Riven
The room echoes with the sound of metal grinding against stone. Oil slick hands, tired hands, restless like the rest of her.
She is always sleepless the night before deployment.
There is a creak of wood and then a rustle of leather beside her.
"I have a door." Smiling, fondness
She doesn't need to look up to see who it is.
A tentative hand finds its way onto her leg, stilling her sharpening. It's been this way for weeks, ever since the order had been given. Nights of hesitant fingers, asleep in eachothers arms, guiltily wishing for it to be different.
"Promise me you'll return." The voice does its best not to sound desperate.
It almost succeeds.
Riven cups her clean hand onto the jaw of the woman, a lover perhaps. It eases in, uncharacteristically docile. She would give the world to this woman; a heart as fiery as her hair.
She does her best to sound confident.
"I promise"
She almost succeeds.
-strength-
The commander's nose wrinkles in disgust, her line cling onto the railing of the ship for dear life as they retch their breakfast over board. They were foot soldiers; the closest thing they got to the sea was the fish for their evening meals.
Another waves rocks the deck, another ripple of groans.
Two more days until land, six more meals wasted on her pathetic company.
But they are family, so they will continue to eat.
-strength-
Riven stops mid step.
Over the crashing waves and idle chatter, she hears the voice of a female cut the air, one that causes her hair to bristle at the thought of her presence. Her eyes scan over the gathered soldiers, they catch the gold eyes of a face hidden behind a scarf.
She stalks over to the group, the soldier having noticed her approach with a glimmer of mirth.
"Attention!" They snap, Gold Eyes is a hair slower than the rest.
"You, follow me, the rest; as you were."
They comply, falling back into their chatter as the commander walks away with the woman in tow. Riven shoves her into the room before shutting the door behind her.
"What business do you have on my ship, deceiver."
LeBlanc sheds her disguise, slightly impressed with how quickly she had been caught. But she wouldn't expect any less from the poster child of Noxus.
"Sharp as always." Hands bury into the pockets of her uniform, extracting a pristine canister and an envelope. They are placed on the table.
Still no answer. Impatience flares, Riven moves in on the mage.
"Answer the question."
The air becomes saturated with magic, the air stills in her lungs as her body stiffens against her will. Only her eyes move to follow the false soldier, finger lightly pressing on her thin lips. Warm breath on her cheek.
"Do not tell the other ships." It is said with a smirk, as if she knows riven will obey the command.
The door opens behind her, the finger hooking under and tilting her chin up.
"You are welcome, Commander Riven."
It shuts and she crumples to the ground gasping for breath into her starved lungs. It was the same magic that she trained to resist in the academy, yet there she was, at the mercy of this blasted woman.
She knows better than to try pursuing the soldier.
The tin is heavy with the stamp of some sort of flower on its underside. Inside is a pale green gel with a pungent odor. It comes to her, having only once seen a smear of it during a campaign in the Tempest Flats.
A potent healing salve from the Kumungu Jungles, lethal to manufacture; a soul essence must be used to stabilize the regenerative properties of the plant from which it is distilled. In her palm, the life of a nameless person, willing or unwilling. It feels heavier than it is.
The envelope is spotless. Her fingers ghost over the black wax seal. A letter from the Black Rose always led to the death of someone. She has half the mind to toss it out to sea but as much as despises them, she has no doubt that whatever is in it would be worth her time.
The paper tears, the seal remains.
It does not surprise her.
Inside is a card, orders she presumes.
"Change course, Jade Beach."
Riven's brows furrow, the command an odd one. The beach was far from their planned course to the drop point Dragon Cove. If they were to change paths now, it would add a full day to their journey to land.
How would she explain it to command?
She is torn, for whatever reason the Black Rose wanted her company to split from the rest with even notifying them. For what reason? Would they be avoiding death or sailing straight into it?
Reluctant, though she does not show it, the commander tells the mages to cut all communications off ship until they reach land, the bridge to change course for Jade Beach.
