A/N: Thank you to Deixis and Balabalabagan for their amazing work as beta readers.
Thank you to everyone reading. I guess I misjudged about that schedule slip thing since now I'm posting this, like, a day early. I suppose having less free time just makes me more efficient or something. Happy Monday.
"What if she's not awake yet?" Katarina asked as Cassiopeia guided her sister's arms into the sleeves of a winter coat. They stood together in the entrance hall of their family home.
"She woke up yesterday afternoon and went home," the younger Du Couteau replied, moving on to doing up the buttons of Katarina's jacket. "Now remember, it's on the solstice, it starts at midday and goes until everyone leaves, which will likely be quite late."
"I don't know where she lives," Katarina said stubbornly. She did not move at all to help her sister dress her.
Satisfied with Katarina's buttons, Cassiopeia pulled a hat down over the assassin's head, low enough to keep her ears warm. "She lives in the military district outside the walls, in the barracks of the third company of the third division in the second army group. Should I get you a map?"
"I know where the military district is. Why are you being so obnoxious and condescending?" Katarina asked.
"Because you're acting like a child," Cassiopeia answered. "It would be adorable if it weren't so sad." She placed the tip of her index finger right between Katarina's shoulder blades and gave the other woman a little push. "Now shoo."
Katarina shot her sister a parting glare, just to make extra certain that Cassiopeia knew exactly how she felt, and then headed out the door and into the wintry morning.
How hard could asking Riven to come to Cassiopeia's party possibly be? She'd walk down the mountain, tell Riven to present herself at the manor next week, and then go home. Simple.
Navigating the icy streets of Noxus, Katarina frowned.
Ordering, commanding, telling – these were things she did as naturally as breathing and rarely did they fail her. But her current goal was not quite routine and Riven was not quite like her quarry in the past. Perhaps a different approach was needed. Perhaps she should ask the soldier instead. So she'd walk down the mountain, ask Riven to present herself, and then go home.
Katarina's frown deepened.
What if Riven said no?
A laughable thought - no one ever denied Katarina Du Couteau, not when she set her sights on them. Still, the specter of rejection was terrifying.
It was far better, Katarina decided, to simply tell Riven to come. That way there would be no room for argument.
But what if Riven didn't want to?
Katarina's frown turned to a scowl and she shook her head in a vain attempt to clear away her doubts. She hated uncertainty.
Of course Riven would want to come. Why wouldn't she? Or had she only come to the Du Couteau mansion before because Katarina had something she needed? But Darius had said that Riven thought of Katarina as a friend – but was Katarina only a friend? What did that even mean? What was a friend? Katarina had Talon and she had Cassiopeia, but they weren't friends, they were siblings.
Why was she even so invested in Riven's presence?
Katarina had taken lovers on occasion in the past, men and women she'd return to when her work permitted, but she had never… spent time with them. Nor had she ever wanted to. Furthermore, she'd grown tired of them quickly, discarding them after no more than a month or two.
And yet, there was Riven, a woman Katarina had, as Cassiopeia so gleefully pointed out two nights ago, spent a month doing absolutely nothing of note with. Katarina's stomach tightened. Was it because Riven wasn't interested?
Katarina could scowl no harder. All around her, the men and women milling about in the streets cleared out of the assassin's way so as not to draw the woman's attention and ire.
In the past month, it seemed she'd spent a great deal of time deciding how she felt about Riven but precious little time deciphering how Riven felt about her.
At the arena, before the fight, their eyes had met and Riven had smiled at her.
Surely Riven was interested.
Years and years ago, when Katarina was eleven, she'd come upon her sister playing with a white flower out behind their summer estate some distance from the city. Cassiopeia had been picking the flower's petals out, one by one, and muttering to herself. Katarina had asked her younger sister what she was doing torturing a dead plant, and Cassiopeia had explained that it was a trick to figure out if a boy in her class loved her or not.
At the time, Katarina had fallen on her ass laughing. When she'd finally recovered enough to speak, she'd told her sister to go do something useful, like break into the boy's room and search his belongings for a journal, pictures, or stolen items. This had the extra benefit, she'd explained, of putting you in a good position to destroy the other person's life if you didn't like what you found. It was clearly superior to asking a flower.
Did Riven even have enough possessions to make breaking into her things worth it? The soldier probably wasn't literate enough to be keeping a journal anyway.
Katarina sighed to herself. Given the situation, she wouldn't have minded having her sister's stupid magic flower.
So lost in her swirl of thoughts, Katarina didn't realize how far she'd come until the shadow of the great outer gates of the city fell upon her face as she passed beneath the outer wall of Noxus. A quick glance to the sky revealed that it was almost midday. Katarina quickened her pace. How had Riven managed to travel so far every day? She'd probably jogged at least some of the distance up the mountain.
