Part 1: Noxian Might

"For Demacia!"

Above the war-torn wasteland of Valoran descends a flag bearing blue and yellow, followed by the battle cry of a king leading his army towards what he hopes will be victory. Across the battle-scarred field, men who carry banners of black and red advance to match their foe's charge. Adrenaline overrides the soldiers' fear as the two sides draw closer; the sound of cavalry hooves and infantry boots drown out the uneasy air, and finally… the clashing of metal.

Blood spills across the earth as the full-fledged battle slowly tires into broader skirmishes, with generals rallying back and forth while flanks eat away at each other's numbers. With capable men becoming more scarce by the minute, the king finds himself on the front line, tearing through each enemy with the lance that his father had gifted him so many years ago.

Equipped with the legendary weapon and golden armor that gleamed under the hellish sun, he danced across the battlefield with his hope of triumph still intact. But just as swiftly as he had breached his enemy's ranks, he would soon be met by the gaze of his equal: a beast of a man clad in black armor who wielded a greataxe that could rival even the gods. As their eyes locked, the fighting around them began to cease as soldiers quickly became spectators to what was surely going to be the deciding confrontation.-

"Surrender to Noxus, Jarvan. This battle has already been decided."

"And to what battle do you speak of, Darius? It seems you are at the wrong end of my blade."

"Reinforcements will be here before you have time to change your mind. I will not show you mercy then," Darius responded coldly. His calm demeanor drove a wave of fear through the hearts of the Demacian soldiers, but Jarvan stood firm.

"I would not be so sure of victory, Hand of Noxus," Jarvan said mockingly, "Perhaps your title gives you more pride than it's worth."

"The same can be said for you… Your Highness," Darius countered with his own twist of mockery, "My offer stands. Surrender to me, and I will allow your men to cower away with their lives."

"You should know by now… that will never happen."

"Then your men shall die by my hand."

"You'll have to get through me first!" Jarvan shouted while readying his lance. Darius raised his greataxe in response.

Before the tension could even fill the air, another flag whistled above the sky as it landed directly at Darius' feet. The Hand of Noxus began to brace but the Demacian king had practiced this move to the point it had become second nature, and he pounced like lightning on the man dressed in black metal. Jarvan's lance fastened to the flag, and with his full force he pulled himself to its location, using the momentum to charge straight into Darius and sending him down onto the blood-soaked ground. Just as the king made impact, he disconnected his lance from the anchor point to allow himself to continue swinging forward towards his toppled opponent, and he slammed into the earth beneath him. The sheer force of his weapon meeting the ground created a cataclysm, with fissures erupting all around them and uprooting the rocky terrain. What was left was an arena made entirely out of the ravaged landscape, with its walls standing ten-feet tall hanging in a fifty-foot diameter around them.

Jarvan continued his assault, relentless in his efforts to push Darius back against the new arena's wall. His goal was simple: defeat Noxus' greatest soldier before their reinforcements could arrive. Unfortunately for the king, his opponent would not make it so.

While Jarvan was executing his battle strategy, Darius was forming tactics of his own. Yes, waste your strength, he thought as he allowed himself to be pushed back into a corner, soon each blow will just become another foot in your grave. The aggressive hacking and slashing of Jarvan's lance would make purchase with his foe's black armor, but by the time the king had backed his foe into the wall to make his final strike, all he had left Darius with were dents and bruises.

Jarvan swore he could see the reflection of his weapon gleam in Darius' eyes as he soon realized he had made a fatal error: never underestimate the Noxian Might. Darius lept to the side of Jarvan's final thrust and swung him into the wall with his greataxe, cleaving into the king's once beautiful armor as its golden gleam was now smeared with crimson. Before he could process the pain, Jarvan felt the full weight of his better smash into his right leg, and all of his senses left his body except for the sound of his bones being crushed into multiple pieces. What was once a battle cry that had left his lips was now a shrieking howl of pain as Demacia's ruler shoved his adversary away… only the damage had already been done.

Blood dripping from his side and unable to use his dominant leg, Jarvan understood all that was left for him was a royal funeral. Darius stood triumphant a few paces away and slowly backed towards the center of the arena to taunt the defeated king, allowing his greataxe to scrape against the dirt and gravel along the way.

