Her plan to leave quietly failed before she even exited the hospital. Quinn ran into the mage in the lobby. The seriousness Luxanna had exhibited in battle seemed so distant from the girl in a bright cyan sundress happily waving at her. She drew more than a few stares in the hospital's lobby, but looked completely oblivious to the men and woman who stopped what they were doing to watch. Beauty, or fame, Quinn wondered? Maybe a little of both.
She rushed forward, hoping to quickly usher them out of the spotlight.
"Quinn, I'm glad to see you're out," Luxanna said, giving her a completely innocent look.
Watching her warily, Quinn sighed. How had Luxanna known exactly when she was going to be discharged?
The hospital lobby was emptying as people realized they had duties to attend to, and they found themselves suddenly alone, excepting a receptionist who seemed fully enraptured by a page on her clipboard.
There had to have been an ulterior motive, Quinn rationalized. Superiors tended not to eat meals with their soldiers unless it was for PR, or something along those lines. Perhaps a questionable job arose that only she could perform? If it meant leaving the city, Quinn would be happy to oblige. If there was no mission, it was still Quinn's intent to leave. She might busy herself with tracking the Noxian army division that had escaped her when Thresh attacked, or else look into the rumors of a second, hidden passage through the Ironspike Mountains. Either option sounded appealing, and even thinking about it made Quinn impatient to find herself outside of the city. It was as if the forest was calling for her, and like a good friend, Quinn didn't want to keep it waiting.
Of course, there was still Luxanna to handle. It occurred to her that Luxanna might have even predicted she would skip town as soon as she was discharged. Quinn had sensed a deviousness from her during their battle with Thresh. Something was definitely afoot. It was still early in the afternoon so at the very least she could brush Luxanna off with an excuse and find a chance to escape in the intervening hours before their dinner.
Quinn forced a smile. "So I am. Listen – I have some shopping I need to do-"
"I'll come."
Quinn sputtered, her momentum torn away ruthlessly. "What?"
"Let's go shopping," Lux said. "It sounds fun! We can grab a meal afterwards."
"You don't have to," Quinn tried. "I'm going to be shopping for a new blade and bow; it'll be boring."
Luxanna stood a little taller. "Then we can make it fun. I'll buy a sword – you can help me pick one out."
Quinn looked around the room, as if expecting to find a distraction or excuse in the quiet workings of the hospital. She failed. For a moment, she considered feigning a sudden illness, but her questionable acting skills made her decide otherwise. Instead, she had a simpler plan.
Quinn nodded. "If you insist."
Together, the pair of them left the hospital and navigated the streets until they arrived at the open air market. Quinn crossed her arms, looking around with a frown. The last time she'd been at the market was nearly two months ago. Things had changed. The location of her favorite craftsman was instead home to a veal stall, which claimed to sell only the freshest of meats, but Quinn very much suspected otherwise. She stared at it in disbelief. The city changed even as the forest remained frozen in time. She could count on the elder trees always being there as landmarks through mazes of seemingly identical trees, and her stash trees would never uproot themselves and plod away, leaving her survival gear and money unguarded.
Luxanna, who had been surprisingly quiet as she followed, spoke up. "What, are you hungry already?"
She wasn't, and she ignored Luxanna's gibe. Without checking to make sure the young mage was following, she set off at a brisk pace along the rough cobble road. They passed a shoemaker and his wares, Quinn hesitating before remembering she still needed enough money for a new crossbow.
The market wasn't as quiet as Quinn had thought it would be. Usually the stalls opened early in the morning and everyone flooded into the market then, when the food was fresh and nothing was sold out. By the time afternoon rolled around, some places would already be closed and the most conscientious of shoppers done for the day. The sky was overcast but the temperature warm, and Quinn felt refreshed as she walked down the side streets. Being confined in a hospital for nearly a week had almost driven her insane – in addition to the overly cheerful visits from Luxanna. At least she hadn't left early. The last time she skipped out on the healing process, her injury got infected and Valor had mocked her relentlessly. Listening to Demacian doctors was a good idea, she had learned.
"Here," Luxanna said suddenly.
