A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games
This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.
Ok, before we head to the story, I just want to say thank you to all of you who left a review, favorited or added to 'follow'. I'm glad to see that the first chapter was well received. Well here is the second installment. I would love to know what you think about it. Please enjoy.
~WhiteWinterDragon
Chapter II
The Sinister Blade
The sound of her subtle footsteps on the lavish carpet was her only companion as she moved down the corridor. The infant moon shone through the tall windows and provided the only source of light in the room, bathing the intricate tapestries on the opposing wall in soft, silvery hues. Upon reaching a set of double doors carved in dark wood, she paused to ensure that everything was in place. Her father expected nothing short of perfection and she was determined to deliver. A devilish smile played at her ruby lips, as she brushed her delicate fingers against the small throwing knives strapped to her thigh, hidden from view by the fine, black silk of the dress she wore. Satisfied, she tucked a stray lock of crimson hair behind her ear and pushed through the doors to the west-wing dining hall.
Her father, several other prominent members of the Noxian high command and at least forty other influential guests were seated at the solid oak long-table that served as the centerpiece of the spacey room. The thought that so many important figures were in attendance at the celebration of her younger sister Cassiopeia's fifteenth birthday was amusing to her, but she took care to not let it show on the curve of her lips or the glint in her stunning emerald eyes, as she watched them all play pretend at caring. They were here to climb in status, cement alliances and screw the right people; every last one of them socializing, gossiping and plotting for personal gain. It was like a game, a game where the stakes were always high and one misstep could get you killed in the dead of night. She let her gaze linger briefly on the supposed 'star' of the evening. Cassiopeia was reveling in all the attention she received, beautiful, charming and confident beyond her years she could play the game as well as any veteran, getting whatever and whomever she desired. She could be sweet and endearing, deceptively so, and then strike like a snake in the blink of an eye if it suited her needs. In fact getting under people's skin before tearing them to shreds with nothing more than a few venomous whispers was like a sport to her.
Her father stood up from his seat and sent her an approving nod when she reached his end of the table. "I believe you have all met my firstborn, Katarina." He said, taking her hand in his as he introduced her to his company. Though she had not seen most of them in years, she recognized a number of faces amongst her father's guests. There was Keiran Darkwill, youngest son of Grand General Boram Darkwill, whose gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. She pretended not to notice. General Darius, who looked less than thrilled about attending a birthday celebration, spared her a polite nod, which she returned, silently wondering when and how the infamous General had broken his nose. She was pulled from her musings by a low, raspy voice.
"A pleasure as always Miss Du Couteau, you've grown."
She suppressed the urge to clench her teeth as she met the penetrating stare of General Swain. The man had always unnerved her. She couldn't put her finger on why exactly. Maybe it was the way he observed people and expressed himself, always perfectly polite, calm and calculated, never giving away what might be on his mind. Or maybe it was the way he seemed to see right through her, or anyone for that matter, as if her mind and soul were laid bare before his mocking eyes. The creepy raven that even now perched on his shoulder did not help either. Schooling her expression expertly, she settled for sending him a polite smile before taking a seat next to Darius and across from a young man she had not seen before. She allowed herself a few seconds to look him over, when he occupied himself with refilling his glass. He was not particularly handsome or ugly. In fact the only remarkable thing about him was how remarkably bland he seemed with his curly, mousy-brown hair and muddy eyes. She scoffed. Too easy. It was the small things that gave him away. Tiny, trivial mannerisms, like the way he savored his wine for just a moment longer than necessary to hide that he was trying to listen in on a conversation, or the way he remained passive even in the more heated discussions to avoid drawing any attention.
When her father had told her to bring knives, Katarina knew that someone was going to die this evening. She had been given no target, but at a guess, she would say the young man across from her was probably either a thief or a spy. Most likely her father knew this, but chose to withhold that information to test her perceptive abilities. Katarina let a small smirk grace her lips as she took a sip of her wine. She may not have her sister's flair for socialite presence, and honestly didn't care much for court intrigues or politics, but she excelled at killing swiftly, silently and effectively. Let Cassiopeia rule as the ballroom Queen, Katarina's craft and passion was assassination and she wouldn't have it any other way. First part of the job was over and done with, now she just had to wait for an opportunity to finish up without making too much of a mess.
