Chapter 7
"Is this really the right thing? I can tolerate the redhead but now you ask me to trust that assassin? Need I remind you of his profile? He is not someone to be trusted, especially not here," Vayne said as she circled impatiently about in Jarvan's office.
"That's something for me to decide," Jarvan replied as he shifted through a stack of stained paperwork.
"So you are willing to put everyone at risk?" Vayne continued.
"We are all already at risk simply by being here, now is not the time to ask for comforts and safety."
"Yes, but what you are doing here is just recklessness."
Jarvan quickly casted a glance at Vayne and then resumed his papers.
"You are the one to teach me recklessness?" Jarvan said with a light chuckle, "do you not remember what happened after Demacia fell?"
Vayne choked for a second before clearing her throat with a forced cough and took off her ruby glasses.
"That-that was different. I was in the middle of everything, it's… it was difficult," Vayne replied.
"Hard to imagine someone like you losing your cool, you practically went insane on those Noxians, almost died too, if it were not for me. It was pretty damn difficult trying to find all your precious silver bolts in the mass of bodies, I could've swore you went full Freljord on me," Jarvan said half-jokingly.
"Well, the League isn't here anymore to keep my silver supply up," Vayne said with a light smile.
Jarvan paused from his work and stood up for a stretch, revealing the outlines of his rugged but still muscular form. He gave his false arm a few cranks before loosening the bolts and taking it off, setting it aside on his desk. He paced himself to the room's windows and opened the drapes, causing a swift cloud of dust to swirl into the room. As he did so, the light of the ever present lunar orb softly bathed the room in a serene glow with its natural night dimming out the flickering candlelight.
Jarvan surveyed the horizon which was covered in an impenetrable darkness. In the corner of his eye he caught sight of an ever growing flame, hungrily devouring all that surrounds it and spreads like an inferno plague. The deathly blaze tore the sreneity of the night apart, torching the area as though it was day and repelled all of the moon's grace. The Noxians burned down everything in sight, defiling all that is verdant and alive into a vast, charcoal wasteland in order to make space for Swain's many projects. Day by day the flames would creep closer and closer to the rebel's hideout and each day the grip of Swain's Noxus tightens. It never stops and never rests, always hungering for more.
Jarvan let out a faint sigh and rubbed the bridge of his weary eyes.
"It is tiresome. Every one of us now wants nothing more than a break, a rest. How many here even cares about defeating Swain anymore. I can see it in their eyes," Jarvan said in a monotone voice.
Vayne laid her gloved hands on Jarvan's stiff shoulders. "If that's what you are thinking, then that's what everyone else will think."
"And I'm trying not to, but I'm only human. I'm only human to that man, and here is a difference that sets us apart, and a weakness. I'm human, and he's… he's hollow, empty, and he can and will do anything for his goals. He's unstoppable, he isn't human, Swain, no, he's the sum of everything I despise and he knows this. He knows I'm only human and sooner or later, even I will be worn and weak," Jarvan said in gloom.
"I think that's strength, being human that is. I've seen a lot during my days of a hunter. I've seen criminals that have no remorse, men that have already passed the point of no return. They are feared because they have lost their humanity, but they are also weak. As long as we remain human, we can continue to do things, progress. Men like Swain are doomed to fail, they have abandoned what they were born as," Vayne replied.
"Maybe you are right. I don't know, I'm just… tired."
"You are our leader, everyone looks up to you. Don't falter now, we need you. Just bear with it, I know that soon we will get through."
Jarvan laughed, "Ha, that's quite optimistic coming from you."
"I don't ever recall being a pessimist. A black robe and these glasses and you think I am ready to roll over in defeat? Quite judgemental aren't you," Vayne joked.
Jarvan chuckled and returned to his seat, clearing his desk of the paperwork before donning a serious expression on his face, as though he was ready to get down to business.
"So, let's talk about the plan," he began.
"Plan?"
"Like you said, I'm not ready to charge blindly into Swain's armies just yet. I'm not reckless, like you think."
"Let's hear it then."
"As much as I would like to have surveillance on Talon, he's a top assassin and knows better, he would probably not do anything while we watch but he is sneaky, even for you."
"So what are you suggesting then?" Vayne asked.
"I need to know one thing; is he really telling the truth. I most certainly hope he is, as we are of course in need of allies. But I need to know, and I will spring a trap for him. He knows too much right now, and I have to be sure," Jarvan replied.
"He said he found us by tracking Du Couteau, hard to believe."
"A bait, we will set a trap. We need to touch the surface of the pond first, see how he reacts. Tomorrow, there will be a mission to rescue a group of captured Demacian rebels in a nearby village who are awaiting execution. However, that will be a ruse. I will leak this information to the Noxians and make them think this is the major operation. There will be a secondary mission, the true mission, where we will be attacking a caravan containing a major supply of weapons to Demacia. The Noxians will divert most of their army here to the village where we will attack and the caravan will be, or should be mostly unguarded."
