A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games
This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.
Hello again, as usual thanks to all of you who reviewed, favorited, added to follow and showed your support for this fic one way or another. I hope you will enjoy reading the third chapter.
~WhiteWinterDragon
Chapter III
A Dance of Blades
"Gatecrashers! Form up men!" Garen roared. The Vanguard formed rank at their Commander's bidding, creating a wall of shields to meet the charge of the Noxian infantry. The storm hit as the two armies clashed. A blinding flash of white bathed the battlefield, as a bolt of lightning split the sky asunder. War. It seemed to encompass all. It was deafening, suffocating, like the thunder that resounded above them. The ancient oak at Garen's back groaned under the forceful tear of the wind and cold rain began to fall, as if the heavens felled bitter tears for the foolishness of men.
Though he would have preferred to lead the charge, Garen stood at the rear of his force shouting out orders, directing the battle to their advantage. His voice was powerful and unwavering, as it rose above the noise and rallied his soldiers. Far behind him loomed the great fortress of Andras, like the shadow of a great beast. The Vanguard would hold the line long enough for the civilians of the surrounding farmlands to reach the safety of the keep.
Garen grit his teeth in disgust. A battle between soldiers was one thing, but burning fields and homes, slaughtering cattle and families? The Noxians had left a trail of destruction in their wake, it was only because of excellent Intel provided by a recruit from the ranger division that the Vanguard had been able to mobilize and intercept the brunt of the Noxian forces in time to evacuate the common folk that lived in the area. Garen made a mental note to personally thank the recruit later. What was her name again… Kwenn? Kwinn? He shook his head and ducked an incoming spear, he would have to think about that later, it wouldn't do for him to get distracted and die.
Screams of agony and the sound of clashing steal relatively close to his right caught Garen's attention. A Noxian soldier wielding a great double-bladed battle axe was swinging his weapon in wide arcs, carving his way through the Demacian defenses. The man was bald and heavily built – a flash of lightning illuminated the many scars that littered his pale skin. Garen raised his sword before him, locking eyes with the brute who upon seeing an opportunity to intercept the Demacian Commander lunged forward in a reckless charge. Garen sidestepped the great-axe at the last second and the weapon buried itself in the trunk of the oak tree instead of his abdomen. The Noxian pulled and wrenched wildly to free his weapon, but to no avail, and with one swift movement Garen severed both of his hands and watched his opponent fall backwards into the fray, flailing his arms that now ended just below the wrists. He stepped forward to finish what he started but stopped, when his second in command, a man named Caldor, came running up to him, panting.
"Captain! Sergeant Cassius's unit is being overrun! Some…" his Lieutenant paused, as if unsure what words he should choose. "Some monster is spearheading the Noxian charge, if they manage to flank us it'll leave the entire Vanguard exposed!" he shouted, voice raw with the effort it took to be heard through the battle all around them.
"What monster?" Garen roared back as he parried an incoming sword swing, before quickly bringing his own blade around to dispose of his attacker.
"It's a man Sir, he just won't die. What should we do?"
"Can he bleed?" Garen asked, finally able to give his Lieutenant his full attention.
Caldor sent him a confused look. "I think so?"
"Good enough for me! Hold the line here Lieutenant!" Caldor opened his mouth as if about to say something, but apparently decided against it and nodded instead, his expression serious.
"Take care Captain."
Garen flashed his Lieutenant a reassuring grin and gave him a pat on the pauldron that nearly knocked the smaller man over, before he set off at a sprint, gathering a handful of soldiers to act as further reinforcements as he went.
Cassius should be at the very front, he was a good soldier, but inexperienced as a leader and sometimes too eager. It was not unthinkable that he in a moment of misplaced confidence had overextended his forces and encountered something he could not handle. Like a monster. Garen was unsure what he should expect. His Lieutenant was one of the twelve surviving members of the original Vanguard, he had known him longer than the vast majority of his troops and considered him a calm, reasonable and steadfast soldier, perfectly capable of handling an unexpected crisis on his own. For him to be so out of it and come running for help meant the situation must be pretty dire. Garen swore under his breath and sped up, worry for his men urging him forward. The unlucky Noxians that found themselves in his way barely slowed him down.
A monster indeed. Garen lacked the words to properly describe the sight that met him, when he broke through to Cassius's unit. He was surrounded by chaos. Lightning illuminated a number of broken bodies, Cassius's amongst them, that lay scattered in a wide circular area. At the center of that macabre scene a mountain of a man was swinging a crude, heavy axe wildly about him.
