A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

And here is the fifth installment. As ever thank you for all the positive feedback I have received. It is a great feeling to know that all the work I put into these chapters is appreciated. You guys are the best. Enjoy!

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter V

The Witches' Briar

The crisp, frosty air bit against his bare skin, as he sidestepped an incoming thrust from Jarvan's lance, taking care not to slip in the powdery, white snow that covered the garrison training grounds. As always their sparring had gathered an audience. Usually he wouldn't mind, his men could learn a lot from watching, but right now, they were just adding to a long list of distractions. Garen grit his teeth in annoyance, swinging at the Prince with an overhead strike and applying much more force than was really necessary, or wise. Jarvan deftly brought his lance up and let the sword-blade slide along its stem before taking a quick step forward and tapping Garen's leg, which had been carelessly left exposed in his overextended position. Garen let out a low growl. He was fighting like an amateur.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Jarvan asked in a quiet voice, so only they could hear.

"What are you on about?" Garen snapped, sounding more defensive than he intended, as he pushed the Prince back towards the training ground fence.

"You have let me land a hit on you four times in one spar, that's very unlike you," Jarvan said, trying to disengage from their deadlock.

"Maybe you just got better," Garen mumbled, as he continued forcing the Prince backwards.

"We both know that is not it. You have been… sloppy ever since the siege of Andras, so I am asking you again, not as your Prince, but your friend. What is bothering you?"

Count on Jarvan to see straight through him. He shouldn't be surprised really. They had known each other since they were young children. Garen let out a heavy sigh and fixed Jarvan with a glare that would have made anyone else scramble to get out of his way. "Nothing is wrong." He put emphasis on every word as he bit them out, challenging the Prince to disagree.

Jarvan shook his head, but didn't say anything else and lowered his weapon to signify that he was done sparring. "Thanks for sparring with me," Garen said curtly, shouldering his sword and stomping out of the arena, grabbing his discarded shirt from the fence on the way out.

He headed straight for his quarters for some much needed alone time, his men keeping a good amount of distance, as he walked through the garrison camp. He was being unfair, he knew that. Jarvan worried for his well-being, his men too. It was kind of endearing really how they all went out of their way to try and improve his mood, but what he really needed was for them to just give him some space.

Garen let himself fall face-down on his cot as soon as he entered the confines of his room in the barracks, carelessly depositing his sword in the corner. Fuck…He turned his head slightly to glance at his reflection on the pristine blade of the weapon his King had tasked him to carry. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep and his hair was messier than usual, his fringes poking every which way. He even had a nice stubble going. Garen let out a humorless chuckle. If his mother could see him she would have a heart attack, he looked like a bum. With a sigh he got up and poured some water from a pitcher on his nightstand into a small basin he kept near the foot of his bed. He really needed a shave. The water felt cool and refreshing on his face as he set to work, while trying to collect his thoughts.

The past two months had been trying. After the Sinister Blade had successfully reclaimed Sion's head, Garen had received orders to return to the front and push the Noxian borders along the Serpentine. The Noxian forces that had been marching on Andras had dissipated and withdrawn shortly after they were halted at the fortress and he had met little resistance during his advance. It was unusual and alarming. The Noxians might be trying to lure them in, make them extend too far with a false sense of security so the Vanguard and the Prince could be cut off from the majority of the Demacian army. Or they could be up to something else entirely. You never knew where Noxians were concerned.

Garen dried his face and seated himself on his cot, sending his pillow a rueful look. It was mid-day, but he was exhausted and some sleep would do him good. Who am I kidding? For weeks now, his dreams had been haunted by a pair of mesmerizing, emerald eyes and glimpses of crimson hair. He couldn't even remember the last time he slept properly. The taunting visage of Katarina Du Couteau seemed to be burned into his mind. It was distracting, it was infuriating and more importantly, it was wrong in every way imaginable.

