Lux felt that his bravado had taken away her words. "Um... I'm-"
"Anna, her name is Anna Marquien." Darius interjected. His brother was acting in the way that Darius expected this morning, and even so, it was worrying him,. He had hoped that Lux remembered to stay away from him as he had warned, as his impulsiveness might just show even more when she's closer.
"Anna... Nice name. Noxian, eh?" Draven bowed a lengthy, whole body bow. He rose. "Once again, I am Draven, champion of the Fleshing, court executioner, known for swinging the fastest axes in Noxus, and the quickest, most awesome and bloody executions. I am also known for my handsomeness, remarkable hairstyle, and being a god to all the ladies. It's a wonder why we haven't seen each other before." He winked. Lux was not at all affected.
Lux felt it necessary to bow. "It is good to meet you, Draven. You must be my master's-" Lux managed to say, before standing up upright again.
"No, no, no, Anna, it's not Draven, it's Draaaaaav-"
"Come, servant, begin your cooking." Darius said, and Lux lightly nodded so, but she had not yet entered.
She paused for a moment."My lord, I heard shouting not long ago."
Darius had glanced at Draven for a moment, but his younger brother hadn't moved at all nor did his eyes, subtly indulging at the sight of Anna. "It isn't important, servant. Now come and cook. I am sure my brother would like to taste your cooking."
"Yes, lord." Lux entered.
She had gone to the corner where the logs and fuel were so that she could begin the process of starting the cooking fire. Yet, even as she went, Draven continued on to looking at her, winking at her, smirk crooked, when she passed by, but that had gone unnoticed as Lux went on without giving him a glance. Draven continued to stare at her bottom as he began to take his seat, and the sight of it lengthened his smile.
Darius had been watching them both, as they were the greatest of his concerns in this time, and he was just about to notice Draven's perverted stares. When Lux had stopped at the pile of fuel, she had crouched, not wanting to reveal her curvaceous bottom towards Draven's anticipating eyes, which had eagerly expected her to bend down to reach for the logs. Perhaps Darius felt his brother's disappointment.
When his eyes had enough for the moment, Draven turned head to his brother. His large arms were crossed and he had his back to the wall, and both his brows were lowered, as if to show that he was aware(and ashamed) of what his younger brother was doing and implying.
"You didn't tell me she was this pretty, brother. I would've traded cats with you instead. And why doesn't she know me or know the importance of my presence?"
Darius felt that the last question could be answered with 'because she is a Demacian' but, for a good reason that he himself didn't know, he felt it necessary not to tell Draven that his servant was actually a Crownguard, a Demacian noble blood. It appeared that Draven was still in the dark over what had happened last night.
"Draven, I'd rather that we do not speak of my servant. Let her be."
"Oh, why not? She looks very juicy and she's very very round, top and bottom. It wouldn't surprise me at all if you've already mingled her."
Darius only now truly felt the discomfort of his immodest intents, but that unlikeable part of his brother he was already familiar with, and is still disappointed with, but he chose to remain silent. He was beginning to feel that his brother was here to see his servant and admire her shape rather than speak to him, and he could only imagine Lux's inconvenient situation as he saw her face gradually reddening, perhaps in anger and disgust, as she went to place logs for the cooking fire.
Draven had turned back to her, wanting to observe every part of her even more, watching her as she moved back and forth for the fire fuel.
"Brother, I believe my servant would appreciate it if you would remove your eyes from her." Darius spoke, hard but calm, taken as warning or advice.
Draven would not move his look away. "Come on, she is just a servant. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Lux had neared and had began to drop more fuel into the fireplace, but even in her haste to leave Draven's near-presence, he was quick enough to let out a hand behind Lux.
She yelped as firm fingers squeezed, and she quickly backed away, eyes turning up to her master's brother with a mixture of shock, disgust, and embarrassment. Draven laughed afterwards, familiar to these sort of reactions.
A compelling shout thundered and it stopped both Draven's laughs and his momentary enjoyment.
"DRAVEN!" His brother shouted. Draven's head whipped to look at him, but found large hands reaching in to grip the collar of his fur garment. In a short movement, Darius's hands lifted Draven to the air.
Draven looked up on his elder brother, teeth barring and hands holding on to Darius's tightening grip, but were no match for the strength of his brother's hold. Lux watched in silence, as she believed she should.