The man's eyes glowed red, burning with a fire that spoke of inhuman rage. His jaw was cast in iron and his skin was pale and ashen like the flesh of a corpse. Scraps of metal were fastened on his chest, as if he had been cut open and bolted back together and where his stomach should have been a gaping hole continuously spilled a tainted arcane essence, the same red color as his eyes. His left leg ended in an iron-plated stump, serving as a replacement for the missing part of the limb. Arrows were poking out of his shoulder and upper arm and a broken spearhead protruded from his side. The spear-wound would have been a fatal injury to any ordinary soldier, yet the abomination seemed unfazed, as he continued his furious frenzy.
Behind him, Noxian forces were amassing, they seemed strangely unnerved by the display, keeping their distance rather than moving in to exploit the gap in the Demacian defenses. Strange…The brute sent them a disgusted look and the Noxians hesitantly started shouting, chanting a name: "Sion! Sion! Sion!" Seemingly satisfied the huge man once again turned his attention to the Demacians.
Garen had heard that name before. A history lesson with the prince, when they were still children came to mind. Sion locked his fingers around the King's throat and broke his neck, thus died King Jarvan I. Garen narrowed his eyes. For years Demacian intelligence had been looking into Noxus's uncanny interest for arcane artefacts, forbidden arts and scripts on the Shadow Isles. If the 'thing' before him was truly the corpse of the warrior Sion, the first Hand of Noxus, called back from the dead to fight again, then necromancy could be added to that list. Disgusting!
Upon seeing his soldiers throwing themselves left and right and scrambling to get out of harm's way, Garen stepped forward, instantly catching Sion's attention. "Keep your distance and await further orders!" he called out, a plan for dealing with the monstrous figure already taking form in the back of his mind, as he observed his adversary. Sion regarded both his enemies and his allies with a derisive, superior look and he continuously neglected his guard in his overconfidence. If an undead was truly capable of arrogance, then it was a weakness that could be exploited.
Some of his men were hesitant when they stepped back and Garen could sense their doubts, spot the fear in their eyes. He couldn't blame them, not really, considering what they had witnessed. "Be bold; be just! Fear is the first of many foes!" he shouted, hoping that they would have enough faith in him, to let him see this through.
Upon hearing Garen's words Sion laughed – a cruel, mirthless, barking laughter. "Big words worm!" he mocked, pointing his great axe in Garen's direction, as he sized him up. "Don't act mighty; you are nothing but another corpse for the pile!"
"Well, what do you know… It speaks!" Garen drawled, loud enough for all to hear, as he let himself lean heavily on his sword in a lax pose.
His taunting had the desired effect, Sion's face twisted into a grimace of unchecked rage and with a howl he charged straight at the source of his ire. "I'll rip your head from your spine!"
Garen tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword. The weight of the massive blade was both familiar and comforting, as he brought it up before him. Then he waited. He could hear the steady beat of his own heart through the noise, and the chaos around him seemed to stop for a moment, as if all onlookers held their breath, awaiting the inevitable clash. He could feel every cold, heavy drop of rain that pelted his face and he was acutely aware of the treacherous ground, which was slippery and heavy from the downpour. There would be no room for mistakes.
He watched intently as Sion moved closer, each step, each breath could have been a lifetime. In truth it was only a second. Sion swung his axe, Garen stepped back. He made sure to stay tantalizingly close, yet just out of reach as he continued to move backwards, his soldiers moving deftly out of his way to give them room. Just a little further…
"Face me coward!"
The Noxians were starting to realize, what was happening and tried to push forward, but it was too late. Garen smirked. "Now! Form rank!" The Vanguard closed ranks behind Sion, effectively cutting him off from the majority of the Noxian troops, who were making an admirable, albeit futile attempt to reach their champion.
Sion, either failing to realize his mistake, or simply choosing to ignore it seized the opportunity to take another swing at Garen, before swiftly killing two Demacian soldiers who, upon seeing an isolated enemy, had gotten too close in their eagerness to assist. Garen parried another vicious blow, fairly impressed by the sheer force behind it. If it came to a battle of raw strength between them, he just might have found his superior. On the other hand, even in his heavy armor, he was much more mobile than the hulking Sion.Garen dodged the next blow and the one after that, all the while Sion got more and more frustrated and furious, his movements becoming less and less calculated and focused. Perfect.
Though Garen enjoyed a good fight, he knew better than to draw one out, when his men put their lives on the line to keep the Noxians at bay. For their sake, he would have to finish as fast as possible; this unit was still in a bad position. With impressive speed he feinted to the left before making a swift jab at the side Sion left exposed, when he tried to follow suit. Sion managed to ward off the attack, but had not taken the wet ground into account and slipped when he was forced to shift most of his weight to his prosthetic leg so quickly. It was the opening Garen had been waiting for. Instantly he brought his sword around and with a flash of silver he impaled his opponent on the broad blade, pushing nearly all the way to the hilt. It's over.
