By the lakes that thus outspread

Their lone waters, lone and dead,—

Their sad waters, sad and chilly

With the snows of the lolling lily,—

By the mountains—near the river

Murmuring lowly, murmuring ever,—

By the grey woods,—by the swamp

Where the toad and the newt encamp,—

By the dismal tarns and pools

Where dwell the Ghouls,—

By each spot the most unholy—

In each nook most melancholy,—

There the traveller meets, aghast,

Sheeted Memories of the Past—

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

As they pass the wanderer by—

White-robed forms of friends long given,

In agony, to the Earth—and Heaven.

Dream-Land (Edgar Allan Poe)

THREE DAYS LATER…

For seemingly the nth time that year, Darius wondered how his parents had managed to cope. He knew he had been a problem child- the incident with Adrian de Croix had been one of many- but his parents had never complained or had snapped at him in the same way he had snapped at Draven.

His father had always praised him for standing up for himself, and his mother had always been there to dab away at the cuts and nurse him through his fevers. He didn't know exactly what his parents had gone through in their lives to be so calm and collected. All that he knew was that his mother had been a spy, and his father had donated a limb for the Noxian war effort. Even with his limited knowledge, against those sorts of life-changing events- what experience did he have to match?

A couple of street fights, several menial jobs and a run of bad decisions, Darius decided. But mostly just bad decisions.

Darius lay in his too-small cot, his feet were hanging off the end and his equally small blanket was loosely covering his waist. Outside the little window over his bed, he could hear and smell the world turning without him. The catcalls of drunken men and the sweet promises of prostitutes sometimes rang over the shouts of the nighttime merchants. The creaking of crates and turn of wooden wheels layered over the shrill calls of overworked horses and wheezing porters. The sticky scent of fermented fish baskets mixed with the pungent fumes of night soil as sewer hatches were pried open by crews of nightmen at the hour when hardly anyone was out on the streets to smell the piles of human excrement being pulled from the sewage. Every now and then there was a great cry, and then a pattering of bare feet and heavy, clanking footsteps following after its owner- a thief, perhaps.

Against the cacophony of noise, he could hardly hear Draven stirring in his bed, but there was a full moon outside, and there was plenty of light coming in from his little window, so he could see the dim outline of his brother's small body under the blankets in the dark as the younger child moved this way and that. He sat up and pushed the thin blanket away from himself as he watched the smaller form thrash about. Darius had not been able to sleep very well since he had lashed out against Draven, and it seemed as if his brother's nightmares had started again since then. Feeling the guilt rise in his stomach, he watched as the blanket was sent flying, and then he heard the telltale desperate gulps of air that hinted at an incoming assault of tears. He swung his legs over and stood up, padding barefooted over to his brother's side of the room and ignoring the sharp floorboards as it bit at his feet. Gathering the thin blanket up in his hands, he pulled it over Draven again and then watched the younger boy's face curl into various expressions of pain.

Draven, as far as he could tell, was still asleep. The younger boy had the misfortune of not being able to wake up until his nightmares nearly sent the kid's heart jumping out of his little mouth- or sent his thin body flying off the bed, whichever one went first. There wasn't much he could do until Draven woke up from his own dreams, so Darius walked back to his bed, pulled his pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep.

Old men in white coats speculate that dreams are a process by which the human brain organizes memories and thoughts, and that nightmares stem from physical causes such as a fever or from psychological causes such as stress or traumatic events. People of the nomadic and mystical persuasion state that dreams are a prophetic window into the future, and that nightmares are caused by evil spirits that took residence in one's head. A cure of three lungs and three livers, dried frogs powdered and placed in drink is applied- after which the sick person would then say a couplet about how frogs in one's belly would devour what is bad and take the evil out of one's system. If by some chance one is not particularly interested in science or strange laxatives, however, one could simply attribute the bizarre nature of dreams to a certain species of plant named after a woman, and place the blame of nightmares to the consumption of an expired jar of pickles or perhaps a bad tuna sandwich.

