How much further do you want to go? Refuse
the bossy insistence
of new impressions—
lie there still,
behold your own fields,
your estate,
dwelling especially
on the poppies,
unforgettable
because they transported the summer—
where did it go?
A Shadow on the Wall (Gottfried Benn)
TWO YEARS LATER...
Noxus after the monsoons was quite a sight to behold, as the carelessness and indolence of the summer months reached even into the hearts of the most ruthless and pragmatic people in Valoran. Normally a grim culture centered on blood and the harshness of war and its realities, Noxians practically threw open their doors at the end of every horrible monsoon season. Countless street cleaners would be clearing away piles of waterlogged debris; flushers would be prying valuables from bloated bodies in storm drains. Merchants would be opening watertight crates; inspecting inventory submerged during the floods and then placing on sale what still could be sold at prices that even a poor yordle could afford.
The best times of the year to visit and to purchase wares, as is often told to the few Noxian tourists and merchants brave enough to venture into the city state willingly, would be after the monsoons and during the winter months, as the entire populace seemed to stop and to take note of everything that had occurred in order to cast away what could no longer be used.
People who had been previously forced indoors for the majority of three to four months now ran amok through the streets- sometimes literally. It was not at all uncommon to see a naked person racing through the main thoroughfare, four months' worth of laundry in their arms, an entire patrol of constables casually walking past, barely batting an eyelash. After all, it was absolutely inconceivable for a person of average and middling means to own a Zaunite laundry machine, and to expect that clothes would dry during the ferocious and extremely humid monsoon months when the braziers and fireplaces were best used to fend off the creeping chill.
It could be said that Noxians were at their most festive during the summer and winter months. Driven by the need to empty inventory, bazaars dotted the multitude of Wards. Butchers and farmers would be peddling their wares eagerly, as both the aristocratic and lower-class citizens of Noxus held their own festivities to celebrate the end of the gloomy months. Children would be running through crowds, either stealing valuables from the unwary or laughing and skipping through the cobbled streets. The gap between the rich and the poor was still so evident within Noxian society, but it was not so harsh or so bitter when the rest of the city-state was at the very heights of communal ecstasy, enjoying liberty underneath a sun whose warmth had been withheld by merciless clouds.
With the break in the clouds that heralded a wonderful summer also came the need for entertainment. Establishments closed during the storms would open again- from highborn gentlemen's clubs to seedy brothels, from plain playhouses to elaborate and highly acoustic concerto halls- Noxus as a whole shook off sullen lethargy and donned a brighter, more celebratory air.
'Entertainment' and 'Noxus' were not words commonly associated with each other. True, the Demacians had more of a flair for city-wide celebrations, while the Ionians practically dominated the cultural stage with their elaborate dances and festivals. The Freljordians had their own customs and shamanistic dances; whereas the Zaunites took a few days off each year to get good and drunk. As far as simple pleasures went, Noxian entertainment was more visceral, instinctive, and utterly human. For the rich, there was no end to the joys of high society- erotic plays were held in the highest and most prestigious theatres alongside heartbreaking operas and raucous comedies, while the concert halls were filled with the pieces of only the best and brightest of Noxian composers.
The masses had simpler, more primitive tastes- the mindless violence of the Fleshing Arena mixed with the minute pleasures derived from cheap gin and animal fighting rings under bridges and deep inside taverns. Animal entertainment in particular was something both societies enjoyed- aristocrats owned most, if not all the horses raced within Noxus, and while they delighted sitting in the box seats and cheering for their particular steed, the less-fortunate would be milling about in off the track betting parlors, saturated in smoke and alcohol, throwing their money into faint hopes at winning, largely unaware that the book-keepers had already determined the outcome for them. Dogs, chickens, foxes would be starved and beaten, let loose to kill each other amongst the cries of frenzied men and women eager to see blood fly. The Fleshing Arena only magnified these matches- man against beast, elephants against cougars from the Kumungu Jungle, trapped by enterprising hunters.
For the most part, the Fleshing Arena was where the rich and the poor met, and when Draven had been younger he had gone to the fights to hear the crowd and imagine his name, to stare in vain at the performers and to wish that he had been in their shoes. A full three years had passed since he had last done so. A chance meeting with Emilia again, after a year of drifting aimlessly, had spurred him into furious activity.
Draven had been milling about in Ivory Ward, deciding if he should purchase more sweetmeats when there was a great noise from afar, like a thousand men cheering at once. His curiosity piqued, he decided to see what had occurred, and it was an utter surprise when he saw her again. She looked not to have aged a day since their last meeting, her beauty only magnified by the striking, layered and frilled dress in wine red and deep black.
His heart had seemed to stop at that moment, his throat constricted as she turned her head, stared at him with only the faintest hints of recognition that sent his soul careening out of his body. "Boy."
"E-Emilia." His voice then felt as if it had come from a different person.
"Hello, darling boy." She had returned.
"Y-you look… uhm… very pretty." He had not been educated very well, and so the word 'pretty' was the only thing that came to mind. Still, like a diligent little dog, Draven had tried to say the words properly, mesmerized by her high accent and her gaze.
"And you, boy?" She had ventured, and at that moment he could hear his heart stop, could sense nothing else but her and her eyes, the slight twist of her lip, her smoky gaze and her voice- "… I see you did not rise from the squalor you were in."
He had not known what to say then, had not realized until then that he had not moved at all. She was still so radiant, intensely bright like the fire of an alcohol lantern, and he was still nothing but a fluttering moth, flapping idly through life.
He had stared at her blankly, had thought of what he could say in response, and found that there was nothing at all. He had lowered his eyes in shame, until he felt a gossamer touch on his cheek and realized she had touched him.
"Do you even wish to rise, little boy?" She asked him lowly.
"I-I want to." Draven had mumbled out, driven to answer by her touch and proximity.
"Then do so."
And like the faintest of winds, she was gone, swallowed up by the adoring crowd that followed her every move. He had been left standing in the middle of the market, his hands curled into fists, his coin purse stolen by some enterprising street urchin.
From that day on he had worked. He had nurtured what talent he had at juggling, created numerous tricks that his body memorized better than his mind. She was his muse, to say the very least. Her every word was a cooling balm onto a feverish wound, and he did everything he could to please her so, because he wanted nothing more than to hear her praise and to listen to her voice.
