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Chapter 8:

The news had gone around the Institute faster than the most salacious rumors. The Solstice was coming soon and the High Council saved a special event for the Champions. It happened from time to time, especially for most of Valoran's popular holidays. It was always a good opportunity to experiment new ways of fighting, new rules and new capabilities. Most Champions liked these initiatives. Since the information was made official, a little less than a week earlier, the Festival, as everyone called it, was the main topic of conversation all around the place. Wherever Quinn went, she heard about it. Some Champion were more eager than other, such as Lulu or Lux, while on the other hand, some did not seem to note the restless atmosphere, or did not want to pay attention.

Quinn was waiting to see what that Festival would be before judging. She was not particularly excited or really anxious. They had no choice, anyway. Anything that Festival might be, they should all participate, happy or not. All she had to do was make sure to honor Demacia, especially after the fiasco Gragas' party was. Jarvan and Garen had both got a three games suspension and a consequent fine, like most of the involved Champions, and Swain was happy to jump on this opportunity to mock Demacia and its Champions, Jarvan in particular. Darius and Draven had also been punished but, curiously, the raven had not made the slightest allusion to that. They all had a close call, though, because at one point it was question of requiring the culprits to clean the tavern and help with the repairs. Quinn could not imagine Jarvan armed with a broom or Garen wearing a pink apron, even though it made Lux laugh so hard she fell from her chair.

The dining hall was almost full when Quinn came in. Valor immediately flew off to land on his usual spot near the Demacian table. The scout did not try to find a familiar face in the crowd and walked straight to the buffet. Everywhere, Champions were speaking of the upcoming Festival but she did not want to hear about that yet. She had a strange dream that had left her dejected.

She vaguely remembered she was walking in the forest with Caleb, her deceased brother. They were fifteen; it was a joyous time when they roamed the countryside surrounding the family farm, pretending to live great adventures. It went well; the forest was shining with the light green of young leaves and the discreet colors of early small flowers. A paradise! Quinn drank to a clear stream to quench her thirst and catch her breath after their run among the trees. When she sat up, however, Caleb was gone. She had turned in all directions calling him but no voice answered, only a little plaintive squeal. Then she noticed a figure among the trees that suddenly were darker and more hostile. She darted after it, calling her brother. But the figure was faster than her and she could not catch it. The faster she ran the faster the silhouette got away. At one point, it had taken the blurred shape of a bird to rise rapidly among the trees and Quinn had momentarily lost its track. After searching around for a while, she had found it. Her brother was waiting, leaning against a mossy, knobbled trunk. She darted toward him and held him against her, asking him to never make her experiment such fear again. He did not respond. She, then, stepped aside to look at him, but it was not Caleb. It was a young man in a purple robe, with an angular face and hazel eyes that stared at her with an almost unhealthy intensity.

She had woken with a start, screaming her brother's name and, for a moment, she thought she was seeing these hazel eyes that haunted her looking at her from a dark corner of her room. But the time to turn searching for her bedside lamp's switch, they had vanished and she found nothing. Valor, awakened by the racket, had made this strange soft whistle he produced whenever he wanted to reassure her. Quinn had laid back in her bed, but could not get back to sleep, disturbed by the almost real details of her dream.

Trying not to think about it, and especially not to wonder why Talon had taken Caleb's place, in her arms, Quinn walked around the buffet looking at the dishes with sullen eyes. She was not very hungry. But she had even less desire to stay in her room trying to find meaning in a dream that had none. She, therefore, came to the dining room; more out of habit and to keep her mind busy than for lunch. She should have stayed in her room!

While she was walking around the buffet for the second or third time, unable to decide what she wanted to eat or if she wanted to eat, her eyes slipped involuntarily towards the Noxian table. Talon was sitting there, between Katarina and Cassiopeia as always. Quinn found herself noticing that he seemed not particularly well, like he had barely slept, too. But she had no time to wonder what had happened to him. As she walked, looking away, she suddenly felt a presence just to her right, but far too late. The shock shook her hard and she nearly lost her balance; it was a miracle if her tray did not fell on the ground. An indignant shoot suddenly covered the conversations.

"Can't you look where you walk, you idiot!"
Fiora, dripping with coffee, her red dress dirty with tea, jam and butter, a toast a glued on her left shoulder. That was what Quinn saw when she turned her head. The duelist stared at her with the look of an angry harpy. Quinn wanted to argue that she, either, was not careful to where she was walking, if she could not avoid the collision, but she had no time to do so.

"I bet you did it on purpose, dumb girl, just to make me ridicule in front of everyone."
The whole room was looking at them, now. Some people had even stood up to see better what was going on. At the nearest table, the merry band of the yordles seemed almost chocking with laughter.

"It comes out of its muddy countryside, soaked with manure and it takes itself for Elite, but it does not know anything, anything at all," continued the duelist. "You know how much a dress like that could cost, you know?"

"No," Quinn admitted, undaunted." I don't know and I don't care. It fits you like a tutu for Valor, anyway."