After nearly an hour of dreadfully boring small talk, the young man excused himself, claiming that he needed to use the bathroom. Katarina sent her father a meaning glance, the slight nod of his head was all the confirmation she needed. She waited until the man had exited the room before she got up and went after him.
She kept a respectable distance, moving in the shadows and staying out of sight as she followed him through the maze that was the Du Couteau mansion. His pace was quick and he did not seem to choose direction at random, which made her curious. He was clearly aiming for a certain destination and apparently knew how to reach it too. Interesting. The young man made a left turn and disappeared into the old family library, Katarina slid in behind him and positioned herself between him and the doorway, opting to observe him for a bit before she made her presence known. Her brows furrowed as she watched him head straight for the bookshelves that lined the eastside wall where he started brushing his hands over the myriad of dusty, old volumes displayed there. Was he looking for a book?
She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe. "Looking for something?" The young man whipped around at the sound of her voice. His eyes were wide and his breath quickened.
"I've gotten lost." He uttered without stammering too much and offered her an apologetic smile.
"Of course," she drawled, raising a single eyebrow. "Who sent you? Where are you from?"
The man dropped all pretenses at being lost, nervous and confused, his entire demeanor changing to the stoic calmness associated with someone who is regularly faced with the risk of an untimely and violent death. "Demacia," he said. His change of tone and stance sent Katarina's heart pumping with excitement. She had been asking her father for more daring and difficult tasks for years without luck; the prospect of a possible challenge sent the adrenalin rushing to her head. Eyes never leaving her target, she moved her hand closer to her hidden weapons, so that she might draw them quickly, should the need arise.
"And what are you looking for?" She noted how he shifted his weight slightly and how his eyes darted back and forth between her face and past her to the doorway. He was clearly considering his options. A wicked smile found its way to her lips. This was it. He charged, running straight towards her, drawing a curved blade from the confines of his jacket as he did. He barely made it halfway before he crashed to the floor in a heap, limbs twitching erratically and crimson blood pumping from where her throwing knife had pierced his jugular. As Katarina remained passive in the doorway, waiting for the death throes to subside, all she could think was: How disappointing.
"You can come out now." She called out in no particular direction, not entirely sure, she would receive a response. A moment of silence passed, before a cloaked figure appeared, stepping out of the shadows as if he was made of them. She had suspected he might be watching and felt a pang of anger. Did her father believe her incapable of dealing with something like this by herself? She crossed her arms and sent him a pointed look. "Did father send you Talon?"
He stopped his approach and remained silent for a moment. "No." His voice was low and even and his hood was drawn up, hiding his expression. She couldn't tell if he was lying, even if she tried.
"Whatever," she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "How much did you see?"
Talon crouched next to the dead spy. Slowly he turned the body, so it was lying face up. "All of it." He looked up at her, allowing her a glimpse of his hazel eyes beneath the shadow of his hood. "Think he was telling the truth?"
"About being Demacian? No, he admitted that too readily and too easily. I'm guessing he was instructed to say that in case he got caught," Katarina mused, chewing on her lip, as she thought about it.
Talon nodded before turning his attention back to the corpse. "So where did he come from and why? Of all the places he could go, why the library?"
"I was wondering about that too," Katarina admitted, "father might know."
"Perhaps." Talon muttered, as he began searching through the spy's clothing.
"Speaking of which, I'd better return to the party. Be a dear and take out the trash will you?" she said as she turned on her heels, sending him a wave over her shoulder, as she sauntered off. She didn't bother to wait for his reply.
ooOoo
The party had continued for another couple of hours after she rejoined and it was not until the early hours of the morning that Katarina had a chance to speak with her father in private. Marcus Du Couteau seated himself at his ornately carved desk, motioning for her to enter the confines of his private study. She closed the door softly behind her and went to stand by the window, allowing herself a brief moment to appreciate the strokes of deep purple and violet on the sky that heralded the approach of dawn.
"Well?" her father said, leaning back in his chair and sending her an expectant look.
Katarina sighed and turned away from the window to meet his gaze. "I had no trouble disposing of the intruder, as you asked, but some things about him struck me as… odd. He seemed to know his way around the mansion and he headed straight for the library." She trailed off, as her father seemed to tense up when she mentioned the library. For a second it felt like he was looking straight through her, lost in his own thoughts, before his expression changed back to normal so fast and sudden, Katarina found herself wondering if she might have imagined the whole thing.
