Chapter 47: The Bloody Red Leaves of Autumn

"Here we are," said Kora as she motioned towards a small shop set between two much larger, much more eye-catching shops. The outside of the shop she indicated was neat and tidy, but nowhere near as appealing as those beside it. It lacked any sort of advertising or external decoration and yet, Yasuo felt drawn to it for some strange reason – it was as though it beckoned him inside.

However, he could not speak for the others who walked with him down the market streets; many of the pedestrians passed it by without sparing it a single glance, seemingly not even noticing it was there. Their gazes seemed to pass from the shop to the left of it to the one to the right, not so much as stopping to consider the one he looked at. Kora led him to the very door of the shop before she paused and faced him. Her hands twisted nervously at the fringes of her apron and her gaze was pointed at her feet.

"Well, this is it," she said with an awkward smile. "I'd like to talk to you a little longer, but I really should be getting back."

"You're not coming?" he asked with a hint of surprise. Kora shook her head.

"No, I need to help my parents with the tea." She glanced up at him nervously. "And besides, I don't really think Jiro's advice is meant to be heard by anyone except the person he's giving it to."

"Oh. Well, thank you anyways for bringing me here, Kora."

"It was my pleasure," she said, somewhat more happily as she lifted her eyes. "So I'll see you around? At the shop, I mean," she added quickly.

Yasuo could not stop his grin. "Don't worry, Kora. I'll be back to have some more tea tomorrow night."

"Great," she said, visibly relieved. She looked at him for a moment more before she lowered her gaze abruptly once more, reddening slightly. "I'll be off, then."

"Goodbye, Kora," chuckled Yasuo, watching her as she left. When her retreating form had at last vanished from his sight, he turned back to the shop before him. He lingered in front of the door for a minute or two before he finally opened the door and stepped inside. He heard the faint jingle of a bell as the door closed behind him, cutting off all sound from the outside. Then he was left alone with his thoughts.

The inside of the shop was not what he had expected; it was like stepping into a narrow hallway that was lined with shelves more towering than in any store he had been in before. Artifacts of all shapes and sizes sat on the shelves, from paintings done in typical Ionian style to wooden carvings of animals and the like. Yasuo remained where he stood, dumbstruck with wonder. He had never seen such a wide variety of art – not even in the temple he had been employed as a guard at. Here, the mediums as well as the style differed like grains of sand on a beach.

What is this place? He thought in amazement as he began to make his way slowly down the sole corridor, casting his gaze to both sides. Every so often he would stop, pausing to brush his fingers across the smooth surface of a carved stone, or to pluck the strings of a mysterious instrument. His mouth twitched in a smile as a clear sound rang out in the small space. His footsteps echoed in the silence, reverberating around the empty store like the soft ripples of a lake.

As he looked down at the end of the narrow hallway, his eyes caught something. At the end of the corridor, there was a small door covered only by a thin red cloth that hung from the top of the doorway like a shroud. But it was the small design on the cloth, not the cloth itself that caught his interest: it was the very same symbol that Lee Sin wore on his headband.

His interest piqued, he walked over to the doorway, holding aside the cloth with one hand as he ducked under and through. The room he entered was much wider and larger than the hallway he had just been in, and looked to be the place where the art outside was made: a man sat with his back to Yasuo at a long workbench, his shoulders shifting as he worked on what could only be another project for the shelves. He was surrounded by numerous raw materials and the room was heavy with the scent of wood, clay, stone, and dust. His movements paused momentarily as Yasuo entered before they resumed once more without missing a beat.

For a moment, neither spoke, and then: "You've never been in here before, have you?" he asked casually.

"No, I have not," said Yasuo as he crossed his arms and leaned with his back against the edge of the open doorway. He let his eyes roam around the room. The workroom was neatly kept, aside from a thin coating of clay and wood dust. To the right, he could see a set of stairs that led up and away to the second floor of the store, which Yasuo assumed was where the man slept.

"I thought not," said the man – Jiro, if he remembered correctly. "I did not recognize your footsteps… or your voice. Regardless, welcome, stranger. It is always a pleasure to have new visitors here in my humble shop."