There was some strange need in him to change the way she looked at him, to have her say his name instead of just 'boy'. Like his brother had placed his Chief Instructor upon a pedestal, to mold himself into what Chief di Castellamonte had felt acceptable, Draven worshipped Emilia, but unlike his brother, who had earned the love of his goddess, Draven received nothing.
In that same year, the House of Swain was abolished, and the stipend, which had been so constant and so plentiful, suddenly disappeared. Draven knew hunger again, but his older brother was no longer present to shield him from utter desperation and gnawing pain. He had not been careful with money, even though his brother had repeated to him, over and over, to save a little of his stipend for the worst times. He had not been careful with his stores either, because he had been foolish and stupid. Driven to the worst extremes, he had temporarily run with a gang of younger boys, roving through the streets like a hungry pack of hyenas, taking advantage of what could be exploited.
As his brother had gone through the Crucible, and had obtained the scar that marked him to be strong, Draven weathered hunger, fought for dominance and survived in the most Noxian way.
A disagreement on money with his pack left him alone and deprived of company, but Draven still held on to his dreams, when his brother lost his in a whirlwind of indoctrination and harsh treatment. He worked to improve his skills as a juggler, moved from juggling wooden pins to sharpened blades, from blades to swords, from swords to oil-coated batons that were set aflame in mid-air. Soon he was the talk of the Ward that he frequented. A word in the right ear and an offering of gold sent him upward from the streets into public amphitheaters, from there- the Fleshing Arena, where he had once dreamed of performing. It would have been enough, to fulfill his dream, but it was not enough for Draven, and the blossoming ego that he grew and protected like a lioness would to her cub.
Personality, Draven learned, was something that attracted people. The larger the personality, the more people would come. He forced himself to smile, to call himself by his name, to pound the syllables into the minds of others that cared to hear him. It was rather fortunate that his father had a memorable voice that he passed onto his offspring, because without it, he would not have gone far.
He took every bit of praise that people heaped on him- in Noxus it was about as rare as a rainbow during a thunderstorm- and kept it close to his chest. Criticism he learned to deflect with smooth words and smiles, and he taught himself to speak in a way that would make others remember him. He was not educated in classrooms or in the Wolf's Pit like his brother, no- he was educated by stealing accents from the rich, by adopting the laidback mannerisms of the poor. He reached out to both sides of Noxian culture without even comprehending what he had done.
At the end of four years then, as his brother attended the final closing ceremonies for his military education, Draven was enjoying the fruits of his labor- money, attention and women, of course. Women were his primary audience, and it was only a matter of time before he learned to play them well. From tavern wenches to moderately endowed merchants' daughters, he bedded them on his rise to glory- but tonight, of all nights, was his first with a woman of higher class.
Her name was Cassandra de Sable, and he had seen her during his times at the Fleshing Arena, though he had never had the pleasure of knowing her name until now. He had just finished an intense show in the Arena when she had come onto him, whispering sensually in his ear, and he was only too happy to oblige.
Taking her back to his residence, the two of them had feverishly torn away at each other's clothes- somewhat literally in her case, as he had gotten overexcited when she had grasped him in her slender and manicured hands. They were each at the peak of their pleasure- she was ready to take him in, he was mounted on her, panting like a dog as he clutched at her waist and slid himself back and forth on her folds, losing himself in the sound of her eager and frantic moans- when the door opened and the once dark bedroom was covered in light.
Breathing heavily, Draven squinted up at the person on the other side of the door, and it took him a good five seconds before it registered to him that the person who had barged in, who was now standing and watching him with an impassive expression on his face as he lay on the bed naked and erect with a squirming woman underneath him was his brother.
Darius was home, after four long years. He seemed to have grown taller and stockier. The clothes he was wearing were absolutely foreign to Draven- he had grown so used to seeing his older brother walk about in ragged and patched drab clothing, but now Darius was wearing an elaborate and regal ensemble that seemed to have a category of its own.
His tailored coat was blood red, which already hinted at its cost, and looked to be made of soft and sleek material. It had an upturned collar that folded against his brother's neck, and bore black trimmed, twin rows of folded velvet green down his chest dotted with polished golden buttons. The cuffs of his coat sleeves followed the same general style: black trim, gold buttons and folded high enough to let just enough of the white ruffs of his shirt show.
Darius was wearing a vest underneath, and a black neck cloth. His white collar was turned up, and starched. His blood-striped black pants were bloused into tall boots. He wore black gloves- leather, and it looked to be lined with something soft and tailored to his hands. There was a loop of red and gold braid about his brother's shoulder, underneath gold and black shoulder epaulettes marked with a single golden bar. He bore a medal over his left breast- that of a golden mace encircled in a ring of leaves and topped with a crown that seemed to be made of thorns.
They could not afford to have their hair cut before, so Darius had often trimmed his hair when it grew too long and too troublesome. His brother had never trusted him with the scissors, however, so Darius' hair often grew on and on until he trimmed it himself- with catastrophic results. Where his hair had once been an unruly, uneven mess, now it was cut short enough so that it barely touched his ears- admittedly, the look didn't suit his brother at all. The single strand of white hair had multiplied to maybe five or seven in a little patch.
The scar that his brother had suffered before was still on his brow- it had healed, and took on the appearance of something sharp and jagged that had been left under his skin, and then painted on to stand out. There was a new scar- actually, there were several new lines on his brother's face, and the shadows had deepened underneath his eyes- but the new scar over his right jaw, reaching up until his cheekbone- it looked raw and angry, and Draven could see that it still wept blood in some places and marred his starched collar with stray drops that had hardened to a deep brown.
There was a muscle twitching on his brother's face, underneath his scarred brow as Darius cleared his throat and spoke in such a strange voice that Draven blinked several times to make sure that he wasn't just having the worst nightmare he had ever had in his life.
"Draven," His brother intoned. "When you are quite finished, I would like to speak with you."
Draven had to remind himself to close his mouth as he hastily drew the covers across himself. Cassandra's mouth was in a brief 'o' of shock, but she quickly snapped her jaw shut and tilted his head at him, utterly intrigued.
For his part, his brother seemed to take her nudity in complete stride. "… Good evening, miss." Darius inclined his head downward in an unmistakable sign of courtesy.
