Between what should and what should not be

Everything is liable to explode. Many times

I was told 'who has no land has no sea'. My father

Learned to fly in a dream. This is the story

Of a sycamore tree he used to climb

When he was young to watch the rain.

Sometimes it rained so hard it hurt. Like being

Beaten with sticks. Then the mud would run red.

Sleeping Trees (Fady Joudah)

NINE MONTHS LATER…

From the local wildlife's perspective it was a thing of curiosity to see a man trying his hardest to not be seen, to not be known. After all, there were about a hundred thousand of the bipedal creatures some distance away doing what their kind did best- that is, being a noisy and disrespectful mob of bald primates as they sharpened their artificial claws and prepared themselves to destroy an opposing tribe.

Like ants the humans scurried frantically about their tent city, digging latrines and defensive lines through the soft ground, burning animal fat to produce radiant but hurtful flames and coating their flying barbs with poison gleaned from the guts of flame-colored amphibians. For this one man to have separated from the rest then, to have chosen to remain silent and still in the semi-solid clay despite the tall stinging grass that surrounded him- the animals close by welcomed his silence and his respect.

He was joined by another of his tribe, and the animals briefly watched this new man in trepidation. After all, he like the rest, enclosed in a cold shell that marked him outside of what was natural, smelled of spilt blood that called to the more carnivorous beasts of the floodplains, unlike the one who had chosen to accept it. It was difficult for the other to lie low, because his carapace hardly gave him as much freedom as the other's did and made grinding noises that hinted at another layer of metal underneath, but when he showed no inclination to do anything else, the fauna decided that this new creature was not a thing to fear. They resumed their lives as if the two never existed, and more time passed in peace before the first of the man-creatures deigned to speak.

"You interrupted the birds." The man that wore leather and cloth noted. His vibrant red hair was mostly hidden underneath a muddied and torn cloak, his frigid green eyes warming for a brief moment as he pushed himself a little bit off the ground, adjusting his garments to make room.

"It matters not. They're singing again." The newcomer responded- his hair was black like his armor save for a white patch atop his right eye, his face dirtied and laden with old wounds like the dents and scratches on the metal plates that covered him so- a scar atop his right jaw reaching up to the lower folds of his eye, and a jagged trail that started from his left cheek, skirting the edge of his eye to stop at his forehead.

"It matters very much if the Demacians were looking for us." The fiery-haired human pulled down the brown mask that covered the lower half of his face, exposing a youthful face and the slightest hint of a smile. "But it seems as if they are content to lie back for the moment. You should be thankful that birds are nothing but simple creatures." He said simply.

"Birdseed and quiet," The young man replied as he pulled something out from the black leather satchel he had by his side- a map, folded many times and stained with brown in places where the water-resistant layering gave way to the inevitable encroachment of blood and dirt. "That is all they need."

The leather-clad man laughed softly then as he pulled a nearby corkboard closer. "Have a look." He implored as he pulled a pair of binoculars over his head, handing the battered implement to the black-haired youth next to him.

If one was a bird, the corkboard would be a series of shining pins that would look marvelous in any nest. But if one looked at it as a human being did, one would have been able to read the markings along the side, and one would be able to understand what it represented: a military map, complete with grid designations, of the Zara Floodplains, located due east of the Bubbling Bog, on the other side of the Serpentine River.

There were twenty two pins embedded into the map, and for something used by a scout, it was meticulously organized and easy to read: the pins served as indicators, color-coded according to troop strength and origin. Warm colored pins across the curve of the river stood in for Demacian soldiers with density marked by reds and oranges. Yellows marked out artillery positions on the rearguard of the legions assembled, vibrant violets depicted mage formations along the fringes of the field. Cool colored pins ranging from light blue to dark green stood for the Noxian presence in the Zara Floodplains. In between them all, drawn in delicate almost spiderlike lines, red and blue arrows ran across the battlefield- dotted troop movements and thick-lined supply trains with probable directions marked in pencil. It was a veritable bed of information that any scout- Demacian or Noxian- would have been glad for.

The young man studied the pattern of pins on the corkboard then, frowning at some minor detail that only he found displeasing as he swept his hand across the water resistant surface. After some time spent staring through the binoculars at a distant cloud of dust along the horizon, he quietly moved a pin forward a full grid square- it was, in his professional opinion, too uniform to be made by nature. In addition, the dark clouds above hinted at an incoming deluge rather than a column of vengeful wind.