All their questions go unanswered.
-strength-
The report comes in the moment their boots hit the sand. Three ships captured by Ionian forces at Dragon Cove, an entire battalion of Zaunite machinery lost. Command depends a reason why she cut off communications, why she had disobeyed orders and left her charge underprotected. She gives them none.
Punishment, not death; their company is still of use. They are reassigned to be vultures, throat slitters. No glory of the battle of the front. Her family is disappointed but they are all happy to be alive.
None of them would've surrendered at Dragon's Cove.
-strength-
Her knee is stiff, the nerves still holding onto the belief that a barbed shaft was still embedded in the joint. No amount of the salve eases the ache. They are without a healer, not worth the trouble when people are dying on the front. She limps her way back into her tent, bones eager for the embrace of her cot.
"Commander." The woman awaits her when the flap of the tent is lift. She is toying with the clay tea pot Katerina had given her on a whim, saying that the ornate lion on the side reminded her of the soldier.
It brings her comfort after every mess they clean up.
Riven stumbles past her, falling heavily onto the makeshift bed. In silence, Leblanc watches her as she removes her armor piece by piece and setting them aside. It is only when the last pauldron is neatly put away does Riven roll her shoulders and acknowledge the mage.
"What do you wish from me, deceiver?"
She look expectant at her, prepared to hear the name of a poor sap needing to dealt with, though, Riven would not be the best candidate for assassinations. But what else could she possibly offer apart from the bite of her sword.
"Why must you make such assumptions?"
Riven can't stand how suggestive Leblanc's voice is, how sly, like a smile with a dagger in hand. The tent is small, the woman able to cross it in a few strides. Up in front of seated woman who is ready to just kick her out for some sleep.
A hand reaches for her snowy locks.
"People do things to earn favors." Riven growls, her hand quick to swat the offending limb away. "Now I am indebted to you and you are here to collect."
The statement is rough and strained. If she's awake any longer, the guilt will come back to gnaw at her mind.
"Such confidence. Hold onto that, Riven." Her body locks up once more, fingers threading through her hair. She can't tell whether the woman is mocking her or not.
But she is strong, so she will fight.
LeBlanc takes her time placing an envelope beside Riven whose head is too heavy for her shoulders, unable to draw breath. Not a second too late, air rushes back into her lungs, choking, head throbbing.
Cursed woman with her cowardly tactics.
Angry hands tear at the paper, the seal remains.
"Fubai Temple, 327 people, 120 soldiers, guardian, Varus."
The commander searches the card for any information she didn't already know. The campaign was scheduled for tomorrow, the Fury company to come do a sweep the following day. This guardian, Varus, worth a note.
Riven calls up the contact mages, passing the information to the invading company. She can tell they take it with a grain of salt when she mentions the Black Rose. Everyone knew of them, but their intentions remained up to speculation.
She bids them strength in their forthcoming trials.
-strength-
"Contact Established."
Dust picks up as the air swirls around the seven mages at the front of the clearing. A deafening hum falls over the gathered company in the center of the destroyed temple. A clean sweep, more blood on their hands.
In a flash, a scene comes into existence above the casters, one that command had ordered all companies to watch.
The Halbert company stands at attention while the younger of the blood brothers stand at the front. His usual cocky grin replaced with an angry scowl. There is a heavy amount of bandages wrapped around his left arm.
"Listen up peons. I'm not usually one to preach," Riven bites back a scoff, this man was a fool back in Noxus. "But let me remind you what we stand for. Bring up the scoundrel!"
A man is pushed forward, his arms bound behind his back. The skin on them is cracked and gnarled, a deep purple pulsing underneath.
"This man is one hell of a shot." A wave of disbelief rolls over the ranks. Draven was infamously the most egotistical man ever allowed to live on Noxian soil. For him to actually compliment someone other than himself.
"But his strength is ill got!" the executioner kicks the back of his knees, forcing Varus to the ground with a thud.
