Act II: "Demacia, Now and Forever"
On the other side of Runterra, that same sun shone down unimpeded on the sprawling white metropolis of Demacia. Deep in the heart of the city, the Grand Plaza was unusually quiet. It was the height of midday, the sun was at its peak and most people had retreated indoors to stay cool. Garen's lengthy strides carried him quickly across the plaza, several members of the public watching in awe as he passed. This was not unusual. His huge stature, along with the gleaming armour and broad sword hanging on his back he was anything but inconspicuous. Combine that with him being the pride of the Demacian military, and it meant that he was well used to the staring.
He waved cheerfully back at them (sending an old woman swooning back into the arms of her husband), for what reason did he have to not be cheerful. It was a beautiful summer's day, they were at peace, he was in good health and so were his family, all was good in the world. Thinking of his family, he began to wonder vaguely where Lux was. It had been several days since he had last seen his younger sister and there had definitely been something amiss with her. She had always been the one with a talent for reading people, but it was obvious even to him that she was not her usual luminescent self. His thoughts were interrupted however, as he arrived at his destination, his mind turning to focus on more pressing matters. Lux could look after herself.
He had not been surprised when he had received this particular summons, although the nature of it did strike him as unusual. This was no war cabinet, no official meeting of the King's loyal advisors as was so often the case when he was summoned to court. The man he was meeting wasn't even someone he knew, it was a lord in King JarvenIII's court that he knew only by name. Lord Harrigon. To Garen he was an unknown quantity, and that in itself was strange, for his family had been at the heart of the Demacian nobility for ever. If he wasn't acquainted with someone that usually meant that they weren't important enough, and yet this man was a lord, outranked only by the King himself and now for whatever reason he had specifically sought out Garen. There was a distinctly underhanded air about the whole thing; the mysterious, deliberately vague letter of summons; the obscure location of the meeting; and then this enigmatic Lord himself…It was against his better judgment that he was even here now, he should really have brought it up with the King himself, should have made sure it was all legitimate, but in the end his curiosity had won out.
He walked quickly up a short flight of steps, brushing down his armour as he went and running a smoothing hand across his tousled brown hair. He squinted as he moved out of the bright sunlight, passing through a huge archway and into the dark. He paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to his surroundings, looking about him with interest; he had never seen this building before. It was a cavernous atrium, simple and magnificent all at once, crafted largely out of the pure white marble that the city was famous for. Towering pillars ran the length of the building, stretching up so far that their tops were hidden in darkness. The only light came from small stained-glass windows, which were set high in the polished walls, sending great arcs of iridescent light crisscrossing the room. For a brief moment Garen utterly forgot his purpose, rapturous as his dark eyes drank in every detail of this strange, wonderful building. Then his eyes fell upon a pair of dark figures standing, deep in conference, in the shadow of the nearest pillar. He blinked, remembering why he was there, before smiling and striding purposefully across the room towards them.
His handsome face danced in and out of the light as he approached, like the subject of a particularly ancient reel of film, black then white, black then white, black than white, his footsteps rang like gunshots in the aching emptiness of the hall. They turned to face him and one man strode forwards and grasped him firmly by the hand.
"Captain! You made it!" He exclaimed, apparently with great enthusiasm, "We've never met, my name is Lord Harrigon."
"A pleasure my Lord." Garen replied, going into a steep bow (he still towered over the other man) before straightening and getting his first proper look at his superior.
He was an old man, about the age of Garen's father, his face was wrinkled and leathery, his features deep set, and there wasn't a single hair on his domed head. His eyes, however glinted like those of a young man, and they were fixed sharply on Garen, no doubt appraising him in return. He wore a simple yet expensively made tunic with a flowing cape of royal Demacian blue. Garen did not miss the insignia pinned to his chest, the royal crest. So he was a Lord then, Garen thought, that or he had murdered one and stolen his clothes…
"You are probably wondering why I called you here today, why all this secrecy." Lord Harrigon broke the silence. Garen noticed that the second man had shrunk back into the shadows, clearly in no hurry to introduce himself, he wore hooded robes of deep purple, and his face was almost completely hidden, but Garen got the feeling he was watching the exchange with keen interest.