"… Mhm. That is just about right- who taught you how to read a map?" The red-haired human raised an eyebrow good-naturedly as the younger of his species took out a marker from his pouch, marking his battered map to reflect the corkboard.

"You did, sir." The black-haired human responded easily as he pulled the binoculars over his head and offered them back to their owner.

"I did." The man nodded his head sagely as he shifted his weight to one side in order to grant his elbow some reprieve. The mud caked along his archer's brace and it took a bit of effort to brush it all off without disturbing the birds singing nearby. "If you were looking for your picket, you've gone a long way- five miles or so would bring you walking straight into a Demacian patrol."

"I know where the Black Watch laid down the tent," The black-haired human responded slowly, with the glint of indignation in his eye cleverly veiled. "But I had heard last December that Boram's Point had emptied and that you were here, Assistant Instructor. I had thought… may I speak freely?"

"We are no longer in the Academy, and you are no longer a candidate, Lieutenant Darius." The red-haired man said as he took his binoculars back. "Outside of Boram's Point, I merely hold two years' seniority over you. We are the same rank. Speak as you will."

"… Lieutenant Strongbow." The youth corrected himself then. "Yes sir."

"Mhm. As for the rumor- yes, Boram's Point has emptied." Strongbow tilted his head. "This is the last war, after all. Everything that can be settled will be settled, and Darkwill will not take anything less than an absolute and lasting victory. To be allowed to fight in this final clash against our old enemy- we all took it as a sign of his trust in our abilities."

"Then it is true- that there will be an Institute of War soon after this?" Darius blinked and stared at him. "I… I had thought it impossible."

"A 'League of Legends'." Strongbow corrected him with a disdainful snort. "It sounds all so very Demacian, filled with propaganda and false esteem."

Darius shook his head and sighed heavily. "… I wonder what made them agree to it."

"We stand on the precipice of change. A peacetime Noxus would be interesting indeed." Strongbow shrugged. "But you are not alone in your thoughts, lieutenant. I never thought I would see it occur in my lifetime- only twenty-five years ago, Darkwill declared our participation in the Fifth Rune War. This new League would result in nothing short of a riotous climate for us. It pains me to say that Demacia will have an easier time shifting itself to accommodate it."

The dark-haired youth's eyes widened slightly in open surprise. "What do you think will happen then?"

The older man gave a sigh then, stared out into the valley as the animals went about their business- birds took to wing seeking warmer and calmer climates, ants gathered supplies for the incoming storm, squirrels poked their heads curiously from nearby hollows- it was almost as if the two humans were not present- nature carried on, with or without them.

"… Honestly, there are too many things to think about. If one would consider them all..." Brow furrowed thoughtfully, gloved hands tapping a pattern onto the soft earth, Strongbow chewed at the corner of his lip before he continued. "There is the House of Cairne's coalition to deal with- they have always opposed Darkwill's support for the creation of the League. Our merchants would welcome the peace- we may see more variety in our markets then, and perhaps lowered prices as well. I do not know if conscription will still be an acceptable and economical option, given that conflict would be restricted to those so-called 'Fields of Justice'. What point is there in maintaining a standing army if only a select few would represent us- other than keeping it as a bloated and expensive sheathed blade? And the ban on magicks as well- we have always been the best at what the accord intends to render as illegal."

"This League sounds like a Demacian ploy to weaken us, sir." The younger man commented vehemently. "We should never have accepted the accord."

"It sounds all very disgusting." His companion admitted. "But perhaps it is for the best. You cannot deny the effect that magicks have wrought on the land. We saw the dead rise and consume the Glorious First at Jacob's Ford- they are calling it the Howling Marsh now. At Vesquenhaff, the Demacian's poor grasp of magic vaporized their entire flank, the 9th Standard and the entire countryside with it. To continue down this path would bring Valoran crashing down on our ears. It is better to be part of such a thing than to go against it- that way, we may yet have a hand in terms that would have destroyed us."

"Still- if it would ruin us, if it would constrict us so," Darius reasoned with a deepening frown. "How would it be for the best?"