"My name is Yasuo," he said. Jiro froze, his arms stopping where they were. Slowly, he placed his instruments back down on the table and folded his hands before him.

"Is it?" he said, interest tinging the edges of his voice. "I have heard of you, Yasuo…"

He turned around with a slow purpose. Yasuo started slightly as the man faced him; his eyes, which roamed restlessly around the room, were a milky white like smoke.

He was blind.

If not fully blind, then at the least he was partly blind. The rest of his face was decidedly Ionian, with the sharp lines and hawk-like features that marked Yasuo's people so well. His gray hair was cut close to his scalp almost in a military fashion, and his beard was a stark white that fell down just past his chin.

"Riven has spoken of you, Yasuo," muttered Jiro as he stroked his beard with trailing fingers. A small smile twitched his mouth. "Yes, she has spoken much about you…"

For a moment, Yasuo did not register what it was the man had said. When the words finally clicked in his mind, he straightened as though a lightning bolt had struck him.

What?

"Riven?" he repeated, too surprised to be truly angry. "You know her?"

"I do indeed. She comes here often to keep me company. She was here last night, to tell the truth. We shared a pot of tea and I showed her a piece I was working on."

Yasuo was speechless, unsure how to respond. He felt that he should be angry, but he found that he could not bring himself to be so just yet. Instead, he felt as though this was his chance to finally know more about Riven. A sudden, ravenously insatiable curiosity grew in his heart.

But how could he ask? What had she already said about him? What did this Jiro know about him? How could he ask without drawing suspicion to his own uncertain feelings about the Noxian?

So instead, he twisted his face into a scowl, crossing his arms over his chest once more from where they had fallen in surprise. "So you know that murderer?" he spat, trying desperately to find some seed of anger within him and place it in his voice. He was finding it more difficult than he would like to find the hate that had kept him driving all these long lonely years.

"She is more than just a woman who has killed," said Jiro quietly as he folded his hands in his lap. "She is much, much more than that, Yasuo."

"That's all I need to know about her. She killed my master. She is the reason I killed my brother. She is the reason I've killed all those I called my friends. She is the one who should have suffered, not me."

"Do you not think she has suffered enough because of what she has done? Because of her past?"

"If she has, then good," said Yasuo as venomously as he could muster. Now that he was reminding himself of what it was Riven had done to him, he was finding it easier to find the anger that burned in him. But even as the anger within him grew, there was still a seed of uncertainty and hesitation as he spoke of her. How could he speak of her like that without knowing truly what she had done? Was that not what the rest of Ionia had done to him? Where was the honor in doing that to someone else?

No, he snapped at himself, only just stopping himself from physically shaking his head. I know what it is she did to me. I know what it is she did, and what it is I have to do. His inner thoughts must have shown themselves somehow for Jiro to see, because the old man fixed his sightless eyes on Yasuo.

"You seem conflicted, Yasuo," he said plainly as he stood from his desk. He motioned towards the stairs in the corner of the room. "Come."

"What?"

"Come," repeated the old man. "Would you like to join me for a cup of tea?"


Yasuo watched Jiro warily as he prepared the tea. He was seated at a modest table in the old man's living room with a small plate of fruit and nuts set before him. He had not taken one – not yet. As he watched the old man prepare the tea, he could safely say that he was very impressed. Yasuo had seen his fair share of tea-making in his time as a guard at the temple, and he knew enough about it to know when it was done well. Even though Jiro was blind, he did not miss or falter in his tea-making; every step was perfectly executed, each cup of water perfectly measured and every leaf perfectly steeped. It was obviously something he had done many times before.

When Jiro placed the tea before him, Yasuo could smell the reminiscently familiar scent of roela – a type of rare Ionian rose tea that had been Yone's favorite. Even Yasuo – with his minimal knowledge of the finer points of tea making – recalled that roela tea was notoriously hard to prepare – and if not gathered by hand, remarkably expensive to purchase. And so, he was rather surprised that Jiro had served him it without so much as knowing who he was beyond his name. But he did not stop to question it or consider it further.