"How dare you! She is my servant, and she is my property! You do not touch what is not yours!"
Draven grunted. The fabric of his collar and the hardening knuckles of his brother pushed hard against his skin. "Okay, okay, fine!" He said, voice clenched and gritting.
For a moment, they glared at each other, their breaths heavy, but then Draven looked away, a moment conscious of what he had done. Darius let him down. Draven took time to fix his collar and further spit a glare down to his brother."It was just a simple-"
"First, you bring brothel harlots uninvited into to my household, then you inflict perversion to my servant. You may be my brother, but you do not own this house or any of my possessions. I've not given you permission to touch her nor will I do so."
Draven had finished adjusting his collar whilst looking up to Darius, his smirk stiffened yet still existent. Darius spoke once again. "Now, I think it would benefit all of us if you ignore her, let her do her task uninterrupted, and allow your visit to go just as all your past visits have gone."
"Fine. Keeping your whore to yourself, eh? I didn't know you were this defensive with your cat. We could share her if you like. Sharing is good, isn't it?"
"Silence." Darius snapped. "I am not in the mood for this."
"You're not in the mood for anything." Then, Draven sat, silent, beginning to reluctantly accept his defeat. "No wonder you're still a kissless vir..." He muttered, the last word lost to Darius's ears.
Darius looked to his servant, who had not moved at all. Her eyes were still and open upon witnessing what had happened.
"Carry on. Do not mind us." He said, voice now calmer and calming. Lux nodded and went on with the starting the fire, now only receiving glances from Draven rather than having to bear the weight of stares.
III
Garen Crownguard, revered captain of the Dauntless Vanguard, had one bothering thought that followed his heavy, wet footsteps as he walked by his encampment.
The rain wouldn't help. It had been thundering down, and wetting him since the end of the past training session. Once it was a bright morning, sweating under the cotton of his tunic, then it was drizzling, and then the winds howled, and the clouds gathered and the sky darkened, then poured a younger sibling of a storm.
Nearby soldiers, cloths over their shoulders, standing by the canopies of their tents' entrances saluted to Garen, stiff, snappy and in the Demacian fashion, fingertips to eyebrows, all saying 'sir' with voices from their chests as their commander passed by. It was a sign of respect and discipline, two things that held marching armies together, but even with such importance, Garen payed no attention to return their salutes, or would take little time to weakly return their gesture.
His sister hadn't returned.
She hadn't appeared on the day that she promised, and she had not once arrived late in all her time in duty. It could not have been a traveling problem, he thought, she always returned via teleportation scroll. Even if she were lost she could simply... The thoughts cycled in his head. They had been spawned this morning, when he had expected to see his sister standing outside of his tent with an operation report, but found only soldiers moving about in the business of Point Courage and empty space.
The rain had been soaking him. Today's training of new recruits did little to take his mind off his sister. The thought was more worrisome than he had expected, and it had caught him staring. One of his closest senior officers, Xin Zhao, had even asked if something had been troubling him, and Garen had answered exactly why. But it appeared Xin's trust in his sister was strong, and expressed no worries over her return. That did little to remove Garen's own worries.
He had arrived inside his tent, the largest tent in the entire encampment, where his officers come to strategize.
Ever since the League, Point Courage, the closest camp to the Noxian border to the east, has become nothing but a training camp and an outpost. Once there have been officers with their hands on the large table at the center of Garen's tent, speaking of company movements and enemy advances; sometimes there were even Noxian assassins dropping down and attacking, rending chaos in the entire camp, leaving dead bodies, Demacian and Noxian. Now there were only empty chairs, and marker flags on the table's map of Valoran that were never again moved.
The sounds of hailing raindrops have muffled—now roaring taps on the tents thick fabric— as he stepped inside. The dripping of his wet body trickled to the dry ground below.
There was a candle at one corner nearest to Garen, and it granted faint, fiery light to the darkness of a tent in a storm.
A dry towel was thrown to one end of the table towards Garen, its cloth nearly touching the iron plate where the candle stood firm, and now hanging by the end of the table.
He looked up. Figures were on the other end of the table, far from the candle's reach. One was sitting down, another, a large eagle, was perched upon the chair's backrest. Garen recognized them, and he took the towel in silence, wiping himself to stop the dripping. As he did so, the two figures watched him, observant human eyes, and gazing, tranquil, eagle eyes.