Strongbow shrugged his shoulders again- obviously, despite his seniority, the archer did not seem to know much either. "Who are we to question what Boram intends to do? We cannot see all the threads that connect this web. We cannot know what the spider plans if we are nothing but its legs. As infantry, we can only see so far before the fog of war clouds our eyes. Only the Joint Council knows."

Composed of five Generals and five Admirals, the Joint Council were both the highest judicial court in Noxus and the Grand General's circle of advisers. The Joint Council, the Hand of Noxus, and the Grand General formed High Command and only the Grand General was able to make decisions that affected the entire chain of command. To be a General then was to be part of Noxus in her entirety, given a hand in shaping his people, put into a position filled with so much power in even the softest of his words. Darius did not know it yet, but he would become part of that elite clique and above it.

Of course, the doom of the future was just that- in the future. Darius was only a lieutenant, and a fresh one at that. His duties were to see to the well-being of his troop and to execute the orders of his company commander- the continued prosperity and strength of an entire city-state were the least of his concerns as of the moment.

Darius was, for the time being, one of the lowest rungs of the ladder of authority within Noxus, and it was clear from the way that the scar on his jaw tightened slightly when he gritted his teeth that he did not think highly of his superiors at all. "I do not trust the generals, sir. Or rather… I do not trust Montolieu with all that I have seen."

Strongbow tilted his head then, a strange light in his eyes. Was he considering the younger man's words to be treacherous, or truthful? It was hard to tell. "We haven't had a disastrous engagement thus far- the assaults on Belvoir Castle and Jacob's Ford were decisive engagements. You are threading the fine line that divides criticism from calumny. Elaborate."

The young man swept his hand about, glancing down at the corkboard and at his stained map. "If we are to win this final war, sir… Montolieu has made several mistakes here: we are building trenches in a floodplain- what barricades we have made would not hold against artillery. The incoming storm would mean that the Serpentine would swell, and we may see a flood overwhelm our position rather than the Demacians."

"The Demacians are in no better position." Strongbow pointed out. "They make camp at the Bubbling Bog."

"But their heavy infantry companies and artillery batteries are located due north, where the ground is more solid." Darius argued. "Our companies and batteries are scattered about the floodplain with no clear pattern and with absolutely no regard for movement- if the enemy attempts to take this position now, they will find it an easy assault. The mud is making it hard to move our artillery, and more than one corps has experienced delays with movement across the unsteady plain. General Montolieu has only been lucky- we cannot rely on that all the time. Surely you can see that we are at a disadvantage with regard to our positions, sir."

Strongbow observed him for a moment before he pulled a wrapped piece of jerky from his pouch, offering it silently to his former student. "Eat." He advised.

"… I'm not hungry." Darius responded with a disappointed mutter. "Sir-"

Strongbow did not relent, refusing to remove the ration from his protégé's face until the younger man took it grudgingly, tearing the waxed paper covering before he savagely tore into the smoked and dried meat.

"Now," Strongbow said slowly as the young man chewed the tough ration. "Think of what you said, and how we can turn all of that to our favor."

Darius made a noise in his throat as he gnawed on the meat like a cow chewing cud. He spent a considerable amount of time like this before he finally decided to speak- until he had chosen to do so, Strongbow spent the silence sedately observing the clouds of dust across the floodplains.

"… If we can goad them on; if we can have the Demacians enter the plains with us…" Darius began. His words were hesitant at first, but gained strength and speed the longer he poured out his thoughts and the more he saw approval thaw his former instructor's eyes. "And if the 3rd and 5th Standards can somehow outflank them…"

"You're placing a heavy dependence on what-ifs." Strongbow noted when he finished laying out his design. "Not to mention that your strategy is something straight out of the Academy's handbook."

"But it is sound," Darius said helplessly as he stared at his former instructor. "Sir. It will work."

"In theory, it would- if all your officers are in agreement and in harmony with each other's actions." Strongbow remarked- his voice was not heated, but it was firm. "This is the real world. Think of what we have, right now. Have you been observing the camp as you should?"

"Observing camp politics." Darius' lip curled derisively. "Yes sir, however it is all nothing but pointless bickering."

"You forget how fickle humans are. We need incentive to perform according to expectations." Strongbow countered gently. "Pointless camp politics, you say- but have you been paying attention at all, Lieutenant?"