Quinn instinctively stopped, raising her eyebrows at the stall Luxanna stood in front of. It had completely escaped her eyes, as did every upper class place. One price tag immediately caught her attention. Six thousand Demacian notes for a dagger. Unfortunately, just the simple act of looking at it caught the craftsman's attention. He swooped in with a large smile, larger mess of a beard, and even larger voice, clearly perfected through countless sales.
"I see the carbon compacted steel dagger has caught your eye," he boomed. "It's truly a fine piece of work, best you'll ever use, guaranteed. You have a sharp blade here," he said while picking it up and tilting it to show the edges. "Guaranteed to be sharper than any others you can find. It's higher carbon content means it's guaranteed not to shatter under even the harshest of circumstances; it can hold against even a genuine dragon, though I don't recommend you find yourself a dragon just to test it. It was made by my father, Eltor, so you have lifetime guarantee on it. You can make no better purchase even if you were to shop all day!"
Quinn spared a glance at Luxanna during his spiel, and mentally gave up when she saw Luxanna's eyes shining with reverence.
"Didn't you want a sword, not a dagger?" she asked as they walked away, Luxanna casually carrying her new purchase, wrapped in goatskin cloth, at her side.
Luxanna looked at her, then at her purchase. "Huh. I guess I did say that. There's always next time?"
Their shopping continued, though Luxanna's purchases suddenly slowed down, leading Quinn to believe that maybe noble families didn't actually have unending pockets of gold. A couple times, when Luxanna seemed particularly intrigued by an item on sale, Quinn would stop and wait, and then quickly disappear back into the crowd once she thought Luxanna was thoroughly distracted. The escape attempts always ended with Luxanna somehow reappearing at her side, tugging on her shirt with an exaggerated pout, but otherwise completely silent. Each time, Quinn would quickly look away with a shrug, as if to say 'sorry, I didn't realize you weren't behind me'.
Eventually, Quinn stopped at a fletcher's on the outskirts of the market, near the residential district.
"You have any 480 grain bolts here?" she asked of the man attending the booth.
Looking up from a broken arrow he was examining, the man glared at her, clearly displeased at the interruption. He snapped the arrow in half, before turning his attention towards Luxanna, several feet back. Luxanna shifted uncomfortably and Quinn stepped forward.
"You hear me?" Quinn said.
The man dropped his arrow fragments, grabbing a large box from a shelf behind him, and hefting it onto the table between them.
"Here's wha' you wan'," he said, revealing a surly voice. "Now how many you wan'?"
He was still looking past her, and made no move to stop her as she opened the box and picked one of the bolts, examining it. It might have been her mind playing tricks on her, but it didn't feel right. Lighter than her usuals, she wondered? She turned it in hand several times.
"These are four eighty?" Quinn asked again.
"'Tha's what I said."
Quinn looked around the booth. There were more arrows than bolts here – it probably wasn't the right place to shop.
"You have a scale?"
The man finally turned his attention to her.
"You don' believe me?" he demanded, snatching the bolt out of her hand and dropping it back in the box.
"Quinn," Luxanna said from behind her.
Quinn ignored her. "They feel light."
He picked one up with a laugh. "Ligh'? Then they should be good for a girlie like you."
"Quinn," Luxanna said again, this time pulling aggressively on her shoulder.
Quinn spun around, taking her anger out on Luxanna. "What?"
Luxanna pointed. A trio of soldiers were walking through the market, in their direction. Quinn suddenly forgot the man and his insult, her eyes narrowing. They were Demacian soldiers, so why-
"We have to go," Luxanna said. "Run!"
Stronger than Quinn expected, Luxanna grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She found herself at a near-jogging pace as they left in the opposite direction of the soldiers.
"Hey – hey, wait!" Quinn gasped, trying to look back to see if they were even noticed. "What are you doing? I need bolts."
Luxanna didn't respond as she pulled them into the residential district, and then into and through a back alley. Finally, she slowed to a stop in a courtyard which they found themselves in. Quinn looked around. It was empty, except for a well situated in the middle of the paved plaza. Luxanna slowly walked towards it, and Quinn followed.
"You weren't going to buy anything from that guy anyways. I didn't like him."
"And that was going to stop me?" Quinn demanded.