Despite the outcome having already been decided, Jarvan slowly rose in defiance to his taunter, using the arena wall to support his back as he readied his lance. The Demacian King thrust his lance forward, with the sharp edge extending outwards from the haft towards Darius. The Noxian sidestepped the attack with ease, but failed to notice that the flag from Jarvan's initial attack now stood behind him. The lance latched onto the flagpole and Jarvan threw the haft clockwise, sending the fully extended lance into a surprised Darius. While the force of the blow could not reach its full potential coming from a weakened Jarvan, an astonished Darius took a direct hit to his chest and was sent to the floor.

Jarvan clawed at the walls he had recently built in a desperate attempt to escape, realizing in a twist of irony that what was once his battlefield had now become his prison. A winded Darius slowly brought himself to his feet with the help of his greataxe and began making his way towards the now crawling man in front of him.

"How pathetic. A king reduced to a coward. Have you any words to hide your shame?"

"Demacia… will never lose to the likes of you. Do not think-" he was interrupted by his own cough, spitting up blood and wheezing at the loss of breath.

"Your death will crush Demacia's will. Noxian Might will always triumph against your meaningless values of honor."

"Demacia has endured a king's death before. They will endure again."

"We shall see," Darius readied his axe for the execution and propelled himself high up into the air to make the killing blow. Jarvan could only see his killer's silhouette staring up at the sky and the red glow emanating from his eyes. In his final moments, he closed his eyes and reminisced, I guess this is how it ends. I hope one day this cycle of war and chaos ends and Demacia can live in peace. I leave the rest… to you…

"JUSTICE!"

A massive astral sword appeared in the sky as everyone gazed in awe at the spectacle. The glowing sword flew downwards towards the earth, ripping Darius from the clouds and burying him into the ground. The impact formed a crater inside Jarvan's cataclysm and caused the rocky barrier to crumble down to its original state.

The Might of Demacia charged through ranks of Noxian soldiers with his men following in close pursuit, swiftly moving towards their fallen king. Noxian soldiers rallied to form a perimeter around the motionless Darius, and the Demacian men led by Garen evacuated an unconscious Jarvan away from the front lines. Garen began punishing the Noxian soldiers, spinning his way towards Darius who was slowly regaining consciousness.

"You will pay for that, villain!" Garen exclaimed, recalling the events almost leading to his king's death. The Demacian Vanguard forced his way to Darius and struck him with blow after blow, beating him back down to the dirt. Garen held his sword to his rival's throat, and the Noxian soldiers around them began to lower their weapons to surrender. As Garen looked onwards in satisfaction, his expression quickly changed as he heard the sound of horns blaring in the distance, followed by the sight of Noxian banners hoisted above hordes of reinforcements.

This battle is lost, Garen thought as he began ordering a full retreat, but he knew he would have to buy time for the remnants of the Demacian army to escape. Rallying the Dauntless Vanguard to his side, he ordered them to help him hold his position while their army fled from battle. Instead of following after the fleeing army, the Noxian reinforcements took a keen interest in Garen and his men, surrounding them in great force. It was only now that Garen understood why this battle was fated to take place: he was to be taken prisoner…

Part 2: Noxus Takes No Prisoners

Garen awoke to a musty cell and sunlight. He rose to his feet, although he found it difficult as he was wearing shackles connecting his wrists to his ankles. After gathering his bearings, he glanced over to a modestly sized window against the far wall. Noticing the window wasn't barred, he moved over for a closer look and realized he was actually in a tower about 100 feet off of the ground, and as he peered outside he could see the Immortal Bastion in all of its glory. He was standing at the heart of Noxus.

No one is coming for me, he thought, How could they? No siege has ever defeated the Immortal Bastion. Garen was also aware that Noxus rarely takes prisoners, and those who were captured were never heard from again. He didn't have much time left, but he understood the risks of being a soldier and that this day would eventually come. Still, he couldn't help but feel regret over what could have been: a peaceful Runeterra, watching his sister grow into a strong leader, or living with the love that he could not have…

"The prisoner is awake! Stand at attention soldier, we have someone who'd like to meet you," sneered a prison guard who had suddenly appeared from the hallway.

"I wonder if you would have courage enough to say that, were I not in chains and behind bars?" Garen challenged back.

"Quiet, prisoner! I said stand at attention. Not talk back, you Demacian dog! I thought you were a soldier? Now follow your orders like a good boy," the guard retorted vehemently. No doubt he would not have spoken this way if Garen were free of his chains and outside the prison bars.