Instead, he closed his eyes as he took a sip, letting the memories of his brother run through his head like wind across a grassy field. Whenever he could, Yone had bought some to share with Yasuo, and the memories of those long, quiet conversations over a cup of tea rushed to the forefront of his mind. He could not stop a solitary tear from escaping his right eye, and rather than wipe it away, he let it fall down his face.

"Roela, isn't it?" he asked quietly as he set the cup back down. Jiro nodded solemnly.

"Yes, it is. You have a good palate."

"It was my brother's favorite," said Yasuo with the ghost of a painful smile. "I can still remember all the days he came back with some for us to share. He always saved up the little money he made to buy some." Yasuo shook his head as he chuckled darkly. "I always made fun of him for doing that, but I can't say I spent my money much better: I just wasted mine in the bars and in the bottom of tankards."

"I am sure he wanted to share it with you because you meant much to him. Perhaps more than you think. You were his brother, after all."

"Must have had wanted to," muttered Yasuo into his cup. "Otherwise he wouldn't have wasted it on me, drunkard that I am." His eyes flicked up to Jiro. "I don't understand why you wasted it on me, either."

Jiro looked at Yasuo curiously, his milky gaze never wavering as he watched Yasuo's face. For a silent minute, neither spoke. Yasuo shifted uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, his hands tightening around the tea cup. Blind though Jiro may be, Yasuo could not shake the feeling that he was seeing right through him.

"Riven said the same thing," he said finally as he fixed his eyes on Yasuo's once more. Yasuo stared at him in confusion.

"What?"

"She said that she thought it was a waste that I served her that tea," he said, nodding at the cup in Yasuo's hands. "She felt as though she was not worthy to enjoy something so pure – to feel happiness, as she put it. She feels as though all she should feel is suffering and sadness, Yasuo. Not happiness, not friendship, not joy, not love. Only sorrow and penance. She feels that by doing so, somehow she can begin to make up for her past actions."

Once again, Yasuo was speechless. Unable to bear the unmoving stare of Jiro, he glanced hastily down at his cup, where the pale pink liquid of the tea swirled like blood-stained water. Is that what she thinks? He thought to himself. How could something think that? Is she really so remorseful that she doesn't even let herself be happy? What could she have possibly gone through to think that way?

"She is not the woman you may think she is, Yasuo," said Jiro quietly. "If you speak to her, you may find you two are more similar than you would ever know."

"I don't want to talk to that Noxian dog!" snarled Yasuo, desperate to shake the feelings that burned at his heart. "Do you know what she's done to me?"

"I know full well, Yasuo," said Jiro sharply, the gentle tone vanishing slightly. "She told me what she did and she was close to tears when she did."

Yasuo opened his mouth and found he could not find any words to speak. The anger had left him like a candle blown out, replaced with a stunned murkiness in his mind that left him unable to think. After a tense pause, he closed it again and looked back down at his tea. Tears? A pit of uncomfortable tightness twisted his stomach, something he had never felt before when he thought of Riven. Had he been the one to do that to her?

"You seem conflicted, Yasuo," noted Jiro dryly, though still kinder than before.

"I don't want her apologies," muttered Yasuo still without looking at Jiro. "I want her dead." But even as he said it, he knew it was not the truth.

"You do not sound like you believe it fully yourself," said Jiro, closing his eyes.

Yasuo inhaled unsteadily, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly around his cup.

"Maybe I don't. I don't know what I want anymore."


Some months later

One could taste the advent of autumn in the air. Its bite was sharp in the brisk morning air, and its breath sent hats tumbling with a mischievous wind that lifted skirts and tousled hair. The first leaves had begun to fall, and though many of the trees still had branches full of reds and yellow, it was only a matter of time before they all fell. Down the Institute Gardens, two figures were walking freely through the trees and around them, it was as though someone had set the world aflame: the tops of trees were alive with brilliant reds and oranges and yellows that flickered like tongues of flame as the wind rattled the leaves. At irregular intervals, a stray leaf would fall from the branches, joining those that had already fallen. But the two figures did not seem to be very interested in taking in the sight around them. Instead, they were talking in somewhat hushed tones, their voices almost conspiratorial.