Draven did not have an expired jar of pickles for dinner for the past twelve months- they were too poor to afford anything outside of gruel, really- but what he did have was a rather traumatic event. His parents had been executed in front of him, and even though he had tried to blot it out of his head, it had haunted him constantly. His dreams were always nightmares that made him cry in his sleep. One minute, he would be remembering his family as it had been. In the next minute, all he would feel was his brother's hand over his eyes and his mother's lifeblood on his face. And then he would be drowning in a sea of red, screaming and thrashing as the fluid entered his mouth and filled his lungs- and the last thing he would see was his mother's severed head, smiling at him as he drowned.

And then Draven would wake up- a tangle of quaking limbs, hoarse screams and sweat-stained sheets while his heart tried to launch itself out of his chest. In the first few months since the execution, he would cry incessantly for his mother even if he knew full well she was gone, and then his brother would always push himself out of his own bed and sit in the old rickety chair next to his pallet, watching him silently with an indecipherable face before placing a hand on his forehead and rubbing comforting circles into his temples until he finally went back to sleep- that had been how Dar had always stopped the tears, ever since Draven had been a newborn baby swaddled in rough cloth.

The nightmares had stopped by the fifth night of Darius' silent support, and he had slept easier since then- but after the incident at Onyx Ward where Darius had hit him hard enough to knock him off his feet, he found himself drowning in a crimson tide and tasting the metallic tang of blood in his mouth again- but instead of his mother's bleeding head it had been his brother watching him drown, face twisted in a grotesque mask, his eyes filled with nothing but utter hatred.

It had been three nights since the punching incident, and every time Draven woke up from his mortifying dream, he would simply cry silently for a good thirty minutes in the darkness, his shoulders heaving up and down as he buried his face in his straw pillow and tried his hardest to go back to sleep even if he was still too afraid to do so. Sometimes he could hear Darius stirring in his bed nearby, but each and every time the other boy did so, Draven held his breath and curled into a tight ball to stop himself from shaking- and then he would not hear anything from Darius' side of the room.

Draven didn't want to disturb him- in fact, he didn't want Darius to worry about him anymore because he wanted to show his brother that he was growing up like Dar wanted him to- but by the fourth night and a particularly nastier version of his recurring nightmare in which he was hounded by floating heads and carrion beetles, Darius seemingly had enough. As Draven was biting down on his rough blanket to stop his sobs, Darius got up from his bed and took his customary spot on the chair next to Draven's pallet once more.

The younger boy expected his brother's cool hand- but he stiffened in surprise when Dar decided to speak instead. Maybe the older boy didn't know that Draven was awake? It was too much to hope for.

"I don't even know why I bother talking to you when you're obviously asleep but..." He heard his brother sigh. "Well, I don't know how else to go about it- so I'll just talk. If you're not asleep, then good- at least I won't feel bad about talking to myself in the middle of the night while Matron's choking on her own spit."

Draven didn't move a muscle on the bed. What else was he supposed to do? Tell Dar he was actually awake? That wouldn't help. He was supposed to be asleep and he was supposed to not bother Dar anymore. What point would there be in masking his weakness if he was just going to go up to his brother and cry again? He was old enough. He didn't have to bother Darius with everything. Talking back would only keep Dar awake longer- and he knew Dar needed sleep more than he did. So Draven let him talk.

"I'm not sorry for hitting you," His brother's voice, soft as it was in the darkness of the room, sounded as if he was trying his best to be pragmatic against a knot of whatever it was in his throat that was making him sound stiff and strained. "That wasn't the first time you deserved something like that, but I will admit I went a little too far."

A little too far? It was like calling a massive explosion a little spark- or calling the clouds above Noxus during monsoon season just a bit dark. The younger boy would never admit it to other people, but he had been afraid for his own life at that moment, and his brother had not been his brother at all. The blow to his jaw had hurt, but then again… he had called Darius something nasty.