"… Good evening, lieutenant." She returned with disturbing grace- and for someone who was wearing absolutely nothing, she made it seem as if she was returning his greeting at a public event, clad in only her very best clothes.
"… I am not yet a lieutenant." His brother stated.
"You will be." She said confidently, staring at Darius in a strange way- almost as if she was pleased to bare herself to him.
His brother stared at her for some time before he cleared his throat and spoke again. "I will give the both of you time." He said simply. He then turned rather sharply on his heel and closed the door behind him gently.
"What the fuck." Draven breathed out as he shook his head, running a hand through his hair as he tried to compose himself. "What the fuck is he doing home? He was… he was in military school-"
"Ah, yes. His uniform is Boram's Point. Their officer candidates usually graduate at around this time," She told him none too gently as she clambered out of bed. Draven watched as she pulled the sheets about her buxom chest and padded around the room, gathering clothes previously thrown aside.
"He should've told me-" Draven muttered with a shake of his head as he moved out of the bed as well. "Motherfucker- that was so fucking awkward."
"I dare say he is rather eager to get home." Cassandra explained as she stared down at the sad remnants of her undergarments. "Blast it- look what you did."
"Eager? You mean he's not supposed to be home yet?" Draven walked over and stared at the scrap of cloth that had been her brassiere. "Fuck- sorry. I got-"
She reached up and gave him a pat on the cheek, and somehow the gesture felt less comforting and more patronizing. "They had a graduation ball today. Why you poor thing- I suppose you'll just have to purchase a new pair for me. These are made from Ionian silk."
Draven blinked at her in askance. She sighed and rolled her eyes as she dropped the torn cloth. "I shall have to bring you to Ivory Ward then, to show you- oh, no. Never you mind."
"… What?"
"Perhaps I shall take your brother instead." She ignored his words as she tapped at her chin and gazed at him. Draven felt much like a stack of meat on the butcher's block, being appraised for a value that he had absolutely no idea about. "Your brother would make a fine escort- he would not dare refuse me either."
"I'm willing!" Draven sputtered out, even as the questions increased to a disturbing and confusing buzz inside his mind. What the hell was going on? Why was she more interested in Darius now? "I am!"
"Yes but- did you see the medal on his chest?" She smiled at him kindly and licked her lips. "And that build…"
"Hey! You wanted to fuck me only a few minutes ago! What fucking changed?" Draven demanded as his rage poured out into his shaking thin frame, narrowed eyes and harsh voice.
He tried not to feel cheated or deprived as he asked. "Why would you ever want to fuck Darius instead of me!?"
"He's-" And she breathed out a sigh- it seemed to him that she was just itching to just go outside and fuck his brother. "Well,"
"Come on," Draven growled. "Tell me."
"Well-" She looked behind her, as if she half-expected the older sibling to open the door again. Once she was satisfied, she turned back at him. "I've heard my parents talk about him- after surviving the Crucible, he dominated the rest of the course. That medal- that was the Commander's Baton, and quite frankly, with a body like that, I'm not at all surprised. Mhm."
Draven tried to understand what she had told him- the Commander's Baton? That golden stick he saw earlier, pinned to his brother's silly coat?
"… And?" Draven asked her.
"It means he has the highest ranking in the entire graduating class." She rolled her eyes at him again. "And if I remember correctly- when he gets conscripted, he'll be a lieutenant, instead of a second lieutenant."
"That's not much, is it?" Draven joked weakly. "H-hold on, how'd you know...?"
The steely and exasperated look she gave him silenced his awkward laughter.
He couldn't help but feel put out now. He had fought so hard to have her look at him, had worked so many months to make her see him alone, and it only took his brother three minutes to take her attention away from him and she looked ready to fuck Darius senseless.
"Everyone who graduates from the schools get a starting rank in the military. Precisely what rank would largely depend on their performance and if they have the gold to purchase a commission." She was practically lecturing him now. "To be a lieutenant right out of the gates, alongside his stellar performance? Someone paid the way to see to it that your brother would only get the very best."
"But that doesn't really matter right?" Draven tried. "I mean-"
"It does!" She recoiled from him now, walked away from him if he was made of fire. "You utter ignoramus, it does! Ugh- why did I even consent to this? How stupid!"
Draven fought against the overwhelming feelings of impotence that were rushing at him and he tried his best not to be angry at a person who had just walked back into his life after being such a central figure for most of it. It wasn't Darius' fault- they had not been in contact for a long while and after four years, he had thought his brother dead or gone-
"I'm not stupid," Draven's voice sounded more pitiful than he thought.
"Then stop being so stupid!" She huffed at him as she stared at him. "Look, Draven, I like you-"
"You lying bitch!"
She rolled her eyes again and he found himself curling his fists in rage. "Oh very well, I never did see you in the same fashion- I was playing with the idea of laying with someone of lesser rank. The point, ingrate, is that people like your brother are made men, and they are far more than you can possibly ever be."
"You told me yesterday that I was-"
"I was lying." She snapped. "To get you to bed. To fuck you. Now, that is something you can understand, I take it?"
White hot fury rushed through his veins now, Draven advanced towards her, his entire frame shaking like a leaf in a bitter wind. At that moment, the door opened again, and then his brother was there, bathed in light as if he were a military angel descended from the heavens.
Surprisingly, even before his brother could open his mouth to voice the inevitable question of why he was taking so long, Cassandra was running towards him, tears gathering at the edges of her eyes where there had been nothing before.
"He's trying to kill me!" She shrieked at his brother as she took folds of his uniform in her hands, ducking behind him and using Darius as a shield. "Stop him!"
Darius stared down at her, and then looked at Draven expectantly.
"She's fucking lying, Dar!" Draven snapped. "I never fucking touched her!"
Darius' stare went down to the woman clutching at his coat. Slowly, as if he was prying off some foul substance off his sleeve, he pulled her fingers off him. "That is quite enough from you." He rumbled. "Did you think me immoral enough to fall for you?"
As if he had just pulled the mask on her face, her fearful expression faded into one of derision. "Immoral." She spat. "Do you think yourself some paragon of principle? How arrogant of you."
"My brother is not a toy." Darius growled lowly- and his voice twisted into something like the ominous rumblings of a distant and black cloud. "You will see yourself out at once."