"Yes, I must admit I was rather curious." Garen said without taking his eyes of the second man. "I would assume it has something to do with the war?" The old lord considered his response carefully.
"Well, yes I suppose… yes and no. You see – it's regrettable that we must meet under these circumstances; I've always had huge respect for the Crownguards – it is a somewhat…delicate matter." He finished, rambling slightly; he seemed unsure how to proceed. Garens eyes snapped back to him, a frown settling across his brow, alarm bells ringing inside his head.
"Delicate in what sense?" He asked quickly. The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped suddenly and he had to fight to keep himself from shivering. The old man looked briefly at his companion before reluctantly meeting Garen's eye.
"It's unfortunate…" He said again, he sighed heavily before continuing, "We are at war Captain. Make no mistake, this 'pantomime peace' might help the public sleep a little easier in their beds at night, but you and I both know that we are at war. For the moment our swords may be sheathed, and our guns may lie silent, but our enemy remains very much alive and whilst they breathe we shall never be truly at peace. We need to be strong! We need to be prepared! You can be damn sure those Noxian dogs will be!" He paused for breath, letting his words settle.
"Quite true, but I already know all this sir." Garen was thoroughly confused, "what does this have to-
"WE CANNOT. AFFORD. TO BE WEAK." Lord Harrigon burst out without warning, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth, a hand raised for silence. His eyes were bulging madly and he was purple in the face. Garen stared at him dumbfounded, his measure of the man had been entirely wrong, until a minute ago he had been quite pleasant, but now…now he was teetering on the edge of unhinged. His shout still reverberated around the huge empty chamber, rushing like a physical force, finding every last shadowed corner. The old man took several deep, rattling breaths, calming himself before continuing, his voice even once more.
"We cannot afford to be weak." He repeated quietly. Garen made as if to talk but he stopped as the other man's hand flew into the air once more. "In times like these we must be united, like one body, all pulling together in one clear direction. For that direction, we look to our King, and in return our King looks to us, to his nobles, for strength and support. When the King cannot rely on his nobles - his most trusted supporters, the very pillars of our proud society – when he can no longer rely on them…that is what makes us weak. THAT IS WHEN WE LOSE." He finished, his voice shaking with rage. Garen simply stared at him, open mouthed.
"I hope you are not implying…" Garen began, before Lord Harrington cut him off again.
"Oh, I am more than implying, Captain." He snapped. Garen could not believe what he was hearing. "The Crownguards are the very definition of nobility. You and your family have been given every privilege, every opportunity, every reprieve, and yet you continue to disobey and disrespect the crown. Jarven has been exceptionally lenient with you, he's given you every chance, often against the advice and will of the council, but enough is enough."
"How dare you." Garen uttered furiously, his voice dangerously low. His huge fists were clenched, he closed the gap between them in one stride, glaring down at the other man. "You dare accuse me of disloyalty? I have been the King's – Demacia's, most faithful servant, I would die for my country a thousand times over before I would betray her. This is an outrage, the King will hear about this!" He spat and made to turn and walk away.
"On whose orders do you think I am here, you foolish boy." Garen span around despite himself, he didn't believe a word this little man was saying.
"And I suppose I'm to believe the King has ordered this himself? I would be a fool to believe that. Tell me, why they would send you to tell me then, some doddering nobody I've never even heard of." He said, he expected his words to be met with anger, he was braced for more shouting, but it never came. The other man was strangely passive.
"It is exactly because you don't know me, that I was given this grim task." He sighed, "Despite your shortcomings, it is undeniable that you are popular. Many of the other Lords, even the king himself, are… close with you, it would have been short-sighted to send someone who could become… emotionally involved. Therefore…" He waved his arms, gesturing at himself, "I am here."
"I don't believe you." Garen lied, but his voice gave him away, there was certainly logic in the old man's words. He changed tact, his temper flaring once more.