Boundaries marked by a low wooden palisade, the compound of the second army group was relatively close to the gates and Katarina located it without trouble. Though she was not in uniform, no one challenged her entrance to the base. The two guards, sitting huddled around a small fire, hardly even glanced at her. Katarina made a mental note to report the abysmal lack of security to her father the next time she saw him.
In fact, throughout the compound, out of the few men milling about, no one seemed to notice Katarina's presence, much less care. The soldiers moved about with their heads down, saying nothing, seeming to wander aimlessly with vacant stares. Though Katarina appreciated her beeline to Riven's barracks being unimpeded, the quiet of the base, especially compared to the bustle of the city, was unnerving.
Training yards, marked by the absence of snow and ice over the frozen dirt, were maintained but unoccupied. Weapon racks for practice blades were full and untouched. Even the sounds from the kitchens were muted.
Though she was warm in her thick coat, a shiver ran down Katarina's spine.
The second army group was traditionally assigned to the Demacian front.
Had casualties from the last campaign really been so heavy?
Katarina set such thoughts aside as she came to the door of the barracks for Riven's company, marked by its division and company number painted in red on the stone lintel. Casualties, provisions, battlefield tactics – those were all things for High Command. There was no need for her to concern herself with them.
Gathering herself, Katarina pushed the barracks door open and entered, looking for all the world like she owned the place.
The hallway she'd come into was dimly lit by yellow-hued hextech lamps strung up in a line down the center of the corridor's ceiling. Heating elements sat at even intervals along one wall, warming the building. To her immediate right was an open door that lead to an office empty save for a few desks and a door which she knew lead to storage. To her left was the first door of several that went to the individual rooms granted to officers. It took no time at all to stride down the row and locate the one reserved for the company's captain.
At this door, she paused, hand hovering a mere inch from the doorknob.
Should she knock or simply enter?
Slowly, her hand rose and formed into a fist, then drew back to rap on the wood.
But… what if she'd come to the wrong door? What if she were in the wrong barracks? Surely Cassiopeia wouldn't have given her bad directions? Of all the childish things her younger sister might do, bad directions were beneath her.
Katarina dropped her hand back down the doorknob and nudged it gently. It was not locked and it made almost no sound at all. Making sure to stay as quiet as possible, the assassin opened the door.
In the room beyond, Riven sat cross-legged on her bed, which was set parallel and against the far wall, with her back to the door. Dressed in the simple clothes of a soldier, the white-haired woman felt peaceful, serene. As her visitor stepped into the room, she did not stir.
Unready to disturb her, Katarina paused to check the room for exits and weapons. The only exit was the door she'd just come through and the only weapon she saw was a short field knife, sheathed and sitting on top of the soldier's armor chest. At the foot of said chest lay the two halves of Riven's once great sword. The blade had broken unevenly and the jagged edge left behind was no doubt as effective a tool as any. Katarina did not doubt that, if pressed, Riven could still use the lower half of her sword, could still kill with it.
That would be something to see indeed.
Survey complete, the assassin had nothing left but to do but begin approaching the soldier from behind, staying out of her line of sight and not blocking the light coming from the single harsh hextech bulb hanging from the ceiling. She paused just far enough away that her shadow did not enter the other woman's field of vision.
Part of the reason Riven had yet to notice her was that the soldier was busy scowling at a book in her lap. She gripped the small volume tightly in one hand to keep it open and with the other hand she kept her place on the page, running a finger excruciatingly slowly beneath each and every letter. From the motion in her jaw, and from having spent a month trying to help her, Katarina knew Riven was mouthing the sounds as she worked to piece together words.
Finally making up her mind, Katarina quickly closed the distance between them, moving to loom over Riven's shoulder.
It was amusing to the assassin to see the soldier actually jump as soon as she noticed the shadow crossing over her book, though only Katarina's quick reflexes saved her nose from the back of Riven's head.
Riven quickly spun around on her bed to face the intruder. Her eyes widened when she recognized the other woman. Her book fell closed onto the floor. "My la-Katarina," Riven stammered.
Now that Riven had turned, it was clear that, after a day in the care of the arena's summoners, she was as healthy as ever, though her drab and loose clothing did little for her appearance. Not that it mattered. The intensity of her eyes, the sharp line of her jaw, the visible muscle in her arms – clothes couldn't hide her. Having scrubbed her tanned skin clean of blood, she smelt faintly of the plain soap issued to soldiers stationed in or near the city of Noxus itself. On anyone else, Katarina wouldn't have even noticed it. Coming from Riven she had to resist the impulse to just stand there trying to inhale more of the scent.
"Why are you here?" Riven asked, composure regained.
Still not sure how to explain herself, Katarina bent down and retrieved the book. It was a small thing, binding beginning to break, pages yellowing with age and abuse, with a cover of rough green leather. She flipped it so she could see the spine, then read out loud, "Flora and Fauna of the Southern Freljord." Katarina frowned and blinked once, making sure she'd correctly understood the title. Confusion evident in her voice this time, she repeated, "Flora and Fauna of the Southern Freljord?"