Darius sighed as Strongbow pressed him on with an inquiring look. "… General Montolieu and most of the company commanders, Captain de Roquefort in particular, cannot come to an agreement." He admitted. "Brigadier-General Travert is overcautious and wary of coordinating with Rear-Admiral Lachance, and the rest of the cavalry echo his concerns to some extent-"

"Due to?"

"The naval barrage a week ago when we were still positioned close to the Freljord, where the fleet could reach us with the offshore batteries." Darius replied. "Most of Travert's cuirassiers were annihilated as we moved south and he is bitter towards Lachance for the loss of his men."

"… Mhm. Succinct enough." Strongbow quirked his eyebrows. "And what of the men? Have you put their exhaustion into consideration? Their hesitation when faced with their superiors? You are in their shoes."

"The men are exhausted, demoralized, but still, they dare not refuse." Darius retorted automatically. "They are conscripted. They have no choice but to obey whatever inane decision Montolieu puts forth- whether they live or die is irrelevant."

"We are all conscripted men. That is the nature of Noxus." Strongbow corrected. "You fail to see that the only difference between you and them is that you had the opportunity to have an education. Simply think, how would you see this situation, if you had not the four years under Captain di Castellamonte's wing, if you never went through the fires of the Crucible? Most of these men are, by comparison, largely uninitiated, unprepared. Lachance is from the Merchant Marine Institute- he hardly has the bearing or intelligence of Admiral Blackbourne- who graduated with the Flagstaff at Severn Academy. De Roquefort is Boram's Point, same as you and I, but he did poorly in comparison to us and even de Montolieu knows this. Travert, as respectable as he is to have risen thus far from a humble commission in the Basic Infantry School, knows very little of grand strategy."

Darius swallowed the lump of meat in his mouth with a minute grimace.

"You graduated as Baton. De Montolieu will respect you for it but de Roquefort will disdain you for it." Strongbow said with an unreadable look at his former student. "Your roots lie in poverty, same as Travert and most of the senior conscripted. Lachance will not listen to soldiers, but he is beholden to Blackbourne, who will listen to De Montolieu because he must. Remember that the men look to the chain of command for reassurance, order and purpose. As officers we must answer their volatile and infectious doubt with a firm hand and a steady mind. Now, what can you do?"

The corner of Darius' lip lifted up in a smile as his eyes lit up with the realization that there was something he could do to change their circumstances. "… Ah. Thank you sir."

Strongbow returned the smile with one of his own before he pulled the mask back up his face. "I trust you will do what is expected of you, lieutenant."

"Still, I do not see the point in holding petty grudges when our lives and the success of this campaign weigh far more than reputation and the paltry corpses of men and horses." Darius muttered under his breath as he pushed himself up from the soft earth, running hands over his armor to brush the clumps of clay off his front. "I shall take my leave, sir, before we die from their collective stupidity."

"If all the officers were as practical as you, lieutenant-" Strongbow said with a chuckle as he turned back to observing the Demacians gathering in the distance. "We would never have arrived at this point."

"If only." Darius retorted.

"It would make for an excellent birthday present," Strongbow said cheerily over his shoulder. "If you could convince them to cease their stupidity and perhaps secure a victory for us in this final campaign- I for one would like to return to the comforts of Boram's Point, intact."

Darius chuckled and shook his head as he left.

His birthday didn't matter to him. All he wanted was to survive.

A few days ride from where Darius was huddled in the trenches at Zara, Draven was flipping axes to the sound of an enraptured crowd, but his mind was far from his work at the moment. He certainly deserved a shiny trophy, with his face on it of course, given the way that he was able to maintain his winning smile despite the resentful thoughts in his head.

There was a part of him that regretted snapping at Darius, even if it was a very silly part that mostly remembered long nights and warm rubs on the head. Darius had done nothing but sacrifice for him. Working in whatever job he could get his hands on, giving him the bigger share of the food, clothing him with whatever he could scrape together- this part of Draven knew he had no right to say those words at all, but then again the rest of him had felt it rather justified.

After all, Draven had wanted to show Darius how much he had changed, to shove it into his older brother's face that he had made something by himself, that he had built a life that made him happy.

But somehow, he didn't know how in hell Darius had managed to do it but he did, his older brother had gotten under his skin, had managed to pick away at his life and obtained for himself everything Draven could have possibly wanted- and by the gods, the man didn't share.