"I guess… I was worried the whole day, and when you called me a coward- after what I've been going through to find your sorry ass- well," Darius made a gruff noise.

I wasn't being an idiot! Draven suppressed the urge to defend himself, but no- he wasn't listening to his brother justify his blows. No, he was supposed to be asleep. If he kept quiet for a bit longer- Dar would go back to sleep too.

"You know full well that we're in a bad position right now, and you still went off and… did the stupidest thing ever. As usual. It's the shit that you pull that fucking piss me off a lot of times." There was a pause, and then Darius' next words were spoken so fast that he practically bundled them together in a string of loose sentences. "When you fight everyone that looks at you. When you whine about being hungry. When you bitch about not getting anything nice. You don't even do anything useful."

Draven resisted the urge to scoff, and reminded himself yet again that he was supposed to be asleep. He had been in Onyx Ward to look for work that day- really, he had been going through all the Wards and looking for quick work for the past month or so with very little luck due to his thin frame- and the bullies had just caught up to him just as he was about to get temporary work as a courier.

"But fuck it, I'm rambling." His brother muttered under his breath.

You don't say? Draven thought sarcastically.

"Whatever. Look, I might be shitfaced and angry about stuff that you do, but you're still my brother," Even with the sentiment, it seemed as if Darius was trying to reassure himself of a simple fact. "It's just… It's been a little hard to work and… well, take care of you at the same time." Darius gave a heavy sigh. "I don't think I did a very good job of it- I want to, but you have to help me somehow."

I'm trying too. Draven mused. Don't you see that?

"I guess- what I wanted to say is that I… Well, I'm sorry. I suppose." Darius finished awkwardly, the apology sounded stiff on his tongue. "I just… I just want you to be strong too. I know that Dad might've found an easier way to show you without hitting you that bad. Mom might've been a lot gentler- but Draven, they're gone. It's just you and me now, and I can't keep this up alone forever."

That was it? That was why his brother was always telling him off? Was that why Darius never stopped nagging him about finding a job, or berating him about eating or reminding him to taking care of himself while he was off at work? Darius had gone through the same things too- and his brother didn't look like he was giving in to the tears. He had only seen Dar cry once, and that had been the time his parents had volunteered themselves.

Draven wanted to be that strong too- he was so tired of crying that his head hurt just thinking about it, but his dreams were always so horrible, and his waking hours were never good either. He didn't know how Dar did it day-after-day.

He heard the chair creak slightly- maybe his brother was leaning over. Draven stayed still, eyes shut and mouth slightly open- and soon the hand was on his forehead, his brother's thumb massaging his temples once more.

"Crying again," Darius muttered with what Draven took to be a fond sigh. "Always crying. That's never going to change, is it?"

I'll change, Draven thought before sleep claimed him. I'll change!

When Draven awoke the next morning, his brother's cot was empty, and there was a note on top of the rotten dresser. Whenever he had work and could not stay in the crèche for an extended period of time, Darius' way had always been to leave notes next to new clothes or cold bowls of soup. Draven had never known a time when his brother had ever failed to write down the daily reminders, but this was the first time that there was nothing next to the sheet of paper.

The younger brother pushed himself out of bed and padded to the dresser, grimacing at the way the rough boards bit at his feet. He pulled the note from the dresser and squinted at it in the dim morning light. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon- monsoon season would be coming soon, and Draven stared worriedly up at the hole in the rafters that Darius still had to repair before he sighed and turned his attentions back to reading.

Their mother didn't have much time to have them work on their penmanship before the execution had occurred, so the five items on the note were scrawled in his brother's untidy hand- Dar had probably written everything down using cheap watered-down ink and a broken quill as the text blotted out completely in some areas:

1) Don't be a - idiot.

2) Go find a job. If not, stay in -.