Luxanna brushed the cobblestone well's edge with her hand, and spun around to cautiously sit on it. Quinn might have said something about it being unladylike to dirty her sundress, if she hadn't been angry at their sudden, unexplained departure from the market. It had been Quinn's first run since leaving the hospital, but she wasn't the least bit tired. The sight of soldiers had her adrenaline pumping and she was half ready for a fight, but only Luxanna was there.
"His looks were inappropriate," Luxanna whined.
Crossing her arms, Quinn glared at her. "Soldiers," she said, refocusing the conversation. "Why did we run?"
With a sudden change of attitude, Luxanna threw her head back and laughed. "You're my accomplice now," she said.
Quinn stepped around the insane mage, and peered into the well. So many emotions would be calmed by just pushing the girl in and walking away.
"An accomplice," Quinn repeated, not liking the sounds of it.
"Hey, back there you said something about 480 grain. What did you mean?"
"It's the weight of the bolt," Quinn said before catching herself. "Now – what am I an accomplice in?"
Luxanna leaned back, perilously close to falling into the well, and she didn't even seem to notice. "So you didn't mean grains of rice? You know, I'm sort of hungry, talking of rice and all."
Quinn was gradually learning that when it came to Luxanna, not all the information she desired could be attained at once. Instead, it took patience, and a little coaxing.
Quinn entered the restaurant with light steps, as if expecting a bolt of lightning to strike her down for betraying the forest's way of life. Inside, her senses were overwhelmed. Families and groups of merchants and adventurers crowded the place, their conversation all combining into a bedlam of voices which couldn't be made sense of. The place wasn't as well lit as normal shops – instead, natural lighting was most prevalent, and flames from the cooking in the back, where the chefs were hard at work, casted dancing shadows over the walls. The smell was the most unexpected of all. Quinn had never been to a restaurant before. She understood the concept – someone made you food and you paid them – but she grew up in a village without a single restaurant, and her time since leaving Everridge had been swamped with inaction and action – either never having enough money to visit a restaurant or high quality food never being something on her mind.
That wasn't to say she always made her own food. The Demacian army was infatuated with banquets, throwing one for any reason they could conjure. On two occasions, she had been the subject. Half the army revered her, and the other half wanted her dead, her name wiped from their military's history. On both occasions, she had tried her best to disappear as early on as possible, but not after trying a selection of the dishes that were offered. She had found the meat overdone and the salad's dressing too strong. She had enjoyed a few dishes, such as their pasta, and ocean fish.
Quinn looked around the place, trying to decide if she liked the smell of countless dishes being served and the chaotic atmosphere of the place. Keeping several steps behind Luxanna, she followed their waiter deeper into the restaurant.
"I should apologize," Luxanna said when they were seated. "It's sort of a confession, too. I should have told you earlier, but – well, I mean – no. I've no excuse."
Quinn awaited the explanation patiently.
"I was really trying not to, but you were so far away and it was hard to focus and all, and I hit you pretty badly with my magic."
"What?" Quinn said, the words escaping her lips a little too soon.
"Back at Paz, when I broke Thresh's chain with my spark magic. You were caught up in it pretty badly. It wasn't the worst of your wounds, but I hurt you. I'm sorry."
Quinn shook her head, bringing a hand up to stop Lux. "No – I'm sorry, but can we please talk about what just happened?"
Luxanna gave her a blank stare. "Huh? This restaurant is good, right? I was thinking you'd like it, but... was I wrong?"
Quinn balled her hands, patiently refraining as the waiter came to take their orders. She ended up ordering a random item off the menu, while trying to figure out how Luxanna managed to infuriate her so.
"I'm kidding," Luxanna said once they were alone again. "You want to know why I said you were my accomplice."
Quinn nodded, despite it not being phrased as a question.
"Truth is, I had a message to pass on to you from prince Jarvan." Luxanna took a sip of water, poking at an ice cube in her cup before turning her attention back to their conversation. "They wanted to throw a banquet in our honor, for subduing Thresh and all, but I thought this would be more fun."
Quinn stared, wide eyed, re-evaluating the girl sitting across the table from her. Refusing orders and running from soldiers? Again, Quinn was reminded of the deviousness she saw in Luxanna at the Paz battle. It might have been simply impossible to get a read on the girl. In comparison, Garen was a book. Were they really siblings?