"Look at him! Disgusting, he did not train to hone this strength. A cheat. Weak. So pathetic that you jumped at the chance to become someone you did not earn." Draven kicks him again, landing a sharp blow to his ribs.
"You do not know me, Noxian." A kick to the face silences the man.
"No, and I don't want to, monster." Draven face lights up, drawing his axe above his head. "But now for the fun part."
Riven commends the fire still burning in Varus's eyes. The scene flickers and rocks as if the mages on the other side had been interrupted. There is shouting, the drawing of weapons.
"Ambush, ambush! To arms!"
It is the last thing to come over the connection before it is lost, a murmur falling over her troops.
"Riddick!" She barks for her second in command.
"Ma'am."
"See to it that we are ready to move out within the hour, Aaya Pass is half a day's march north. We will do what we can."
She turns sharply, gesturing for one of the contact mages to follow. The other companies would want to know of their movements.
"Ma'am yes Ma'am."
They find a prayer room, her and two others stand as a sculpture of a woman with the head of an elephant looms over them. Its eyes, though one missing and the other cracked, seem to bear down a judgement upon them.
A long sigh escapes her mouth, her mind numb as she makes the first of many connections.
-strength-
Riven is alone inside the prayer room when there is a knock on the empty doorframe.
"Speak."
"Ma'am, the Fury Company present and accounted for. They await further orders at the clearing."
She looks back at the destroyed statue. It doesn't speak to hear, doesn't look at her, just a large rock with a face carved into it.
The march is a silent one.
-strength-
There is nothing left when they arrive at Aaya Pass. The only indication of a battle is the read splashed on the dirt. Fury Company moves on to regroup with whatever was left of the Halbert company.
A message comes through, the Ionians had disengaged and fled into the woodwork after securing Varus. Orders came for them to press forward and forget about the gutless rats.
When they come to a rest, Riven climbs a hill for a vantage point. In the setting sun, she can see a sea of stakes, each with a fluttering red slip. Ionian graves.
"Honor to those who die with their ideals at heart."
She walks back down and the Fury Company marches on.
-strength-
54 prisoners from the Carnic Company
Riven stands over the body of the dead soldier who tried to weedle his way out of his death. Rather than accept her offer of a duel, he said the town nearby would exchange their prisoners for their lives.
A part of her is disappointed the information did not come from an envelope with the seal of a black rose. Would it had been more trustworthy?
In the end, she didn't care. The company had orders to kill all who the front missed, she did not deal with diplomacy.
But at their midday meal, looking over the smiling troops she called her family, those who trusted her with their lives. The Carnic Company would've been the same. What would become of them knowing that High Command did not take surrenders lightly. But if they passed the test...
54 prisoners, lives, people just like her.
"We march east to this town," Riven announces after the meal concludes. She expects disdain but the troops nod in approval, there is something that shines brighter than before when they look to her.
It makes Riven pause. Would she do this if her own men were captured? Would she want others to do the same for her?
She refuses to answer her own questions
-strength-
No deceiver comes on their march, it's just Riven and the churning pit in her stomach.
-strength-
Her soldiers cut through the town's meager guard easily, leaving any person with a weapon dead on the ground. Either way, she wouldn't have accept a surrender if they stood their way.
It is a heavy wooden cage in the center of town with a thatched roof over it. They look well fed, healthy, complacent.
Pitiful
The group stands and gathers at the door to the enclosure. The shock on their faces obvious, no one ever made the effort to rescue captured soldiers. Accustomed to Demacian tactics who loved to use diplomacy and trades.
"Carnic Company, does your commander still walk?" Riven bellows, trying to convince herself that the prisoners were worth the effort. That they would make a good addition to her own numbers.
But what's to stop them from surrendering again.
"He does not." A woman steps forward, snapping a salute. There is a bloody bandage wrapped around the left side of her face. "Lieutenant Saniv, second in command of the Carnic Company."