"Do not presume to order me, lieutenant." She snarled back at him as she placed her hands on her hips, standing bare and defiant in his face. "You are nothing to me."
"I dare suppose your father would be… dismayed, if he should find out where you are tonight." Darius drawled. Draven stared at the two of them, speaking in strange haughty accents and using words that he couldn't fully understand- what the hell was going on?
"My father," Cassandra repeated with a disdainful laugh. "And how would you know of my father, lieutenant? He does not associate himself with your ilk."
"Perhaps you do not know him as well as you should." Darius retorted. "Leave. Otherwise, I cannot guarantee that I will remain silent of your trespasses this night. I will not repeat myself."
"You may be the Commander's favorite," Cassandra snapped back. Dropping all pretenses of innocence, she went around the room naked, gathering her clothes from the floor. "But even you do not have that much influence. Be mindful of who it is you are threatening, peasant!"
"I am well aware of who I am threatening- Bohemond de Montpelier's newest acquisition." Darius retorted. "It would certainly be a shame if he heard of your… nightly exploits."
"How dare you!?" She shrieked at him. "What I do- It is not a crime. Not in Noxus."
"You are fully aware of the standards of House of Montpelier- I hardly need to remind you of the reason why you were engaged in the first place." Darius shot back.
"You-" Her face was livid now, not from embarrassment, but from sheer rage. "How do you know that? How did you-" As a thought crossed her mind, she stared at Darius with nothing but mortification in her face. Shrieking, she fled the apartment, clad in nothing but a sheet.
Draven stared at Darius, confusion written all over his features. His brother sighed, flattened his slightly rumpled coat with a few sweeps of his gloved hands and then stared back at Draven as if he had done nothing peculiar at all.
"What did you do?" Draven asked, utterly baffled.
"… Oh." Darius responded. "… Nothing at all, I merely reminded her of her duty as a third daughter."
"… Which is?"
Darius shrugged his shoulders. "To be married, of course."
"… And how is that-" Draven waved his hands about. "… How did you…"
Darius glanced at him in mild surprise- as if he had expected him to understand the situation from the onset.
"What did you do!?" Draven repeated.
"… When I graduated from Boram's Point, I met her father, and he implied that I could marry her, if I so wished it- otherwise she would become Bohemond's new wife." Darius offered, and he looked as if he was explaining why the sky was blue to a nine year old child. "I told him that I would inform him of my final decision once I met her. I do not think I will- her tendencies are most unpleasant. I spoke with her earlier this evening and found her character to be lacking. Soon after, I saw her leaving the ballroom with one of the senior officers –" He gestured vaguely to the unkempt bed and the sweat-stained sheets. "… Only to see her again in your bed. How quaint."
"… Are you saying she's a slut?" Draven asked slowly as his mind scrambled to decipher his brother's complicated words and alien accent. The second massive question bumped against his tongue and spilled out of his mouth. "There are sluts even there!? Why the hell would her father want to have her marry you?"
"She is not very important, as far as her inheritance and her fathers' alliances are concerned. She is the third daughter- the first marries for love, the second for alliance… the third and the rest, to whomever their father wishes- be it a senile old man or a… promising newly minted lieutenant from the finest school in the state. Her opinions matter very little." Darius tilted his head curiously at his brother. "The depressing fact of the matter is that she is well-aware of her value towards her father… for a very long period of time now, if her behavior tonight is any indication."
Draven had to blink several times as he digested the information his brother gave him. He had never suspected anything of the sort from her- was he too stupid, or too blind to see it? Or was he simply too eager to please?
"… So she's been… a slut for a very long time now?" Draven asked helplessly as he stared at Darius gloomily. "My first noble fuck and it's a manipulative cunt. What fucking luck."
Darius looked as if he had seen a dog bend over and deposit a great steaming lump of excrement in front of him at his brother's words. "… Well, if you wish to be crass… yes, she would be a... lady with drawbridge legs, I suppose..."
"A what?"
"A lady of the night, an escort for lonely men… a streetwalker," Darius waved his hand about, fanning the imaginary stench away from his face. "What men term her kind matters very little."
"… Fuck." Draven said with a disappointed sigh. "… Shit. I don't know... I really thought tonight was the night."
"… Yes, I can see that." Darius said with a pointed look at him. It took a few seconds for Draven to realize that he was still naked, and still somewhat aroused. Even if she did reject him, she still had been mostly naked- "I will… go and prepare something to drink. Do pull some clothes on."
"… For what?" Draven asked.
"I have been away for four years." Darius said. "Not surprisingly, I wish to talk to the brother I left behind."
Draven picked a pillow up from the floor and pulled it over his crotch. "There, we can talk now." He said with a grin. He hoped to make his brother laugh- or at least, forget about the horrible situation that had just occurred.
"… Your childish antics are hardly amusing." Darius stated with the hint of a frown in his face. "Cease desecrating that cushion at once. "
"But we're talking right now." Draven prodded further, the cheeky grin on his face growing. "If you don't want me to dese-whatever the pillow, then maybe I should just drop it?"
"How mature of you." Darius replied snidely as he left the room. "Put some clothes on."
Still hoping to irk his brother further, Draven threw the pillow back on the bed and went outside.
Darius was heating a kettle on top of the furnace when Draven entered the living room. Now that there was plenty of light in the room, he could see his brother properly for the first time in four years. At first glance, it didn't seem as if his brother had gotten any older- taller, maybe, and a bit stockier, but other than that, the differences were not immediately obvious. It wasn't until Draven moved close enough that he practically banged into the corner of the table in shock.
His brother's eyes had gotten so old- he didn't know how, but it seemed as if Darius had faced some inconceivable hell and now his eyes were nothing but dimly lit orbs. It had been a long four years, but Draven still remembered the days when he could see something in those eyes- sparks of annoyance, anger, regret, glints of determination, hope, and joy- but now, there was nothing but an impenetrable wall of darkness, and he did not know if the thing in front of him was his brother any more.
"What happened to you?" The younger boy found himself asking, in a voice that seemed to him too soft and too frightened for someone addressing an older brother.
"An education," His brother rumbled back.