When their food arrived, Quinn watched the exchange with curiosity. The waiter left, and Luxanna looked up with a curious frown.
"Something wrong?"
"Uh," Quinn hesitated. "Why didn't you pay?"
"Because we're not done," Luxanna stated simply.
Quinn pulled her plate closer, but wasn't yet willing to eat it.
"But the transaction is done," she said.
Whatever she had requested, it looked delicious. There were a side of cooked potatoes, cut in thin strips, and the sandwich featured a giant chunk of meat inside. It was probably overcooked, as most people ate their meats in the Demacian capital, but the sandwich also had plenty of vegetables to make up for it.
Luxanna leaned forward, her meal seemingly forgotten as she grinned. "Don't tell me – you've never been to a restaurant?"
The incredulity in her voice made Quinn look away, embarrassed. When she had first entered the army, she had learned countless small details of civilized life, but there had been too much know, and occasionally she would make a misstep and be laughed at. Despite Luxanna not laughing, that was what Quinn was reminded of.
"I've never had reason to," Quinn said, grabbing a fork impatiently before putting it down and grabbing the one beside it in attempt to subtly examine the difference. "Now, will you quit smiling? I'm well aware how – how odd it is."
"Hmm," Luxanna sang. "It appears I'm dining with a barbarian."
Quinn put down the second fork, and picked up the knife, running a finger along its edge. "Yes, and if you don't want potato in your hair, you'll look down at your food and start eating."
Luxanna giggled, as though delighted by the threat. "I'm sorry – but I'm happy too. Really! I'm glad I'm with you for your first time. I'll try my best to make it as pleasant of an experience as possible."
Quinn blushed, finally picking up a fork at random and stabbing a fry. "Just eat. Quit making a big deal out of this."
The meal turned out better than she'd expected, and much more filling. Halfway through the fries, Luxanna grabbed a condiment bottle and squirted a red sauce onto her plate, and then stole a fry, dipped it in the sauce, and ate it. Their eyes met for a moment, before Quinn mimicked her.
They continued eating in silence for a few minutes, before Luxanna's eyes lit up again. "Oh, I know!"
She wiped her hands on a napkin and then fished around suspiciously in her purse for a moment, before pulling out an envelop. She offered it to Quinn, who took it reluctantly.
"What is this?" Quinn said.
"Money."
Quinn opened the envelop, confirming that there was, indeed, money inside. Eight thousand Demacian notes, Quinn counted. She looked up at Luxanna for an explanation.
"That was another reason to meet with you – I just forgot about it. Payment for your services in stopping and subduing Thresh, courtesy of the banquet-loving military."
"I see," Quinn said, thinking that it would have been nice to have before they started the shopping. How had Luxanna forgotten such an important thing?
The meal satisfied Quinn's stomach, and Luxanna accompanied her on an evening walk, insisting they 'digest their food', before calling it an evening. The walk had been a little chaotic, as they had to avoid patrols throughout the city and got lost down strange alleys a handful of times, but the residents were always delighted that Luxanna was visiting their neighbourhood, and directions offered were never in short supply.
By the end of the day, they had returned to the market, where Quinn had made the rest of her purchases necessary to return to the forest, and they parted ways. Quinn found herself at her house.
Her home.
Following her successful counter-assassination during a standoff at the Noxus-Demacia border, she had been honored, praised, and promoted much too far – so far, that the Demacian military conferred a house to her. It was a two floor open-design house on the oceanfront on a street where nobles lived almost exclusively. The Crownguard mansion was only a fifteen minute walk away, and various military headquarters could be reached within half an hour. It was prime property, valued at probably more than her entire family had made during their entire lives.
Quinn had spent a grand total of six nights in the house, never two consecutive, since receiving it last year. The last time, she had promised herself during future stays she would sleep in the bed for the entire night, no matter how distracting it was to have such an unnaturally soft surface to sleep on. It was her attempt at wiping Everridge from her memory. She was more welcome in the capital, with elitist nobles who loathed her, than back in her birth village.