Riven clambered off of her bed so that she could stand for her guest. Her posture was uncomfortably rigid. Barely a foot or so away from Katarina, the soldier glanced at the book and shrugged. "It's what I had," she said. A hint of a blush spread over her cheeks, made stark for the whiteness of her hair.
Still holding the book, Katarina raised her green eyes to meet Riven's red ones. They were standing close, too close to have a decent conversation, but the assassin didn't believe in backing away and, given that Riven's bed was immediately behind her, the soldier had nowhere to back away to. She was cornered.
With such little space separating them, Katarina couldn't help but notice how much shorter Riven was than her. Though the redhead tended to tower over most everyone she met on account of her long legs, Riven had always seemed taller than she actually was. Her actual height was surprising, but it didn't detract from her presence in the least. If anything, it just made her more feel more… tangible.
Not sure what to say, Katarina dropped her gaze, looking to where the very tip of the scar from Darius' axe peaked out from beneath the collar of Riven's shirt. Briefly, the memory of Riven's bare torso, covered in browning blood and almost unmoving, flashed through her mind, making her stomach twist. She blinked the errant thought away, then hastily said, "You look well."
"I'm alive," Riven replied evenly. While Katarina's eyes had wandered, the soldier continued to look the redhead in the face, as if purposefully determined to look nowhere else.
Silence descended once more.
Riven was standing close enough that Katarina could just lean forward and down slightly and-
Katarina shifted her weight from foot to foot and glanced around the room again. If she could find somewhere else to be, somewhere natural enough that shifting there didn't feel like retreat, then she could put some distance between herself and Riven and maybe they could actually talk. Her eyes fell on an empty desk with a wooden chair pushed up under it. Katarina turned and went to sit on top of the desk, setting the book down beside her. All the while, she could feel Riven's eyes on her. "My sister is hosting a gathering next week, on the solstice," Katarina began. "She'd like for you to attend."
Katarina was not a gambling woman. If she could secure Riven's presence without investing anything of herself, without risking herself, then that was what she'd do.
Riven's brow furrowed and she frowned as she mulled over Katarina's statement. Wordlessly, she sat down on her bed behind her, shoulders hunched and elbows resting on knees.
Seconds ticked past.
Unable to wait patiently, Katarina looked away from the soldier and instead focused her attention on every detail of the sparsely furnished stone room. On a clothes bar bolted to the stone wall near the door hung two uniforms. One was the faded grey uniform she'd seen Riven wear so well before. The other was the same uniform, but in its pristine black state, seemingly unused. Upon further examination, Katarina noticed that the grey uniform had the marks of a needle and thread in lines across the back. Someone had fixed the shirt so that it would fit a woman's body more easily. The black one had not been modified.
Katarina pointed to the grey uniform. "Did you sew that yourself?" she asked.
"Would you like me to attend?" Riven replied.
Was that a note of hope in her tone?
Katarina swallowed and cursed her traitor courage. She was Katarina Du Couteau. Indecisiveness did not suit her. But what was she going to say? She swallowed again, trying to find her tongue. When had talking to Riven become so difficult? "I wouldn't mind," she said.
Still frowning slightly, Riven nodded, seemingly unsatisfied with the answer.
Katarina cleared her throat. "So did you sew that yourself?" she asked once more.
Riven shook her head. "No. A… friend did it for me." Her gaze fell away from Katarina and fixed itself to the empty far corner of the room.
"Why don't you have him fix the other one as well?" Katarina asked. "Then you could stop wearing the old one."
"He's dead," Riven said.
"Oh," said Katarina. Woodenly, she added, "My condolences." Even in her head, her words were empty. Feeling she needed to say something more substantial, she tried, "I'm sure he was strong."
Riven's tone was frost. "If he'd been strong, he'd still be alive."
Katarina stiffened. "He may have been unlucky," she suggested.
To this, Riven said nothing.
Katarina did her best not to grimace. The more she tried to force conversation, the worse things were getting. In fact, she decided, it would be best if she left. In a single fluid motion, she got up from the desk. "I'll see you next week then," she said with as much of her normal confidence as she could muster. Instead of looking for Riven's reaction, Katarina turned her back and stalked towards the still open door.
The assassin was crossing the threshold when the soldier called out, "What time?"
Katarina turned just far enough to look at Riven once more. The soldier had stood and crossed to her desk to retrieve the old book about the Freljord. "Noon," Katarina said. "And plan to stay a while – it's one of those parties, you know."
"I don't know," said Riven.
Katarina wanted to wince at her oversight. Attempting to recover, she replied, "Well, you'll find out." Quickly, before she would be tempted to try to say anything more, she finished leaving the room and shut the door behind her softly.
Once she was safely alone in the hallway, the tension in her shoulders eased and a triumphant smirk spread across Katarina's face.
Mission accomplished.
That hadn't been so bad.
A/N: Oh Kat. Kat honey. That was pretty bad.