"And you're certain she mentioned nothing of this? She told you nothing?" Karma was saying as she looked at Riven intently. "You had no idea?" she asked insistently for the fourth time in almost as many minutes.

Riven laughed at her friend's serious expression. "I already told you that it's as much of a surprise to me as it is to you, Karma," she said with a grin. "And if I didn't know better, I'd say you were mad or something."

Karma sighed, letting her serious expression ease slightly. "It's not that I'm mad at her, but I am a little bit… taken aback."

"She's only human, Karma," said Riven with another laugh. "She's entitled to some happiness here or there."

"Yes, but a relationship?" said Karma with a groan. "And with a Captain of her own Guard? What was she thinking? And if I'm to understand this correctly, this is only them going public with it; who knows how long it's been going on without us knowing!"

Riven could not keep from laughing again, and she covered her mouth in an effort to hide her mirth. Irelia's formal announcement of her relationship with Mikael had taken many by surprise, both in the League and out of it. Riven had kept her friend's promise to not tell anyone of what she knew, and so, she had to feign surprise along with the other Champions. Secretly, however, she was happy for her friend, and proud of her for having the courage to stand beside Mikael despite all the backlash and criticism the two of them received. There were still those in Ionia and in positions of power that doubted Irelia's ability, and they had jumped at the chance to criticize her further. But the Will of the Blades had not backed down, and stood her ground against the accusations drawn against her. Riven had also been more than happy to see that neither had Mikael, and he had stood by his decision – and Irelia – through all that they were going through.

Karma sighed. "Maybe it's just the season," she said idly as she looked around at the falling leaves. "Autumn does strange things to people."

"I've always liked autumn," agreed Riven. She had spent many autumn days and nights across the vast span of Valoran, and she had to say that none matched spending it surrounding by trees. There was something magical about the sight of red and orange leaves flittering like cinders from the tops of trees.

Karma cast a glance at her out of the corner of her eye. "And what about the Harrowing?" she asked with a grin. "It's in only a couple of weeks, after all. And if the rumors I heard are true, you took everyone by surprise at last year's Harrowing."

Riven shuddered at the memory. "Don't remind me," she said with a groan. "I'm never wearing that bunny suit ever again. I still have nightmares about that night."

Karma chuckled with a shake of her head. As a particularly chilly wind blew through the Gardens, she pulled her modest cloak tighter around herself with a shiver. Like many of the Champions with more elaborate standard dress, on her day off, the Enlightened One had opted to wear a simple dress rather than the intricate garments she usually wore. She had left her Mantle of Decorum back in her room and the air behind her was free of the floating circlet. However, given the chill of the morning, she had also donned a travelers cloak on top of it to guard against the chill and the wind. Riven, on the other hand, was used to less-than-favorable weather, and had instead worn a plain white shirt with dark pants.

The pace of the two friends slowed as they made their way towards a clearing in the Gardens. Riven looked forward to sitting down for a little bit, as they had been walking for a good part of the morning. Karma had asked Riven if she wanted to take a morning walk through the famed Institute Gardens, and though Riven had at first been confused, she had accepted gladly. She soon found out that it was because Karma had wanted to know her opinion on Irelia's actions regarding Mikael, but she did not really mind. Regardless, she was glad for the company, and the two had had their fair share of laughs together. Though one would not think it, Riven had found that Karma was far more open and easy-going than she made show. Riven had wondered if it was in part of her outlook on life, but she always appreciated the carefree company of the Enlightened One.

The two of them stepped out into the clearing, and Riven inhaled deeply as she closed her eyes. The scent of pine and maple and oak and leaves was heavy in her nostrils, and she sighed contentedly. There was nothing better than a crisp morning walk through her favorite place in the Institute.