His voice had changed also; now that Draven had more time to process the sound- his brother's voice had been cracking and tinged with uncertainty when he left. The person in front of him was speaking in a strange accented tone more suited for the aristocracy- with stiff lips, formal inflections and long drawls. His voice was nothing but a thundercloud overhead- ominous, harsh, boomingly distant and eerily confident.
His brother offered him a steaming mug, and it took a few minutes for Draven to fully process the idea that his brother had given him something- he had been so shocked.
Darius took a sip from his own mug, even as Draven stared down at the cup in his hands. It was tea- he had purchased some before, mostly out of curiosity. He had never acquired a taste for the stuff.
"No thanks," Draven said uncertainly. He put the cup on the table.
"Put some clothes on." Darius rumbled as he tilted his head at Draven's naked form- absentmindedly licking a small speck of black from the corner of his mouth.
Draven tried to hide the sudden onset of nervousness that gripped him- his prodding seemed like a good idea before, but now that he could see his brother properly, now that he could see just how much of a stranger the older man was in front of him- he felt quite like a boy taunting an irritable crocodile.
"Why can't you talk to me now?" Draven asked him with a forced smile, even as the scent of the drink wafted over in his direction-coffee? His brother was drinking coffee? He still remembered the days when they could hardly afford to buy bread, let alone flavored beverages.
"Because," His brother went on in that same alien and haughty tone. "You are still naked, even when I instructed you to change. I do not find your defiance amusing in the slightest."
"… But it was fine before." Draven piped back.
"It was fine," His brother pressed on. His voice and general expression never changed, and it was strange to see him control himself so, when Darius' old self would have started to snarl at him. "Because you were living alone. Now get changed."
"Or what?" Draven dared him. When they had been younger, Darius would have threatened bodily harm on him. He didn't know why, but he found himself longing to hear that response, seeking for something familiar instead of the stranger in front of him.
"I will take all of your clothes and I will put them on you," His brother's voice lowered to a frightening decibel that made Draven's gut sink. "All of them."
Apparently his brother had learned new ways to torture other people. Still scrambling for a way to deal with the stranger, Draven meekly ran back into his room and found the closest pair of drawers to put on. As he moved back into the larger room, he could see that his brother had taken a seat- and again he was struck by the change.
Darius had always slouched. Now he sat as if there was a board tied to his back. His hands were neatly wrapped about the single cup of coffee, and he was still watching him so impassively- like an inspector would regard a strip of hung meat.
His brother had taken the blood red coat off, and had put away the red and gold braided rope. He was sitting as primly as one could please, with his spotless black neck cloth, immaculately starched long-sleeved white collared shirt and tailored burgundy vest. He was not wearing his black leather gloves any longer- and Draven could see the numerous new scars that crisscrossed his brother's flesh.
How many more, he found himself thinking. Do you have?
His brother stared at him, judging his attire with half-hooded eyes and a cock of his head to the empty chair in front of him. Draven sat down and tried to emulate his brother's posture. After two minutes, he found it to be immensely exhausting, and he pulled his legs up to perch on his chair like a monkey.
Darius pursed his lip at that, but Draven persisted. After some two minutes, his brother made an exasperated noise under his breath and then pushed his coffee cup to one side.
Draven allowed himself some small measure of hope- evidently his brother had not completely disappeared.
"So," Darius stated- apparently he had finished with his silent inspection. "You seem to have survived."
Draven gaped at his older brother. "Survived? That's harsh."
"Would you rather I state that I am honestly surprised to see the apartment still whole?" His brother tilted his head at him, eyeing him with something like astonishment in his eyes.
"I'm not that bad." Draven pointed out with a frown.
"Of course you are." His brother said, and it took a few seconds for Draven to fully realize the tone that his brother was using- disdain.
His brother had never been so cruel before. The frown deepened on his face and made his relatively friendlier features ugly in the light of the runestone lanterns overhead.
"I'm taller now." Draven piped up defiantly. "And stronger too!"
"… You are thinner than I left you. Much of your weight I would hazard to guess is in muscle and not in fat." His brother drawled back. "…I take it you have not been eating as well as I told you to."
"I've got a job now too!" He didn't know why he felt like shouting when he said it, but he did.
"As a… street performer, I take it?" Darius tilted his head at the brightly colored clothes strewn on the floor. He seemed to be openly judging him now, and whatever it was that he found, he did not seem to like one bit.
"Hey- I don't fucking do that anymore. I work for the Fleshing Arena now." Draven insisted, prickling underneath his brother's stare. "It's a good living!"
"… And that is still hardly acceptable." Darius pointed out flatly. "…It does not change the fact that you still live off the kindness and generosity of others."
"Well-" Draven snapped irritably. "At least I'm earning money for myself. I have been for the past fucking years you were gone."
"… Given your occupation, I think you were earning sporadically." His brother retorted.
Despite all his efforts, Draven found that he could not understand Darius now, could not discern the reasoning behind his voice or his attire or his alien personality. The chair practically flew off as he stood up and pounded his palms on the table. Darius' coffee cup would have fallen then, but somehow his brother managed to reach out and hold it in place, all without upsetting his posture.
"What does that even mean?" Draven howled at him.
"It means 'you are not earning as much or as often as you should'." Darius said when he once would have risen to the challenge as well. Though his countenance was calm, his voice sounded strained. "Sit down."
"Fuck you!" Draven snarled at him. "Who the hell do you think you are to come back into my fucking life like this? What gives you the fucking right to judge me? I don't know who the hell you are, but you're not my brother!"
Darius stared at him briefly, something like an emotion stirring behind the obsidian walls in his eyes. Draven's shoulders were heaving now, and his entire frame felt heated and tense. Who was this thing in front of him indeed, to judge him so quickly?
"… Very well," Darius said softly. "… I will admit, I was rather quick to judge you. I did not… inquire properly."
"Fucking right you didn't." Draven snarled.
"Despite your claims, however, I assure you that I am your brother, and throwing a childish tantrum in front of me would get you nowhere." Darius weathered his rage with grace, eyeing him as if he was not angry at all, as if his display was nothing more than a bird flapping its wings at him. "Sit down so that we can converse properly."
"Fucking make me!" Draven reached underneath the table, seeking to flip it at his brother's face. The older man in front of him reached out with one hand and pressed down hard on the middle of the table- and for all his efforts, Draven found that he could not lift.