Garen moved to stand in the middle of the room as well as he could in his chains, with three more men armed to the teeth approaching the cell to stand guard. They're not taking any chances with me, the Demacian prisoner thought, and they escorted him down a seemingly endless flight of stairs, being none-too-friendly as they shoved and jabbed at him along the way. The windows began to disappear and the light inside the tower dimmed, with the only visibility coming from torch sconces scarcely placed along the cobbled walls. Eventually they made it to the bottom, revealing a long hallway that was filled with cells on either side. As they approached the end of the hall, Garen could make out what looked to be a larger, more durable cell, but it appeared that it had been repurposed for something else. He would soon find out what that something was.

Garen entered the chamber with the guards in tow and saw what could only be described as a torturer's paradise. Hanging from the walls were chains and spiked contraptions, there were two tables on the left side of the room containing different kinds of blunt and sharp tools, and at the center of the room was a frame that had chains attached to the top and bottom, most likely used to suspend prisoners while they were being tortured.

One of the guards motioned him to stand by this frame while the other guard removed his shackles. The third then took his arms and hoisted them over his head, connecting his wrists and then his ankles to the cuffs that were attached to the frame. These cuffs were specially designed, Garen noticed, because they had spikes on the inside that poked into his skin. If he pulled too much in one direction, the spikes would dig deeper into his flesh and draw blood, so he had to be careful and position himself so that wouldn't happen. Once chained to the frame, the guards left without saying a word and the Demacian prisoner was left in uncomfortable silence…

Hours had passed, though they may as well have been days the way Garen had exhausted himself to prevent his cuffs from tearing his skin open. It was then that a shorter man excitedly entered the room, and with a maniacal flash in his eyes he turned to the table with his tools as he began to prepare for an excruciating session.

"I apologize for not being able to contain myself. It's not everyday I get to apply my talents on someone of your stature, oooooh," he shuddered in anticipation, "The Might of Demacia," he proclaimed with such an eerie expression it sent chills down Garen's spine. It was utterly disgusting to Garen just how much of a degenerate this man truly was, but he knew he needed to conserve as much strength as possible for what was to come, and remained silent.

"You know, not a sound has slipped from your tongue since I entered the room. It's quite rude not to acknowledge one's presence, hehehe," the interrogator's twisted laugh echoed within the chamber, but he soon hummed a tune much more sinister. "Don't worry. When I'm through with you, you'll be singing, hehehe… sweet… sweeeet lullabies."

The deranged man grabbed a small incision tool from his table and made his way towards the prisoner, twisting it around and playing with the edge as he drew closer. With the spine of his scalpel, he slowly caressed Garen's right cheek, teasing himself over the eventual satisfaction of drawing blood. As the scalpel was about to leave Garen's cheek, the short man swiftly turned its edge until it met Garen's skin, and the first drop of crimson fell onto the blade. The interrogator reeled back, elated by the sight of blood and brought the scalpel close to his face. He examined it in every way possible, smelling the mixture of steel and blood, licking the droplets off like sap from a tree, and running his fingers along the blade.

Next, he grabbed the rags from Geralt's torso and ripped them off, revealing a canvas for the weasel to experiment with. He reached for a large knife and began carving gently around Geralt's muscles, hoping for a reaction from the prisoner. Not even a flinch would leave the Demacian's body, and the infuriated torturer decided he was done playing his games. Tightening his grip on the weapon, the rage-filled man struck Garen ferociously on the side of his hip, causing a deep gash to form which made the prisoner writhe in pain. Consequently, the pain from this attack caused Garen to forget about his special cuffs, and he tried to pull away from the torturer only to be met with more pain as the spikes dug deep into his skin, blood trickling all across his wrists and ankles.

With this newfound momentum, the spry little man rushed to the wall, grabbing a whip and moving towards Garen's backside. The psychopath began striking the prisoner's exposed back, forming deep lacerations that forced Garen to suspend from his wrist shackles, giving into the pain of the spikes digging into his flesh. The mighty Demacian began slipping in and out of consciousness with each new tool the sadist tested on him, and this affected his comprehension once the interrogator began asking questions about what he could only assume were Demacian secrets. Alas, judging from the tactics his interrogator was using, Garen didn't believe his answers would actually change his treatment and so he remained silent.

There wasn't any way to keep track of time in the dungeon, but Garen felt he had already lived there for an eternity. The Demacian was at the brink of collapse, numb from the pain with no more feeling in his wrists or ankles, the shackles being the only thing holding him up anymore. It was only as his vision began to fade that his ears could hear the clacking of boots against the cobblestone floor, reverberating in the halls as the sound grew closer.