"You filthy uneducated peasant!" growled Fiora. "Who do you think you are? You're just good at scouring the manure."
Quinn threw a glance around her, embarrassed to be the center of attention. Her golden eyes briefly met Talon hazel ones. The frowning assassin seemed in a very bad mood. Valor uttered an angered cry and Quinn looked up in time to see him drop dung on the fallen noble dyed hair. The yordles roared with laughter. Teemo even slipped from his seat and rolled on the ground, holding his sides. Mocking giggles rang out around the room.

"Val!" she cried indignantly.
But her reprimand was covered by the Duelist's angry howl.

"You dumbass, your dirty bird and you have nothing to do here," she roared. "You are not even from Demacia. You're nothing but a disgrace to us."

"Enough," boomed a loud disapproving voice.
In a few furious strides, Jarvan joined the two young women. The anger that emanated from him was enough to silence the harpy. Quinn stammered excuses that died on her lips in front of the prince's death glare.

"The only disgrace to Demacia, here, is you, Fiora Laurent," he threw in an icy voice, trying to contain his anger as best as he could. "What are you? A spoiled brat, to give such a show in front of everyone for a mere dress? Or an idiot for not having understood it was an accident?"
The duelist seemed to shrink under the prince's anger. He never talked like that to the other Demacian Champions, only when he was really furious and disappointed. It was never a good thing.

"I am willing to forget the complaint I receive every day about your behavior towards the other Champions, but humiliating Demacia and its representatives in public, I can't forgive that. I want excuses, now."
Fiora shot a venomous glance at Quinn but did not utter a word.

"Very well," Jarvan whispered darkly. "Out of my sight, now, and do not bother showing yourself to me as long as you didn't apologize to Quinn, Miss Laurent."
He turned abruptly and went back to his seat without looking back. Quinn, not knowing what to do, took a few steps back and called Valor. The eagle landed on her arm and immediately rubbed his head against his mistress' cheek, like he wanted to comfort her. Fiora rudely shoved them, before heading to the door, trying not to run. From the corner of her eyes, Quinn thought she saw tears running down the Duelist's cheeks, but curiously, she did not care. Fiora had it coming; it was time someone put her back in line.

Quinn wondered if she could go to the Demacian table or if it was better for her to leave as well. She looked at what was left on her plate: half a cup of tea, the remaining flooding two buns she had laid on her tray, some eggs that had fallen from her plate and a miraculously intact yoghourt cup. She cast a glance at the mess spread out on the floor and sighed. What a bad morning! She really did not need that!

She sat next to Lux who seemed less cheerful than usual. With a furious Jarvan sitting in front of her, she did not have much choice. Silent and livid, the prince was stabbing a pear that had done nothing to him. Quinn wondered who the victim of this vengeful action was: Fiora or Swain, who was more arrogant and insolent than ever? As long as it was not her, it was not important.

"I'm sorry," she said softly without daring to look at Jarvan. "I shouldn't have challenged her."

"Let her be," Garen said with a shrug. "She is the one thinking being more important than she really is. She called me an uncouth lump, yesterday, and Lux a simpleton on the edge of handicap!"
He had an openly contemptuous sneer.

"I usually don't complaint about my fellow Champions, but it is certainly not with that attitude she'll rehabilitate her name!"

"I don't think many people can stand her," said Lux, "and she hopes getting Jarvan? That's just … well!"
She gave a theatrical shudder. This rumor was not unknown to Quinn. She had already heard about the interested attention the duelist wore toward the prince.

"She gets ideas," groaned Jarvan, stabbing the pear one last time. "She doesn't interest me in the slightest. And even if she would interest me, nobody would let me marry the heir of a fallen and disgraced family."
With that, he stood up and left the room, an almost terrifying look on his face.

"Poor Fiora," Lux sighed. "I almost pity her."

"Almost being the key word here," underlined her brother.
Quinn said nothing; she looked at her tray, trying not to thinks of her dream. When she looked up, she saw that the Du Couteau siblings had left the Noxian table; Darius was immersed in reading a sheaf of papers, probably a rapport, while Swain, leaning toward him, seemed to whispering something about his reading. Leblanc was looking at the room with a bored look on her face and Draven brandished what Quinn succeeded, not without difficulty, to identify as one of Malzahar's small Voidling. She wondered what the creature was doing there. The Prophet rarely came to the refectory, like he did not feel them worthy of his presence, which was probably the truth.

Usually, like Malzahar, some Champions rarely showed among them. It was not surprising to never see the Champions imprisoned in the bowels of the Institute such as the Void monsters, Nocturne, Fiddelstick, Brand, Sion, and some other. But some of the Champions free to roam the Institute and its neighborhood as they please do not come either. Like Rengar, who preferred to hunt alone, or Nidalee, who certainly preferred throwing her damn spear against some poor innocent prey, or Urgot who was hardly seen anywhere except on guard in Noxus living area, and to tell the truth, many people were grateful for that, the sight of that monster and its stench were enough to ruin everyone appetite; or Azir, Xerath or Tresh, to name a few.