There was steel in his brother's eyes and Draven found himself quailing away from the stare, his hands falling to his sides in shock.
"Sit down," His brother rumbled ominously, and he could see the blood slowly dribbling out of the wound on his brother's jaw as he grit his teeth. "Draven."
"What the shit are you?" Draven asked, aghast. "What did they do to you?"
"I learned." His brother withdrew his hand, and he had the gall to sip at his coffee before he continued to speak. "… But I can… see that you are distressed and somewhat… upset. If you would be so kind so as to sit down, I will humor what questions you have regarding my education, and I will… apologize for my previous behavior."
Draven rubbed at his face, tried to think on the exact message of his brother's words and found that he could not. "… What the flying fuck did you just say?"
"… Ask me anything you wish," And his brother slowly and carefully leaned back in his own chair- the first sign that he gave thus far of being relaxed and remotely human. "And… I am sorry, for judging you so quickly."
Draven didn't dare take his eyes away from his brother as he retrieved and placed the chair back on its feet. Slowly, he took resumed his seat, and then swallowed nervously, trying to search for something of the old Darius in those eyes.
His brother didn't even blink.
Draven tried to think- all the questions screaming to be voiced in his mind earlier suddenly disappeared. He didn't know what to say to Darius now that he had been given free rein, and he was afraid that his brother would suddenly snap at him in impatience if he took too long.
But Darius never did. As the seconds rushed past, he sat serenely on his chair, watching him and giving him all the time in the world to compose himself and to find the right words. Draven found himself appreciating the silence between them for the first time since his brother had returned.
The questions came back to him eventually. It did not take much longer before he chose the one he felt most relevant.
"… What happened to you?" He decided.
"Narrow it down." His brother returned.
"Narrow what…?"
"The question." Darius tapped his fingers on his coffee cup. "To ask me what happened to me- as a whole, it is too much to say. We would be sitting here for hours on end, I think. No- ask me something more specific."
"Is it true then," Draven struggled to remember what Cassandra had told him. "That they torture you to make you stronger?"
Darius did not even take his time to think.
"… It is true. Twice over in the Crucible, and for a final time during the Instigation." His brother tilted his head, and Draven could see the memories moving past his brother's cold eyes. "In the Crucible they- separated the weak from the strong- physically, mentally, emotionally. They made us face an unspeakable horror to teach us of strength and of fear. During the Instigation, they… imbued loyalty within us… to Noxus, and to High Command."
"Imbued?" Draven repeated.
"I am not permitted to tell you," His brother's voice seemed to tighten as he clenched his jaw and gritted out the final words. Blood oozed lazily out of his newest scar, running down his jaw and neck in a sluggish little stream, staining his collar further. "Nor can I- it is… it was a test that I dare not face again. I am loyal."
"Okay," Draven found himself raising both his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Okay, I get it. It was horrible."
"… 'Horrible' is a light word," His brother scoffed. "Do you have any other inquiries?"
"Why do you talk weird now?" Draven blurted out.
"… 'Weird'?" Darius repeated the word gingerly, as if it was a bitter thing that he didn't want to have on his tongue. A muscle in his jaw twitched as he did so. "… Define 'weird'?"
"You used to speak… I don't know, like me." Draven pointed to himself. "Not all uppity and shit."
Darius looked like he was trying his hardest not to correct him. "… 'Uppity'." He repeated again.
Draven pitied him- it was almost as if Darius was doing his hardest to relearn the words he had once used so liberally. "Uppity- yeah. You know. Snooty. Bitchy?"
"… Casually?" It seemed as if Darius had finally made a connection. "… Yes, I do suppose that I spoke… casually before I departed."
"Now you're just being an asshole." Draven pointed out.
"I admit that my manner of speech has become more… formal now," His brother looked to be deep in thought. "But… that change was inevitable, especially given the circumstances I faced- I was surrounded by aristocrats for the most part, and given subject matters appropriate to their class."
"… Are you telling me you learned how to talk like them?"
His brother chuckled and made a vague waving gesture. "Conversing with you now, I can see how different I must be to you. But you are different to me as well… you certainly went without the expletives when you were younger."
"That's a fucking understatement." The words tumbled out of Draven's mouth so fast that he hardly had time to process the question. The frustration was all too clear in his voice. "As far as expel-whatevers are concerned- well, I had a rough time when you were gone. A fucking rough time."
Darius gave a sigh, and Draven saw his eyes softening for the first time in what seemed like a million years spent in isolation and caution. "I see… Regardless if I may seem… cold, harsh or uncaring, I am still your brother, Draven."
"Got a hell of a way to show it." Draven snapped back. "Interrupting my fuck, judging the shit out of me like you fucking know everything that happened- fuck you."
Darius looked to be testing his mouth again and grasping for patience as he responded slowly. "… Yes, well. My timing was… rather unfortunate. I am… relieved to see you."
"Well I'm fucking glad to see you too." Draven replied grudgingly- even if his brother seemed to have become something else- at least Darius was alive, and still looked out for him. Still, he was unquestionably harsher this time, like someone had taken him and sharpened him into something utterly inhuman.
Draven didn't know if he should be scared or concerned.
The beginnings of a smile appeared on Darius' face- and it took quite a while for Draven to see it. He had been shocked out of his skin when his brother had returned, had continued to be surprised enough that resorting to violence seemed a good idea at the time. Now he stared at his brother with some understanding in his eyes- not enough to call the thing across him as a human being, but enough to identify stirrings of emotion if and when they appeared.
Whatever had happened to his brother to have changed him so, to have taken the boy that he could always read and understand and twist him into a haughty, drawling thing- Draven could not comprehend it at all.
Darius was still staring at him with that miniscule smile- as if he had been searching in the dark for something small, and only now did he find whatever he was looking for. Perturbed, Draven found himself leaning away. The action made the smile on his brother's face grow- and though he had longed to see his brother smile again since their parents had first died, he did not like what he saw on Darius' face then. The way his brother's face moved seemed mechanical, as if he was relearning how to use his muscles again.
"I would ask you of your life thus far but I can see tonight is a… trying evening. Why don't you go to bed?" His brother said, still with that unsettling look on his face. "You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, do you not?"
