Disclaimer: League of Legends is property of its respective owners.
A/N: It's been a rather challenging year, to say the least, and I've only recently had the time and motivation to return to my writing. We've got updates to both my ongoing fic projects in the pipeline, and a quick sub-2k oneshot I threw together to shake off the rust.
Chapter Eleven: A Nighttime Encounter
Contrary to what a certain wildly-popular weekly entertainment broadcast out of Piltover would depict, the work of Intelligence and Counter-Espionage tended to be quite boring. Less kicking down doors and desperate shootouts and more tedious interviews and document cross-examinations. Days turned into weeks turned into months, with Morgana and I quickly settling into a routine. We'd go over yesterday's findings or whatever news we got from the others over breakfast, then brief the handful of peacekeepers assigned to us that day before teleporting to the Laurent estate. On a good day, we might parse through a few dozen pages of some dusty diary or genealogy. On a really good day, we'd find a good-enough description of a weapon wielded or trophy claimed to try and match it to the relics in the armory. Exact matches were rare, but we could often narrow it down to a half-dozen possibilities or less.
Some six months after our initial arrival in Demacia, and we had made a decent-sized dent in the mountain of photographs. Plenty more remained, and quite a few descriptions went completely unmatched. Most were too vague or too generic, but a not-insignificant portion simply couldn't be reasonably matched to anything we could find in the armory. Those in the second group, we filed away for later review, though nothing we'd uncovered so far seemed like it would be of any interest to an ancient being of judgment.
Hey, look at this, Morgana casually leaned over my shoulder, brushing my current tome aside and plopping an equally-ancient one down in front of me.
My eyes scanned down the faded lines until they settled on the text underneath a single slim finger.
Diary of Geoffroi de Laurent, she quickly filled in as I read the rest of the page, A fourth son. Wandering knight and duelist.
Says here that he dueled a Targonian warrior and so impressed them that they awarded him the sword off their hip… I tilted my head to the side to meet Morgana's gaze.
I quickly grabbed the nearest stack of reference texts, scanning down the spines and hurriedly shoving them aside in search of a particular volume. When I couldn't find it in the current pile, I grabbed the next-closest stack and repeated the process. Four stacks and an amused huff from Morgana later and I cradled a surprisingly-heavy tome on ancient Targonian weaponry in my hands. I plopped it down above Geoffroi's diary and began leafing through the pages.
From the era, would probably be a xiphos, I tapped the sketch with one hand as I flipped the diary page with the other, Not a very common type of blade in this part of Valoran…
At some point, Morgana had gone ahead and looped in the peacekeepers assigned to us today on our mental conversation, judging from how they were currently sorting through the photographs for examples of the short leaf-shaped blades. They were fairly rare outside of the immediate area around Mount Targon, and examples from so long ago were almost nonexistent. A blade like that would be kept until it fell apar-
Then it hit me.
What's a Targonian warrior doing that far from Mount Targon? Morgana hurriedly unfolded a map of ancient Demacia, fingers tracing until she found the town mentioned a handful of pages ago.
From the dates, he would've been…, Morgana's wings shifted to allow me to stand closer to her as I drew a circle with my fingers, Here at most…
And his description of the Targonian, she allowed an amused giggle to escape, Doesn't it remind you of a certain…how did you put it back then? A 'dick'?
My response was lost amidst a sudden choking fit.
In the end, we never found the mentioned blade among the photographs, and if our suspicions of the sword's origins were correct, I highly doubted House Laurent would have allowed such a trophy to be thrown out. It was purely academic at this point in time, however, as Fiora had politely but firmly thrown us out early. Apparently a minor Demacian noble from some house or another thought they'd be the one to end the duelist's unbroken streak of brutal rejections. Nevertheless, there were protocols to be followed, and it wouldn't do for a prospective suitor to see Institute personnel running around the Laurent estate.
On one hand, not being able to follow up on our first real lead in months—Fiora had remained adamant that none of the contents of her library leave estate grounds—frustrated me to no end. On the other hand, there would no doubt be an amusing tale circulating the gossip circles within the next few days, and Morgana and I and a handful of Institute peacekeepers found ourselves with the first free evening since arriving in Demacia.
An indeterminate amount of time later found us sharing a table at a local tavern. A generous helping of cheap tavern food—some roasted meat, cheeses, seasonal vegetables, and fresh bread—and moderate amounts of alcohol later, and any frustrations lay forgotten in the back of my mind. I discovered, with equal amounts of amusement and horror, that the Sergeant of today's peacekeeper detail started at the Institute around the same time I did, and like anyone else who was in training around that time, he had to tell that particular tale.
