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Your Allegiances Mean Nothing to Me
"Thank you for joining us, Talon."
Talon couldn't help himself; his lips twisted into a small, sardonic smirk. The man before him narrowed his eyes slightly, his scarred hands resting casually on the smoothly polished surface of the expansive desk between them. Though the bottom half of his face was covered, Talon could tell from the twisted flesh over his cheekbones that he was frowning.
"Have I said something amusing?"
This time, Talon controlled his reaction; if he hadn't, he may well have been executed for treason on the spot. "Not at all, Grand General," he answered politely, his deferential tone at odds with the strength of his gaze. "I was just thinking about the irony of your statement. Typically, when the leader of Noxus requests an audience with a lowly citizen, the thanks are skewed a little differently."
Swain's frown deepened and the older man let out a long-suffering sigh. "Talon, you and I both know that your allegiance to the Noxian High Command has been... inconsistent at best. For good reason," he added, silencing Talon's nearly-spoken protest. "And for reasons which have been explained time after time by yourself and the members of the Du Couteau family."
It was Talon's turn to frown. Swain had never been the gracious sort, and it was common knowledge to all that he firmly opposed Talon's peculiar position in his City-State - especially after the whole Crimson Elite debacle years before. That the Grand General was pretending to accept it now meant one thing, and one thing only.
Talon wasn't a fan of mincing words. In fact, he wasn't very enthusiastic about words in general. He decided to make this clear by leaning forward and letting his cloak fall back to expose the knives at his hip. In the corner, Swain's ever-present advisor shifted, stepping forward into the light. She said nothing, but Talon knew his actions had been read and understood by the General and his beguiling aide.
"What is it that you want from me, sir?" He added the honorific to soften his threat, not particularly interested in facing the wrath of the two strongest mages in Noxus.
Swain glanced at LeBlanc, who stepped forward and placed a leather-bound sachet before him. Talon didn't touch it, knowing from past experience what the Grand General's black books usually contained.
"It's a simple task," Swain said calmly, his hands still folded neatly before him. There was a rustling of wings and Beatrice flew in a curving arc from perches unknown to rest on the General's shoulder and nuzzle her darkly-plumed head into the curve of his neck.
Talon watched this exchange with interest, wondering how the man could still maintain such an imposing presence with a bird cuddling up to him. That Demacian crossbow bitch certainly couldn't have managed it, he thought with no small satisfaction. He still left the book untouched on the desk. Touching it would mean he accepted the job it contained. He had done so blindly too many times before.
"Wet work," he asked without inflection. He knew the answer - it was always the same - and so was surprised when Swain let out a small chuckle and shared an amused glance with a smirking LeBlanc.
"Decidedly dry," the woman corrected, nodding at the folded leather and the pages within. "We would simply like the target brought to us, unharmed, for questioning. If all goes according to plan, your blade ought to remain spotless."
Talon didn't look at her, directing his response to Swain. "I'm an assassin. Bloody blades are kind of my specialty." He placed one hand next to the black book, still not making contact with the leather. "You have more than enough resources to secure a dry target. So why me?"
Swain and LeBlanc shared another look. Both were silent for a long moment before Swain sighed again and finally moved. He leaned across the desk and flipped the black book open - Talon had barely enough time to move his hand before the leather slapped lightly against the desk exactly where his fingers had been. Inside were several images of a man. They were extremely accurate and clear; not paintings or sketches, Talon realized, but exact reproductions. His eyes widened as he realized that lay before him were chemographs, a Zaunite invention where life-accurate images were seared onto paper by exposing certain chemicals to light. He had never seen one with his own eyes, and he found himself staring down at the chemographs with hungry interest.
"The situation is delicate," Swain explained. "We can't risk discovery or exposure. We would send Katarina but she can't exactly be trusted not to spill blood." Talon couldn't argue. Katarina was talented, yes, but her tendency to spill blood was undeniable. "You, at least, we can trust to hold back."
"I'm sure you'll understand the situation more clearly," LeBlanc continued, in precisely the same tone as he superior. "Once you've examined the chemographs closely."
Talon nodded absently, his eyes scanning the images and the man contained within them. It didn't take long to see the cause for the situation's 'delicacy'; when he did, his hand hovered an inch above the parchment, right over the target's chest, where a specific crest had been embroidered into his robes.
"This man is a Summoner," he said quietly, mind reeling. "A fairly high one, at that." He raised his eyes in time to see Swain nod slowly.
"So you see why discretion is required."
Talon did see. If a Noxian was caught kidnapping a League Summoner, the League would have no choice but to respond by expelling Noxus from its ranks. It might even spell war between Noxus and the combined powers of Valoran.