He pulled out a bundle of cloth, well hidden under his bed. Wrapped within was the dagger she had left behind during their fight. He studied the curved blade in his hand, as he had many times before. The sight of the dark steel served as a stark reminder of that night. As ashamed as he was for thinking it, he really wanted to fight her again. He couldn't justify his strange fixation with the Noxian assassin, so he tried to rationalize it instead. He had fought The Hand of Noxus once and he regularly sparred with Jarvan and the King's personal guard Xin Zhao, all of them were formidable in their own way and yet nothing could compare to his fight with the Sinister Blade. He shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. He could be tried for treason for thinking so highly of a Noxian. It was a sad, but undeniable truth that no one would understand the way he felt. That fighting an equal brought validation to his existence like nothing and no one else could.

ooOoo

The snow was falling more rapidly now. Talon observed silently as the young Demacian held out a trembling hand, watching the delicate snowflakes that landed there, as they melted on her palm. She shivered from the cold and drew her traveling cloak more tightly around her. She was ill-equipped for the harsh winter weather, a testimony to their hasty and unorthodox departure from Noxus. Still, she was alive – for now anyway.

"Let me see your arm," he said. She obliged without a word. Not a good sign. He prodded lightly at her bandaged limb, a sharp hiss escaping her lips. It had been what? Four weeks, nearly five since she sustained the injury, but it hadn't healed up. Exposed to the elements and with no means to properly treat it while constantly on the move, the wound had become infected. She had said nothing, putting on a brave face. Whether it was out of some misguided, Demacian sense of pride or because she was trying to avoid becoming too much of a burden, he couldn't be sure. Foolish girl… Either way, it had taken its toll on her. Her cheeks were red and hot and her eyes dim from the fever she had acquired between the cold and her injury. She was in need of proper medical attention and preferably as soon as possible.

"I'll try to get a fire going." A curt nod was the only response he received. It was ironic that one of his greatest concerns at present was the well-being of a Demacian teenager. Then again, if she died all his effort would be wasted. Besides, the General needed her alive. Talon withdrew a simple, sealed envelope from the confines of his cloak. All this, just so she could pass on a message. He glanced at the young girl, as she sat in the snow, huddled up against the trunk of a large oak tree.

"You are leaving." Her voice was barely above a whisper and she didn't bother to look at him as she spoke.

"Yes." There was no point in denying it. He could take her no further. The Northglen Garrison was only about four miles further up the Serpentine River and it would be foolish of him to venture any closer. She would have to finish the journey there on her own. Considering her weakened state, he wondered if she could.

She nodded solemnly at his response. "Thank you for helping me."

"Don't get the wrong idea. I have my own reasons for doing this." He blew softly at the small flame he had managed to procure, using his hands to shield it from the freezing wind. "Come sit by the fire, it will help keep you warm." He kept a keen eye on her, as she slowly got up and walked over on legs that were shaky from exhaustion.

"Regardless, I am still grateful."

Talon scoffed, leave it to Demacians to try and turn business all emotional. He handed her the sealed envelope and received a questioning look. "Make sure that your Prince gets this."

She took the envelope, inspecting it carefully. "What is this?"

"A message."

She sent him a halfhearted glare for pointing out the obvious. "And what does it say?"

"I don't know." She regarded him with a look of disbelief, but said nothing. It was true though. He had no idea what the message said, or why it was for the Prince specifically.

"Delivering a message seems… like a small price to pay, considering the trouble you went through to get me this far."

Tell me about it… The General had neglected to share his specific reasons for wanting the girl safely back in Demacia. At a guess, Talon speculated, he wanted her to report what she had learned at the war council in High Command in the hope that Demacia would step in on Ionia's behalf and unknowingly thwart whatever plans Swain had for the invasion. And then there was the message. Talon eyed the envelope in the girl's hand thoughtfully. His master was knowingly committing treason and it worried him. There was no love lost between General Du Couteau and the kingdom of Demacia, for him to actively involve Noxus' oldest enemy, he must be choosing the lesser of two evils. Talon clenched his fists. Whatever was going on in the High Command, something must be wrong, very wrong. He needed to get back to Noxus as fast as possible.

"You look troubled." The girl had gotten annoyingly adept at reading his mood and expressions during the time they had traveled together. She was generally perceptive and caught onto things quickly. Talon had realized early on that his every word and action was being carefully analyzed. Well, she was a spy, even if she didn't look like one.