"Anything else?"
"Yes. He said he was Demacian."
"But you don't believe that?"
"No," she shook her head. "He didn't even hesitate before answering when I asked where he was from." Her father rose from his chair to join her by the window. "Talon doesn't think he was sent by Demacia either," she added. Marcus nodded and tore his gaze away from the city of Noxus stretching out below them to look at his daughter. A small smile graced his lips, as he carefully cupped her cheek. He had never looked so old or tired. "Father, is something wrong? What's going on?" He waved off her concern nonchalantly.
"Nothing my dear, I'm just a tired old man, who's proud of my beautiful daughter that's all." She crossed her arms and raised a single eyebrow, not entirely convinced, but she might as well have been trying to stare down one of the statues in the garden. The stoic, serious expression that slipped onto her father's face told her that the usual General Marcus Du Couteau was back in the room and that she had better stop pressing the issue. "General Swain has a job for you," He said, changing the subject before she could argue. "One of our western outposts has had some trouble with a Demacian Sergeant and his unit over the past few weeks. Swain wants you to infiltrate their camp and kill him. It should be a simple assassination, but a great opportunity for you to show the High Command your worth nonetheless, if you accept that is?"
Though she was still convinced there was more going on than her father let on, her misgivings about the whole ordeal were pushed to the back of her mind at the prospect of a chance to serve Noxus, bring renown to her name and make her father proud. A sinister smile graced her lips and she could barely mask the eagerness in her voice when she answered: "When do I leave?"
ooOoo
It was raining; the kind of slow, constant, heavy rain that went straight to the bone. Katarina shuddered, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and sent the sky above a reproachful glare. The elm tree she was seated in provided her with partial shelter from the weather, but after hours of exposure she was soaked through. Annoyed, she brushed a wet strand of hair away from her forehead and shifted her position slightly, trying to get more comfortable. It was an ideal spot for observation. Her elevated position in the tree allowed her to overlook the entire Demacian camp, while its thick canopy shielded her from the eyes of their sentries.
For the past three days she had spent a couple of hours at various times of the day, studying the camp from her perch amongst the leaves. It wasn't a particularly large camp, not by Demacian standards anyway. Only about thirty soldiers were stationed there, as far as she could tell. Truth be told, she had been disappointed when she had first seen it. The Nearby Noxian camp held almost twice as many soldiers, so why high command would rather bother her with assassinating a mere Sergeant instead of just attacking the Demacians head-on was beyond her. A simple, wooden palisade served as the camp's first and only line of defense. It should provide little challenge for a master assassin such as herself. Guard rotations, patrol patterns, key individuals and locations, such as the mess tent had all been carefully memorized. She was ready. She pulled out one of her daggers, tenderly running a finger along the blade. She would strike tonight, when most of the soldiers were asleep.
The approaching sound of numerous hooves beating against the muddy ground put an end to Katarina's musings. About a dozen riders came to a halt near the foot of her tree, just outside the wooden palisade that served as the camp's first line of defense. All of them wore heavy travel cloaks in the Demacian colors. One of them caught her attention though. Or rather his horse did. The animal was covered in finely ornamented armor plates, much more so than any mount of a standard soldier.
"Who goes there? State your name and purpose!" a sentry shouted. Katarina snorted derisively, balancing her weapon on her fingertips. It was so like Demacians to waste their time and breath on such mundane military procedures, when the arrival of the riders was obviously expected. The man on the armored horse rode to the front of the company.
"General Elias Buvelle, I am expected."
Katarina almost dropped the dagger she had been fiddling around with, this was just too perfect. A Demacian General stationed in such a modest camp at the outskirts of Demacian territory with no notable force to hide behind. It was too great an opportunity to let slip, the Sergeant could wait. Change of plans… Dusk was fast approaching, a few more hours and she could land herself a much more prominent kill than her original target. Her lips curled up into her trademark smirk, as she watched the sentries open the palisade gates, so the riders could enter the camp and the false sense of security it provided. She would make her father proud.
ooOoo
By the time the stillness of night descended on the Demacian camp, the rain had quieted down to a soft drizzle. Katarina darted deftly from shadow to shadow between the many tents, her movements fluid and silent like those of a cat on the prowl. Her keen, green eyes, well accustomed to the dark, let her move about unhindered, despite the low visibility. Every now and then she stopped to listen. Bits of conversation, laughter and the muffled sound of boots in mud helped her avoid the soldiers who were not asleep, as she went. They had no idea she was there.