He had only just finished the thought, when he realized something was wrong. 'He just won't die!' The words of his Lieutenant echoed in his mind, as Sion roared with renewed fury, before backhanding him. Garen managed to get his shoulder up in time to let the pauldron take most of the impact instead of his face, but, unprepared as he was, the blow was still forceful enough to throw him on his back. Despite being dazed, he instinctively started rolling to the side the second he hit the ground, avoiding a blow that would undoubtedly have crushed his skull, had he not moved. He then scrambled to his feet with less grace than he would have liked, but there was no time or room to dwell too much on form.
Sion attacked him relentlessly. There was no longer any pattern or control to his movements; he was fighting like a wild beast with no sense of self-preservation or restraint. In fact, Garen noticed, he killed Noxians and Demacians without discrimination if they were unfortunate enough to get too near.
With his weapon still firmly embedded in Sion's gut, Garen could do little else than dance around his foe to avoid the furious axe-swings. He did not have too much trouble staying clear, Sion's movements were big and easy to anticipate and there was no thought process behind them. Still, he would have to get close to get his weapon back.
A missed overhead strike from the abomination provided him with the opening he needed, in a flash Garen dove forward in a barrel roll, closing the distance between them, and pulled his sword back out before positioning himself to deliver what he hoped would be the decisive strike. He jumped forward to gain a little height and made a backhand swing as he passed Sion, who, huge as he was, could not bring his axe about fast enough to apprehend him. Garen felt the brief resistance on his blade, as it cut through sinews and arteries, before effectively severing Sion's head from his body, which slumped to the ground, finally lifeless.
There was no time to celebrate; around him the battle was still raging at full force. Cassius's unit had suffered heavy casualties and the Noxians, who, had them vastly outnumbered, were closing in fast, trying to get between them and the rest of the Vanguard. They would have to regroup or they would be overrun, it was down to basic math at this point. Garen growled low in his throat and send the Noxian forces a withering glare, he did not like to back off, but it was the smartest thing to do. "Pull back towards the fortress, we'll regroup with the rest! Move!"
His orders were instantly obeyed, his soldiers disengaged, tightened their ranks and started moving backwards and Garen took a bit of pride in how orderly and composed they were. No backs were exposed, no one broke formation. No one ran.
Garen scowled at Sion's corpse at his feet. If the Noxians had resurrected him once, they could do it again. Sending the advancing Noxian warriors a quick glance it was obvious that he had little time. Looking around, he quickly located the severed head. Try reviving him without this! He was reaching for the head, when something fast whizzed past his ear and suddenly he felt small, but sharp claws dig into the skin at the base of his neck.
In his peripheral vision he could see glimpses of shiny, black feathers and he cringed at the sound of loud, screeching caws being released right next to his ear, as the creature continuously tried to get in his face. A bird? Between waving his sword about him and shaking his head wildly, he managed to get the nuisance off him and grab hold of Sion's head, only moments before the Noxians could cut him off and prevent him from joining the remains of Cassius's unit in their ordered retreat.
Once safe within his own force and with Sion's head firmly secured to his belt, Garen allowed himself a moment to take in the battlefield they would leave behind. Perched on top of a Demacian standard, a black raven with six crimson eyes, stared back at him.
ooOoo
Katarina treaded carefully as she made her way through the camp. The ground was wet and slippery from yesterday's rain and the morning air was crisp signifying that the end of summer was fast approaching. She stifled a yawn and stretched. The sun barely peeked above the horizon, the sky still sporting the very last stars. It was fairly quiet this early in the morning.
She stopped upon reaching her destination – the command tent. Two guards stationed at either side of the tent flap halted her as she approached. "I am expected," she said, "General Swain sent for me." One of the guards motioned for her to wait, as the other disappeared into the tent. Katarina crossed her arms, trying hard not to show her annoyance at being held up like this. A moment later the guard returned. He nodded at her and stepped aside so she could enter.
The tent was large enough to hold several people and was equipped with all the modest luxuries one could expect when working in the field. A long table was placed in the center and a large map, illuminated by a couple of wax candles, was spread on its surface. Gathered around it and looking up as she entered stood General Swain, her father and Keiran Darkwill. A beautiful raven-haired woman, whom Katarina had seen on rare occasions and recognized as General Swain's advisor LeBlanc, was seated on a fine lush chair off to the side.