"Even if what you are saying is true," he began sceptically, "There is still no weight to your accusation, none whatsoever. Am I supposed to just submit myself quietly to imprisonment, to the executioner's block? Based on what, the word of a man I have never met? No I'm afraid you are gravely mistaken. I will speak to the King myself and put all this ridiculousness to bed. Good day to you." He spun on his heel, and made for the gaping sunlight at the end of the room. He was half way there before Lord Harrigon spoke again.
"Lux." Lord Harrigon said quietly, he had followed Garen down the room, stepping out of the shadows into a patch of sunlight; his face was bathed in an eerie bluish glow that highlighted every crack and line on his aged skin. He looked almost skeletal. He spoke just loud enough that there could be no mistaking what he had said. The single word rushed after Garen's retreating form, slithering tightly around his legs like vines and rooting him to the spot. The huge man was deadly still, listening intently. "It's Lux." Lord Harrigon said again.
"Lu-Luxanna?" Garen said, grudgingly facing the old man, a great sense of dread creeping over him. "What about Lux?" He said his voice unsteady.
"It is she who is the traitor, not you." Harrigon said, his words hung horribly in the air.
"That's not possible." Garen said, his voice was barely a whisper. "There must be some mistake. Luxanna has nothing to do with any of this; it is all some nonsense from ages ago, about me and Katarina Du Couteau…" He trailed off, realising too late, what he had just admitted. Surely that's what this was? Just a trap, meant to bait him into confessing, Lux had done nothing wrong., had she?
"I'm afraid not Captain. Your mistakes were grave, but I believe they were unwitting. You were certainly foolish… naïve even. Led astray by your lust and – No I don't care for your excuses." He said, waving away the outraged look of denial on Garen's face. "It is your sister, the Lady of Luminosity, who has knowingly betrayed Demacia; it is she who is beyond forgiveness." The old man shook his said sadly.
Garen was open-mouthed, he was broken, his anger had been replaced with blank disbelief. His eyes were wide and fearful, staring intently at Lord Harrigon, like a naughty child before their teacher, waiting to find out what punishment they would face.
"Wha-what is she supposed to have done?" He asked, his voice trembling uncontrollably. The other man considered him carefully for a moment.
"I suppose it doesn't hurt to tell you now…You were supposed to be executed." He ignored Garens gasp of shock. "After the Sinister Blade had bested you yet again, after countless opportunities and second chances, it was abhorrently clear that you were under her spell – No don't deny it! – You were completely within her power. Execution was the obvious solution, we could not risk you being turned completely, you knew too much. Can you imagine the prize you must have seemed to the Noxian high command if you had turned traitor or spy?"
"Then why am I still alive?" Garen said weakly, he feared that he already knew the answer.
"Lux." The old man said simply, confirming Garens worst fears. He felt like he was about to throw up. His mind felt like it was about to explode as it tried to reconcile this new information with the events of recent months. Every little thing that had happened, starting with Lux's judgment, right up until he had found her unconscious form in the forests outside his camp. It was like being given the last, crucial piece of a puzzle and suddenly, dreadfully, everything became crystal clear. All of Lux's strange behaviour, their forced conversations, everything…The guilt threatened to overpower him. It washed over his body like great waves of icy water. Lord Harrigon continued talking, unaware of the upheaval his words had created In Garen's mind. He paced back and forth in front of Garen, his old hands clasped behind his back.
"Yes, Lady Luxanna somehow managed to persuade the King to spare you, and he did – not without a price however! He spared you from the executioners block on the sole condition that Lux herself would find the Du Couteau witch, find her, and eliminate her."
"Sh-s-she did that to protect me?" Garen said. There were white hot tears leaking uncontrollably from his hazel eyes.
"Yes she did. But do not weep for her boy. Her words were as empty as your head." The old man smoothed his cloak uncomfortably. "Report after report came back to us, but still the Sinister Blade lived, and despite Lux's delicate reassurances – she certainly has a way with words your sister – our suspicions were aroused. We knew that something was wrong. Her task was taking far too long. When we learned that Lux's most recent attempt had left the Noxian breathing, injured but still very much alive, we had to act. She was recalled, the King himself demanded answers of her and again she tiptoed skilfully around her own failings, again she persuaded him for another chance." The old man paused and an unbearable silence filled the room, Garen seized his opportunity.