As she neared her destination, the General's tent, her heart beat louder with anticipation. She hid in the shadow of another tent across from the General's, taking a moment to compose herself. It wouldn't do to make any mistakes in her excitement. However much she longed for the thrill of actual combat, this would have to be done swiftly and silently, if she wanted to exit the camp alive. She was fairly confident she could take any man here one on one, or one on five, but one on forty? She could hear the berating voice of her father in the back of her mind as she considered it and rolled her eyes. Her father and Talon both preferred a quick, silent dispatch, she preferred a challenge, the harder and more dangerous the job, the greater the thrill and the more satisfaction.
Two soldiers were stationed at the large, fine tent, one at either side of the entrance. She would have to get rid of those first without letting them alarm anyone. Katarina snorted derisively at the unknowing guards. It was laughable, the way they stood there, rigid in their heavy armor, believing themselves untouchable, as they hid away behind a shell of metal. Getting past armor was a simple matter of precision, nothing more. She removed two throwing knives from her belt. One for each, they would have to die at the same time, or it would undoubtedly cause a ruckus. She aimed carefully before sending her knives flying. They cut through the air, like a deadly whisper followed by the dull thump of two bodies slumping to the ground. Katarina, pleased with her impeccable aim, would have liked to admire her own handy-work a little, but knew it was a matter of time before the Demacians would realize that something was amiss. She wasted no time retrieving her blades, leaving them as they were, poking out of the narrow slits in the soldiers' helmets. Quietly she stepped over the bodies to peek through the tent flap.
Several candles were lit inside, providing light for the General, as he sat hunched over a modest, but fine wooden desk with his back to her. Katarina could hear the scratching sound of a feather-pen against a piece of parchment. Drawing her dagger, she entered. Her steps made no noise as she crept closer to her target, practically holding her breath and inwardly cursing the sound of her heart, which was beating like there was no tomorrow. With one swift, practiced movement she pressed her blade to his throat and slit it open, feeling the familiar rush of adrenalin and accomplishment. A gurgling sound and bloody froth was all that escaped the General's lips, before he slumped forward, knocking over his ink bottle when his head hit the table. A look of mild surprise was forever frozen on his face. He had probably never even realized what happened. For a moment Katarina stared transfixed at the growing pool of black ink mixing with red blood, the colors of Noxus. How fitting. She let out a deep breath willing her heart to calm its pace. She needed to focus this was not over before she had made it out of the camp.
She took the same route back as she had used upon entering with only a few alterations to avoid detection. It was not until she had passed the tree-line on the other side of the palisade and made it nearly a hundred yards into the forest that she allowed herself to revel in the satisfaction of a job well done, drunk as she was on her success. The joyous laughter she had been holding in since she saw the life spill from the gash in the General's neck was finally released as she sped forward amongst the trees. She must sound like an absolute maniac. She sniggered at the thought, perhaps she was. In truth she was just proud. They had sent her to deal with a Sergeant, she had killed a General. After another mirthful laugh Katarina sobered herself. The Demacians would undoubtedly send trackers after her, she should probably find somewhere she could lie low for a few hours before heading back to her own camp.