"And you look tired," he muttered. She raised a delicate eyebrow at him, but took the hint, curling up into a tight little ball as close to the warmth of the fire as she could get without another word. Talon stayed by her side until her breathing evened out and he was sure she was asleep. Letting out a sigh, he draped his own cloak over her sleeping form. "Goodbye little spy."

ooOoo

She woke to the sound of birds chirping and the wind moving through the leafless canopies of the trees above her. The fire had burned out during the night, leaving behind only smoking embers, glowing red and hot in the semi-darkness of the early winter morning. She sat up slowly, the motion sending her into a coughing fit. "Are you there?" she asked quietly. No answer. Not that she had been expecting one. There was no sign of him or the horses. You could have at least let me say goodbye. Slowly, she got to her feet, a small smile grazing her lips, when she noticed the Noxian's dark travel-cloak slide off her form. She staggered a bit as she tried to find her balance on legs that were numb with cold, before picking up the worn piece of cloth and wrapping herself in its confines. Just beyond the grove of trees they had camped in, the Serpentine was winding its way through the landscape, like a great, icy serpent of myth. If she just followed the course of the river, she would see her brother by nightfall – if her body didn't give out on her first.

She took one shaky step after another. It was slow going in the deep snow, but the thought of who awaited at her destination brought her the determination she needed to keep moving forward. During her long journey from Noxus, she had spent a lot of time thinking about her brother and their upcoming reunion. She was happy, almost ecstatic, but also nervous, maybe even scared. A lot had happened in the five years they had been apart. She had certainly changed a lot. What if he couldn't recognize her? What if he was different from how she remembered him? What if he had changed? He had been her age the last time she saw him, by now he must be all grown up. She shook her head, trying desperately to think of something else. Please let him be the same.

"You! Stop right there!"

Consumed by her thoughts and doubts she had not even noticed the band of riders, before they came galloping towards her. Judging from their polished steel-plate armor and their blue capes, they belonged to the Dauntless Vanguard, most likely a patrol unit. As soon as they reached her, they formed a circle around her to affectively prevent any chance of escape. Quite unnecessary, but how were they supposed to know that she had no intention of running away from them. In fact, she was relieved by their appearance. She was not in a good state and while she tried to stay optimistic, she was practically running on willpower alone.

"What's a young lass like you doing all the way out here?" asked one of the men, sitting astride a bay mare.

"Oh cut the charm Caldor and use your eyes," said one of the others. She recognized his voice as the one who had called out for her to stop. The man must be around her brother's age. His face was somewhat pointed, with a sharp chin, fairly accented cheekbones and dark, narrow eyes. "Can you not see what she is wearing?"

Oh… She had ditched the black plate-mail cuirass of the Noxian elite guard at her first given chance, but the uniform she had worn beneath it was still the same and it was currently showing through the gap of her cloaks. She cursed under her breath, berating herself for her obvious oversight. Just what had she been thinking, waltzing into Demacian territory dressed like a member of the Ebon Guard? She could tell them who she was, but this was one of those cases where the truth would sound so absurd it might only make things worse.

"Must be a deserter," the man with the pointy face said, drawing his sword from its scabbard. "Do you know the punishment for desertion in Demacia?"

"According to the Doctrines of Valor as they are recorded in the Measured Tread verse four-hundred and ninety-two through seven, desertion is considered one of the ultimate acts of cowardice and as such is punishable by exile." The words came instantly and without hesitation. Her mother had seen to it that she and her brother knew the Measured Tread by heart and even now, more than ten years later, she could still quote it flawlessly. She might have been inclined to laugh, if she wasn't feeling so sick and exhausted. The band of soldiers showed a wide range of surprised faces at her reply. One of them even pulled out a worn, leather-bound copy of the fabled book from his saddlebag, flipping hastily through the pages, utter disbelief apparent in his expression.

"And," she continued, "according to the Doctrines of Benevolence, as a non-hostile war-captive I am entitled to a fair judgement. Unless one of you happens to hold a rank equivalent to or above Major, you cannot sentence me." She paused a moment. "You are from the Dauntless Vanguard. Take me to your superior, he will vouch for me."