Swain was the first to speak: "Miss Du Couteau, how kind of you to join us." His voice was as always low and raspy.
"You sent for me General." Katarina stated, as she moved to join them at the table, offering her father a brief nod as greeting before she stood at attention.
Swain made a slight inclination of his head in affirmation. "As you well know our forces were repelled yesterday at the fortress of Andras – "
"Well there was not much we could do. No one had anticipated the presence of the entire Dauntless Vanguard. They had us outnumbered from the beginning, and your precious experiment did not exactly perform as promised!" Keiran interrupted. Katarina noted his accusing tone and defensive posture. Clearly he was keen to avoid blame for the way yesterday's battle had turned out.
Swain sent the younger General a sideways glance, his expression perfectly neutral before he continued unabashed: "Indeed, it was in no small part thanks to the Dauntless Vanguard, but that has little relevance for the matter at hand." He paused momentarily, as if challenging anyone to disagree, but no one spoke. Satisfied, Swain once again addressed Katarina. "You are familiar with project 'Rebirth'?"
Katarina nodded. She had been informed of the twisted magic and rituals involved in bringing one of Noxus's past heroes back to life. The undead abomination that was Sion was now little more than a grotesque shadow of his former self. A pitiful being raised to serve as Darkwill's pawn and nothing more, but she kept that opinion to herself.
"Sion was slain during yesterday's battle and the Demacians brought his head with them. I cannot stress how important it is that we retrieve it," Swain said, as he looked intently at Katarina. "This is where you come in."
He pointed to the map on the table. "About two hours ago, a group of twenty-five Vanguard soldiers, including their Commander, set out from the fortress, carrying the head with them."
"How can you be sure," Katarina asked before she could stop herself.
"I have my sources," Swain answered simply, stroking his raven Beatrice, when she swooped down to sit on his shoulder. If he had taken offense at Katarina's question, he did not show it. "You will lead a small band of assassins behind enemy lines and get that head back. The Demacians will be travelling by the main road and on horseback, but if you use this," he indicated a route on the map that cut through dense forest and across hills in a fairly straight line, "you should be able to catch up with them sometime tonight, provided they do not break their horses."
Katarina took it as her cue to leave, when Swain said nothing else. "Sir," she said curtly before saluting and turning to make her exit.
"Oh and before you leave… Retrieving Sion's head takes priority above all else," Swain's dark, piercing eyes bore into hers as he said this to emphasize his point, "but if the opportunity presents itself, you may consider killing the Vanguard's Commander Garen Crownguard a secondary objective," he said looking back to the map.
A smirk played at the corners of Katarina's lips, the whole ordeal just got a lot more interesting. "Very well, how will I tell him apart from the rest?"
Keiran let out a derisive snort, receiving a mildly disapproving look from Swain, but he didn't seem to notice. "They call him 'The Might of Demacia' pretentious title if I ever heard one," Keiran paused, as if waiting for someone to agree, but when everyone remained silent he simply shrugged and continued: "The guy is as big as a bear and twice as loud, you'll know him when you see him, he is impossible to miss."
Katarina nodded politely, in thanks for the information. Considering how much the spiteful description stank of bruised ego however, she made a mental note not to pay it too much heed.
Her father decided to cut in at that point and cleared his throat. "Excuse me Swain, I'd like to give my daughter some parting words of advice, before she sets out, I'll be back in a few minutes." With that he marched out of the tent, motioning for Katarina to follow. Katarina quickly saluted her remaining superiors before she went after him.
Marcus walked briskly, but slowed his pace as soon as she caught up. For a few seconds they walked side by side in silence. When Marcus finally spoke, it was in a low, clear tone that revealed nothing of his thoughts. "Keiran may poke fun at the Vanguard's Commander, but you should not underestimate him, it could prove a fatal mistake." Katarina sent her father a sideways glance. Did he have so little faith in her? She had learned much in the two years that had passed, since she had botched her first official assignment, the scar she had received served as a reminder every time she looked in a mirror.
"You don't believe I can handle this mission?" she asked bluntly, just barely containing her anger enough to not let it seep into her voice and words.
"On the contrary, I'm convinced you can successfully retrieve Sion's head, but you should take Swain's advice and only target Crownguard if an opportunity presents itself, or you have no other choice, but to engage him." Marcus put a hand on her shoulder in one of his rare displays of affection. "'Might of Demacia' may be a pretentious title, but so far he has done fairly well to live up to it. Don't be reckless," he said quietly before he turned around and headed back towards the command tent.
ooOoo
Garen halted his horse to assess the state of his small company. They had been on the move ever since they set out from the fortress of Andras a few hours before dawn, only making a brief stop by a small brook to allow the horses a drink. His large black stallion pawed at the forest floor, digging up the first of the season's fallen leaves, displaying his eagerness to move again. "Easy boy," Garen mumbled, absentmindedly stroking the horse's smooth, massive neck to calm him, as Caldor rode up beside them on his bay mare.