"Fuck it, saying that it's 'trying' is a fucking understatement again. Tomorrow? It's… it's nothing, just work." Draven mumbled out the side of his mouth as he rubbed at his face again. "That you hate. Or despise. Or whatever word you used. 'My little brother's a street performer'. Whatever, right?"
Darius made a noise of assent in his throat. "… I can see that I did more than distress you… Would an offer to accompany you tomorrow to your work suffice by way of apology?"
For the seemingly the nth time since he had arrived, Darius' words made Draven's jaw drop down in utter shock. "What do you me- you're going to watch me work? I thought you hated it? Whatever happened to fucking putting me down? What the shit?"
"… I do not approve of your occupation, because it is unsound and highly reliant on patronage for your continued survival," Darius corrected as he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth and took a sip. "But I do not despise it, if you enjoy what it is that you do. Is there some other reason why I should not watch you?"
"Aren't you… when are you…" Draven sputtered out- his brother had demeaned his occupation earlier, and now he was asking if he could come with him? "Didn't you just…I don't know… aren't you busy? With military stuff?"
Darius chuckled- and it was such an odd sound considering that he had spent so long without his brother laughing in front of him. Draven had almost forgotten what his brother sounded like when he was happy. After their parents had died, he had watched his brother's smiles fade away into something filled with loathing, had never heard his brother laugh except in a pitying fashion. That the stranger in front of him was clearly trying to regain something that had been lost for a long time- Draven found himself smiling back weakly, even as his brother spoke on in an accent that he was still trying to understand.
"The… military 'stuff'-" There was the twitch of the jaw and the roll of the tongue again as his brother found the word displeasing. "I will have you know now that I shall be at liberty for the next four weeks, after which I must report to the nearest Noxian recruitment office in order to fulfill the terms of my commission."
"… So what? That means you're free?" Draven's smile grew wider as he gestured out the window. The prospect of impressing his brother, of showing him the fruits of some four years of blood, sweat and tears- to say that Draven was excited was an understatement. He was absolutely elated. "You're free to watch me work? Oh man, I'm… I'm looking forward to it. I mean, I have so much to show you. I have… wow…"
Darius gave a nod, and the smile came on his face much easier now, less rusty and more fluid than before. "I am at liberty," His brother repeated in a corrective tone that Draven remembered more clearly. "For four weeks, Draven. You have me at your disposal before I will be given a platoon to command and deployed thence to wherever Noxus has need of me."
"Whatever!" Draven said with a jovial note in his voice as he stood up and sent his chair flying away again. "You're going to be watching me for four weeks!"
Darius eyed him again, and it seemed to the younger brother then that the amusement in his eyes was more genuine and less demeaning. "Ah, how the furniture survived you, I never will understand." Darius rumbled under his breath. "If you put the chair back, I may contemplate buying you dinner."
Draven nearly choked on his own spit in surprise. His brother? Buying dinner? It wasn't as if his brother was an abysmal cook- Darius actually cooked better than he did and he wanted nothing more than to see if his brother's skills had improved in the interim- but they had never bought dinner together before. They had always been too poor.
Darius nearly leapt across the table in sheer joy- as it was, he threw himself at the dining table and his brother somehow managed to save both beverages with his hands and quick reactions.
"You're buying dinner!?" Draven practically yelped at him like an eager pup.
For his part, his brother seemed to tolerate the display of immaturity as he stood up- mechanically again- and pushed the two cups onto a nearby counter to keep safe from his rambunctious movements. "… I shan't if you insist on maintaining this behavior."
"But you're buying dinner!"
"That is hardly amusing, is it?"
"But you never buy dinner! You always cook!"
"Consider this a first- seeing as we can afford it now."
The rest of the evening passed fairly quickly- once his brother had made certain that the rest of the apartment was still in working order, he moved himself back into his room- which had been largely unused for the four years that he had been away. For his part, Draven crumpled back into bed after pushing his clothes into a corner, to be gathered up in the morning.
Only the faintest pinkish yellow streaks were in the sky outside the window when Draven smelled something in the air. Never one to rise quickly, he had to literally push himself off the floor when his attempts to wake up resulted in him crumpling onto the hardwood planks like a sack of rice. It was perhaps six in the morning, based off the brass clock on the wall that Darius had installed prior to his departure. As his nose twitched and his mind tried to process the smell, he realized he was hungry… and that the smell was something good.
Half-stumbling, half-flopping his way to the door like a brain dead fish, he leaned on the doorway for support as the rest of the information made his way to his mind. From the looks of his hair, his brother seemed to have just come from the shower, but he was wearing nothing but a black shirt- which looked to have seen better days- and a pair of black loose black pants. There was a towel slung about his shoulders as he tended to whatever it was on the stove.
"… What the flying fuck?" Draven managed to say, though his grogginess made it more like a plaintive undead moan.
"Good morning." His brother said curtly.
"What are you doing up so fucking early?" Draven mumbled as he padded over to his brother.
"… Making breakfast. Is there a problem?" Darius inquired kindly. Draven looked down at the little black pan and blinked in surprise. There, bubbling and cooking happily in its own fat, were several thick and rotund sausages. The tray by his brother's elbow indicated what else was for the first meal of the day: three eggs with unusually bright and vibrant yolks, the edges of the whites a crisp light brown; two loaves of puffy golden brown bread, a few slices of cheese and a slab of butter; half an orange, a bunch of grapes and an apple carefully sliced into eight equal pieces. A cursory glance at the nearby pot made his eyebrows shoot up- it looked something like porridge, only it was a light brown color.
"Chocolate porridge." Darius explained when Draven glanced at him in askance.
"… How the hell did you pay for all this?" Draven mumbled out. "Everything looks fucking great too. Oh man, You didn't just sell yourself, did you?"
"… If you are suggesting that I turned to prostitution in order to make you breakfast, you are sorely mistaken. All of it was reasonably priced," His brother said smoothly over the pop and crackle of sizzling sausages.
"I don't fucking believe you." Draven raised an eyebrow at him as the delicious smell gradually woke him up. "It's like one gold a piece for a good two kilograms of this stuff. And cheese? How far did you walk? How much did you pay?"
"If you are awake at these hours, you would know that the butchers and the bakers start their work at this time, and that the products are all very cheap considering its quality in order to usher in customers." Darius explained as he gently pried his brother off his shoulder. "When I woke up this morning, it was a simple matter to walk to the covered market a few streets down."