"But surely this does not make her a traitor?" He demanded, "Even the best falter occasionally, you would brand her a traitor just for failing?"
"No. To fail once is not treason, but we must ask the question; why did Lux fail? How is it that she got close enough to gravely injure her target but did not finish the job? How in all her time at the institute, when she had supposedly won the Noxian's trust, did other opportunities not present themselves? How, when the two met again in the forests beyond your camp did both women, both highly trained killers, walk away from the scene alive? These, I'm afraid, are the questions that condemn your sister…"
"It is just unfortunate coincidence surely; you cannot condemn a person for poor luck. That is no justice." Garen said desperately.
"No, we thought much along the same lines. As unlikely as it seemed, it was entirely possible that young Lux was merely a victim of disastrous circumstance. So we investigated." Lord Harrigon said, watching Garen very closely. "We have been investigating ever since her most recent failure in the forest, and only this last week have we managed to unearth the whole disturbing truth." He began his pacing again.
"Lux's plan had been to get close to the Noxian, close enough that she could complete her mission without raising suspicion. This was about the only thing she succeeded in. The two did become close…far too close in fact. They became… friends (he spat the word as though disgusted by the mere notion), and with every second Lux spent in the company of that devil, she slipped further and further away from us until she was lost entirely –
"How do you possibly know all this?" Garen said incredulously.
"That is not your concern, although I assure you, it is all true." He replied. "Lux never wanted to kill Katarina. She had one pathetic effort and lost her nerve, she ended up saving the Sinister Blade from her own attack! After that not only did she not try to kill her again but she actually protected the Noxian, nursed her back to health! The woman was entirely at her mercy and she let her live, she disobeyed direct orders! She chose that Noxian dog's life over yours!" The old man's voice dripped with disgust and contempt. "We could hardly believe it... Two Crownguards, two of our military's brightest talents, had fallen prey to exactly the same thing! Lux, like her brother before her, had succumbed to whatever heinous deceitful charm this woman must have. She betrayed Demacia and her King, she betrayed her family, and it cannot be allowed to continue." Garen was getting desperate, with every accusation he could feel Lux slipping further and further beyond his reach, his sister was on the edge of some black abyss from which he could not save her.
"It is not true." He was almost shouting, panic edging into his usually calm voice. "We must bring her in, we must talk to her… let me talk to her. I know her, she would never willingly hurt Demacia. There must be something else…something you've missed." The old man shook his head, looking at Garen with sad, cold eyes.
"We are well beyond that I'm afraid, Captain. This very day our soldiers tracked her to the edge of the Noxian border. At this moment she is in the heart of enemy territory doing God only knows what…This must end today. We will not lose this war, because of the actions of one foolish, duplicitous girl." Lord Harrigon turned away, unable to meet Garens eye. These last words had hit Garen like a punch in the stomach; he could barely breathe as their full meaning sunk in, they were going to kill her…
"P-please…" He whispered desperately, suddenly reaching out and grabbing the other man's arm, turning him forcefully around so their eyes met. "There must be another way…" His voice was cracking like glass under the weight of his emotions. "Please, you can't kill her…" He pleaded. The old man pulled his arm away looking appalled.
"No…We won't kill her." Garen was pulled, momentarily from his downward spiral of despair, his heart lifted ever so slightly. He was listening intently now, waiting with bated breath. "You, will be the one to kill her." The old man said coldly. For a second Garen thought that he had misheard, he prayed that he had misheard.
"What?" He said, staring wildly at his superior.
"Luxanna will die by your hand." He said again very slowly and this time Garen knew there had been no mistake. His head was pounding, his mind filled with angry white noise, his ears filled with the rush of his own furious blood. He would kill Lux? HE WOULD KILL LUX? His breathing became heavier and more erratic as the full weight of those words hit him, the anger he had been fighting so adamantly against finally broke free, and it spread through his body like wild, raging fire until he was consumed by it. He was shaking from head to foot. He wanted to crush this tiny man that stood before him, until he was nothing but dust. He needed him to feel this pain, he didn't care what happened anymore, he didn't who this man was, or whose orders he was following. He would silence him.