"Commander, how should we proceed?"
Garen let his gaze travel upwards. Judging from the light that managed to penetrate the canopy they had another hour or two, before it would be too dark for them to continue. "The horses seem fresh enough, let's put the last hours of light to good use and pick up the pace a bit before we set up camp for the night."
"Sir..." Caldor said – his tone hesitant as he eyed something down to Garen's side with mild disgust.
Garen followed his gaze till it landed on a simple, linen sack, which was fastened to his saddle. The bottom of it was dark-brown, caked by the dried blood spilled from its rather grisly contents. Garen raised his eyebrows and inclined his head slightly, encouraging his Lieutenant to speak his mind.
"Would it not be simpler to destroy it, or throw it away?"
Truth be told, Garen had considered both of these options himself, yet had reasoned that it would be wiser in the long run to bring the sack and its contents back to Demacia. "What the Noxians have accomplished with their necromancy and vile magic bodes ill for us. I will have this brought to the mages at the College of Magic for study. With some luck, they'll be able to come up with effective countermeasures for any future encounters we might have with similar abominations."
Caldor nodded mutely, point taken.
"Speaking of Noxians, still no sign of pursuers?"
Caldor shook his head, "no Sir."
Garen furrowed his brows. He had expected that the Noxians would take action to retrieve Sion's head, so the fact that there had been no sign of them so far unnerved him. It was just too easy somehow. He shook his head and spurred his horse forward into a canter, riding up front to set the pace for the rest of the group as they followed suit. It would do him no good to dwell on the matter. He'd just have to stay alert.
ooOoo
It was a clear night and the early autumn air had a soft bite to it. Katarina signaled the assassins Swain had put under her command to fall in behind her, as she cautiously moved closer to the Demacians' encampment. The moon provided all the light that they needed, as they crept forward, silent like a mild breeze.
When she reckoned they were a suitable distance from the camp's perimeters, she held up a hand and the assassins stopped immediately at her silent command. Well… at least they don't question my orders. She thought ruefully. It was no secret that she preferred to work alone. On occasion she would work with Talon, but in general she considered a team effort to be more trouble than it was worth. She sent the seven assassins a sideways glance and resisted the urge to grimace at them. It was like being stuck with an uncannily quiet and strict band of nannies. Clearly Swain had his reservations, when it came to trusting her and it annoyed her greatly, she was no child. She sighed inwardly and decided that she was better off putting her mind to the task at hand instead of brooding.
The camp was very spartan, no palisades, no trenches, only a few tents. It could be set up or torn down at a moment's notice, which made sense for a unit on the road. She clicked her tongue, as she spied quite a few patrolling sentries. It would seem that the Vanguard's Commander did not neglect the camp's defenses, even when camped in a forest in the middle of nowhere, where others might have reasonably believed themselves safe. Smart man.
"I will go in first. Alone," she whispered. "You only intervene if a fight breaks out. If that happens, your priority is to secure Sion's head. Capitalize on the fact that they do not know our numbers, strike from the shadows and keep them rattled and confused. Avoid direct confrontation if possible."
"And what of their Commander?" One of the assassins, a female with a low, monotone voice, asked.
"I will deal with him." Katarina shrugged, drawing one of her daggers and letting a confident smirk grace her lips. "If everything goes according to plan, he will be dead before they realize they are under attack."
"And if it doesn't?"
"I will keep him occupied long enough for you guys to obtain the objective." She paused to take one last look at her stoic company and was surprised, but very pleased that no one voiced any objections to her plan. Very well then, here goes nothing.
Sneaking in unnoticed was more of a challenge, than Katarina cared to admit. The guards were cleverly positioned at key locations and none of them were sleeping on the job. Still, she managed to get by, exploiting every shadow to her advantage. Sion's head was most likely in the Commander's possession or somewhere near him, making his tent a good place to start her search. Katarina had no trouble finding his tent. While it was fairly modest in size, it was still a standard officer's tent and could easily be distinguished from the rest. She was surprised to see that no soldiers were positioned at the entrance, considering how well the camp's perimeters were guarded. Guess he likes his privacy…she mused. First mistake Demacia.