The man with the pointed face spat at her feet and urged his horse forward, sword at the ready. "You have got a lot of nerve Noxian! Thinking you can just make dema…"

"Bakaris! That is enough," the soldier who had been called Caldor said, moving his horse to block the other's path. "She demands her right to fair judgement and we must oblige. The Commander can decide her fate."

Bakaris sneered at the other man, before looking down at her. "I dare you to try anything Noxian," he said, his voice filled with venom. "One wrong move, just the slightest misstep and I will cut you down, Measured Tread or not."

The soldier called Caldor shook his head slightly before dismounting his horse. "I need to make sure you don't carry any weapons," he said quietly, as he approached her.

She nodded in understanding and consent. The man was both professional and efficient, as he searched her. When he touched her wounded arm, she had to bite back a hiss from the sharp jolt of pain it sent all the way up to her shoulder. Looking at her intently, he carefully pulled up her sleeve, revealing the dirty, bloody makeshift bandage that covered her wound. "This requires medical attention," he said, almost berating in his tone. She said nothing, avoiding the soldier's gaze. He let out a sigh. "You better ride with me, in your state it would take forever to reach the garrison. If you made it at all," he added solemnly after looking at the bleak, white sky. "It looks like there's a snowstorm coming."

ooOoo

"Commander!" The loud sound of an armored fist beating against his wooden door made Garen cringe.

"It's open," he said, as he put down his feather-pen, clenching and unclenching his fist to rid himself of writing-cramp. He sent the enormous stack of documents on his desk a reproachful glare, he really hated paperwork.

A private entered, wide-eyed and short on breath.

"What's the matter soldier?" Garen asked sounding a bit harsher than he intended.

The young soldier flinched slightly. "Uhm Lieutenant Caldor and Lieutenant Bakaris have returned from patrol Sir. They… They have a prisoner with them, a young, Noxian girl who claims to know you."

Garen narrowed his eyes at this. There had been no reports of Noxians sighted in the area for the past two weeks, what in the world was a single Noxian doing in the midst of the Howling Marches? In the part that was under Demacian control no less. More importantly, why would a Noxian claim to know him? He rose from his chair and went to don his breastplate and pauldrons, equipping and adjusting the heavy armor swiftly and with ease born from years of practice. "Show me to this prisoner," he said picking up his sword and throwing on his characteristic blue scarf before he pushed past the private and out the door.

The private led him to the Eastern garrison entrance where Caldor and Bakaris' patrol unit was waiting for him. With them was a young girl, probably in her mid-teens. She looked positively miserable, her long, golden hair hung limply and damp, her visage was pale and somewhat gaunt and she looked tiny flanked by his two Lieutenants. She was dressed in the uniform characteristic for the Noxian Ebon Guard, but to Garen's surprise, there was something familiar about her. As he came closer his heart skipped a beat when it finally dawned on him who she was. "Lux?"

ooOoo

The relief she felt when he had recognized her was indescribable. It had been so long since she had been called by that name. Her nickname, reserved for those close to her. The voice that had spoken it was a deep baritone, it was familiar and yet completely different from how she remembered it – the voice that had made her laugh every time it broke by accident, the voice that had told her stories of valor and chivalry when she was scared of the dark or the thunder, the voice of her beloved big brother. She had not even realized how much she had dreaded this moment of truth and she was trembling when she lifted her head to look at him for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

The man standing before her was everything and nothing like she had expected. He was still tall, very tall and still handsome. The messy auburn hair was the same as she remembered, but cropped shorter. Yet he was different. Where her brother had once been sweet and naïve, there was now a certain harshness. It broke her heart. His eyes, vivid blue, same shape and color as her own, bore the look of someone who had seen too much and she wondered if her eyes looked the same way to him. She choked back a sob and stumbled forwards, the soldiers by her side did not move to detain her. "Brother," she said, as she moved towards him, her good arm extended. She needed to touch him, to make sure that he would not simply vanish when she reached out for him, as he had so many times in her nightmares. Lux let out a breath she did not realize she had been holding when she felt the sting of the cold steel of his breastplate underneath her palm.