3) Will be back by nightfall. Ask Matron for g-.

4) Stay out of Matron's way if staying in crèc-.

5) Don't be - idiot.

Draven made a grumpy noise in his throat as he put the note back on the dresser. He had promised himself that he would change, and today was a good time to start. Seeing as Dar hadn't left any breakfast, Draven picked up a pair of worn boots, hopped onto the windowsill and climbed out onto the roof. There, he found the basin of rainwater that Dar had put a long time ago and pulled his clothes off. After washing off sleep and grime from yesterday and shaking himself dry like a dog, he pulled his clothes back on, forced his too-big feet into his too-small shoes and scanned the streets below.

Dar had told him once that opportunity was everywhere if he knew how to look for it. His limbs hanging off the edge of the slate roof tiles, he shaded his eyes against the light of the sun and squinted down at the bustling streets of Sapphire Ward. There was some sort of thing going on off by West Gate, and he could tell because there was a crowd gathering for some reason and the people- nigh ant-like from his vantage point- were converging upon it.

That was it- that was his chance. The small boy shimmied down the drainpipe and hit the cobbled ground with a barely withheld yelp of pain- his shoes were too small and Dar was still learning how to cut leather properly- before he straightened up and forced himself to walk. By the time he made it to the hubbub, he was struggling against an unforgiving mass of arms and legs, and managed by sheer luck and his small frame, to come close to the center of attention.

At the heart of the mob, he found a woman. She was easily taller than most of the men around her- members of the city guard from what he could tell of their armor. Unlike other Noxian nobles that he had seen, who had spent too much on disturbingly pallid makeup and brightly colored stones and dyed cloth that made absolutely no sense, she was well-toned and tanned, her breasts were large and pressed firmly against her bodice. The colors of her elaborate but practical dress were black and gold, with rich blood red rubies set within golden chains- there were plenty of those- and little golden buttons polished to a bright sheen. Her hazel eyes shone bright gold in the light of the sun, perfectly formed lips painted with tempestuous red, short black hair framing her aristocratic face in the most perfect manner. She wore a rather impressive diadem: it was a golden chain bearing a single diamond at the center of her forehead.

As beautiful as she was, it seemed that the rest of the world bored her. There were many people who so obviously admired her, calling her name and waving their arms- outright begging to be acknowledged by a goddess who chose to walk amongst mortals. For his part, Draven openly gaped at her- swept away not by her beauty, but by the way she commanded attention. He wondered how she had come to be, why she was standing in a Ward that catered to the middle-class, speculated on she managed to hold on to everyone's attention without even speaking a single word.

Her smoky eyes scanned the crowd of individuals, her mouth turned in a smile- but to Draven it seemed nothing more than a snarl of displeasure- these people, these animals, they did not deserve to see her. Where Darius would have turned his head away in disgust, Draven drank in the experience- he wanted so much to be in her place, to be dressed in finery and to be watched as if the entire world revolved about him.

And then suddenly, her wandering eyes rested on him- squashed between a tailor and a blacksmith clamoring for her graces. She tilted her head and pointed at him.

"You," Her voice was absolutely divine. It was no doubt the product of maybe decades of phonetics practice, quality education and high breeding. - the exact opposite of Draven. "You will do."

"Me?" Draven squeaked out.

"I require a porter, you see." She said the final word with a flourish. "And you will do nicely."

Draven forced himself out of the throng, collapsing on his knees in front of her. He bit back the pain that emanated from his shoes and practically shuddered when he smelled her perfume- lilies and something else he was too poor to have ever known at that moment- as she placed her fingers under his chin and slowly lifted his head.

"There is no need to bow," She said, even though all he could detect with his childish senses was a pleased look upon her face.

"I fell." Draven said stupidly.

"You poor, tired child- then perhaps I should find another porter?" She eyed him sympathetically, but there was something else in that gaze- victory perhaps, or something even more.