A soft beam of light was streaming through the tent opening and she paused. Judging from the light the Commander was most likely still awake. A grin spread on her face, as her father's words of warning came to mind and she wondered what kind of opponent she would be facing. At the time, Marcus's patronizing had made her angry, but now that she had had time to mull it over, she found the whole ordeal intriguing, seeing as her father rarely showed concern. Her heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of a challenge and she found herself sincerely hoping that this Crownguard character would live up to his renown.
Taking a deep breath, she slid inside, silent as a shadow. The Demacian, stood at the opposite side of the tent, his back turned towards her and the first thought that came to her mind was that Keiran had not been exaggerating when he said 'big as a bear'. Even stooped over a table as he was, the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard looked massive, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. At a quick glance, Katarina reckoned he was about the same height as General Darius, possibly a few inches taller. She regarded him carefully for a few seconds. Trying to go straight through his armor would likely be a wasted effort. Nearly every part of his body was covered by either plate, chainmail or hardened leather. In fact, his neck and head seemed to be the only parts left truly exposed. I can work with that.
She tightened the grip on her blades and prepared herself to close the little distance that remained between them. Better make this count. With both of her daggers poised to strike she shot forwards. Another supposedly great foe, dead before they even got to trade blows, she thought darkly.
Her disappointment never got a chance to fester though, it happened so fast, she nearly missed it. Instinctively she bend over backwards at the last second, the enormous sword missing her so narrowly she could feel a rush of air on her face as it passed above her. Katarina jumped backwards to put some more distance between them and it took a second for her mind to properly catch up with her body and process what had just occurred. If she had reacted half a second later, he would have cut her in half. Katarina felt both mortified and ecstatic, the disappointment replaced by the stunning realization that she could have died. It was at once both terrifying and invigorating and she found that she could not contain her brilliant smile, as she looked up to meet the gaze of her enemy for the first time.
Now that they were facing each other, Katarina was somewhat surprised by what she saw. Based on what she had heard of the Demacian Commander, she had imagined that she would encounter a weathered veteran, marred from countless battles, not unlike the current Hand of Noxus. The man before her however, looked about her own age, not at all what she had expected. He was undeniably handsome, with a strong, angular jaw and a square chin. Thick, auburn hair crowned his head and though his expression was molded into a serious scowl, as he glared down at her with his, stark blue eyes, she shamelessly took her sweet time to appreciate the entirety of his muscular form. Boy was he fine.
Katarina grinned even wider, when the stiff Demacian pointedly ignored the fact that she was openly checking him out. She licked her lips, cocked an eyebrow at him and tilted her head, he looked so damn serious. "Soo darling Demacia," she said, keeping her voice low and flirtatious, "that sword compensating for something?"
ooOoo
It took Garen an excessive amount of effort to keep his expression neutral. When he had seen the candle flicker, he had known that he was no longer alone in the tent and expected an attack. As he brought his sword around to deal with his assailant however, he had been surprised to see a stunning redhead dive swiftly out of harm's way, only to stop and gawk at him indignantly from the other side of the tent.
The entire situation was bizarre. The Noxian assassin seemed strangely content to simply watch him from a distance and the weird looks she gave him were positively unnerving. Her hair was long, the crimson locks framing her petite face and falling gracefully past her hips. If memory served him correctly, her description matched that of Katarina du Couteau. Also known as the Sinister Blade, one of Noxus's most accomplished and infamous assassins. Tight, soft leather armor hugged her form, leaving little of her figure to the imagination and Garen found it hard to focus his attention on her eyes, mentally kicking himself every time his treacherous gaze almost strayed to her luscious curves or soft, red lips.
He was no stranger to beautiful women, in fact, his mother saw to it that they were practically thrown at him. He knew a fair share of fierce female soldiers too and yet, he had never encountered a woman quite like the one standing before him. Her emerald eyes burned with a strange, lively fire, meeting his gaze evenly, unwavering, unapologetic and unafraid. Her smirk widened even further and she licked her lips. "Soo darling Demacia," she said, her voice low and strangely playful, "that sword compensating for something?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Garen answered drily, keeping his tone and expression impassive. Her eyes widened slightly at his quip, she had not expected he would talk back it seemed.
"Another time perhaps, right now I'm on a busy schedule," she said, exaggerating a pout. Her expression changed then, her eyes shone with determination and though she was still smirking, her entire demeanor became a lot less lax and by extension a lot more imposing. Garen shifted his weight and held his sword up before him. Playtime was over. He followed her gaze as she swept it around the tent, clearly searching for something. He had a pretty good idea what, and silently congratulated himself for leaving Sion's head with Caldor in another tent.