In a sudden blur of movement Garen lunged forwards, he swung one hammer like fist upwards and it cracked against the old man's skull. Lard Harrigon crumpled under the blow, falling limply to the cold marble floor. Garen's other hand reached over his shoulder for the hilt of his sword, and it rang like a church bell as he tore it from its sheath, in the same sweeping movement he brought it crashing down, slicing through the air towards the heap of a man at his feet. Time seemed to slow right down, almost to a halt, his brown eyes gleamed as the razor sharp blade whistled ever closer to the man's bald scalp, Lord Harrigon whimpered beneath him as death screamed down upon him.
And then, everything happened all at once. Garen's blade, mere inches from soft flesh and brittle old bone, froze, as completely and as suddenly as though it had met an invisible, impenetrable shield. Pain seared through his body, his arm felt like might be wrenched from its socket by the force. At the same time he heard a stampede of running footsteps from somewhere behind him, boots squeaking on the polished floor, armour clattering. Desperately Garen tried to move his arm, to finish what he started, if he was going to die he would take this hateful man with him, but as hard as he tried his arm would not budge.
He stared wildly around, trying to understand what was happening, why he could not move. The man in the purple robes had leapt out of the shadows in front of him, his hands were pointing deliberately at Garen, his fingers strangely clawed as though clasping at an invisible ball, he did not lower his arms as he circled around the bizarre scene. Garen understood, he should have seen this coming. He stared at the man with hatred burning in his dark eyes.
"Release me!" He demanded, vaguely surprised to find that he could speak at all. The man gave a cold laugh. He bowed ever so slightly, and with an almost lazy click of his fingers Garen was hurled backwards though the air. The might of Demacia landed painfully on his back, skidding several feet, his armour scraping awfully against the marble floor. Garen got quickly to his feet, in full control of his arms and legs once more, his fingers tightened reassuringly around the handle of his sword. He only had one thought in his mind.
With a roar of rage he charged forwards, his sword raised, thundering down upon the Injured Lord. Again, it seemed he was stopped by an invisible wall and he bounced harmlessly off, sent spinning by his own momentum. He lost his balance and toppled to the ground once more, his hands coming out at the last moment to break his fall. There was a ringing of laughter from behind him; he looked furiously back to see the silhouettes of a dozen guards, framed by the blazing archway of light through which they had entered. His fury still directing his actions he stood up, this time bearing down upon the purple robed man, his sword hungering for blood, glinting as he moved in and out of the light.
The man didn't even flinch, with another twirl of his hands; Garen was yanked into the air as if by some imaginary hook. He hung suspended high above the floor, caught in the arc of light from the nearest window; the hatred rippled across his face in a thousand different colours. He gave a blood curdling yell, and unable to move forwards he swung out wildly with his sword, slicing the air in front of him and only narrowly missing the mage's outstretched arm. There was more taunting laughter, Garen screamed ever louder…
"ENOUGH!" A great bellowing voice thundered throughout the hall, silencing everything it came into contact with. The soldiers stiffened nervously and Garen stopped his enraged flailing, his arms falling limply to his sides, his breathing ragged and heavy. Lord Harrigon groaned as he pulled himself shakily back to his feet. "That is enough!" He repeated looking around at all of them. "Let him down." He instructed talking to the man in the purple robes, who merely shrugged before withdrawing his arm. Garen plummeted to the ground with an almighty crash.
For what felt like the millionth time in ten minutes, Garen got back to his feet. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him, some nervously twitching, others full of curiosity, the mage was looking vaguely amused but Lord Harrigon's cold grey eyes showed only disappointment. How could he be disappointed? He had just ordered Garen to execute his own sister, his only sister, how dare he feel anything at all. Garen's sword arm twitched with anticipation as he stared down at the old man.
"Are we finished?" Lord Harrigon said eventually, talking only to Garen. "Are you ready to discuss this like reasonable men?" Garen flared up again instantly.