What entered the room felt like much more than a man, but as Garen shifted his vision towards the entrance, he saw a tall figure with strong features and long sleek white hair, dressed in a black trench coat that he wore across his broad shoulders, and cold eyes that stared straight through him. The man spoke, and his voice resonated in the chamber as it drew the attention of the room directly to him, "And they call you the Might of Demacia. I wonder what they might call you now? 'Battered and Broken,' you reek of failure and defeat."

"Swain…" Garen croaked, finding some life at the sight of the Noxian Grand General. "How kind of you to show…"

"That's the first time he's talked all day," the interrogator exclaimed with great jealousy, but his demeanor soon faltered as Swain's overwhelming presence made him retreat to the corner of the chamber.

"Leave us," Swain ordered, and the little man scurried down the hallway in a flash.

"Do all the people of Noxus live in such fear of you as that weasel?" Garen sputtered out, mustering all of his energy to mock the Grand General.

"Only those who wish to keep their heads tied to their necks," Swain riposted with a tongue as silver as his hair, "... I knew nothing would escape your lips as it pertained to your precious kingdom," he continued, "though that was not the purpose of bringing you here."

Garen raised his head with curiosity, "Then for what purpose was this charade?"

"... To see the Might of Demacia fall," Swain shifted his left shoulder to the side, revealing a demonic red arm from underneath his coat that lit up the room. He thrust it forward and suddenly Garen felt weightless as the chains holding him to the frame snapped, and he came crashing down to the floor. Swain callously looked on as Garen struggled to move, and once the prisoner gave into his exhaustion and lay defeated on the floor, the Grand General decided to inform the man of his fate.

"I am sure you know Noxus does not take prisoners… at least not for long. You are to be made an example of, but a simple execution will not do the Might of Demacia justice. Tomorrow, you shall be brought to the brink of death. The day after, you will stare into the abyss and ask yourself if your code is still worth its price. Then you shall be paraded around the streets, and the people of Noxus will roar loud enough for all of Runeterra to hear… and then you will die," and with that, Swain left Garen to endure a fate worse than any man could ever dream of.

Part 3: A Grand Execution

The first day was all Swain had described and more. Garen was brought to a much larger torture chamber this time, with six individuals present wearing the insignia of the Black Rose. They each had their own role: two would have the task of breaking his body just like the sadistic weasel from day's past, two used magic to tear his mind apart, and the last two were actually healers who would pull him from the brink of death, but only so that he could continue being tortured by the other four.

The second day might have been more cruel than the first, as Garen was brought into solitude with his fresh wounds still very much intact. His confinement was spent in a uniquely designed chamber that was meant to strip people of their senses. Garen still had his eyes, but he could not see anything other than darkness. He still had his ears, but he could not hear anything except the sound of his heart beating to remind him he was - in fact - alive. He still had his voice, but he was compelled not to use it as there was no one there to listen. All that he was left with was his thoughts.

The third day he was chained atop a carriage and flaunted through the streets of Noxus. Civilians would yell obscenities and throw stones as he passed, while some would form groups and follow him until they grew bored and moved on with their day. Garen stood unfazed to the public humiliation as he had already become a shell of what he once was. He was ready to die. Ready for everything to finally be over.

The fourth day came. Garen lay in his original cell, this time with no shackles as the guards determined they weren't necessary anymore. Every now and again he would stare blankly out the window at the city that swallowed his soul. This time there were no regrets of living to see a peaceful Runeterra, of watching his sister grow up, of finding any type of love. He had no thoughts.

Nothing.

The guard who had once sneered at Garen upon his arrival this time said nothing, only motioning for the prisoner to prepare for his final moments. He must have taken pity on seeing a man who was once so full of life now devoid of it. Garen was escorted out of the tower and met with the entire city of Noxus, as everyone was lined up and down the streets waiting for this moment. It was a long walk to the gallows, and the Noxians cheered and hollered as he passed: the children were cruel, pets would glare and howl in disgust, and even the elderly who needed assistance walking were in attendance. Swain had promised him an execution worthy of the Might of Demacia, but the man that trudged towards his death no longer felt he represented that title.