Beside her, Karma had stiffened suddenly, and Riven wondered what it was that had caused it. She was about to ask, but as she opened her eyes, she saw. A very familiar man was sitting cross-legged on the grass, his massive sword jutting out of the earth beside him and his long hair tied behind his back. He had his back to them, but Riven did not need to see his face to know who it was.

Yasuo.

He was closer than either of them would have liked, and if Riven only took a step or two, she could reach out and very nearly touch him. For a moment, she thought that he had not noticed them, but then he spoke.

"What do you two want?" he asked angrily. Riven could hear the agony in his voice, and she wondered at why it was there.

"We were merely walking," said Karma coolly as she crossed her arms. "There is no need for that tone."

Yasuo snorted, still not looking at them, but he did not reply. After a pause, Karma tugged lightly at Riven's shirt as if to make to leave, but Riven did not move. She was curious.

Wordlessly, she made her way to the other side of Yasuo, and reluctantly, Karma followed. Now that she was in front of Yasuo, she could see his face clearly. He looked up at her with red eyes, his handsome face twisted in an expression of pain. She did not know if his eyes were red because he had been crying, or from the bottle in his hands. Maybe both. He did not seem completely drunk, but it was obvious he was far from sober. The air around him was tinged with the scent of alcohol, and the sharp smell stung at her nose.

Beside her, Karma wrinkled her nose in disdain as Yasuo made a motion to uncap the bottle. "Haven't you had enough?" she asked coldly. "I shudder at what the High Counselor would say if she saw the Champion she judged personally drunk like a common scoundrel."

"It's not for me," snapped Yasuo angrily, and Karma shut her mouth with a glint of anger flashing in her eyes.

For a moment, Riven was unsure at what he meant, but as she looked down at where he sat, she understood. Judging by the change of expression on her face, Riven assumed Karma had noticed it as well: there was a small wooden memorial marker stuck into the ground at Yasuo's feet. Riven knew that they were meant for those whose bodies had not been recovered, and served as a place for families to mourn in lieu of a proper grave.

"It's the anniversary," muttered Yasuo, more to himself than anything as he poured the alcohol over the grave. It splashed quietly over the wood, running down the marker and darkening it. The harsh expression on Karma's expression had been replaced by a gentler one, and she looked at Yasuo differently.

"Of what?" she asked quietly.

"Of Yone," he replied, his voice subdued. The bottle was empty now, and he placed it to one side.

"Who was he?" she asked gently, and Riven glanced at her out of the corner of her eye; she did not believe for a minute that Karma did not know who Yone was, and wondered why she had asked.

"My brother," said Yasuo flatly. For a moment, he sat motionless with his hands on his knees. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin stick of incense. Placing it into a small bowl at the foot of the marker, he lit it with a sole match. Unconsciously, Karma and Riven took a step back out of respect as the incense began to burn. A mournfully sweet smell touched Riven's senses, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her, coupled with a deep feeling of guilt.

I was the one who did this to him.

She was about to speak again when Yasuo suddenly began to sing in a low and slow voice. Her breath caught painfully in her throat as she listened. He sang in Ionian, and though she could not understand it, she thought it sounded like a prayer – or perhaps a story. As she listened, she felt a shiver run from her feet to her head, and pang of pity seized her heart. The sadness and guilt in her grew, and she closed her mouth tightly as his voice floated up through the trees. Though occasionally he would waver painfully as he sang, not once did he stop.

Riven had heard a sound like it once before long ago in her travels: a lifetime ago, she had stumbled upon a wolf that had been badly injured as she had been walking through a forest late at night. Another wolf had been standing vigil beside it, and even when Riven approached cautiously, he had not growled at her or made to attack her. He had merely continued his elegy to the moon and the stars and to his lost brother.

That was the same sound she heard now: a lone wolf mourning its fallen brother. She thought she saw a tear or two run down Yasuo's face, but she could not be sure. The pain in his voice was obvious, and it was low and mournful and unimaginably sorrowful. Beside her, even Karma looked somber as she looked on the scene.

"What is he singing?" asked Riven, the words painful to make out through the knot in her throat.

"He is singing an old Ionian folktale," replied Karma quietly, her eyes still on Yasuo.