Riven unlocks the door with the keys she plucked off the body of a guard. Saniv bows her head, accepting the sword Riddick hands her. A tradition, the only way to respectively reinstate deserters and those who allow themselves to be captured.
Their strongest against the strongest of the company they wish to join.
"I, Lieutenant Saniv of the Carnic Company, challenge Commander Riven of the Fury Company to redeem myself and the soldiers under my command."
The woman extends the sword. No words of thanks for they had not been saved yet. If she failed to impress the commander, their final options were few. Either execution or Riven would move on without them. They would not house soldiers who couldn't pull their weight.
Riven extends her own standard issue broadsword and rests its flat against the other. Her mind clears as it does at the beginning of every battle. Calming breath, this was not her foe, she was not aiming to kill.
A quiet mind.
"I accept."
The duel begins.
-strength-
The Fury Company marches on, 54 more strong.
-strength-
"You passed her."
Riven glances up from her mindless task of mending her armor. She'd already grown tired of Leblanc's sporadic visits and cryptic messages. It wasn't worth her time.
"She was strong."
A weight sinks into the cot beside her.
"But not strong enough."
She shiver, questing fingers press into the sore muscles of her arm. Riven bitterly agrees in her mind, thoroughly unimpressed with the other woman's skills. Granted she was half blind, but one is only as strong as they are at their weakest. She couldn't even draw blood while her own blade nearly severed Saniv's arm.
It was fortunate that there was a healer among the captured.
"They deserve a second chance."
The armor is slapped out of her hands. She looks at other with a questioning gaze. It seemed that LeBlanc wanted her to pay attention. to their conversation.
Yellow eyes sharpen, challenging, it takes Riven by surprise. They remind her of the emerald ones back home.
Home
"They will die."
"Then they will die with honor." Riven cannot help but bristle at the accusation, as if their death would be her fault. All soldiers knew that it was the ultimate end that claimed most of them. Something that she made peace with, but they will die with a weapon in hand, the blood of their enemies at their feet.
Their ideals at heart.
"There is no honor in dying at the hands of your own nation."
The statement doesn't make sense, they all died for a reason, nothing was ever wasted in Noxus. All skills honed and utilized. If they had nothing to offer, they were not worth the trouble. If High Command were to throw the lives of troops away, it would at least serves as a distraction for something bigger.
"Tell me Riven." A hand hovers centimeters away from her cheek, she wants to flinch back...but doesn't, can't. "What do you think Noxus stands for?"
She regards LeBlanc who should know the answer as any proud Noxian would.
"Strength." It is growled, conviction. "Forged through pain and blood. Strength above all else."
The words are second nature to her. The hand touches down, soft and cold, electricity courses from the contact.
Torn bodies, unrecognizable to be human. Blood making mud of the dirt. Burning villages. No glory, an extermination.
Like a brush fire, nothing surviving, High Command ordering the slaughter of civilians.
The touch is gone, the vision with it.
"Only the strong survive." Riven grinds out.
It was the line etched into the archway of the arena where her father had entered. He didn't even make it past the first round. He should've trained harder.
The past was the past. She would not make the same mistake.
A breeze sweeps across Riven's face. She swears she feels the brush of lips on her own before she sees the flap of her tent fall. There is an envelope balancing atop the completely mended armor.
Paper tears, the rose taunts
"Coeur Valley"
They receive the order the given the next morning.
-strength-
A pair of broken eyes scans the valley below. They are dry from crying, from restless nights, from the toxic cloud that still lingers in the air.
The tin of salve gone, lost in the fighting. Her back still raw and angry. In the night, she are smell the rot of her flesh. It aches along with her entirety.
A blade is shattered
A promise broken
She doesn't look back
-strength-
"You are strong, Riven."
Seconds pass with no response. LeBlanc stands outside the crude tent pitched by the lake side, waiting for the inhabitant to charge out.
And she charges like a bull.
Weapon drawn, the former commander tears through the flap, lips pulled back into a deep snarl. Already, there are tears welling in her eyes.