ooOoo
It was morning by the time Katarina decided she could return to the Noxian encampment without having to worry about being traced. The sky had a light, grey tone to it, but the rain had stopped and a thick fog now covered the forest like a blanket. Droplets of water clung to leaves and blades of grass, glinting like fine, little pearls whenever a streak of early sunlight managed to penetrate the clouds. Though she was cold and wet from spending the entire night out in the rain, Katarina was in high spirits. Her first official mission had been more than a success as far as she was concerned. Her father would no doubt agree. She let her hood fall and freed her damp, crimson locks from her braid. No one could question her abilities now, this was her own accomplishment. Not her father's. A small smile graced her lips. In Noxus strength was everything and she had just demonstrated hers. She would be damned if she stayed in her father's shadow forever. The choking smell of smoke pulled Katarina from her thoughts. With mounting dread, she darted to the nearest tree, swiftly making her way to the top branches. A dark pillar of smoke was rising from the approximate location of the Noxian camp she had been headed for, writhing and twisting towards the sky like some mutated growth. Shit…
She didn't care that her lungs were burning, she didn't care that her hair got stuck in the brush, she didn't even care when a branch scratched her cheek, as she speeded through the forest. She was getting closer, the smell of smoke permeated the air, making her nostrils sting and her throat itch. She spat on the ground to get rid of the bitter taste it left in her mouth and pushed through the last remaining foliage, entering the Noxian camp site, or rather what was left of it. Most of the tents had been set aflame, yet the fires were already burning low, struggling to sustain themselves with everything wet from the night's rain. A myriad of hoof prints and arrows in the blood-soaked mud told of a swift attack involving both cavalry and archery and judging from the corpses that littered the forest floor it had been flawlessly executed. Katarina knelt next to the body of a Noxian soldier, a sword still firmly clutched in his stiff hand. The Noxians had clearly put up a fight, but she could only spot a few bodies sporting Demacian colors. This was wrong. Her thoughts traveled to a time long ago, when her father would tell her and Cassiopeia stories of Noxian triumph and greatness at their bedside. In one of them, Sion, a hero and symbol of Noxian ideals, had turned the tides of battle against overwhelming odds, when he sacrificed his life to kill the Demacian King. The death of Jarvan I had broken the spirit of the Demacian army and they had been forced to retreat. Katarina shook her head, she had killed their General, yet the Demacians had brought immediate retribution, when they should have been left in a state of disarray. Were there other Demacians in the area?
A strangled cough from one of the men on the ground put an end to her speculations and Katarina hurried to his side. She grimaced when she noticed his shattered ribcage. Trampled by a horse most likely…"What happened here?"
The man's eyes widened at the sound of her voice and he looked from side to side, as if searching for its owner before finally fixating at a point slightly to her left. Blind? Blow to the head perhaps…"Demacians dogs ambushed… killed everyone." Another cough shook the soldier's frame and specs of blood flew from his mouth.
"How many were there?" Katarina asked, trying to mask the urgency in her voice. She needed to know everything that happened and the only one who could give her answers clearly did not have much time left.
The man looked thoughtful for a moment and Katarina feared he might have just breathed his last before he finally answered: "Not many. Fewer than us, we fought, but their leader…" His features contorted with rage and he spat, narrowly missing her face. "She… was supposed to have killed him," he whispered before his body finally gave out and grew still.
Katarina felt as if someone had grabbed her gut and twisted it. She clenched her fists so hard her nails left bloody imprints on her palms. The Sergeant, how could she have been so blind, so naïve? The General may have a higher rank, but looking at the remnants of the battle it was obvious that the Sergeant posed a much bigger threat, than she had given him credit for. The anger burned just beneath the surface of her smooth skin, she wanted to scream, she wanted to stab someone and yet she could only blame her own passionate heart. What humiliation, what shame. She took a deep breath trying to calm her raging emotions. She had a job to finish and an entire army of Demacians would not stop her from completing her task. She mustered a resolve unlike any she had before. The Sergeant's life was forfeit; the only question that remained was how many bodies she would have to cut through to reach him.
ooOoo
Seated in her elm tree once more it quickly became evident to Katarina that the Demacians had learned something from the night's events. The Sergeant was standing out in the open too well guarded for her to sneak in and quietly dispose of him. She grit her teeth, it didn't matter. She would cut them down one by one if she had to, no matter the cost, she would kill her target and restore what she could of her honor. The familiar feeling of adrenalin and the sound of her heart beat coursed through her as she prepared to jump. Once she was on the ground she dashed towards the palisade. She scaled it in seconds and silenced a sentry with a well-aimed throw before he had a chance to react. She continued her forward rush, jumping from the walls and straight to the open area of the camp where the Sergeant stood with his guards. Clearly they expected some sort of Noxian retaliation, but she received a variety of odd looks from them when she seemingly dropped from the sky only a handful of yards from them. Katarina flashed them a devilish smile and drew her two daggers. For a moment time seemed to stand still, as the group of soldiers regarded the redheaded beauty.