She could hold it back no longer, silent tears rolled down her cheeks, as she let her forehead rest against him, barely tall enough to reach his chest. She grasped desperately at the fabric of the blue scarf around his neck, the scarf she had gifted him, wanting to never again let him go. She felt the familiar touch of a large hand ruffling her hair. "You got bigger sunshine," he whispered and knelt down to return her embrace. Lux had no idea how long they stayed like that. It didn't matter that they had an audience, it didn't matter that she could barely stand, it didn't matter that they had both changed, because his embrace was sincere and real and just like she remembered. She would like nothing more than to stay like that forever, but she owed a great debt to a certain Noxian.

"Jarvan, is Jarvan here?" she asked quietly. Garen nodded and looked to the side beckoning someone over. Following his gaze, Lux saw the approaching form of her brother's oldest friend. The Prince had changed too. In his grey eyes, once so full of humor and mischief, Lux saw doubt and stress and the weight of the crown he was destined to bear. Rummaging through her cloak, she produced the envelope given to her by her savior and offered it to the Prince, who took it with a solemn dignity that felt out of place from someone she had known all her life. Then she closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up with her.

"You're hurt," Garen said, his voice filled with sudden worry, as she slumped against him. She wanted to say that she was ok, but she was too tired. "Lieutenant, have one of the medics sent to my quarters."

"Yes Sir!"

Her brother's gentle hands, as he easily lifted her into the air and cradled her form in his arms, was the last thing she felt before slipping into unconsciousness.

ooOoo

Jarvan drummed his fingers on his desk, an incessant habit of his. He could already hear his father scolding him for it. A King should always stay collected and in control anything less would be interpreted as a sign of weakness. He let out a sigh and vied to curl his hand into a fist instead. What a mess… On his desk in front of him lay a piece of paper. A single page of yellowed parchment torn from a book he knew very well. For hours now, he had been staring at it, trying to make sense of it. He picked up the envelope again, turning it in his hands. No signature, no seal, nothing that could reveal its sender, not surprising really. He had so many questions. What exactly did the message mean? Who had it come from? Why was Luxanna the messenger and how did she come by it? Why was she here in the middle of nowhere? And why was the message meant for him specifically? His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone forcefully opening his door. Jarvan didn't have to look up to know who it was. There was only one person in the garrison who would enter his chambers without asking for his permission or at the very least knocking first.

"How is Lux?"

"Sleeping. The medic says she'll be fine, once she gets some rest."

Jarvan nodded slowly. "Glad to hear it."

An awkward silence fell upon them. Jarvan knew why Garen had come. He wanted answers. Answers Jarvan would be unable to give, because he didn't have them either. A few minutes went by, with none of them making a move to break the silence. Garen had even started pacing, throwing him an expectant glance every now and then. Finally getting tired of it Garen slammed both his palms down on his desk. "Damnit Jarvan! What the hell is she doing here? Why won't you say anything?" There was hurt in his friend's voice. Hurt and anger.

"Because I don't know either," Jarvan said with a sigh.

Garen turned away before quietly adding: "She's been acting as a spy. Hasn't she?"

"The implications certainly point in that direction." Jarvan had reached the same conclusion. It was the only plausible explanation he could come up with.

"I was told she was studying at the College of Magic. I was told time and again that I couldn't see her. Now I know why." Garen shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips. "I am such an idiot." Jarvan wished he could do something, anything. Garen was and always had been the stubborn, but steadfast rock he could depend on in a crisis. Seeing him like this, looking positively tortured by the thought that he had somehow failed his sister was harder than he dared admit.

"There is no point in blaming yourself. Lux would not hold this against you, so you should not either." Jarvan paused to take a deep breath. "I will discuss this with my father. We need to get to the bottom of this mess. At the very least," he added, "I will try to ensure that Lux won't have to be dispatched as a spy again."

Garen nodded – a look of gratitude on his face, which was quickly replaced by one of disgust. "Yeah, I need to have a little discussion with my mother too," he said his voice bitter and void of its usual warmth.

Jarvan nodded, this whole ordeal was rotten. Demacia had always prided itself on serving as a moral example for other countries. Yet here they were apparently sending young girls straight into the wolves' den, covering it up with lies and deceit. Lies and deceit… Jarvan grabbed the torn page, scanning the words once more. "Garen, what do you make of this?" he asked, holding the parchment out for Garen to take a look.