From the corner of her eyes, Quinn saw the little Voidling escape Draven. It fell on the table, shoving cups and plates around him, and ran in the opposite direction zigzagging like a spider that someone had tried to crush. In its haste, it bumped into the cup placed in front of Darius, spilling its contents on the table. The Noxian General jumped up, growling, shaking his now dirty paperwork with a hand and dusting his uniform's pants, drenched with hot black coffee, with the other. While he threw a death glare to his brother, the Voidling jumped on the floor and scampered as fast as its little legs could.

Quinn eyed it while it was running between Champions' legs like he had a hungry Cho'gath in tow. In his haste, he stumbled against Leona's ankles, while she was speaking with Pantheon at the door. The redhead looked down and saw the little creature shaking its head as if the shock had knocked it down. She crouched in front of it for a better look. The creature seemed harmless, nothing to do with its giant cousins, jailed in the basement of the Institute.

"Are you lost, little thing?" She asked, like the creature could answer. "It's unusual to see you without your master."

"It walks all over the place since two or three days," said Pantheon with a suspicious look hidden by his helmet's shadow.
Leona reached for the Voidling who backed away hastily.

"Come, I'll take you back to your master."
The Voidling seemed to hesitate between fleeing for his life, or to trusting the redhead.

"Going to the Prophet? You don't think about it Leo!" said Pantheon, disgusted.
Leona gave him a reproachful look, but said nothing. The Voidling came back to sniff her hand. It had probably judged her trustworthy and, after a short inspection, it jumped in her hand and climbed up her arm to her shoulder. Leona stood up and walked to the door.

"Leo," called Pantheon.
The redhead did not give any explanation as they left the room.

Quinn hardly ate anything, but she left the table with Lux and Garen. She had no game scheduled that day and wondered what she was going to do. Probably have long trek with Valor. It certainly would allow her to clear her mind. She had always loved the nature calmness when she felt confused. It had always calmed her down.

"Are you free today?" Lux asked suddenly.
Quinn turned to her and knew at her look that the question was not innocent. The blonde obviously already knew she had no match to play.

"We said we would go shopping together!"
Quinn remembered it was Lux who had planned that, on the party evening, when she was trying to find something to give Quinn to wear. She did not remember agreeing but obviously it was not an issue for Lux who clung to her arm, forcing Valor to fly in circles above them.

"We have all day," resumed Lux, seeming to radiate cheerfulness. "How about going to Demcia or Piltover? We could eat something there while shopping. And ... Oh, I know, I know ... It seems a shopping center just opened in Piltover, with a lots of shops in the same place. Caitlynn and Vi don't stop talking about it. We should go!"
Quinn thought to refuse, but in front of the confident smile Lux gave her, her words remained stuck in her throat, and before she understood what she was doing, she agreed with a nod. It was only when she saw Lux clapping like a little girl she realized she had done something wrong. Shopping did not interest her, but it was too late, she could not disappoint her friend by changing her mind. So much for the hike, she was going to have to face Piltover's shopkeepers and Lux's persuasion who, she had to admit, was much more difficult to sooth than an angry bear.

The trio walked in the corridors. Garen politely refused his sister's invitation, saying he had more important things to do. The light red veil on his cheeks when he said that only meant one thing: a certain Noxian redhead had to be involved with his plan. Lux tried to make him spill the beans, heckling him gently as she usually do, making fun of his red cheeks, when they reached the great hall. It was crowded with people. Most Champions were there, looking up, quite annoyed, amazed, stunned or simply furious. An indistinct hubbub of voices buzzed around them, as if they were suddenly in a giant hive. The cause of these various reactions spread out in large letters on Hextech screens, usually used to broadcast the games in progress, lining the high walls.

The nature of the Solstice Festival which everyone was talking about for days, was suddenly revealed to them. It was a great tournament to be made over a still undetermined duration that would oppose teams on the various fields of Justice. The teams will get a predefined number of points according to their results in the tournament and the first three of them at the end of the Festival would get various rewards. Nothing unusual. They certainly had all already participated in such events. What amazed most Champions present was the aligned teams' composition. It seemed that the High Council of equity had knowingly decided to complicate their task by combining Champions who cordially hated each other. This led some of them to start complaining aloud.

Suddenly worried, Lux stopped bickering with Garen and sought instinctively her name in the list while a thrill that boded no good went up along her spine. She finally found it in the seventh or eighth team just above those of...

"We're on the same team," she was clinging to Quinn's arms, relieved to have at least one friend with her. "And Lulu is with us! She's so cute! I sometimes want to cuddle her!"

"Do not rejoice too quickly," Garen growled gloomily.
He had just discovered he would have to team up with Sona, Draven, Annie and especially with Katarina! But it was the name following Quinn's in his sister's team who had him cringe. Lux raised her eyes to the screen where her team was listed and immediately turned pale. Her cheerfulness seemed to have been blown out like a candle by a sudden gust of wind.

"Oh no," she said, suddenly horrified. Darius and Talon are on our team!"
Quinn suddenly felt her heart fall like a stone in her chest. She was not the only one!