Draven scrambled to his feet quicker than ever, and shook his head at her. "No! No, I want to do it! Please let me do it!"

She smiled- a true smile now, but he wasn't quite sure what it meant. "Are you quite certain you can handle the burden?"

"Anything! I can carry anything! Crates, cases, umbrellas- I can carry it all for you!" He said quickly, afraid that if he showed further indecision, she would turn her gaze away from him. She gave a laugh- full and haughty as she was- and then turned her back to him and the rest of the jealous crowd.

"Come with me, child." She said.

Draven followed, like a moth flying towards the hypnotizing fire of a gas lantern.

Her name, he learned later on, was Emilia. She had refused to give him her House name, stating that he was not yet worthy to know of it. Despite the obvious blow against his lot in life, Draven had taken what praise she gave happily, following her perfumed heels like a dog starved of treats being given a morsel of spoiled meat. Where Darius would have fought back against her machinations, even just a bit, Draven was too young to realize what was happening, and acquiesced to her every request.

Draven carried suitcases upon suitcases for her, across steep streets and over paved hills. He placed his own clothes into puddles so that her shoes and delicate toes would not become wet. She visited several stores, purchasing paper-wrapped packages and having him carry so much he thought that if he fell over he would die- but he would die happily. Wherever Emilia went, a crowd was destined to follow, and he enjoyed being in her wake as much as she abhorred the attentions of common men. By the end of the day, when he was absolutely certain his boots were leaving behind bloody prints in the stones, she pressed a single silver coin into his hand and smiled down at him.

"Thank you, boy." Emilia said- she had never bothered to learn his name.

"Will you ever need me again?" He asked innocently, his eyes as wide and as pitiful to look at like a lost dog.

"In due time," She said mysteriously, giving him a little pat on the cheek – as a master would to an overworked horse ready to be shot. "In due time, boy."

Darius would have objected- one silver for a day's work and a month's worth of recuperating from shoes that were too small was too little a fee- but Draven clutched the single coin against his chest like a priceless treasure. It was, quite possibly, the first thing he had ever worked for in his entire life, and as much as his feet were screaming at him, he was too overwhelmed with a sense of achievement and infatuation to be bothered.

Eagerly, Draven ran back to the crèche, but on the way he thought he saw his brother in the window of a tavern. Curious, in the way that children were when they were about to come across something they were never supposed to see, he ducked into the establishment and hid himself behind a nearby pillar, watching his brother talk to a heavily battered man across him.

Draven had seen the man before- Sion, his father's friend. This was a particularly noisy tavern, and he would have been straining to hear their conversation if it was not for the fact that Darius' voice was turning into something loud and laden with jagged stones.

"You look tired." Sion leaned back into the chair, the small thing creaking under the weight of his muscles and his armor- dented and scratched beyond belief like the rest of him.

"I've been working." Darius replied offhandedly.

"How is your brother?" Sion tilted his head. It was a small miracle that his battle-scarred face could somehow still convey emotion.

"He's fine." Darius replied shortly.

"Right. Are you good with weapons? How's that going?" Sion asked casually- a bit too much, if Dar's suspicious expression was anything to take by.

"I'm alright with a sword," His older brother replied slowly, measuring his words carefully. "And knives, but I've been thinking about following in dad's footsteps- with the bearded axe, I mean."

"Axes. Great! I'll have one made." The false optimism was making even Draven skeptical.

"How thoughtful." Darius said sarcastically. "So what do you really want from me?"

"Just your time." Sion replied.

His brother made a noise of impatience and furrowed his brows at the soldier across him- Draven had seen that look on his face many times before when Dar couldn't tolerate any more beating around the bush. "I don't think either of us are particularly suited for talking. I'll get right to the point: asking to meet me would mean that you want something from me."

"What if I just want to know how Hystaspes' kids are doing?" Sion retorted, raising an eyebrow at the youth across him. Darius gave him a flat look- and Draven resisted the urge to laugh. Dar was pissed.