"You took something that does not belong to you, give it back and I might let you live," she said, her gaze intense as she spoke, her voice soft, dangerous, clearly annoyed that she couldn't find what she sought. Garen had no doubts it was a very real threat.
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline that offer."
She shrugged. "Suit yourself handsome." A knife was flung his way, aimed for the exposed skin of his neck. Garen raised his left arm defensively, never breaking eye contact, as he let her blade bounce harmlessly off his vambrace. He received an approving smirk for his efforts, before she made a hasty exit. He followed close at her heels, happy to escape the confines of the tent which were fairly restrictive for a man his size.
No sooner had he made it out, than she lunged for him again with alarming speed. He was slightly taken aback by her eagerness to engage him up close. After all, he had longer reach and superior strength. It quickly became clear however that she was too clever to let him press these advantages, never giving him a chance to dictate the battle and make it a contest of raw power. Instead she kept engaging and disengaging at incredible speed in an attempt to wear him down and make him expose a weakness. As a result, they seemed to be stuck in a stalemate. Every time she came at him, he would push her away before she could break through his guard and every time he made a move for her, she would dive out of his reach before he could land a hit.
Garen had to grudgingly admit that her form was perfect – elegant, swift, accurate and deadly. One mistake would be all either of them needed to turn the battle in their favor and Garen could not remember a time he had been so hard pressed to give his all in battle. Fighting to the best of his ability, locked in a deadly waltz, dancing on the edge between life and death made him feel more alive than he had in all his years of service and to his horror Garen realized that he was returning the assassin's wicked smile. It was as if time stood still and only the two of them existed.
But they were not alone. Garen noticed some of his soldiers approaching, drawn to their location by the sound of clashing steel, she noticed them as well. They had her surrounded and outnumbered, but wisely kept their distance, the Sinister Blade's bloody renown in mind. Garen had mixed feelings about the whole spectacle. On the one hand he wanted to do his job – and do it well, which meant that he really should take advantage of his superior numbers, but on the other hand he personally much preferred to engage her fairly in a duel as he had thus far.
She did not seem at all intimidated or discouraged by the fact that the odds had turned so against her and Garen wondered if she had something up her sleeve, something he was missing. Two of his men suddenly fell to the ground, struck from the shadows of the surrounding forest and he had his answer. So she is not alone. His men were well trained, but they were used to dealing with straight up combat not sneak attacks, a point he vowed to rectify when they got back. If they got back, he thought grimly, as he watched another man fall.
"Spread out and pair up two and two! Don't leave your backs exposed!" he shouted. His men obeyed instantly and without question and Garen could breathe a little easier trusting them to guard each other's blind spots. They were still vulnerable however, for all he knew there could be two assassins or twenty hiding in the treacherous foliage around the camp, hell this entire charade could be nothing more than a distraction to keep him away from their real objective, Sion's head. Actually that sounded like the most plausible explanation.
"You're getting distracted Demacia!"
Crap! She was far too close. There was no way he could bring his sword up in time to block and so he opted for the only viable option he had left and veered his entire body to the side in the vague hope that it would be enough.
"Hmm not bad, not bad at all," she said once she was safely out of his reach again. She smiled at him triumphantly, her eyes practically sparkling with amusement, as she held up one of her blades. "But I draw first blood."
ooOoo
Katarina watched as the big Demacian tentatively put a hand to the cut she had left on his cheek, rubbing his fingers together when they came away stained with blood. "So it would seem," he conceded, changing his stance. "But you know – it's the final blow that really counts."
She barely managed to get out of the way in time to avoid his charge. Holy shit he's fast! Throughout their match he had seemed content with letting her take the offensive, retaliating rather than attacking, moving around as little as possible. It made sense she had figured, his pauldrons alone had to weight a ton and so she had thought him slow by default. Clearly she had thought wrong.
She made another desperate leap out of the way as he followed up his initial charge with another attack, then another and another. She grit her teeth with frustration, flinging knives at him to get some reprieve from his relentless assault, but they barely slowed him down as he merely knocked them out of the air with the broad side of his sword or his hand.
It was obvious that she needed a different approach. If she wanted to strike a decisive blow, she would have to get up close and personal. Katarina cursed under her breath. He kept her at sword point each and every time she tried to move in. Attempting to block the massive weapon was out of the question, it would shatter her blades and her by extension. There was only really one way to get past it that she could think of on the fly, but it was damn risky.
Katarina backed up a few steps, measuring the distance between them carefully before she acted. She took full advantage of her speed, practically flashing in close before she jumped as high as she could. In the air she flipped her body, using her momentum to get a little extra height and to position herself for the unorthodox landing. Her acrobatics payed off and she dropped on his back. He barely staggered from the impact, easily supporting her weight. Katarina wasted no time, raising her dagger for the killing strike, as she desperately clung to the Demacian's torso.