"What is it about?"

Karma hesitated, and she looked at Riven. "Are you sure you want to know?" she asked softly. Riven nodded, and Karma closed her eyes with a sigh.

"It is a story called 'the Two Brothers,'" she began, making sure that her voice did not disturb Yasuo. The Ionian man still sang mournfully, and Riven wondered if he could hear them.

"A long time ago, when Ionia was still caught in the wars between kingdoms, there were two brothers: Asuma and Hiro. They were the best swordsmen in all the land and they were hired by separate kings for differing causes. Hiro and Asuma both knew what that meant, and they prepared for when they would inevitably fight each other."

Riven swallowed; she knew now why Yasuo had chosen to sing the song for his brother. Karma nodded at the expression on Riven's face.

"Yes, Riven… that is why he sings it."

"What happened to the two brothers?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Eventually, the day came, and they fought. Though the battle was legendary, the end came swiftly and the younger brother Hiro killed his older brother Asuma. After that day, he was never the same, and shortly after, he left his post under the king. He wandered the land looking for penance, and lived the rest of his life never finding it. It is a story that all Ionian children know."

"So now you know, Riven," said a painful voice from before them and the two of them turned quickly to look at Yasuo. He had finished singing, and he was standing unsteadily with his sword held tightly at his side. He smiled grimly at the frightened looks on their faces.

"It's a fitting story, isn't it?" he asked bitterly, and Riven looked hesitantly at the sword in his hands. She had not brought her own, and knew if that Yasuo attacked, she would not be able to stop him. But rather than show fear, she straightened and looked him dead in the eye.

"Yes, it is," she said calmly. Yasuo sneered.

"Don't you have anything else to say, murderer?"

"I don't have anything else to say to you," said Riven evenly.

"That's what I thought," snarled Yasuo as Karma and Riven turned to go. "You're nothing but a coward."

Riven froze. Coward? Coward?

Anger boiled in her as her hands clenched into fists at her side, and she saw Karma pause uncertainly beside her. Slowly, she turned around to face Yasuo. She could see the look of vindication on his face as she turned around fully to look at him.

"Riven…" began Karma, but Riven held up a hand to silence her.

"Karma," she said, in a voice that was deathly calm and controlled. "I would like it if you could leave us alone. I have a couple of words to say to Yasuo."

Karma looked between them, her expression worried and skeptical. "Riven, I don't think that's a good id-"

"Karma, please leave us alone," repeated Riven, her voice still deadly quiet. Karma looked at them once more, her expression fearful. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she stepped away. Riven waited until she heard the last of Karma's disappearing footsteps before she turned back to Yasuo. He was still watching her with his pained eyes, but she thought she saw flashes of other emotions in their gray depths.

Slowly, she stepped away from the edge of the clearing and into the center. There, Yasuo and Riven faced each other, circling as though they were caught in a swordfight. Yone's marker was between the two an equal distance from both and it trembled slightly in the wind.

"Yasuo…" she said slowly, as if tasting the name in her mouth.

"Riven."

"What do you want from me?" she asked finally, pausing in her movements. Before her, Yasuo stopped as well, and their positions were mirrored. They could have been two sides of the same coin.

Yasuo laughed bitterly. "What I want from you, you can't give me back," he spat. "You can't give me back my life, Riven. Or all the lives that I've taken." He pointed with an accusing finger at the memorial marker at their feet. "You can't give me him back to me."

"Even if I could, do you think he'd be proud of you?" asked Riven, her voice rising. "Of how you haven't learned to forgive yourself for what you've done?"

"Don't speak for him! I've forgiven myself just fine, Riven!" he snarled, raising his finger to point it at her. "It's you who I haven't forgiven. You can't run from your past, Riven."

"I'm not running from it any longer; I've just accepted it and moved on."

Yasuo threw his head back as he laughed severely. "You make it sound so easy, Miss Exile," he said contemptuously, his voice laden with mock respect. "Do you think if I could, I would be here? Looking for you?" He shook his head. "No, no. I'm the Unforgiven One, aren't I? Even if I forgave myself, the rest of the world still hasn't."