Valor fetched the house key for her from somewhere on the roof where he kept it when they left town, and Quinn opened the door, cautiously entering. Part of her felt like she was supposed to announce her arrival, as though entering a neighbour's house. It was her own house, however. Yes, most definitely her own, she thought as she turned on the lights. They flickered several times before steady dim lights illuminated the place. The entryway was open all the way up to the roof, leaving Valor plenty of room to fly from their bedroom down to the kitchen or out one of the extra wide windows. Whoever had renovated the house for their arrival had certainly been mindful of Valor.
The door creaked when she closed it, and rather than checking out the rest of the house, which lay unused, she went directly for the stairs up to her room. Each step squeaked in surprise, and she almost laughed aloud at the insanity of the situation. She had her own house, at 20 years old. Several times, she had entertained the idea of inviting her parents to move in, but each time she was reminded that though it was her house, her neighbourhood was worse than the back alleys of Zaun, in terms of friendliness. In fact, she was somewhat surprised nobody had burned down her house yet.
Valor settled on her shoulder, after apparently flying through all the rooms and raising its dust. Quinn sneezed as he brought a wingful of dust to her.
He cawed.
"It's that time of year, already?" she said quietly, her voice not making it any farther than Valor's ears.
Valor nodded.
"How long?"
Six days, he indicated with his claws. Valor would leave for six days. He was a Demacian eagle – the amount of time they spent together was astonishingly large, but he sometimes left, for one reason or another. Throughout the years, Quinn gradually found a pattern and had become accustomed to it. Surprisingly, she never felt lonely when he left her to wander the forest unaccompanied. She had often wondered where he always went, and once asked him if he had left for mating season, only to be shutdown with a harsh peck to the skull.
Quinn fished the military's payment out of her pocket and went to a nearby window, opening it fully.
"You heading out south?" she asked him, holding the money up.
He gently took the envelop as he lifted off her shoulder.
"Alright. I'm definitely not staying in the city long, so I'll be somewhere in the forest east of here when you get back."
Valor would find her, no problem.
He cawed again, this time in goodbye.
"Goodbye," she half yelled as she watched him leave through the window and quickly ascend into the dark sky above.
The smallest, least significant things could cause death. Or, in this case, preserve life.
Quinn heard it moments before she was going to roll over under the sheets of her bed. A creak of wood. Her house was talking to someone, and it definitely wasn't her or Valor. Her heart skipped a beat, but she maintained normal breathing, as though she were asleep. It was a little past midnight, she estimated, but she had never actually fallen asleep despite being tired. She had her mattress to blame for that.
Her new crossbow was resting against the wall on the other side of the room – not a practical strategy to retrieve it, in the face of an enemy. One of her daggers was nearby, within arms reach, but until she knew her enemy's position, it was too dangerous to move for. She listened, but there were no more creaks. It took a full minute of suspense and focusing on remaining calm before she could hear anything. A single, muffled footstep. The intruder most likely wore socks, which explained why the steps were so quiet.
And then there was an eruption of footsteps, and Quinn rolled aside instinctively. The dagger came down where her chest had been a moment before, and Quinn reached, grabbing the arm that was holding it. For a few frantic seconds, her blankets were more of a threat than the assassin. Her feet were kicking, desperately trying to shake the blanket off without losing the fight for the knife.
Digging her fingernails into the man's arms, her feet finally found the hard ground, and by then she had leverage on the knife. Without thinking, she redirected it into her opponent's chest with as much force as she could muster. They fell to the ground and he swore, struggling to pull it out, but instead only succeeded in cutting the blade down his chest when Quinn pushed back. Quinn positioned herself on top of him as he kicked his feet in wild desperation. Though it felt like an entire night of slowly bleeding the man out, his struggles eventually weakened and then died altogether. Quinn rolled off the body, heaving up what had been a pleasant dinner she'd had earlier in the day.
A moment later, she forced herself to return to the assassin. He was an amateur. His nerves had worn off and he didn't go for a clean slice of the throat, but rather a mad frontal attack. Someone had underestimated her.
Quinn searched the body, running hands along the jacket and pants in search of other weapons. Beyond the dagger, which she threw to the other side of the room, he had nothing. Her hands were wet from the search, and she could smell urine. His bladder had let go some time during the struggle. When she turned on the light, her hands revealed blood. Not much better, having hands stained with the blood of an enemy. She looked at the body and then just as quickly diverted her eyes before she could throw up again. He wasn't as young as she might have expected, and she didn't understand how a middle aged man could get into the killing business without being more skilled.