Champions, however, were by and large considered their own entity. While they represented their respective city-states in the League, they were ultimately above the power of their own rulers. It would be far easier for Swain and Noxus to avoid suspicion - Talon could easily claim he had been operating under his own authority, and only he would be penalized. Noxus' fragile peace with Valoran would remain intact.
And Talon was the only Noxian Champion who could pull it off. Katarina was an ambassador, Swain was the Grand General, LeBlanc was his advisor. Darius and Draven held high-ranking military position. Talon's own self-proclaimed allegiances already set him apart from the Noxian High Command. He was their only chance for this operation to be successful, and all three Champions present knew it.
"You would be handsomely rewarded, of course."
Talon barely registered LeBlanc's words. He had left his seat and stood facing Swain, his jaw set firmly.
"I refuse."
Swain and LeBlanc both raised their eyebrows in unison. Talon would have found it amusing had his heart not been pounding madly in his chest.
"Excuse me?" LeBlanc asked, her tone dangerously subtle.
"I refuse," Talon repeated, slowly but firmly. "I have made it very clear where my loyalties lie. I reserved the right long ago to accept orders only from General Marcus Du Couteau, and after his disappearance I explicitly stated that all of my decisions from then on would either be in search of him or in protection of his daughters. These conditions were agreed to by both of you, as well as the entire Noxian High Command." He softened his tone slightly, noting with a surge of adrenaline that both Swain and LeBlanc were looking at him as though preparing to strike. "I understand the situation, and I appreciate the trust and respect you have given me by offering such a task, but I must decline."
He didn't give them time to respond; almost before the last word left his lips he had turned and was marching - calmly, casually - towards the door.
Everything happened quickly. One moment he was reaching for the door; the next LeBlanc stood before him, her hand gripping his wrist and her other hand locking the door with one smooth, practiced release of magic. Beatrice left Swain's shoulder and alighted on the top of LeBlanc's staff, glaring down at the assassin with deep, beady eyes. Talon looked back at the desk, where both Swain and LeBlanc stood motionless. The clone gripping him was physically stronger than the real woman, and he found himself being turned against his will to face the desk again.
"You haven't let us sweeten the pot yet," LeBlanc and her clone crooned imperiously.
Less than two hours later Talon drove a carriage through the heavily-guarded gates of Noxus. In his saddle-bag sat the black book; in his hand, crumpled almost beyond legibility, was a letter addressed to the target. Most of its contents had been redacted, save for a single line of text: General Du Couteau's disappearance.
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Diana awoke in the middle of the night. A quick glance above told her that she had been unconscious for two full days. She groaned, sitting up. Two full days of travel, wasted in sleep. It was highly unlikely that she would reach the Institute before the New Moon darkened the sky. That thought drove her to her feet and she nearly toppled over the body of the wolf.
The creature leapt up with a startled yelp and began to growl before he realized who she was. He let out a whimper of joy and nudged his muzzle into her still-ungloved hand, licking the exposed skin affectionately. She smiled and scratched lightly beneath his chin, causing his eyes to close in pleasure.
"You should have woken me," she admonished, tapping his nose playfully and causing him to wag his tail in a decidedly foolish way. She glanced around at the trodden grass where her body had been curled and found her glove, pulling it on as she checked for her weapon out of instinct. The curved weapon sat in its sheath, and when she pushed her thick cloak back it glittered even in the scant moonlight.
Prepared now, she left the clearing, moving swiftly through the trees and following the direction of the stars above. The wolf followed at her heels, trotting along without a care in the world. She knew that the beast would have a rude awakening when they finally reached the Institute and she left him behind, but she was confident that she had enough strength and time to lead him towards his pack before the Moon disappeared from the sky. She let this problem sit in the back of her mind as she focussed on her more pressing concern: making up for lost time.
They ran together, woman and wolf, until the sun began rising. She felt her body urging her to camp - to avoid the brightness and disorientation that came with daylight - but she pushed on, desperate to cover as much ground as possible.
The wolf, however, had other ideas.
As she pushed through particularly thick underbrush, she found her way impeded - not by branches, but by the wolf's strong jaws which had closed around her cloak and were pulling her backwards. She let out a shout of surprise and attempted to bat him away, but he would not be deterred. With a growl of warning he dragged her away from her goal and further into the woods. Her hand dropped to her blade, unwilling to attack the beast but unable to see any other means of escape from his grip.
With a whine of concern he liberated her, his canine eyes widening earnestly. He whined again, nose nudging against the hilt of her weapon until she grudgingly released it. Tail wagging again, he pushed his shoulders into her knees and then trotted several feet in the direction he had been pulling her. He looked back at her and yelped pointedly. She stared, uncomprehending. He yelped again, and this time he seemed frustrated - could wolves be frustrated? - and jerked his head towards the forest before him.