"REASONABLE?" He yelled, "After what you have just ordere…I WILL SHOW YOU TRUE REASON!" He lifted his sword high above his head and brought it thundering downwards, it would have cleaved the other man cleanly in two had his hand not been stayed, at the last second by yet another spell. Lord Harrigon did not even blink; his eyes did not leave Garen's own.
"Stop it you stupid boy." He said with exasperation. Garen growled, twisting and turning, trying to fight against the invisible force that restrained him. "I'm curious, after you kill me, what do you plan on doing next?" Garen said nothing; he would not give this man the satisfaction of being proved right. "Surely you must know… you cannot save your sister now." Garen's rage swelled, every ounce of his anger and his strength urging his body forwards, and slowly he was making progress. His body inched forwards, as though dragging some enormous weight behind him, the man in the purple robes was visibly straining as he tried to hold his spell in place, the amusement had disappeared from his face, replaced by concentration, and there was sweat running down his brow.
"You can however, choose how she dies. How she is remembered." The old man said softly, and the words pushed Garen over the edge. With one great surging effort he flung himself forwards, throwing every last ounce of strength into fighting the spell that bound him. He broke free for a moment, managing to move forwards, but the spell held and Garens momentum merely brought him crashing forwards onto his knees.
"AAARRRRRGGGHHHHHHHH!" He screamed with frustration, and the sound of his own broken, haunting shout echoed around the huge chamber, filling his own ears. He stared at Lord Harrigon with undisguised hatred, loathing everything about him, from his infuriating calmness, to his shiny bald head. "I WILL NOT KILL HER!" He bellowed suddenly, the last of his anger exploding out of him, but with it went the last of his self-control, and he broke down, tears poured hopelessly from his eyes, streaking silently down his once handsome face. His whole body crumpled, slackening against the spell that was the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground. He was shaking from head to foot, and his great rasping breaths were the only sound he could hear. "I-I can't kill her…" He said much quieter, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
"Yes you can." Lord Harrigon said reassuringly, as if he was simply helping him with a difficult training exercise. He was watching Garen's sobbing with pity in his old tired eyes. "You can do it because you are no traitor." Garen looked up at him through his tears, snivelling weakly.
"B-bu-but why?" He stammered, "Why must I. If you want her dead… if it is as you say, and she is a traitor, then execute her. That is what justice demands, not me… not her brother…" Lord Harrigon gave a small humourless chuckle that could not have been further from the look of deep sorrow on his face.
"You are right of course, but even justice, must sometimes be…" he cast around for the right word. "Pragmatic." He finished wearily. He signalled over to the mage, who obligingly dropped his hands. In his grief Garen barely even noticed that the spell had lifted. There was no fight left in him; his terrible despair had sapped him of the last of his strength.
"I don't understand…" He said pathetically.
"Well your sister's crimes are not yet public. She is something of a symbol to the Demacian people, and a Crownguard no less, to publicly execute her would be…short-sighted. It needs to be a mystery, suspicious even. Despite what you might think we take no pleasure in this. We want nothing more than to keep our noble houses strong, but unfortunately your sister's choices have made it a grim necessity." He looked away, apparently lost in thought, and Garen suddenly understood.
"You would seek to use her, even in death…" The full appalling truth of the situation was clear in Garen's quivering voice.
"Yes." The old man said simply. "Demacia must come first. Young Lux may have outlived her usefulness, but that does not mean that her death cannot be turned to our favour." His voice was deliberately low so as only the three of them could hear his words. "The whole situation is most regrettable…" He finished. Regrettable…regrettable didn't even come close to the horror and the despair that gripped Garen. It gripped him so tightly he could barely breathe.
"You still haven't answered me…you still haven't told me-
"Why it must be you?" Lord Harrigon finished the sentence.
"Yes." Garen muttered, "Why not a soldier… an assassin…anyone! Anyone else but me!"
"There are two reasons." He replied grimly. "The first is that this whole affair could be devastating if the wrong person found out about it, and you, have a vested interest in keeping silent." Garen waited but the second reason never came.