They reached the foot of the gallows, and Garen clambered up the steps one by one as the crowd fought each other for the best view, all screaming at the top of their lungs for his head. He made his way to the noose and stood over the trapdoor that would send him to wherever lost souls go. The Shadow Isles perhaps, Garen thought to himself, or maybe there is nothing on the other side. It no longer mattered where he would go, he didn't have much to offer the afterlife anymore. The executioner approached Garen and tightened the noose around his neck, then waltzed over to the lever controlling the trapdoor.

Standing tall above the gallows was a balcony which Swain appeared atop of, and he began to make his speech to the city with a magically-amplified voice:

"People of Noxus! We are gathered here today to bear witness to the fall of the Might of Demacia. This is no man standing before you, but a symbol of worthless values. Courage. Perseverance. Justice." Swain said each word with disgust that was then reciprocated by the crowd. "No. He represents all who oppose this great nation: Failure! He is Bruised! Battered! Broken!" The crowd cheered at this new personification of the defeated man standing before them. "Our strength has brought us this victory, and it is that strength which will bring glory to Noxus, as we become the greatest empire in all of Runeterra!" The crowd erupted in hurrahs. It was the moment Swain had been waiting for, and it was finally upon him. Satisfied, he scanned the citizens below and made eye contact with the executioner, motioning him to get ready. "And it all begins… NOW!"

The executioner reached for the lever and yanked it backwards, dropping the trapdoor and sending Garen towards his final descent into nothingness…

Fwooooooooooh

SNAP!

Garen fell hard onto the floor underneath the gallows, leaving the audience stunned as the man vanished before their eyes. A hooded figure was kneeling near the Demacian, motioning him to follow them towards the back of the gallows. However, the man who had just cheated death lay lifeless on the ground, with the sudden shock of what had just happened and his newfound apathy, he was left fixed in a delusional state. The hooded figure hurriedly rushed to him and slapped him across the face, pulling his senses into focusing on them. Grabbing his arm, the mysterious savior pulled him out of the gallows and effortlessly pushed through the oblivious crowd, as they were more concerned with the commotion the guards were making atop the platform.

Garen followed the cloaked figure swiftly to an unoccupied alley. He could feel his body ache and scream from his wounds, but his recent slap to the face had ignited a flame deep inside of him that he had been lacking ever since he woke up in that cell, and knew this was his only chance he had at escaping. So began the biggest race of his life, and he followed his guide to a sewer grate which they opened, helping him descend down the ladder and closing the grate behind them.

The hooded figure said nothing and moved quickly, frequently checking the sewer map they had taped onto their wrist and supporting Garen when he needed it. His mind was racing too fast to even bother asking questions, and they weaved through the maze of sludge and rodents at the fastest pace he could manage. Soon he could hear the echo of guards barking orders while their armor clunked up and down, growing closer in some places and further in others.

Finally, Garen and his savior found themselves upon natural light as they reached a human-sized drain which appeared to be their exit strategy. The drain had a grate that would be too tight to fit through normally, but the bottom seemed to have had a hole cut through it recently, allowing him just enough space to squeeze out of. Once they both exited the drain, the hooded figure drew his attention to two horses that were tied to a tree about twenty paces away. Garen made his way to the larger of the two, but had trouble climbing onto it while trying to manage wounds that were not remotely close to healing yet. The hooded figure rose to the occasion once again and helped the weak man mount the horse's back, then went to untie their leads and climbed onto the smaller horse.

The escapees rode with blinding speed, leaving behind the Immortal Bastion at a breakneck pace. They made their way through the plains and farmland surrounding the kingdom and soon neared the bridge that would take them across the border. The only problem was this bridge was a well-defended outpost with lots of traffic from caravans and merchants. This didn't seem to faze the cloaked figure as it was full-speed ahead, and they began rapidly approaching the final step to their escape plan. Guards soon noticed the two blurs weaving through trader caravans heading directly for them, and jumped on their horses to begin their pursuit.

Garen was slipping out of consciousness as his adrenaline was beginning to wear off and he could endure no more from the past several days of punishment and exhaustion. Realizing that the battered man would be unable to defend himself against their incoming pursuers, the hooded figure began to slow down in order to engage with them.