"Then why don't you tell them what happened?" asked Riven. It was a question that had burned in her the first moment she had heard his story; the world knew of her Wind Slash technique, thanks to the League, and surely there was evidence that she had been the commander of the forces that had ransacked his temple. Why, with all that motivation, had he not made public his accusations? Before her, Yasuo's expression faltered. For a moment, even he looked unsure, and she thought she saw hesitation in his gray eyes. Then it vanished, and the anger was on his face once more.

"Because I won't stoop to your level, Riven," he said coldly. "I still have my honor, and not even you can take that from me. I will not make you a spectacle to crucify like you have done me."

"I did nothing of the sort."

"Then why don't you confess?" he shouted angrily. "Tell them what you did! Clear all of this up! It's in your hands, Riven; the blood is on your hands, and only you can wash it off."

Riven stood where she was, uncertain at what he had just said and speechless. It looked as though even Yasuo himself was unsure at what he had said, and he closed his mouth with a confused expression.

"Do you… want to forgive me?" she asked in a much lower voice. Yasuo bristled at the question and his anger returned, though less than before.

"I could never forgive Noxian scum like you," he said, though Riven heard the uncertainty in his voice. "Not after what you did to my people and my country."

"What about what your people did to mine, Yasuo?" she said, taking an angry step forward. She saw the flash of apprehension in his eyes, but his only movement was to tighten his grip around his sword.

"We fought in self-defense, not the imperialistic destruction you did!"

"Death is death, isn't it, Yasuo?"

"We were different. Our deaths were different."

Riven gave a barking laugh. "Different? That's a nice word. There is blood on both ours hands, Yasuo," she said breathlessly as she took his hands in hers before he could react. She turned them palm-side up and glared at him, holding them tight. "Haven't you ever looked in a mirror and seen me looking back?"

They were so close. Riven could feel his breath on hers, and though it smelled of alcohol, it was not altogether unpleasant. Their mouths were a fingers width from each other, and she could almost feel his chest rising rapidly against hers. She dug her fingers into his palms, nails almost drawing blood.

"I am nothing like you, Riven," he breathed back in her face, his gray eyes searching as he tightened his own grip around her arms. Faster than she could think he could move, he had pinned her arms behind her back, moving to close the distance between them. He held her in almost a hug, and she could feel his heartbeat against her own. She felt her breathing quicken as her knee dug into his shin and he pressed her hands to the small of her back. Their faces were nearly touching, and if Riven had leaned forward, she could have kissed him if she wanted to. Their embrace would have been a passionate one, were it not for the expressions on their faces. She glared at him, her red eyes meeting his gray ones, trying desperately to still her beating heart. He was so close, and so very warm

"Maybe not, Yasuo," she said, her lips fluttering in an effort to avoid his. "But I'm not the only one that's killed, am I? You've done your fair share; I can see it in your eyes."

"It's different for me," he said, still holding her arms tightly behind her back. His chest was pressed to hers, and the rise of his matched the fall of hers. "I bet you damned Noxians enjoy killing. You like watching people die, don't you? Comrades, enemies, whoever, as long as they wer-"

"Don't you dare speak of my friends like I didn't care about them!" shouted Riven against his face. "You don't know what I went through! I had to watch them die, Yasuo! They died around me by the hundreds. Do you still really think we're so different?"

With a violent tug, she pulled one of her arms free of Yasuo's hands. As she did, she pulled the bandages with it, revealing the scarred skin of her forearm. She raised it to his face, and as she did, she felt a sick sort of pleasure at the look of shock on his face.

"Look at it, Yasuo!" she snarled. "Look at what Noxus did to me. I fought for them, shed blood for them, killed others for them, and watched my friends die for them. And look at what they did to me! Zaunite poisons, Yasuo! They used the same fucking thing on me that they did on your people!"

Yasuo still held her left hand firmly behind her back, but the grip had loosened considerably. He stared at her right arm, his eyes trailing over the scarred and calloused skin. Then, as if finally realizing just exactly how close they were, he let go of her and stepped away quickly. Riven almost laughed at the confused and uncertain expression on his face – one that did not quickly go away.