Blood from the body pooled, some going under her bed and the rest finding grains of the wooden floor to seep in to. Light switch covered in blood, and blood droplets around the room from the dagger made Quinn shake her head. Only after a moment did she realize she couldn't just stand there all night, mind numb. Balling her hands, she could feel the blood swell out of her fists. Recalling the strength she used to pin the assassin down, she punched the wall next to the light switch. The resulting thud was much quieter than she wanted, and pain erupted in her hand. If she broke a finger or two, she didn't mind. That was little, in return for a life.
Quinn swore into the silence. It, alone, had been louder than their entire struggle. She went to the body and kicked it. It rolled over, revealing the wet boards of wood underneath. She wished it had been Noxian. It would have been fine, then. She turned her attention away, pacing the room several times. Her feet brought her to her crossbow, which her hands then retrieved, shaking only slightly. Next, she strapped her recently refilled quiver to her back, and then her belt, dagger fastened tightly to it. Quinn turned to survey the room.
"I'm sorry, Caleb. I tried. I'm done now," she whispered, eyes locked on the assassin's knife laying abandoned on the floor. For the past year, Quinn had experienced – maybe not enjoyed, but at the very least experienced – the life they dreamt of. Would it sadden her brother to know it wasn't everything they imagined it to be? Quinn wiped a tear from her cheek, only realizing too late that she'd just painted a streak of blood onto her face. It was time to move on.
Decision made, she went through her house, opened the front door, and then returned to her room. It took her a moment to get the right leverage, but she picked the corpse up and heaved it over her shoulder. Blood was still dripping from the body, and it helped fuel her anger. She left her room, carefully navigating down the stairs with the weight on her shoulder, and then exited her house. The gravel underfoot was the only sound on the street as she started a brisk pace down the road.
There was one place, and one place only, that she had in mind. The stars told her it was already four in the morning. Where had all the time went? Thankfully, she encountered no soldiers in the street. During her walk, she passed one person – a noble woman, by the looks of it – who screamed and ran to the nearest house, desperately knocking on the door for entry. Quinn ignored the woman. There was no stopping now – she was almost there. Already, she had adjusted to the body's additional weight on her shoulder. Much heavier than Valor, but Quinn didn't care.
Her destination was surrounded by barbed wire, but there were no soldiers standing guard. It might have been too early in the morning. The building itself was small and circular, made using large stone bricks that were resistant to weaker magics. It didn't serve much purpose beyond meetings and equipment storage, otherwise the military would have embellished it a little more. The king gave them all the funds they could ever need, so there would be no excuse to lose to Noxus. Above the open arced entrance, 'Dauntless' was written in flowing Demacian letters. It was a disgusting boast, that the members of the vanguard should have been ashamed of. A complete lie, Quinn thought as she barged into the building without thinking.
No, she hadn't been thinking, but thankfully and surprisingly – or perhaps not surprisingly – the very man she wanted to see was there. Garen Crownguard, leader of the Dauntless vanguard, looked up from the table. Even without armour, he looked well built. Physical strength, however, didn't preclude mental strength. He was half asleep, facing an array of papers on the table. Garen wasn't alone. A small handful of soldiers were there too, whispering and pointing to different papers, as if they were lawyers rather than warriors.
Quinn tossed the body as far as she could into the entryway, which amounted to hardly a meter. A satisfying thud echoed through the room, and Garen rose to his feet only to stare at her.
"Garen," Quinn said, not thinking of her words, but rather desperately hoping he would reach for his blade. Though she was outnumbered, taking him down would be enough. Dauntless was a word he did not deserve to be associated with, and if she was the only one who saw the truth, then she would have to be the one to act. "You underestimated me. You'll have to do better than this to off me."
"Officer Attridge? What-"
But he did not reach for his blade. His companions didn't, either, content to look to him for lead. And when Quinn realized he was going to play stupid, the exhaustion hit her. If he wasn't going to give her a fight, then that was that. His honor, however damaged it might be, wasn't enough. Quinn was done.