Garen helplessly watched on as his only source of hope cut down guard after guard, throwing daggers and dealing out precision strikes as they made their way across the bridge. Suddenly arrows began flying as horse archers attempted one last effort to stop the escapees. One of them was lucky enough to land directly in Garen's left shoulder and his vision began to fade, but before he completely went under, he caught glimpse of another arrow that glanced off the hooded figure's head, ripping the cloth free and revealing scarlet hair that flowed beautifully in the wind, and the last thing he saw was a woman's face with a scar over her left eye…

Part 4: Forbidden Love

Garen awoke with bandages wrapped around his waist and the shoulder that had been struck by the stray arrow from their last skirmish. He tried to take in his surroundings by tilting his head as much as his body would allow, feeling too sore to move anything else. The lighting was dim but from what he could make out, he was inside a small shack. It was most likely built for intimacy as there were no partition walls for privacy and it only seemed to have the bare necessities.

A bed just barely big enough for two which Garen was resting on sat in the back left corner. Across the room from him was a rudimentary kitchen and some cupboards for storage. To the right of the kitchen was a fireplace and chimney that stood at the center of the far wall, with a couch and table facing it from the center of the shack. At the end of the far wall diagonal from the bed was a small dining table, and across from that and to the right of Garen was a bunch of gear and extra linens sprawled along the floor. There were two doors on either side of the shack, with the one furthest from Garen most likely leading outside, while the door to his immediate left must have led to the bathroom as he could hear water running from the other side.

Garen lay on the right side of the bed, and next to him he noticed an end table that had a pitcher of water and a glass on top. He attempted to motion towards it, but found himself unable to as his body was still unresponsive to his commands: his injuries had finally taken their toll on him. The immobile Demacian decided to wait and rest until whoever had brought him here could aid him in his recovery.

Garen's thoughts began obsessing over who could have possibly saved him from within the heart of Noxus, but then he remembered the final moments of his escape… Katarina. A chill went down his spine at the mere thought of her: the woman his heart could not shake, yet he could never pursue her as his duty to Demacia forbade him from fraternizing with the Noxian assassin. No one would ever approve of their relationship, especially with all of the Demacian's that she's killed in the past. Though the same could be said of him, he thought. How many Noxians have I slain? How many widows and broken families have I created? His head kept spinning in circles as he began contemplating how he had ever fallen for her in the first place.

Suddenly, Garen heard the water start to drain from the other room, and his anxiety began to build as we waited for them to open the door in front of him. An eternity must have passed by now. No, two! What is taking so long? Garen racked his brain so much in anticipation he failed to notice the door was already open, and the woman of his dreams was revealed before him.

Her hair was a darker shade of red than what he remembered, as it was still wet from what must have been her bathing earlier. She was wearing her combat bra and leggings, but everything else was scattered among the gear on the floor, not leaving much to Garen's imagination. Her tattoo was entirely visible with the lack of clothing, starting from her hip and leading all the way up her left side, but all Garen was fixated on was her piercing green eyes. Not even the scar over her left eye could detract from their beauty…

"You're finally awake," she uttered, moving to his side and helping him drink the water he had tried to reach earlier. "Your wounds are deep and there's plenty of them. They really did a number on you… It's going to take quite a while before you're back to full strength." Katarina's hair fell gently to the side of the bed next to Garen as she drew awkwardly close to him while dressing his wounds.

"I never suspected anyone might save me from the perils of Noxus' capital. I had forgotten what hope was until I saw you underneath the gallows."

"There you go spouting that heroic prose like you've come straight out of a fairy tale," Katarina sighed in playful annoyance as she began wringing out the rag she was using over a bucket of water.

"Did you only save me so that you could mock me?" Garen asked, dumbfounded at her attack on his speech patterns. People love talking to me back home, he thought.

"I owed you for that time in Demacia. Your lackey's were too stupid to realize they were outmatched, so it was good that you stepped in to save me the trouble of wetting my blades," Katarina reveled in her own skill as Garen recounted the events much differently. If he remembered correctly, he had to rush in front of her to prevent a hail of arrows raining down on the scarlet-haired assassin.

"I would beg to disagree, but after the stunt you just pulled? I don't think I can doubt you ever again," Garen didn't think now was the time to get on her bad side, but he couldn't help his curiosity. "But that can't be the only reason you would go through such great lengths to save me. Defying your emperor? That's treason of the highest order!"

"Never ask a woman to explain herself, it makes you look desperate. Probably why you've never courted a lady before," Katarina did not seem to be pulling any punches against the fatigued Demacian.

"Yes, it was definitely so she could mock me," Garen muttered to himself. There was an awkward silence afterwards as she continued to treat his wounds, occasionally pulling out potions and herbs she would have him take.