Instead of quailing back in fear, Sion gave a belly full of laughter and smashed his hand on the table. "Your parents really did do their best with you."

"I try. Every day." His brother replied dryly. "Get to the point."

Sion pulled out a sealed envelope from a satchel at his side and slid it across to his brother. Draven couldn't see it too well from his vantage point, but from what he could gather, it looked very official: it was made from nice paper, and had a black wax seal on the front and formal-looking handwriting at the back.

"The Military Academy at Boram's Point is opening its doors to officer candidate hopefuls two months from now," Sion's lip quirked up in a smirk. "That envelope contains, if you choose to sign it, your recruitment papers."

Draven blinked- he had heard of Boram's Point. Who didn't in Noxus? It was the first and finest military academy in the entire city-state. The only people who went there were the rich and the deserving. In order to be considered as a candidate, one had to be recommended by an active-duty ranking military official, or by a House head.

Darius looked like he was holding back so many questions. Draven watched as his older brother drummed his fingers on the table in thought, before the teenager finally chose to reply: "… Well, I can't say I'm not interested. Any reason for the sudden act of charity?"

Draven felt the first stirrings of fear in his gut. He was happy for his brother, he really was. Even he knew how much of a big deal Boram's Point was- but still, if his brother was going there, that would mean-

"Word gets around with such a high profile execution- a lot of interested parties saw how you dealt with it. Frankly, they were rather impressed." Sion shrugged his wide shoulders, chainmail jingling merrily. "So, they dug around a bit, told me a few things, asked for a couple of favors, gave the right amount of gold... the usual."

His brother leaned forward- his interest had been piqued further. Draven suppressed the urge to reveal himself- he wanted to know more, as horrible as that sounded. "Is there any chance that some of that gold would make it to me?"

"There's a big chance." Sion admitted. "If you sign those papers, you get a monthly stipend, and your sponsor is going to pay for your food, board and education."

"How generous." Darius remarked dryly. "What are you really trying to do here, Sion?"

"Just being a good friend of the family." Sion replied innocently. "And a good messenger- as unbelievable as that sounds for you."

"It's been a year since dad died, and you've never even approached us once." Darius pointed out. Draven watched as his brother's voice seemed to get more thunderous by the second. "Now you just come here, and expect me to take whatever gifts you have so I can be in your debt?"

Admirably, Sion stood his ground. "Look kid, this is Noxus. If you don't want to have a career, that's fine with me. I'll tell your sponsor that you aren't interested in a stipend or a real military education." The warrior tilted his head. "Hell, I'll even tell them you're too proud to accept the sponsorship- bureaucrats love reasons like that. It gives them some fuel to throw."

"I'm not saying I don't want to be in the military, I'm saying that I don't want to owe anyone anything." Darius retorted. "I'm doing my best to keep Draven and myself afloat, and we're managing so far, but if I get to Boram's Point, it'll be because I worked for it, not because some foppish old man with a powdered wig thought I was a good bet."

"Easy, son." Sion raised both his hands. "No one said you didn't work for it. You deserve that place on the candidate list, I can tell you that. Even if you are a good four years younger- that's good. When you get out of Boram's, you'll be ready for conscription as a commissioned officer."

"I'm not your son," Darius gritted out. "I want to know just who it is that thinks I'm a good option to throw money at right now before I even say yes to anything that's going to take four years of my life away. I don't have anyone else I can trust who can look after my brother right now."

"I can do that," Sion volunteered a bit too quickly.

No, Draven thought morosely. A world without Dar over his shoulder was a world he was not ready to have, as strange as that sounded. In the future, of course, he would be rejoicing at his brother's absences, but as of now, he was still so young- and he had not spent even a week away from his brother's company since their parents had died.