"… There's a covered market there?" Draven blinked up at him as his mind struggled to negotiate the memories of that particular place with what his brother had just told him. "I thought it was like one of those animal fighting rings because it was just so fucking noisy."
"… I instructed you on its existence before I left." The side of his brother's mouth twitched, as if he was still in the process of deciding whether to smile or to frown at Draven's ignorance. After a second or two, he shook his head and carefully pushed the sausages onto a plate next to the stove. "… Well, it hardly matters now. I have returned."
Draven rubbed at his eyes as he watched his brother ladle the porridge into two bowls. "… Oh man, I don't fucking know how to deal with this shit."
His brother glanced at him over his shoulder in askance. "… You find all of this unpleasant?"
Draven shook his head. "No, no. It's just… this is a lot for breakfast. And you're cooking, of course, but stiff-like. Like a statue I guess?"
"I see you find my posture unnerving. Well. There is nothing I can do about that. As far as breakfast is concerned, we hardly had money to have something like this." Darius pointed out without hesitation. "But mother and father used to have something like this, before you were born."
"Even the cheese?" Draven's eyes widened.
"… No, that was something I felt appropriate. It was a constant while I was in military school." Darius shrugged his shoulders. "… The fruits and coffee also, but the rest… we had it every day. It was one of the few luxuries we had."
Darius placed the bowls onto the table and wiped his hands on his towel. "I have to change." His brother broached. "You may begin, if you so wish."
Draven blinked, stared down at the tray and then at his brother's face- at the old eyes and at the lazily bleeding scar on his jaw. "… Yeah, sure." He said distantly. "I'll… I'll go ahead and eat."
"… Is there a problem?" Darius probed slowly.
"… Nothing, it's just- this is a lot of fucking effort for breakfast." Draven said lamely.
"… It is nothing less than what mother used to make." Darius offered as he dabbed at his bleeding jaw with his towel. "I can see where you would be concerned and I understand the sentiment- you never had something like this."
"… I guess." Draven admitted softly.
His brother stared at him for a few moments before he shrugged his shoulders and padded off to his room.
Draven was halfway through breakfast when Darius emerged from changing. There was a bandage over the oozing scar now, and he was clad in a black waistcoat, the white collared shirt underneath buttoned up and pulled so that the starched collar curled about his neck. Draven watched him, utterly amazed as his brother tied his silken blood red cravat perfectly without even consulting a mirror or any reflective surface.
Darius noticed him soon enough, and stared at him when he settled into his seat, his black coat slung on the chair. "Yes?"
"… Nothing, I was just wondering where you had the money for those clothes of yours." Draven said around a mouth full of egg-soaked bread. "They look fucking expensive."
"There is a rather handsome monetary reward given to the candidates who obtain the Commander's Baton," Darius replied curtly. "… Though it matters very little to recipients who already possess considerable assets."
"… So the first thing you fucking bought, the moment you got out of military school, were clothes?" Draven asked with a raised eyebrow, the chewed up bits of his food oozing out of the corner of his mouth as he gaped at his brother in utter shock. "Aren't you just the prissy little asshole?"
"… I was hardly being narcissistic; I didn't have anything upon graduating other than my school uniforms." Darius stated around the cup of coffee that he brought to his mouth.
"You could've bought me something." Draven pointed out with a deep pout.
"You are no longer a child to be given useless tokens." Darius stated flatly. "Regardless if you were still a little boy, I would not spend hard-earned gold on something so trivial. Food, clothing, rent, armor and weapons- now those are more worthwhile. I take it you have been punctual?"
Draven swallowed the lump of food nervously. How could he tell his brother that he had been late on his payments before?
Fortunately for him, Darius seemed to read him like a book, sighing exasperatedly as he stared at him. "… I dare suppose it was too optimistic of me to have thought such."
"It wasn't as if I was forgetful or anything." Draven tried. "I just… I ran out of money. The allowance ran out."
"In your second year, with the dissolution of the House of Swain." Darius replied as he dipped his bread into the bright yellow yolk. "Again, it was too optimistic of me to have hoped they would keep their word. But this apartment is still within our rights, is it not?"
Draven nodded mutely.
Seemingly satisfied with his interrogation, Darius began to break his fast. Draven watched him curiously. Darius had always been a messy eater who never cared if his mouth was full or not whenever he talked, but now he ate fast and clean. There were no wasted movements; no brief moments spent savoring his meal as he had once done. He mechanically pulled apart his food with his hands or with his knife and fork, shoving food, chewing and swallowing without any real regard for the taste.
It was a great breakfast- the best Draven had in a long time- and so he had been thinking of the reasons why his brother seemed to take no delight in it when he realized that Darius probably would have eaten better in Boram's Point.
Darius ignored him then, tucking away as if there were devils on his shoulder shouting at him to finish faster. Draven lowered his head, stared down at his half-finished plate and at the telltale egg yolk stains on the collar and sleeves of his shirt. Staring at his brother, Darius didn't even have any lint on his waistcoat or even the faintest hint of a stain on his shirt.
"… You really must finish your food. It'll get cold." Darius' voice pierced through his musings. Draven forced out a smile.
"Y-yeah. I guess." He reached out and went back into eating as Darius leaned back into his chair and watched the sun's light move across the slate grey roofs. A thoughtful look on his face, his next words made Draven look up from resuming his meal.
"… I forgot to say, in the rather catastrophic beginning we had yesterday…" Darius looked at him, and for the first time in a long while, Draven could see that he was uncertain and grasping for something. "… I am…glad to be home again."
Draven shoved all his food into one cheek so as to reply.
"Yeah. You're fucking home again. Welcome back. It'll be fucking great."
Darius smiled slightly- it was too small to be noticed, if one wasn't looking for it. "… Thank you."
Draven returned it with a wide, food-encrusted grin.
Author's Notes: This took unnecessarily long thanks to writer's block and a failed HDD, but we managed to retrieve what we could. Aaaa- anyway. I wanted to show how Darius changed from Draven's point of view, and we could see how much Draven has changed also in the way he speaks and generally behaves.
That being said, the next couple of chapters would highlight the differences between the two of them even more, and then we get to meet General du Couteau and his household. Looking forward to it.