"Thank you." He said, and he hung the towel on the seat in front of him. There, he stood beside, but he did not take a seat.
"You said you had a problem?" The seated woman spoke, her voice slow for a soldier in front of an officer. The bronze shine of her crown-like helmet softly glinted in the candle light.
Garen looked to her. Even if she were the only person watching him, the partially-armored eagle that perched had eyes that gave an almost man-like look, and so he felt the touch of two different looks.
"You can put it that way." Garen said, his tone with familiarity, not needing respect from the person he was speaking to. "I have called upon you to commission you."
She raised a brow. "So what is it? Some place needs recon? Something you're looking for?" Then she leaned forward. "Someone you don't like?" She said, but said so that it was not cold, but almost casually inquiring. "Strange that you didn't mention the details on the paper."
"I'd appreciate that what you hear from me be kept silent, Quinn." He said.
"Val and I are good at that. You don't have to worry. What's troubling you?"
Garen paused and took a heavy breath. He looked down on the table, then he looked back up, ready to speak. "It concerns Luxanna."
"Oh? Her?" The eagle had begun climbing down to an armrest, as if closing in to listen.
"She was supposed to report today. She hasn't returned from her operation."
"And you want us to find her?" Quinn rested her head upon her hand.
"Yes, and return her if you can."
"I don't see why you are worried." She said. "Val and I usually come back a bit late sometimes whenever Jarvan commissions me, and he doesn't seem to mind."
"No, it's not that." Garen paused, which Quinn seemed to notice. The eagle tilted its head. "She is to be wed, and it is essential that she returns to Demacia, it would be embarrassing if she isn't there, and..."
"You're worried that something might've happened to her?" Quinn finished.
Then there was a short quiet before he spoke again. "I believe so."
"Luxanna is an excellent infiltrator, and she is a smart woman, I can admit that. I'm very sure she's only going through a minor situation..." As she spoke, Quinn had been taking something from her pocket. She let out her hand. Soon, Valor had began to feed on the small piece of bread she held.
"I'm not." Garen said. He pulled his chair and took a seat. "I just want to ensure that she is safe. The wedding is very important and it would... Pain her mother and father, and even me, if something had happened to her."
"Really now?" Quinn muttered. "So where did you last send her?"
"Noxian High Command." Garen said. "She was ordered to find information over Noxus's current state, and Noxian naval movements."
"If what you're worrying about is true, then the Noxians might've captured her. It would be difficult to return her, since she would most likely be..." She tilted her head, not finding the heart to say that word to her brother.
"Then at least see if they killed her or not." Garen said, hastening his words. "We need to know what has happened to her, and you must find out."
Silence came. Quinn and Valor stared, and Garen had his eyes moving to each pair of eyes to return their looks. He found that the eagle's look was far more compelling, as if what was hidden underneath Quinn's stare penetrated through Valor's eyes. Garen's own stare had not cracked, no matter how sharp their looks were.
Before the quiet had become uncomfortable,"Done." Quinn said. "I cannot guarantee my time of return though. I'll need time to find her."
"Understandable. Just please..."
Valor stopped looking and had finished the last pieces of bread in Quinn's hands. After so, he perched upon Quinn's armored shoulder as she stood. The familiar weight of the large, partially armored eagle didn't appear to bother her. "Demacia will not lose another infiltrator. Valor and I will make sure of that."
"I hope so. Good luck. For justice."
"For justice." She responded, the only time that she had sounded close to one of his own soldiers.
Their conversation was concluded, and Quinn had left saluting to Garen, and with Garen gesturing his first snappy, meaningful salute for the day.
"Come on, Val... We have a princess to find..." Were the words that left the tent.
Garen watched them as they left. He wished them good luck with a mutter. Soon, they were lost to the maze of the tents and the gray of the rain.
Garen returned to his seat, and his head rest on one hand. In the entire time that he had spoken to Quinn, he had not said another worry that did bother him as well. Though the sudden absence of his sister and the significance of the wedding were important, he couldn't say the one other reason why he would want a certainty over her sister's condition. It bothered him most.
A dream visited him. A dream he couldn't remember. A fleeting dream, whose colors were faded into lost memory, but its message stained inside his mind like a picture's meaning without its picture. He only knew well that it involved his sister. Though at first it did not make sense when he first awoke this morning, it quickly did when he left his tent and found only the absence of the sister he expected to return.