Quite suddenly, there was a tap on the glass window next to him. Draven turned his head and found himself face-to-beak with a crow the size of his head, its large eyes shining almost intelligently in the growing dusk. The boy staggered back in shock- he didn't even hear it land on the windowsill. The large avian eyed him- as if it was measuring his mettle- before it gave a keening cry and an impatient flutter of its wings. Was it asking him to open the window?

Stupidly, the boy reached over and pulled the latch away. The bird pushed the glass window open with its head- how strong was it really?- and then hopped inside the establishment. It fluttered up to the rafters and gave a keening call. To Draven's amazement, he saw Sion's small eyes dart up to the large black bird, and saw a strange emotion within. Darius would later tell his brother that he had recognized the emotion as fear.

Like a puppet being played on a string, Sion's eyes darted back to the youth sitting across him and he began to speak in a hurried tone. "Your sponsor! Well, alright, I'll tell you this much: he's- fairly high ranking and works for Battlefield Intelligence. Like all the other officers from Boram's old guard, he's from a House."

Darius raised an eyebrow at him- the quick change of heart had obviously made his brother suspicious. "Which one?"

"Ever heard of the House of Swain?" At that name, the bird gave an impatient squawk, and stomped a large foot down on the rafters. 'Get on with it!' it seemed to say, or perhaps it meant something else entirely.

Were crows usually that intelligent? Draven found himself wondering. He would've reached out to touch it, but Darius' reply tore his attention away from capturing the mystery bird.

"No." His brother sounded displeased, uncertain.

"Well then, there's a start for you!" Sion exclaimed. "Gods above, it's not that hard. Just put your ear on the ground and find out for yourself."

Dar frowned at him. "Why can't you tell me?"

"Trust me when I say that I already said too much." Sion said nervously. "If I talk about it a bit more, I'm going to turn into crowbait in the morning."

Crowbait. Draven looked at the bird. It puffed up its chest and stared down at him imperiously- much like Emilia had.

"You sound afraid." Darius remarked, studying the older warrior's expressions and reactions with as much caution as a big-game hunter had in the savannah.

"When you know what the guy is capable of doing, you tend to be a bit more afraid than you usually do." Sion said.

"… And he's interested. In my progress." It was not a question.

"I'd tell you to run for it, but then again you'll be beheaded for desertion." The warrior gave a nervous laugh. "Look, just take my offer, kid. It's all there for you- money, education, the chance to make something out of yourself, a blazing start in your little quest to take back the family name?"

"… How do I know that this isn't going to screw me and Draven over?" Darius asked him finally. It seemed that even he was starting to be swayed. For his part, Draven only felt more panic grasp his heart. If his brother was going to take the offer, he would be alone for the next four years.

"You don't." Sion stated simply. "But trust me when I say that he'll get you places, alright? Places you need to go- out of that stupid rat hole you call a home and into something a bit more reputable- like a residence in Garnet Ward?"

Darius' expression flitted into a snarl- the older man had just invaded a seclusion he worked so hard to have- but Sion was having none of it. "Noxus, kid. I told you. People watch. People know."

Darius grumbled something under his breath- a string of bad words as far as Draven could tell.

"I'm trying to be your friend here. We both don't like being pushed around, I can tell." Sion tilted his head. "So can we stop bickering about something good? Are you going to sign the papers?"

After what seemed like an eternity spent in thought, of weighing what options he had versus a possibly brighter future for himself and for his brother, Darius gave a damning nod.

Draven decided he had seen enough.

Author's Note: I took my time with this, mostly because I wasn't sure how to sequence events properly. But here we'll see what was actually happening from Draven's side of the story, and really- executions are horrible things for children to see. I didn't think he'd recover from it as fast as he could have wanted to- because his life was a sheltered one up until that point. We can see that he tries though, and I wanted to put it across that he isn't some sort of wimp that Darius carries around with him for the rest of his life. Draven still has some backbone, but it's not easy to see because he's still so young.