"Let the bloodshed begin!" Katarina shouted and sped forward, they had no idea, who or what was coming for them, but she would show them. Her heart held no doubts, no hesitation and no fear, if anything the prospect of immense risk made the whole ordeal that much more exciting. Her charge seemed to pull the Demacians out of their stupor and they moved to apprehend her. She dodged a sword swing and felled a man with a throw of a knife, then rolled, jumped and killed another with a swift stab to the side where the armor was less thick. Her movements were fluid and fast, so much so, she seemed to disappear as she dashed between targets. The corpses were piling up, the ground turned crimson like her hair and her blades and her face, all spattered with the blood of her enemies. They were putting up a fair amount of resistance, a cut on her forearm, on her leg, a bruise on her shoulder, a lucky strike from one of the soldiers carved a gash across her left eye. She payed him back in kind, planting one of her throwing knives in his. She kept her injured eye closed, warm, sticky blood left crimson trails on her cheek, but she ignored it, as shouts from around the camp urged her to hurry. With her right eye she spotted the Sergeant, who had wisely hung back. Only a handful of guards now remained between them. Katarina sheathed her daggers and drew as many throwing knives as she could hold. Then she jumped and spun, crimson strands of hair whirling about her in a pirouette of death, as she let her knives fly, one of them redeemed her.
She did not stick around, her original target was dead that was all that mattered and with soldiers pouring in from all sides she needed to make a quick escape, if she wanted to get away at all. She was bruised and bloodied, but there was no time to dwell on it. Ignoring the pain and exhaustion she headed for the palisade once more, the Demacians right at her heels. She rolled to avoid some incoming arrows ducked to the right behind a tent and jumped some provision crates to make scaling the barricade that much easier. Once on the other side, she dashed towards the trees, away from the road and into the forest where the underbrush would be thick and the ground covered by roots. She felt an arrow wiz past her ear and darted to the side, hoping it would obscure the archers' line of sight. A few more arrows embedded themselves in the ground and in nearby trees, but it was not long before their thick trunks shielded her back as she ran away. She could hear the pounding sound of hooves against the soil, like drums of war in the distance and she silently congratulated herself on choosing a route that would be difficult to follow on horseback. Branches and tall grass were pushed aside as she ran through the brush, the thicker the better. She was panting, her legs were burning from keeping up her sprint and her wounds stung, but she kept going. When she reached a small creek, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, to listen. She could no longer hear her pursuers, only the soft, gentle hum of the stream. Even so, Katarina dared not stand still for long. If she ran in the stream for a while, the water would wash away her tracks. It was a good opportunity to get rid of her pursuers for good.
After what felt like hours of running she stopped. Well hidden from all sides by a thicket of holly and hazel, she lay down on the grass. She shuddered, wet and cold, bloody and weary beyond exhaustion she finally gave in.
ooOoo
It was dark when Katarina opened her right eye; the left had been sealed shut by her own dried blood. For a moment she lay still on her back, listening to the sounds of the forest at night. The wind whispered in the leaves and she could hear the faint gurgle of water in the stream only a short distance away. The clouds from the past days had disappeared, revealing a nearly full moon that bathed her surroundings in silver. Slowly she got to her feet and moved to the stream, kneeling as she reached it. She could faintly make out her reflection in the dim light. Carefully she scooped water into her hands and started scrubbing away at the blood and grime that obscured her face. It was a refreshing feeling and before long she could once again open her left eye and see two intense, emerald irises reflected in the water instead of just one. Gently, she traced the gash with her fingers, her eye had suffered no damage, but the gash would leave a scar. She could have it removed. All she needed to do was ask her father and he would get hold of the right people for her. She watched as a solemn look came over her reflection. I know what I must do…
ooOoo
General Marcus Du Couteau was unsure what to think as he took his position next to General Swain in one of the grand assembly halls of the Noxian palace. Usually he would be there to address matters of state and war, but today was different. Any moment now his daughter would enter the room through the ironed double doors at the far wall and come to stand before the Noxian High Command. Marcus hid his annoyance behind a perfect mask of neutral indifference, he would have preferred to have this discussion with his daughter in the privacy of their home, but since this was regarded as an official military operation, it was treated as one. Cassie was right when she called politics little more than a cruel game, where cheating was the only way to win. The more likely explanation for this to be conducted in the presence of the High Command was that someone delighted in the opportunity to publicly humiliate a member of his house. Indeed, surprisingly many members were in attendance considering this was supposed to be a trivial matter of reprimanding a sixteen years old, low-ranking agent for transgressions under mitigating circumstances. That was what he considered it anyway. His daughter had acted rashly, foolishly even of that there could be no doubt. But she had remedied her mistake to the best of her ability and she had killed a Demacian General, even if she had not specifically been ordered to do so. Nevertheless it was vital that she understood why she could not simply act out on her own, and so he had requested that he be the one to deal with the matter. He let out a sigh, already picturing the fierce glare of his oldest daughter, who could be much too headstrong for her own good at times. He could only hope that she could keep it civil and composed while in here. As if on que the doors swung open and in strode his daughter, steps even, back straight and head held high. She seemed different, changed. A scar across her left eye marred her pristine beauty, yet she had done nothing to hide it. If he had been in different company under different circumstances, Marcus would have laughed at the challenging spark that his daughter's emerald gaze held whenever she caught someone staring at the scar.