"You're a coward," Quinn said. "Pitiful."
And she turned and left.
Her ears were her focus, as she listened for sounds of someone following her. She kept a quick stride, not a walk suited for either the city or the forest, but not quite a run. Her feet were moving, but she didn't yet know her next destination. She stumbled to the ground, cutting her knee on a sharp rock in the gravel path, and as she picked herself up, she realized she had never changed her clothing, and was still in her nightgown which she only wore whenever she slept at her house. She must have been quite a sight, covered in blood and weapons in her pajamas.
Home, then, was her immediate destination. She would change and then leave the city. She didn't need to fight for Demacia. She could head for Ionia. She could lend her support to a beautiful kingdom that had suffered at the hands of Noxians. And if, by chance, someone should want to harm Ionia, she could fight for them. Not because she was duty-bound, because she wouldn't be, not ever again, but because she wanted to.
The next time Quinn examined her surroundings, she was heading towards the city's eastern exit, fully changed into her hunting attire and backpack on her back, along with her daggers and crossbow. The weight was much more comfortable than that of a corpse, for which she was thankful. A return to her normal life was what she needed. She also needed a bath. Blood had dripped from the assassin's corpse and down her chest and legs, leaving her painted red like a barbarian getting ready for war.
Hmm. It appears I'm dining with a barbarian. Luxanna was a Crownguard. Quinn might have forgotten for a day, but she wouldn't again.
Approaching the gate, she found her crossbow suddenly in hand. It hurt, she thought to herself. She needed a weapon, in case the gate's guards had heard about her actions and a court-martial was already out for her, but even holding the crossbow hurt. She regretted taking her anger out on the wall earlier, but nothing would keep her from the forest.
"Quinn." Prince Jarvan the Fourth stood under the gate's arc, blocking her path to the forest.
She swore under her breath. The pity was palpable.
"Quinn," he said again. "I don't fully understand what has happened, but I do not believe Garen wants to harm you."
"No, you wouldn't," Quinn said, quiet enough that she wasn't sure if the prince heard.
She looked around, for his bodyguards and personal soldiers. They might have been hiding in the gatehouse, or nearby houses, but she couldn't see any.
"Are you leaving?" he asked.
Quinn shifted her backpack. "What does it look like?"
"Already? Lux seems to have had you occupied last night. Did she tell you of my offer?"
"Offer?" Quinn said, momentarily forgetting her situation.
Jarvan IV shook his head. "Never mind. It's not something you'd now entertain, giving what has happened. Look, Quinn, I don't want you to leave – especially not like this."
Quinn lowered a hand casually from her crossbow, bringing it closer to her dagger. Prince Jarvan was an advanced fighter, not one to be hampered by a hunting crossbow. She also took the opportunity to wipe as much blood as she could off her hand, so her grip would be more reliable.
"Quinn," Jarvan said. "Quinn – listen. I'm not going to stop you, if you decide to leave. I know you've already spent a long time in the city, being in the hospital and all, but I want you to stay another day. I would like to talk to you, about the Paz incident, and about this assassination attempt, and – and about something else."
"If you're not going to stop me, then step aside. Let me go."
He kept quiet for a moment, and Quinn checked behind her. It was a dark, empty street. Still early in the morning, the sun hadn't quite risen.
"It wasn't my choice," Jarvan said, "but there's already another mission lined up for you. If you leave – well, dereliction of duty is a serious offence. Together with your business with Garen, leaving will only make things worse."
"I wouldn't worry about that, if I were you," Quinn said.
He stared at her a moment, but Quinn refused to meet his eyes. Slowly, clearly reluctant, Jarvan moved towards the gatehouse, leaving her path open.
"Where are you going to go?" he said as Quinn walked out the gates.
She tensed, hands still close to her weapons. "East. I'm going to look for the battalion that escaped me earlier."
It was a lie.
"Stay in contact, please," Jarvan said, looking up at the clouds above.
Quinn nodded, before turning to the forest.
That was another lie.
Prince Jarvan didn't lie to her, though. He didn't try to stop her as she left the city.
A/N: I have 3 more chapters for the next few days that just need editing/proofreading, and then I'll be writing fresh ones.