Darius had whined about his 'perks' enough times that Draven had learned to tune it out- oh, he had paid for his rights, he had done enough, he had never wanted to have all the nice things for himself, why would he be interested at all in tucking into a warm clit on a cold night- but Draven knew he was lying somehow.

After all, Draven was always right. And besides, who in the world didn't like tucking into a warm clit on a cold night? Darius might have turned his nose up at it, but really, the only thing his brother needed to unwind with was a good fuck.

His brother had changed so much, he barely recognized the man. As the days had gone by Draven had come to see that it wasn't just his voice or his eyes or his clothes- no, Darius had become more stringent, less flexible. He always woke up damnably early, went to sleep at ten in the latest, puttered about the house cleaning and fixing and always, always lecturing him about keeping things clean and orderly- he had never been such a noisy mother hen.

And principles! Those were also new- Darius never had any qualms before on how Draven carried himself, never voiced objections on how he lived except for maybe two separate occasions- but now Darius did nothing but complain and lecture seemingly every day and every other hour- 'no, that was not how our mother raised us', 'no that was not how the world worked', 'how did you even live this long', 'you can't stay blissfully ignorant all the time'.

Draven was not ignorant. He was an adult. His stupid older brother had been nothing but a persistent, condescending prick and it was high time that he gave the man his own share of lecturing. That big lug had it coming!

He was so deep in his thoughts that he almost missed one of his blades- now that wouldn't do, how could he get today's pay if he missed a blade, it was Darius' fault for distracting him. He managed to regain his balance just in time and managed to finish his act without any more mishaps. As he walked away from the bloody sands of the Fleshing Arena, someone suddenly took a hold of his shoulder.

"Hey!" As soon as he saw that the person was a man, a ready snarl crept up to his face. Did no one remember rule number one?

"Only women get to fucking touch the Draven." He spat. "Didn't you hear my rule number one back in the arena?"

The man- brown-haired and blue-eyed with a neatly trimmed beard and a raised brow- stared at him for a moment as if he was the insane person in the room before he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

"… Draven of Garnet Ward?" The man's tone of voice was much like Darius'- dripping with some sort of withheld condescension. But at least his brother seemed to make an effort to hide it. This man's displeasure and disapproval radiated in waves.

"Who the fuck is asking?" Draven responded with a sneer.

"My name is Serafin, of the House of Kovac," The man began.

"Well, you ain't anyone to me." Draven responded with a flip of his head. "Who the fucking hell gave you the right to touch me anyway? Sure as hell ain't me."

"… I am adjutant to Lord Warden Hervé and Provost Marshal of Garnet Ward, to which you currently claim residency." The man added despite Draven's interruption. He stared up and down at him for a moment- Draven felt himself bristle at the rude inspection- and consulted a clipboard before continuing. "You are brother to Darius, son of Hystaspes, of Iron Ward, and Athenais, of no recorded residence prior to her naturalization- is that information correct?"

Draven leered at him for a moment. He felt quite like a rabbit in a snare, helplessly caught in a trap that he had absolutely no idea about. "… What in the flying fuck are a 'Lord Warden' and a 'Provost Marshal'?"

"Are you stupid?" Serafin retorted bluntly.

"Who the hell are you?" Draven repeated. It was almost as if he was being dragged somewhere- but what the hell was going on?

"… You, sir, are a moron." The Lord Warden's adjutant shook his head and sighed. "A Lord Warden is the man that your district selected- and subsequently chosen by Our Lord Darkwill- to lead your Ward. He has only been in office this past year- did you never go to the closest selection office when the voting period was held?"

"Uh, no." Draven replied, feeling steadily infringed upon as the seconds passed. "No, I never fucking voted. There are votes?"

"You simpleton." Serafin curled his lip at him- much like Darius always did when faced with something he found displeasing. "I should have the constabulary apprehend you."

"Hey jerkface, I ain't breaking a law!" Draven barked back at him as he gathered himself.

"If there was a law against stupidity, I think Lord Warden Hervé would pass it immediately." Serafin drawled in reply. "Are you Darius' brother or not?"

"I'm the one and only Draaaaaaaaven- Darius ain't anything." Draven thumped on his chest and bared his teeth.