"Katarina Du Couteau," Marcus said, his voice carrying easily in the grand, acoustic hall. "You were ordered to dispose of a low-ranking Demacian officer. You knowingly ignored that order in favor of killing a Demacian General. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"
He locked eyes with his daughter, who stayed silent for a moment before she coolly answered: "I made a mistake."
Marcus waited, but continued, when she made no indication of having more to say. "And did you learn something from your mistake?" He was asking, both as her superior and as her father, so when she flashed him a confident, devilish grin, he was unsure whether he should consider it flippant or amusing, but her expression quickly turned dead serious once more and when she spoke it was with a clarity, he had not known her to exhibit before.
"I learned that passion should never be allowed to interfere with duty." She indicated the scar. "I will keep this as a reminder of that very lesson." With that said she turned on her heels and left the room in the same manner she had entered, back straight and head held high, leaving behind an audience that was practically stunned into silence. Marcus had a hard time not letting a smirk of his own show on his lips. Katarina was proud still, not humbled by her failure, but wiser for it and he as a father could not be more proud of her. The spell that seemed to have bound the tongues of everyone in the room disappeared with the heavy clunk of the ironed doors slamming shot behind Katarina as she left.
"She really is something." Marcus turned to look at Swain who was still standing to his right, absentmindedly stroking the raven perched on his hand. "When I first requested the aid of your daughter I had no doubts in her skill, but still considered her little more than a spoiled brat with a nag for killing." Marcus kept his face impassive, waiting for Swain to continue. "Yet that is not what I saw today." Swain paused as if to consider his choice of words. "A blade is brittle until tempered by fire." He looked to the doors through which Katarina had disappeared only moments ago and added: "Tempered passion is truly a sinister blade to wield."
ooOoo
A/N: And there you have it, six weeks in the making, but hey it's really long. It was pretty difficult for me to write too, so much death… I hope I did Katarina some justice, I found her hard to write. I love that there is a devilish, daring, taunting and sensitive side to her all at the same time. I just hope they didn't drown in all that bloodshed, seriously it felt like writing a chapter of 'Game of Thrones'. In any case, I would love some feed-back, it helps me improve my writing and does loads for motivation as well.
On another note there is something I should probably clarify before the story progresses too far. The deeper I have been digging into League of Legends lore, the more apparent it becomes that there are a truckload of plot-holes. I only realized recently that this is mostly due to the entire lore getting a rework. For instance, the institute of war is lore-wise no longer canon, summoners don't exist and a lot of champion lores are no longer up to date with this. So why am I writing this? Well… I can fully understand why people are upset when so much established lore just gets thrown out the window, yet from a storyteller's perspective I can sort of understand why Riot decided to do it, even if I don't approve of the way they did it. I mean if the champions, the supposed heroes and interesting characters of the league universe are regularly reduced to little more than puppets to be manipulated, whenever a minor dispute has to be settled that would be make for a demeaning and probably repetitive plot. I have read fics where the institute of war and the league is executed perfectly and probs and respect to those who can make it work. For the sake of my story though I have chosen to go with the current canon, meaning there is no institute and no league, however, as I hope this chapter at least has shown I will try to weave in the 'old' lore in a believable way that will solve some of the plot-holes that exists in the lore as it stands right now. I hope you can still enjoy my story regardless.
~WhiteWinterDragon