Garen narrowed his eyes, and then looked up in confusion once he had finished reading. "This is a page from The Measured Tread." He turned the page around, studying it for a moment. "And it's from an old copy – a very old copy."

Jarvan nodded. "Do you know the context?"

Garen read the page again and stayed silent for a moment, before handing it back to Jarvan. "It's one of the verses that make up the Doctrines of Truth. It alludes to an old fable about a noble Prince who left his homeland to seek glory and honor. When the Prince returned, he found that his country had been corrupted from within during his absence and he learned the lessons of truth, deceit and treachery the harsh way."

"And what about this?" Jarvan asked pointing out a specific sentence. "What does, 'lest thou be fooled by the beauty of the witches' briar,' mean?"

Garen shrugged. "The witches' briar is another word for the common dog rose. It's quite pretty, but it spreads like weed and strangles surrounding foliage. Here it's most likely a metaphor for how looks can be deceiving." He looked thoughtful for a moment, then added. "It's a popular heraldic symbol too. Many of the noble houses have one in their family-crest."

"A rose huh?" Count on a Crownguard to know the most obscure things about heraldic symbolism. Jarvan shook his head with a small smile, before letting out a tired sigh. "Then… Is this message a warning against treason within the noble houses of Demacia, or…"

"… Is it a trap, meant to sow seeds of doubt and turn them against each other," Garen finished for him.

"Exactly," Jarvan said, rubbing his temples. "Perhaps Lux can provide us with more perspective, once she feels better. Until then we better keep this to ourselves."

Garen nodded in understanding. It looked like he was about to say something else, when there was a loud knock on the door. "Enter," Jarvan said.

The door opened revealing Caldor, one of Garen's Lieutenants. "I'm sorry to disturb you my Lord," he said, bowing before his Prince, "but I was told the Commander was here." He turned to Garen, his face pale and worried. "There has been an assassination attempt, your sister she…" The poor Lieutenant barely made it out on the way in time to avoid being plowed down by Garen, who had taken off before Caldor even finished his sentence.

Jarvan jumped to his feet and grabbed his lance before following suit, the distraught Lieutenant right at his heels. "Luxanna, is she alright?"

"She has come to no harm my Lord. One of the rangers intercepted the assassin." Jarvan nodded, relieved. Having spent so much time with the Crownguard siblings as a child, Garen and Luxanna might as well have been his own younger brother and sister and he loathed the thought that she might have been hurt further.

Jarvan and Caldor did not manage to catch up to Garen before they reached his room in the barracks. Luxanna sat wrapped in a thick blanket on the edge of her brother's bed and next to her sat another young woman, probably in her late teens, with dark hair and stunning, amber eyes. Jarvan found it hard to get a proper read of Lux's expression. She looked tired and she was shaking slightly, yet her visage was strangely void of emotion. It was unnerving, so different from the lighthearted and cheerful face he remembered her for. A magnificent, blue eagle, perched on Garen's desk, caught his attention when it flapped its wings a few times. Garen himself was further down the adjacent corridor, pacing back and forth, in front of four of his sentries, who looked like they were ready to sprint for cover at the first given opportunity. Garen stopped pacing for a moment. "Dismissed," he said his voice low and dangerous. The sentries quickly saluted, before practically scrambling to get out. "Ranger. Report," Garen snapped, as he came to stand next to Jarvan, addressing the woman by Lux's side.

The young ranger looked up at him, eyes large and wary and the eagle launched from its place on the desk to perch on the ranger's shoulder instead, spreading his wings and puffing up his feathers to look bigger. Jarvan shook his head, though Garen probably didn't mean to, he could be rather intimidating, especially when he was angry or worried. "Garen, calm down."

For a moment it looked like Garen was about to argue, but then thought better of it. He took a deep breath, clearly making an effort to compose himself, before crossing his arms and taking a few steps back so he could lean against the wall. "Can you explain what happened here?" Jarvan asked keeping his tone calm and neutral. "Quinn is it not?" The ranger looked surprised that he knew her by name.

"You were the scout who reported Noxus' advance on Andras two months ago?" Garen interjected from the side. Quinn nodded.