"So they couldn't continue the exercise while the safety wards were down, but they couldn't exactly call them off, either…"
I groaned and sank a bit further into my seat. I just knew Morgana was going to needle me for all this was worth the next time we were alone. The aforementioned woman was currently leaning in towards the Sergeant, half-filled tankard of ale gripped in one hand as she rested her chin on the other.
"So the next day, they issue all the trainee Summoners these little fabric pouches filled with beads…"
A pair of amused glowing eyes turned towards me, their owner's easygoing smile only faltering as she raised her hand to stifle a giggle. She was shoving through the link the mental image of a slightly-younger me dashing throughout the training ground, pelting my targets—trainee Summoners and peacekeepers alike—with bead-filled pouches while announcing the spell I would have used had the wards been active.
Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt! Lightning bolt! Mental-image-me chanted.
My mock-annoyed grunt was answered with a grin that promised she was never allowing me to live this one down.
Morgana's shoulders still shook with silent laughter as we strode out of the tavern arm-in-arm. The peacekeepers raised their tankards in mock salute, I responded with a rather rude gesture at the insinuation, and they only whooped and hollered louder as the door slammed shut. The two of us were pleasantly buzzed, I'd already arranged for a few jugs of water to be delivered to our rooms at the inn, and the inn itself was only a few streets down anyway, so neither of us were in a particular hurry to get back. The sun had long since set, but it wasn't so late that the capital's bustling nightlife had slowed down any. Late-night vendors plied their goods, the sounds of singing and instruments filtered over the buzz of human activity, and the two of us were little more than another pair of faces in the crowd.
As we passed a minstrel regaling a small but attentive crowd with some tale that probably involved knighly valor and courtly love, Morgana stumbled and grabbed a bit more tightly onto my arm to steady herself as she leaned in closer for stability.
"Whoops," she sloppily giggled, "Probably had a bit more than I thought tonight…"
My thoughts of just how suddenly her behavior had changed scattered to the winds as I felt hot breath against my cheek. Before I could turn my head to check on my companion, I felt a pair of warm lips press against my jawline. A sudden tug on the link refocused me.
Over there…by the alleyway…
I stumbled slightly as Morgana leaned more heavily into me, my head tilting back just enough to see the alleyway she had pointed out. Surely enough, I could see a handful of plainly-dressed revelers who were trying a bit too hard to look like they didn't notice us. That pleasant buzz disappeared, my eyes sweeping the street around us as I righted myself.
Over there as well…another three or four of them…
The pair of lips that pressed themselves against my cheek were not doing my heart rate any favors. A mental poke told me she saw the other group as well.
Magehunters?
I thought about it for a second.
No…too amateurish.
We continued our meandering stroll through the capital, silently appraising our pursuers. None had the signature uneven gait of a concealed blade, and none tried approaching any closer than they already had. I readied some magic around my hands anyway, and a familiar sensation in the back of my head told me Morgana had done the same. We subtly increased the amount as I noticed a third group of pursuers, the least subtle one of the night, consisting of a lone figure in a heavy travel cloak. Something about the way it settled over the figure struck me as familiar, but I couldn't quite place why.
The two of us only relaxed as we stepped over the threshold of the inn entrance. As the door closed, I chanced a glance backwards. Only the lone pursuer remained, and I could swear I saw two pinpricks of gold underneath the travel hood in the moments before the door slammed shut.
A/N: For today's musing, let's talk Piltover and Zaun. I was originally going to talk about Noxus, but, well, Arcane is a thing, and it's apparently pretty good.
The Institute maintains a mutually-profitable relationship with Piltover and Zaun. Their accumulated magical knowledge is in high demand, and a lot of gold they earn from these ventures is immediately spent on Piltover- and Zaun-manufactured technology. Everything from the sunglasses several chapters ago to entire airships. More importantly, the Institute makes up for the fact that its peacekeepers are neither as numerous as the Noxian legions or as well-trained as the Demacian army with mass adoption of Zaun-made chemtech firearms. Since most other nations of Runeterra have yet to adopt firearms on any appreciable scale, this leads to Institute peacekeepers to typically resemble medieval soldiers with assault rifles. They also have an under-the-table relationship with Clan Ferros, to the point that Camille is a full Champion, and Zaun is a rich talent pool for the Institute to recruit from.