"You snake!" She screams, her voice cracking, lungs and throat still scared. The figure that greets her is not that of LeBlanc, but a warrior with an unnerving mask she had seen during the blood moon festivals. It startles her enough to almost have her throat slit open.
"I am not Cassiopeia." It's still Leblanc's voice, as if offended by the notion.
The deceiver's attacks could hardly be called fluid, they are a style she had never seen before. Limbs jerky as if pulled by an inexperience puppet master but they are still fast and still as deadly as the sword she wields.
"You led my men into a trap!"
Riven swings wildly, emotions that haunt her at night resurfacing hot and raw. The tissue of her back begs her to stop but she is not weak.
And so she keeps fighting.
There is no calmness in her mind, only the white rage she feels for this woman in front of her. Oh how blindly she believed, she trusted. How her troops trusted her and died around her. Her lungs cannot keep up in the state they are in. She should've seen a healer to properly extract the of the toxins in her blood.
In the back of her mind, riven knows she is out matched and careless, picking out every opportunity that leblanc had to run her through. But it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. Nothing to live for, to die for.
After a particularly wide strike that misses, Riven lets out a cry of pain when a pommel is driven into her side with a sickening crunch. She struggles to draw air and for a moment, LeBlanc pauses and regards her, seemingly surprise at the noise.
Embarrassment and disgust courses through Riven as she comes to terms with the state her body is in. The strike shouldn't have been strong enough to break bone, but alas, she wasn't the the same woman as a year ago. With one hand clutching her side, the other brandishing her broken sword, she stares on at the mage, unwavering.
"Riven, what do you fight for?"
She doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to think, please, mindless fighting brings her comfort. All the progress she had made, over self hatred, guilt, wishing for death. It all comes crashing down.
"I don't know!" the tears stream down her face and yet she stands defiant, angry. "I fought for Noxus, for her ideals. That died with everyone else in Coeur Valley"
It's a slap in the face to say it out loud to another soul. She thinks back to the teaching of the Ionian religion she picked up on her travels around the island. To think rationally, spiritually, to understand.
She want to be angry, it's easier that way.
But this woman was not solely responsible for what happened to her on that day. And if she were, her anger now will only bring her more pain.
"So what will you do about it?"
Riven's body goes rigid once more, like all those times before. No movement, trapped in her body with just her thoughts; for as long as she can hold her breath. Her eyes slide closed.
Leblanc's voice swirls around her, above, below, resonating in the darkness of her head.
"Noxus is wandering just as you are. She has forgotten the trials that forged her unlike you. She looks for shortcuts, cheats, scourging up whatever she can just to gain the edge."
Every muscle aflame, begging her to breath.
"You are strong, Riven. Noxus needs your help."
In the black vision, a face appears as real as ever. It is not one she recognizes; sharp emerald eyes that remind her of better days, but the face distinctly Ionian, hair long and dark like a midnight waterfall.
"Not all who wander are lost."
The woman leans in close, words whispered centimeters from her lips.
"Be kind to her when she stops wandering."
Frigid, painted lips capture her own, the sight of woman stays but she can sense the memories flooding into her brain; a past she did not live. Of a father teaching her to speak to the steel of her sword, a loving brother, a rushed goodbye. Emptiness just like her own.
This time, the air does not rush back in, she doesn't even notice when she is breathing regularly again. The lone rune of her once great sword pulses brightly to the beat of her heart. It is quiet, her ribs healed, were they even broken in the first place?
Nothing indicates there ever being a visitor.
She spends the evening outside, watching the sun set over the still lake. Conviction gathers itself in her heart, something she hadn't felt since the death of her company, her family. When the sun sets, she decides to return to her tent, only out of habit.
On her cot sits a the lion teapot she left behind so long ago and a letter.
The seal breaks, the rose lays shattered atop a field of ivory.
Two names
"Karma"
"Irelia"
Meaningless
A voice in the wind.
"Goodbye, Riven."
She dreams of the woman that night.