She did not hesitate, aiming straight for the crevice between his shoulder and his collarbone. But his left hand shot up and grabbed hold of her wrist, intercepting the blow inches before her dagger touched his skin. Fuck. It took all of Katarina's willpower to not scream out in pain, as she felt the bones in her wrist break under the pressure of his grip. She let go of her dagger and heard it clatter when it landed unceremoniously at his feet. Then she was flung to the ground with such force, the wind was knocked straight out of her lungs. Quickly, she rolled out of the way and got back up. He made no attempt to finish her off. Fool.
She bit her lip hard and clutched her broken wrist, damn it hurt. She glared at him with as much venom and animosity she could muster. There was no pity in his gaze, but there was no trace of mockery or contempt either. If anything he looked contemplative and Katarina huffed with frustration. She wanted to kill him, hurt him, to make his face contort in agony. To break through that stoic, serious facade and expose him for whatever he was beneath all that armor of glorified self-righteousness and foolish chivalry and… Katarina took a deep breath to rein in her temper. And yet she found she could not hate him, not really.
ooOoo
Garen watched the beautiful assassin in silence, wondering what went through her head as she stood there, clutching at her broken wrist and glaring at him like he was the sole source of everything wrong with the world. If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead on the spot.
A loud whistle pierced the air, putting an end to his musings and Garen was alarmed to see a victorious smirk replace the woman's furious scowl. With mounting dread he turned his head to see Caldor running towards him, an expression of shame on his face and an apology ready to spill from his lips. They got the head.
"I'm afraid that's my cue Demacia." She sounded almost apologetic – almost. Raising her uninjured hand to her lips she blew him a kiss, "I enjoyed our dance." Then she disappeared into the forest behind her, blending into the shadows as if she was one of them, and soon, the only trace of her was the heat on his cheeks, left by her ghostly kiss.
ooOoo
A/N: Finally done with the third chapter! I've had most of it written for weeks, but university has been crazy and so it's been hard to find time to finish it up. I also worked on a cover for the story on the side… If you want to see the full size drawing, just go to my fanfiction profile, there should be a link to my deviant art there. I hope I did all the characters justice, lots of characters appeared in this chapter, both directly and indirectly. Also, just to clear things up in case there is any confusion: This chapter takes place about two years after the first and second chapters, hence Katarina is 18 years old in this and Garen is well on his way to 20. As always, feed-back is much appreciated, so feel free to let me know what you think.
On another note… You can skip all this btw. Some of you might have noticed that I have changed Sion's lore a bit. I did this because Sion's lore since his rework has a few issues. For example the fact that Sion killed Jarvan I. Jarvan I would be the great grandfather of Jarvan IV, who is a young, but still grown man, meaning Jarvan I was probably in his prime somewhere between 70 and 100 years before this story, unless ofc. Sion killed a 100 to 130 year old man recently, which would kind of make it less of an achievement. The Noxians could have conserved Sion's body for 70+ years before resurrecting him, but that makes it sort of hard to explain that Sion was a good friend of the current Grand General Boram Darkwill, who in that scenario would thus have to be super old. And it makes it impossible to explain why Sion is mentioned as the Commander in charge during the siege of Andras mentioned in Urgot's judgement, where Garen is present. See what I'm up against here? Since I find it very hard to believe that Garen existed at any point in time where Sion or Jarvan I were still alive, I have decided that Sion killed a semi old Jarvan I and was then conserved until resurrection. Why even bother? Because in Katarina's old lore the reason she met Garen the first time was because she was sent to retrieve Sion's corpse, which honestly makes for a better first meeting than just having her randomly bump into him on a battlefield. So, why did I decide that Sion should still be an undead and the killer of Jarvan I instead of just utilizing the old lore and let him be alive until his old canon death at the fortress of Andras? Actually that is mostly because I found it hard to believe that Garen of all people would drag around a corpse for the heck of it. If there was a chance that Sion might be re-re-resurrected or whatever, Garen would have a just cause, see what I did there? Also I think that the whole killing Jarvan I thing is an important aspect of Sion's character and I did not want to take that away from him to reduce him to a lamb up for slaughter plot point. No, better to find a compromise between new and old lore that works… At least until Riot gets in gear and clarifies how this clusterfuck of lore is really connected. Sorry about this awfully long rant, but I thought it might be better to clarify in here rather than leaving anyone familiar with the lore confused. In my defense though, I did say this entire section could be skipped. Until next installment.
~WhiteWinterDragon