Vayne realized Jarvan's plan.
"But if Talon was a spy, and then the caravan will be guarded," Vayne said.
Jarvan confirmed it with a nod.
"I will be sending a small raid party with Kat and Talon to the caravan and gauge their will be instructed to retreat immediately if they notice any heavy resistance."
"But this is completely hinging on how that assassin acts. It's a heavy risk you are taking to trust him after even if he doesn't reveal himself."
Jarvan gave a light sigh and rested his eyes for the moment.
"There is no other way."
It was a new day, and the day when Katarina is given her first mission. Or perhaps a more fitting word was, forced upon. The rebels were informed of a major operation commencing very soon later the day. It would be a two-pronged assault. They will launch a major attack on a nearby Noxian held village to free captured rebels while sneaking an attack on a major supply caravan. It was a bold plan with hinges of cunning strikes here and there, not unlike how Noxus conducts its own wars. Brute force with a sly mixture of deception, and with just the right amount any opposition will be utterly destroyed.
Katarina didn't know just why she agreed to this. Partly because she had no choice but even in her heart she did not feel the reluctance she would've had days ago. And with Talon at her side, perhaps she regained some confidence. True, boredom did do a few tricks in persuading her, after all, she was born and bred as a warrior at heart, ready to strike and kill. Ultimately, she agreed and was part of the small raid party on the caravan.
The plan in itself was simplistic by nature yet brutally effective. The supply caravan is one of Noxus' most important route which constantly gave occupied Demacia fresh food and weapons to maintain their rule. If crippled, the garrison in the city could face a destabilization and possible revolt. The Noxian troops there may not then have the proper supplies to suppress the rebellion. The more Katarina thought of the plan, the better it sounded. Maybe after all, these rebels weren't just frolicking around, awaiting their impending doom. She could see resolve and determination and most importantly, a goal in their eyes, a clear objective and vision that they were willing to give their life for; a freed Valoran.
The manor acted as the headquarters but the rebels gathered in various, secretive spots spread all over the continent. Because the headquarters constantly moved places, maintaining a network of communications was crucial. Fortunately, they had the aid of cutting edge Piltoveran technmaturgy in forms of highly advanced radios that could emit signals anywhere in secret and without interruption.
It was busy as people buzzed about frantically to coordinate this large mission. They no longer batted so much as an eye at Katarina who stuck out like a sore thumb. One, she was a Noxian and two, she was a deadly beauty with striking red hair that one could see and notice even in the most crowded of spaces. Sometimes, she cursed this conspicuousness of hers which hindered her duties as an assassin but nonetheless she always got her job done. Though this time however, she would simply stick out far too much. She was a known legend amongst all on Valoran and her days as a champion added fuel to this flame. She would no longer be able to adorn her prized crimson flocks, the one feminine trait that this Noxian dealer of death had.
"Let's get this over with," Katarina weakly said as though afraid of what is to come.
She was seated on a rusted, split salon chair. The once velvet linings of this piece had devolved into dark patches of rough, unrecognizable fuzz. An old but clean white sheet was tied around her neck and draped gently down, covering her whole body. Before her was a desk with scissors and various other hairdressing tools and a dull mirror which barely reflected her face as she sat in agitation.
This was resemblance of an ad hoc barber shop that littered the shanty town of Demacia where the citizens would go and get their hair down now that all professional shops had been either closed or razed down. The Noxians had wanted room for more 'purposeful things' like barracks, mess halls and to Katarina's knowledge, brothels.
"Please, do it quick," Katarina said, this time shaking a little.
Behind her was Sona who gently assessed Katarina's scalp. She took a pair of combs and began to lightly brush Katarina's smooth, silken hair like a mother to her daughter. Sona let out a slight but soothing smile and held Katarina's head up to the mirror so she could see herself.
"No matter what, you will always be beautiful," Sona's telepathic voice spoke to Katarina.
"Easy for you to say when you still get to keep your hair," Katarina protested.
Sona smiled again as her cyan hair flowed about like the calming sea. However, Katarina felt as though they were deliberately mocking her as they danced past her face. Whenever she peered at the scissors before her, she would tremble a bit like a frightened girl. She have had dealt with claymores the size of entire men slashing at her and blades sharp enough to cut a leaf in half but these whimsy little blades had struck her with a binding fear. Indeed, it was a strange yet marvellous sight to behold.
Sona placed her careful hands upon Katarina's stuff shoulders, reassuring her. The Maven of the Strings emanated a pure, gentle aura of calmness that none other had. Katarina felt as though she had landed in a sun warmed paradise surrounded by the slow, rolling waves of a calling sea. A small bit of her worries had faded away in Sona's caressing arms.
"Your hair will grow back just as time heals all wounds," Sona told Katarina.