"You... want me to follow you?" she asked tentatively. He yelped again, this time encouragingly, and his tail began whipping back and forth with vigour when she took a few steps in his direction. "I do not have the time -" she began, but was interrupted by another low growl.
Giving up, she followed the wolf into the deepest, darkest parts of the forest as the sun rose fully and took over the sky. She was grateful for the thick, untouched canopy above that filtered the searing rays before they touched her. Every once in a while the wolf would glance back to make sure she was still following before dropping his nose to the ground and continuing his trek.
It was curious, she thought, battling the branches and underbrush that whipped across her body as though to keep her at bay. The olfactory senses of a wolf were far less developed than its auditory senses; whatever scent the beast was tracking must have been strong and distinct.
The sun burned almost directly above them by the time they reached the wolf's ultimate goal. It was a patch of brush almost identical to the rest of the forest around them, but the wolf circled it several times, sniffing and whining with desperate eagerness. Diana stepped forward to comfort the creature, but before she could he began digging, his paws ripping through the ferns, roots, and rocks with frenzied speed. All the Lunari could do was watch, concerned, as he kicked clumps of grass, earth, and rocks in all directions until finally he stopped, sniffed around in the dirt as though to verify his discovery, and then howled, long and loud.
Diana dropped to her knees beside him and stared into the sizeable hole he had created. Metal gleamed silver in the pale light that managed to stream through the trees above, and her eyes landed on a familiar symbol carved into what appeared to be a blade buried deep beneath the soil.
A perfect circle nestled in the curve of a crescent. The symbol of the Lunari.
Need coursed through her and she began digging with her bare hands, frantic to unearth the object that the wolf had uncovered for her. He appeared again at the edge of the hole and dug his paws into the earth alongside her, helping her reveal a crescent blade, curved and engraved just as hers was. The weapon had no hilt; instead, it was fitted with thick leather straps that seemed designed to hold the blade tight to one's forearm.
The leather was mostly rotten - nearly all of it fell away as she lifted the weapon from its earthen prison - and the blade was dull and spotted with rust, but the shape of it, the symbols carved into the silver... This was a Lunari weapon, another piece of proof that her people had once lived, once fought, once loved. Tears dropped from her eyes and each drop flashed silver when it landed on the metal. She cradled the blade in her arms, crying freely, and only released it to wrap one arm around the wolf when he wiggled close to her side and licked the salty evidence of her joy from her cheek.
They sat together, woman and wolf, until the sun began turning afternoon into evening. She raised her eyes to the sky, to where she knew the moon was hiding behind the trees. She had lost so much time, so much distance. Her only choice now was to make her way back to the main road and hope to find a willing traveler to take her on.
She stood up, her limbs shaking - either from exhaustion or from overwhelming emotion, she couldn't quite tell - and regarded the blade in her hands. The cloak she wore was big and thick enough to conceal it; she could bring it to the Institute, clean it, replace the armbands, and have another Lunari weapon at her disposal.
Making her decision, she pushed her cloak back and tied the weapon securely to her belt beneath the heavy tails of her armour. Tugging the cloak tightly around her, she looked down at the wolf. "Ready to run?" she asked. He yelped in response, and then woman and wolf ran together again, silver hair and silver fur both streaming back in the slowly dying light.
They reached the road quickly - the journey back much faster than the journey out, since the trail had already been blazed - and sunset was still several hours away when Diana stepped into the open. The wolf remained in the woods, keeping pace with her just out of sight behind the trees. She lifted her hood to hide her identity and walked briskly, occasionally glancing back to hopefully catch a glimpse of an approaching pilgrim.
It didn't take long before the clacking of hooves and the creaking of carriage wheels reached her ears. She slowed her pace and moved into the centre of the road as the sound grew louder and louder. Gravel crunched, horses snorted, and then the vehicle was in sight. She couldn't make out any details about the carriage or the driver until a break in the tree line let a slant of sunlight dance over it.
Diana couldn't help herself. She let out a laugh and threw her hood back as the carriage came closer. She could feel the sunlight glinting from the sigil on her forehead and the extra weapon at her side seemed suddenly heavier.
With an audible swear and a firm tug on the reigns, Talon stopped the carriage.
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A.N.
Finally, this story is beginning to take shape! And, fittingly enough, it's happening in my longest (and most evenly distributed) chapter yet.
Credit for the beautiful new cover art goes to Naz-ish-Oreosaawwr on deviantART. A link to the full image can be found on my profile and I desperately encourage all of you to check it out. It's amazing.
Shoutouts to Stolenwarpig and Cynthia888 not only for being super loyal readers but also for their immeasurable help in getting me out of my rough spots. I love you both.
You may have noticed that I changed the title of the Prologue to 'Prelude' (and if you didn't notice, I'm sure you have now!). There's a reason for this that will become clear around the story's next full moon~
As always, I would love for you to review. ↘