"… Are you Draven or not, because gods help me, I will call on the constabulary to imprison you for the rest of your life if you are not." Serafin responded with equal venom. "No more games, no more displays. You are out of the arena and in prison if you refuse to answer me: are you Darius' brother or not?"

"Yeah, whatever, I am." Draven replied grudgingly. "What the fuck is this about?"

"Consider this your one week's notice." The man pulled a paper from his clipboard and gave it to him. "You are hereby called, in the name of Our Lord Darkwill, to report to the Korovino Redoubt for training."

"… Training for… wait, you're conscripting me?" Draven reeled back, the paper in his hand already crumpling into a ball as he stared at the man in shock. "Me? Do you even know what the fuck I do? I have a job- why the fuck would you conscript me? Don't you just pick up those poor, drunken fuckers?"

"What kind of cave have you been living in?" Serafin asked him as he stared at him in disbelief. "Everyone must serve. Everyone. There are no exceptions to the rule."

"But I-" Draven stammered as he felt the walls of the world close about his mind. Everyone had to be conscripted? He had heard Darius tell him that before, but he had dismissed it to be another one of his brother's ramblings. The military? Him?

And why not? He found himself thinking. Why not enter the military?

Sure as hell, he could upstage Darius there. His brother had always gone on and on about how he would never survive boot camp, about how he lived elsewhere in his mind- if Draven could dominate the military, he could beat Darius at his own game and make him see that he wasn't the stupid one, that he deserved more respect from the stupid lug.

"How long?" Draven said- his voice hung a little and sounded strained, but he shook his head as he tried to mentally reset. "And where am I going after that?"

"Six years minimum, with the initial two week training program not included in your service." Serafin responded automatically- he seemed to be glad for some decent conversation- though his tone of voice left much to be desired. "As for where you would be assigned soon after, I haven't the faintest idea- it would depend on your performance during the training period. As Provost Marshal, my duty is only to call others to conscription. The rest would be handled by Provost Marshals of the Corps themselves."

"What about Borat's Plow?" Draven offered.

"… Excuse me?" The official looked quite ready to gag on his own spit.

"Oh, uh. Boredom's Pint. Uh. Point. That thing." Draven waved his hand about. "That place where they beat the shit out of you to give you nice things at the end of it."

Serafin stared at Draven as if the younger man was infected with a sort of frothing disease, edging slowly and carefully away.

"Hey, I'm asking you something." Draven frowned at him.

"… If you are speaking of Boram's Point," The adjutant seemed to have gathered his wits. "It has been emptied. Only substitutes remain on the grounds to cater to the next batch of recruits- the rest of the main staff are on the fields of battle as we speak. Either way, what do you care? The recruitment season ends next month, and only candidates with due recommendations and sponsorships would be accepted."

"Well, where the hell do I get one?" Draven demanded. He wouldn't be upstaged. He'd go to Boram's too. Darius wasn't going to upstage him there.

"… I feel as if I'm talking to an infant." Serafin said as he massaged his temples. "You do not find them. They find you."

"I'm right here." Draven found himself saying. "I'm Darius' brother. Why did he get picked, but not me?"

"Maybe it's because you're stupid." Serafin sneered with a pointed stare at him. "Maybe it's because you aren't capable. Maybe it's because you're mentally insane. Whatever the reason, you were considered as unfit for Boram's Point by those in authority, and now the training camps have to accept you and your inflated ego and juvenile behavior. I wouldn't envy them the duty."

Draven turned the words in his head- oh, petty insults did very little to dampen his spirits. It was more on the fact that he apparently had been passed over again that irked him. Well, that little comment wouldn't stop him. Those people just didn't know what the hell they were missing. He'd show everyone. He could take Darius at his own game. And then finally, he'd be recognized to be his own man- and everyone would see that he was a thousand times better than Darius the stiff log, Darius the clucking mother hen.

He'd be so much better.

Author's Note: Since he didn't have the formal training and education that Darius had gone through, Draven is pretty much nothing but a kid with a growing ego, and it showed in the way that he responded when he was challenged- just the way a kid might act: petty and ignorant. I don't really have much else to say, unless something has to be clarified somehow. In any case, the chapter before this was amended to include a short FAQ for questions that arose due to the portrayals thus far, so check that out if you haven't read it yet.