"And the second?" Garen prompted after the silence had stretched on far too long. The old man looked like he had a bad taste in his mouth.
"The second…The second reason is that the King wanted to test you. Your whole family have been a liability of late; he needs to know where your loyalties lie. This is a chance for you to prove yourself, to atone for your own mistakes."
"Tha-that's sick…" Garen gasped, sinking ever further down into the cold marble floor, his mouth was suddenly incredibly dry. The old man nodded gravely, and for the first time, Garen realised that he wasn't the only person here who had been given a horrendous task. There was gentle trickle of blood, weeping from a cut near the Lord's eye, a cut that Garen had made. Incredibly he found himself feeling sorry for the old man, feeling guilt for his own violence and rage, he could have killed him. He would have killed him, and the old man was only following orders… because that's what's Demacians did…They followed orders till the end. The unthinkable truth of the situation slowly dawned on him and his sobbing stopped. His tear streaked face was blank, and emotionless. He didn't feel anything, it was as though his heart had turned to stone, it was cold and heavy inside his chest.
"You do, inevitably, have a choice. This is not Noxus after all…" The old man began, sounding immensely tired now. "There is always a choice, no matter how bleak things may seem. Your fate, the fate of your family, the fate of Demacia itself, lies solely in your hands." Lord Harrigon gently knelt down before Garen and put a firm hand on each of his broad shoulders. The contact started Garen slightly and he almost flinched, he had never felt so weak, so vulnerable, and so powerless.
"You may choose to disregard this order, and refuse to kill Lux… in which case you will both die. You will be arrested and executed together, as traitors. Your parents will mourn for two children instead of one, they will be distraught, humiliated, ruined even. Your Family name will be disgraced, it will be the end of the Crownguards - one of the oldest and most noble families in all of Demacia will be all but eradicated. Demacia herself will suffer, one of the pillars that held her up, that kept her strong, will have crumbled into dust, and she will be unstable, the scandal will leave her weaker than ever, we may well lose the war…"
Lord Harrigon watched Garen closely, his wizened face giving nothing away but his hands were trembling against Garen's shoulders. The silence was absolute, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Or…" The old man said after a long pause, "or you can finish it yourself. You can free Luxanna from this harsh, unstable world, as quickly and as painlessly as she deserves. She will be martyred, she will be remembered as a hero…the golden child, the Lady of Luminosity, who gave her life and her light for her country, in hope that it might rise from the darkness. The Crownguard name will be restored; your parents will be the proudest in all Demacia. Demacia herself will be stronger than ever, with you, the might of Demacia, unwavering, unconquerable at her helm. We will continue our unrelenting fight against evil, those dark forces that ensnared and bewitched your sister, which snatched her from us and blackened her noble heart and would do so time and time again until they are wiped from this world all together. We will fight them. And we will win."
There was another lengthy pause. Lord Harrigon rose slowly to his feet and then, showing surprising strength for such an old man, pulled Garen up from the ground. He reached out and took the sword that was still clenched in Garens fist. Garen did not protest. The elderly Lord raised the sword carefully with both hands, holding it up to the light so that it gleamed, sending a halo of Golden light dancing over the marble floor, surrounding the pair of them. The Demacian crest blazed proudly from the hilt.
"Those are your choices, Captain. Justice will out." Lord Harrigon said. Garen's brown eyes flickered upwards, and settled dully on the glistening sword.
Garen's mind was racing, searching wildly for some way out of this madness; some loophole that could save him…that could save Lux. He must be missing something, he could feel it! But with every second his mind grew ever blacker, a blackness so complete it felt as though it was squeezing his brain, making it impossible to think clearly. And with every second the voice in the back of his head grew ever louder, until it was all he could here – his own voice; emotionless, cold, truthful, defeated. The voice was his own but the words were not – they could not be his. This wasn't how it was supposed to be! This couldn't be how it ended!...could it?
"There is no choice." He said quietly, he couldn't believe what he was saying, but it was unmistakably his lips moving, he could even feel the words searing the back of his throat. He felt hollow, dead. There was a great empty space in his chest where his sister should have been. He had already lost her. Without warning Lord Harrigon spun the sword in his hands, holding it by the blade as he presented it to Garen on bended knee. The giant man took it...And as he took back his trusted sword, the sword that had been with him through so much, as he felt it's comforting weight in his hand, the answer came to him.