Katarina remained silent. In her mind, she could only prepare for the inevitable. The apocalyptic doom of having her hair cut awaits her; it was her fate and her only path now. She would rather see the world end now then have her hair fall before her very eyes. Oh, the dread. She tightly shut her eyes and decided that she would hide behind in the little dark room for the rest of her existence.
As these thoughts ran through her head, she gave off a quiet, uncharacteristic whimper. Sona, amused by this, chuckled before deciding to take up the scissors and trim the hair. She felt like she was grooming a frightened little puppy.
Despite her closed eyes, Katarina's trained ears could still hear the deathly snipping of the cold scissor blades. The truth was truly inescapable.
"Make sure it doesn't hurt," she gave out one final plea just as Sona was about to make her first cut.
"Of course."
She could feel it. The blades of death now had a large flock of her hair in hold like hostages. Then, the scissors came together in a slow, agonizing second. Snip. The blades closed and she could feel her hair fall lifelessly to the ground. That chilling, steely sound struck deep into her. While she felt no psychical pain, her insides ached all over at a phantom pain. At that instant, she could remember everything; her first haircut.
She was still a young, unassuming child back then. When her hair grew long, her father forced her to a grunt of a barber more suited for shaving heads for the military than to cut a delicate girl's hair. He had kept pulling and manhandling her head like she was a soldier. It was rough and painful. She could still see the vivid images in head of endless shreds of her beloved hair raining down. She remembered how hard she cried, her sobs were unceasing. Her father, determined to train her into a future killer, decided that her daughter cannot cry at such petty little things, locked her in a dark chamber with only bread and water for three days. She was told that if she cried at simply losing some hair, then she might as well leave the house for she was not worthy of the Du Couteau name. In a way, that was quite a successful method. Ever since however, she had avoided the barber as much as possible.
However, when compared to that roughhouse barber, Sona was divine. Her smooth hands trimmed her hair with ease without once pulling or poking her scalp. Even the dreadful snips of the scissors were gentle and symphonic as though she was playing an instrument. It was steady and calming and the absolute opposite of Noxian barbers everywhere. Objectively thinking, Katarina decided that if Sona had been a hairdresser instead, she might've made quite a name for herself. Still, Katarina did not enjoy a single moment of this as her hair continued to fall, but at least she did not have to relive the memories of her childhood.
With each cut, she made soft whimpers. Her entire body as tight and stiff like she was being tortured but it was endurable, thanks to Sona's carefulness.
Then, with her eyes still closed, she could hear someone stepping into the room. She forced open the corner of her eyes and could just make out Garen's large figure at the doorway.
Suddenly, she realized her predicament as embarrassment washed over her.
"So the Sinister Blade, the Assassin of Noxus is afraid of a haircut," Garen teasingly said.
Katarina shut her eyes again. Her cheeks blushed red with shame. Her entire face had lit up like a red light bulb while she made little incoherent sounds of protest.
"Sh-Shut up!" was all she could manage to retort.
"Never thought there was this side to you," Garen remarked.
Katarina forced out a few groans before falling silent in defeat.
"How much longer will this be Sona?" Garen asked.
Sona held up three fingers before returning to her task.
"Very well. Katarina, come to the grand hall in five minutes, there we will have our last briefing before the mission."
With that, Garen exited the room, leaving Sona and Katarina together again.
After a few moment torturous moments, the snipping finally stopped.
"You can open your eyes now."
Kat slowly peeled open her eyes, allowing the blinding light to pour in. Soon, she regained her vision and saw the strange face before her. In the mirror was a young but rough girl almost unrecognizable to Kat. The deadly, scarred yet beautiful face of an assassin remained yet she no longer donned that girlish look. Her hair was now about shoulder length with the edges a tad messy. This gave her a definite boyish look yet was mixed beautifully with her womanly remnant.
Kat was surprised how a simple haircut could make someone look so vastly different. Now, if she simply hood herself and mask her face a little, she could easily blend into a Noxian crowd unnoticed. Such an effective disguise truly was the envy of assassin's everywhere.
Still, she had not grown accustomed to this yet. Seeing her once long hair trimmed down pained her and even more so when she saw a sea of red surrounding her on the floor. It felt was though parts of her own flesh had been hacked off, lying around like butchered meat.
"I did my best, I tried to keep it as long as possible," Sona told Kat.
"It's fine," Kat reluctantly said before getting up, leaving Sona to clean up. Before she left the room, she turned to the Maven. What a being, Kat silently thought, to be able to cut her hair with such gentle ease. She had heard her music before on the Fields of Justice, each time swaying her like a summer's breeze when she was an ally or terrifying her with thunderous and vehement chords when an enemy.
"Hey, uh… Thanks," Kat muttered to Sona.
Sona was puzzled for a second before accepting Kat's words with a smile. Then, she gestured Kat to the Grand Hall for the briefing.