"Those potions. Did you make them yourself?" Garen asked in an attempt to break the silence.

"I did."

"I never took you for a healer."

"I'm not, so don't get used to it," she snapped, but then quickly shifted her tone, "I learned what I needed to survive…" Katarina's voice trailed off, seeming to reminisce over a dark part of her life that she wished to leave behind.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it. I just felt much better after taking them…" Garen made his best attempt to avoid digging any further into his grave.

Katarina laughed, making Garen feel even more uneasy, but she soon calmed his nerves with her response, "It's not your fault I had a rough upbringing. But it made me stronger - at least - strong enough to save your sorry hide," Katarina smiled as she stood up and moved towards her combat gear. "I need to fetch us dinner before it gets too dark outside. Try not do anything stupid while I'm gone."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The scarlet assassin returned with a decent haul they could use for the next couple of days, and began roasting a few of them for that night. As the sun set and the air grew colder, Katarina had to essentially carry Garen over to the couch so that he could stay warm by the fireplace. They enjoyed their meal and talked about many things: family, cultural differences, and funny stories that helped pass the time as sleep slowly crept up on them, with them both passing out on the couch in front of the fire.

About a week went by with the two of them sticking to a similar routine to the first day, as they slowly tried rehabilitating Garen until he could fully move on his own. The world around them seemed to stop moving as they stayed in this unassuming cabin in the woods, with the cares of the world becoming seemingly insignificant. One night, the two stared into the fireplace in silence, watching as the flames flickered back and forth, dancing upon the wood as if it were their stage. Garen's hand slowly met Katarina's on the couch between them, and the touch brought their eyes together as they stared longingly at one another. Garen spoke first, looking back to the dancing flames as he did:

"A part of me has always wished the fighting would simply cease one day, so that we could see what peace would really be like. If only people could see what we were truly fighting for, maybe then we would be able to move on and pursue our dreams."

"And what dreams are those?" Katarina asked curiously.

Garen thought to himself for a few moments, then responded, "I would like to see my sister not have to grow up in constant war, be able to repair a broken relationship with an old friend…" and then he turned back towards the scarlet-haired woman whom his heart could no longer resist, "...and be with the one I love."

With that, Garen drew closer to Katarina and closed his eyes. She initially pulled back, her mind racing as she realized what was unfolding right in front of her. But just as he had denied his feelings for her for so long, she too was done living in denial, and lunged in to lock her lips with his. They shared a long and passionate kiss, savoring the moment they thought would never come. Their movements became more intense as they drew closer to each other, and Katarina would soon find out that Garen had returned to his full strength. He lifted her up off the couch and held her in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around his waist while she stared seductively into his eyes.

The star-crossed lovers finally allowed themselves to follow their hearts instead of their duty, and it was everything they could have hoped for and more. Garen slowly carried Katarina to bed, and the two gave into their desires at this unassuming cabin in the woods, where the cares of the world became seemingly insignificant.

Part 5: A Better Future

Katarina stirred from her sleep, reaching to the other side of the bed in a subconscious effort to hold her love. What she ended up with was nothing more than a pillow and empty space.

A wave of despair washed over Katarina as she moseyed out of bed, still drowsy as she began rubbing her eyes. She realized that she wasn't wearing her combat bra, or anything at all for that matter. Oh yeah, thoughts of the previous night began slipping back into her mind, filling her with ecstasy as the gravity of what happened dawned on her. She reminisced over the first time they met, and how long they had to reject their feelings in service of a cause greater than themselves. But in this unassuming cabin in the woods, her loyalties did not lie with her nation or her emperor, nor any type of code she held herself to before. She only wanted him.

As Katarina became more aware of her surroundings having been indisposed by tired thoughts, her nose caught a scent coming from the far side of the cabin that made her stomach growl. Navigating towards the delicious smell - making a slight detour to slip into some clothes - she found herself at the dining table salivating over the sight of a prepared breakfast. No doubt it was intended for her as she could see some light crumbs on the table next to her meal, meaning someone must have already treated themselves to their's. She could still feel heat emanating from the food, noting that it must have been made rather recently. Katarina's stomach prompted her to stop admiring and she quickly dug in, devouring her meal in a matter of minutes.

Now with a full belly and a sharp mind, the scarlet-haired woman turned her attention towards the now looming question which made heart churn: where had Garen gone?