It hit him like a punch in the face. He could have screamed – he could have laughed, it was so obvious, how had he not seen it before? He fixed Lord Harrigon with his determined gaze, his sword still clutched tightly in his fist.
"What if Katarina dies?" He asked. "What if I kill her?" Lord Harrigon was caught off guard; his old wistful eyes looked up at Garen's eager, hopeful face and he sighed with disappointment, his crinkled skin creasing into a sombre frown.
"No captain. I'm sorry but we've heard similar promises in the past…The time for second chances has passed, we cannot risk the security of our nation on your word. Besides the thing can't be done…Its not possibly, the sinister blade is on Noxian soil, on high alert, untouchable. It would be insanity - suicide to even attempt it, and more important than that it would be unwise. There is a big difference between a league champion 'accidently' dying on institute property and you marching into Noxus and cutting her down in the street. It would mean war…" Garen had listened to all this impatiently and now he interrupted.
"I know I can do it. I could even do it undetected – although I can't understand why. Only minutes ago you spoke of how Noxus needed to be eradicated from the face of Runterra, how they needed to be crushed, how war was destined!" He spoke urgently, excitedly. "This is our chance! What better way to start a war with Noxus than by taking out their most deadly warrior. I can do it, I know I can." Garen changed tact; he sunk to one knee, bowing his head. When he spoke again his voice was calm and deferential. "Please, my Lord, you must let me try. Let me silence that Noxian bitch forever. Let me save my sister."
He stayed still, not moving even an inch. The point of his sword scratched against the polished marble floor. His brown hair, damp with sweat, was plastered to his brow. Lord Harrigon looked into his dark eyes with exasperation, and saw the sincerity there, it saw the unfaltering conviction. For an excruciatingly long time he didn't say a word as he considered the man knelt at his feet. The only noise was his wheezing shallow breaths and the occasional squeaking of boots from far behind them. Garen's whole body ached, it screamed for him to move, but its screaming was nothing compared to the silent screaming of his mind. Staying this still was almost unbearable with all the raw emotion that surged through his veins but he forced himself wait, and eventually the old man spoke.
"Very well. You may have your chance." Garen leapt to his feet with undisguised joy and relief, he left his sword rattling on the ground as he wrung the other man's hand with both of his own. The old man was almost lifted from his feet as his frail arm was pumped up and down.
"Thank you. I am so grateful…" Garen boomed, some of the old strength seeping back into his voice, a single tear creeping down his cheek. A shadow of a smile appeared on Lord Harrigon's withered face before he frowned again. He pulled himself from Garen's grasp and looked at the might of Demacia with serious eyes.
"Though be warned Captain…This ends today, one way or another. You know the consequences should you fail, you will find no more second chances here, no more forgiveness."
"I understand." Garen said, barely able to manage more than single words.
"Well… don't waste time on my account." Lord Harrigon said, dismissing Garen with a sweeping wave of his arm. "And good luck." Nodding fervently Garen turned to walk away, but at the last moment Lord Harrigon called after him. "Oh and Captain…" Garen turned slowly around; almost dreading what was coming next. "Do not fuck this up."
Garen shook his head grimly. "Demacia, now and forever." He turned around to face the blinding sunlight, the wall of guards parted as he strode towards them. He passed through the huge ornate arch, finally released from the steely grip of the shadows. The blazing sun beat down on his face but he could no longer feel its heat, and its fantastic light seemed somehow pale and surgical. No light, not even the sun's, could match the radiance of his sister's presence. His whole life he had held her light close to him, it had glowed and shone deep within his heart, giving him warmth and clarity through the very darkest of his days. It barely smouldered now, it sparkled feebly, a mere flame, all but smothered by the icy weight of his duty, buried beneath a mountain of mistakes and regret. He knew that very soon it might die completely, and then his world would never be as bright again. He would not allow that to happen. He knew what he must do.