"I admit it, Yasuo: I killed the Ionian elder. And not without some scars of my own." She lifted her shirt to expose her midriff, where the long pale scar stretched from the bone of her left hip to just under the right side of her ribs. His gaze lingered on it for a moment before she let the shirt fall again.

"You're disgusting," spat Yasuo. "Killing mindlessly with no regard for who it was."

"I followed my orders!" snarled Riven. "Which is more than you did," she said with a cold sneer. "What did you do? Desert your post and let your master die?"

"You were the one who killed him!"

"We're both killers, Yasuo," she said, her voice lower than before. "We both know how it feels. We've both been running, haven't we? But I'm not going to run anymore."

She seized his blade, ignoring the pain as it cut deeply into her palm. Her hand slick with blood, she placed the handle into his hands, wrapping his fingers around it. Then she placed the tip of the blade at her neck, where she knew her vein pumped beneath the smooth skin.

"Do you want to end it, Yasuo?" she asked quietly. "Then do it. Right here."

For the first time since she had shown him her arm, his eyes seemed to focus once more. She saw them jump to her face, then back to the blade in his hands and at her neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head slightly forward to expose it fully.

She wanted it to end; all the hate, all the violence, all the cancerous fury that consumed them both. She drew a sharp intake of breath and held back a wince as she felt his blade cut into her neck. It was a long cut – it cut from the junction of her neck and shoulder to almost the end of her collarbone – and deep enough to leave a scar, but not enough to sever the vein in her neck.

Around them, the bloody red leaves of autumn fell like the droplets of blood that ran down his blade.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked as she felt the blood run down her neck; other than the cut he had made, he had not moved further. "Do it," she whispered again, her voice cracking. "End it."

"Fight back," he said finally, his voice shaking as much as the blade at her neck. "Fight back, Riven. I won't kill you like this. Fight back!"

She shook her head without looking at him. "No more fighting. Not anymore. Anything you want to do to me, do it now."

Her neck snapped up suddenly, the cut stinging as he lifted her head roughly. She caught her breath as she met his eyes. Red met gray as she looked into them, expecting to see the hate and fury that he had shown her so many times. But it was not there; where there should have been hate, there was only pain; where there should have been fury, there was only grief; where there should have been fury, there was only loss. And as his eyes trailed over the wound he had made in her neck, there was only regret and remorse.

For a moment, she feared he would kill her at last, but then the blade fell from his hands and he collapsed onto his knees before her. His shoulders shook as he fell forward, a cry of anguish rising from him. Riven, unsure at what to do, took a step back. Clutching at her neck and clenching her injured hand tightly, she stepped away from him and into the trees. She could hear his cries of anguish even as she walked out of the Gardens – and away from him.


Yasuo held his face in his hands, his heart twisting as painfully as if someone had just thrust a sword through it. His breathing was ragged and unsteady as he lifted his face at last. There was one thing and one thing only on his mind.

Riven.

Her words and their conversation echoed loudly in his head. He looked at his own hands, shaking and stained with her blood. What had he done to her? What pain had she suffered all these long lonely years? Were they not the same, just as she had said? And now, he had hurt her. He had hurt her again just like he had been hurting her this whole time.

Through blurry eyes, he looked at the small marker for his brother that jutted out of the earth in front of him. As he did, he caught the large flecks of scarlet that tainted the darkened wood. It was hers.

Riven's blood had fallen over Yone's grave.

Yasuo laughed painfully at the whole irony of it all. It hurt to laugh, but he did it anyways, clutching his hair with his hands.

"Are you happy now, brother?" he shouted tearfully at the grave. "You've had your blood; you've had your damned revenge! I've given it to you! I've given you everything I had! Look at what I've sacrificed, Yone!"

He fell forward again, shuddering with large sobs as he thought of Riven – and of the woman he had lost. There was no way to take back what he had said, what he had done.

"Can I have my happiness now?" he whispered finally against the blood on his hands.