Exiting the shack and onto the porch, Katarina could see that it was growing later into the morning, with the sun trying to peek through the trees as well as it could. Birds chirped and wildlife frolicked about as nature seemed to be living undisturbed in this moment. About twenty paces ahead of the shack stood the man that she loved, dressed and leaning against a tree with his left arm as he stared intensely out into the wilderness.

Silently, she crept up behind him and slipped her left arm into his free one, causing him to turn his gaze towards her. The man's smile could warm even the heart of Sion in that moment, glowing in the morning sun as he brought his left hand to Katarina's cheek.

"It seems you caught some breakfast with your face," he said as he brushed away the crumbs, causing Katarina to blush. He continued, "I thought I could make that as a thank you for saving me… and for last night."

"You could thank me by not leaving my sight. I thought you had run off without me…" Katarina countered, remembering just how much her heart had sunk at the thought of him disappearing without a trace.

Garen's smile faded into a serious expression as he looked longingly into her eyes, "I would never leave you without saying goodbye."

"Goodbye?" Katarina asked emptily as she peered out into the woods, feeling the temperature grow colder as she loosened her grip on his arm, wondering what he meant with that word choice.

Garen turned her cheek to face him again, this time with pain in his eyes. He knew what he was about to say would break both of their hearts, but he was not a man to avoid responsibility for the inevitable, "I must go back to Demacia. When I was subjected to the villainy of Noxus' cruelties… I lost hope," his voice broke in recollection of his time spent within the Immortal Bastion, and there was a long pause before he could continue. "But I realized that with all of the worst that this world has to offer, there is still always something worth fighting for…" Garen struggled as tears began to form in both lover's eyes with each passing word. "My people must never lose their resolve as I once did, and so I must return to help them never forget why we fight."

"Why can't we just forget about the war?" Katarina knew what she was about to say was futile, but her desperation forced her to continue anyways, "This violence will never end. All each side does is talk about fighting for peace, but we all know deep down that day will never come. It's just an excuse to promote an endless cycle of death! We don't have to let the meaningless ideologies of our nations prevent us from being together. Stay with me. I don't care what the rest of our lives look like, I just need you…"

Garen didn't even need to respond, for his eyes had already told her everything she needed to know, but he spoke nonetheless, "I wish to fight for a day where we all have the freedom to be with the ones we love. I cannot lose faith in that goal as I once did, otherwise I would condemn them to live in a world I could not bear living in."

"Well," Katarina defeatedly declared, "I'm sorry you feel that way," and before he could respond, she let go of his arm and stormed back to the cabin in frustration, knowing there was nothing else she could do. Garen felt the enormous weight of two shattered hearts holding him in place, with his thoughts being drowned out by the ambience of the forest…

Quite some time passed before Garen could muster enough strength to enter the cabin again. He nervously opened the door, expecting to see the scarlet-haired assassin glaring into his soul, but there was no one there to greet him. He was slightly relieved as her presence might have sapped his remaining courage and rendered him immobile. Garen turned to the kitchen and the gear still sprawled across the floor as he began collecting resources for his journey back home. He contemplated all that had happened in recent events and wondered if he was making the right choice, or had he squandered his only chance at happiness?

Finally packed and ready to start on the road back to his kingdom, Garen took one last look at the unassuming cabin in the woods, made his silent goodbyes, and opened the door of no return. He made it about halfway to the large black mare stationed forty paces away, when he heard the snapping of twigs behind him.

The man turned around to see the woman who had saved him from certain death, now dressed in her full combat gear staring back at him. She approached him gracefully and as she drew within the last few feet, he suddenly feared she was actually going to stab him. Garen closed his eyes, accepting his fate as he realized only now he had - in fact - made the wrong choice. However, instead of a dagger to his throat, he felt the soft contact of her lips with his as she embraced him. They held each other for what seemed like forever, but eventually Katarina pulled back and joked, "The next time we meet on a battlefield, it will be a dagger to your throat instead of my lips."

Garen laughed at the thought of her seemingly reading his mind, and he turned to hoist himself up on his horse, this time needing no help. He turned the horse sideways so that he could face her and responded, "Then I shall not meet you next on the battlefield, but when Noxus and Demacia finally attain peace. When that day comes, I will find you and bring us back here so we can finally be together."

With one last nod, he set off on his journey back to Demacia as Katarina looked on. As he faded amidst the trees, Katarina whispered to herself, "I'd hold you to it, but we both know we'll be long dead before that day ever comes…"

END