"Yes Sir. Well, me and Valor did." She indicated the large eagle, when Garen sent her a confused look. The bird, Valor, had calmed down a bit now that Garen had stepped back some, but he was still keeping a watchful, golden eye on him. Under different circumstances, Jarvan might have been inclined to laugh at the little display between the two, but right now he was more concerned with finding out exactly what was going on. Quinn seemed to understand this as well, as she began a recount of what had transpired.

"I was on my way back from having dinner in the mess hall, when Valor all of a sudden started acting up. It was dark and it was snowing, so I couldn't see very well, but I noticed someone, a man, heading for the Commander's quarters. I thought it was strange, because I had been told that Lady Luxanna was not to be disturbed and well…" Quinn paused for a moment, sending Garen a sideways glance, "I would have been able to recognize the Commander, if it was him." Not surprising… Jarvan thought, a small smile forming on his lips. Garen was nearly a head taller than Jarvan himself and broader around the shoulders too, he tended to stick out alright.

Quinn cleared her throat awkwardly, before continuing. "I decided to follow the man, to see what he was up to, then I heard Lady Luxanna shout out and I came here. Between the two of us, Valor and I managed to apprehend him, before he did her any harm but…" She pointed to the end of the corridor, where a broken window caused a continuous draft. "He escaped through that window as soon as I confronted him. I could have pursued him, but I thought it would be wrong to leave Lady Luxanna alone."

Lux offered the ranger a small, sweet smile. Her trembling had stopped, but she still looked sick and pale. "Thank you for staying," she said quietly, "and call me Lux, 'Lady Luxanna' makes me sound old." She looked hesitant for a moment, glancing back and forth between Jarvan and her brother, as if considering whether or not to tell them something. "Jarvan, brother, there is something I need to tell you." She took a deep breath. "I have been spying on Noxus on and off for the past year."

"We figured as much," Jarvan said, though he was surprised by how long it had been going on.

"About five weeks ago, I infiltrated the Noxian High Command and witnessed a grand war council. General Swain intends to invade Ionia and by the look of things, he has been making preparations for it for a while."

"That would explain, why we have had so little Noxian activity lately," Garen said, looking thoughtful. "It's settled then. Caldor, have your unit start making the necessary preparations for a trip back to the capital. We are leaving in three days."

"Y-Yes Sir!" Caldor said, before hurrying off to carry out his orders.

Garen let out a sigh. "You should get some rest Lux, you are coming with us."

"Garen, the medic said she would need at least a week of bedrest, she is unfit for that kind of travel surely you realize that," Jarvan exclaimed, he could barely believe what he was hearing.

"Of course I do, but this place is clearly not safe for her, tonight has showed as much. Besides, the legislative needs to know about Ionia as soon as possible," the Commander looked at Jarvan intently.

Jarvan remained silent for a moment, what could he say? Lux was not fit to travel, but Garen had a point, if Quinn had not been nearby, things would have turned out quite differently and not for the better. He let out a sigh, fixing his gaze on Lux. "Do you think you can manage?" he asked seriously.

Lux offered him a small smile. It was not as reassuring, as she probably hoped it would be. "I will be alright."

Jarvan nodded slowly. "Very well then. I will come with you."

Meanwhile, Quinn was looking at Garen hesitantly. It was obvious that she wanted to say something, but was unsure whether it was out of line. "Commander, if it's alright, I would like a chance to track down the assassin."

Garen remained silent for a moment, contemplating the ranger's offer. "That won't be necessary," he finally said. "I already gave orders for half of the Vanguard to mobilize and start the search for him."

"But Sir, surely the Vanguard is better dispositioned to guard the garrison. Valor and I can move much faster than armored infantry, even if they can cover more ground, the assassin could easily escape them, if he just keeps moving."

"I agree," Jarvan interjected, "having a hundred men searching for one assassin is a bit excessive. And in this blizzard?"

Garen simply leveled him with an even glare. "Considering we have had such a breach in security tonight, I'd say their eyes could use the practice," he growled before stomping off.

"Your brother can really be a piece of work sometimes," Jarvan muttered, receiving an apologetic smile from Lux. "Still, you should do as he says and get some rest," he added.

Lux nodded in understanding. "Thank you again Quinn."

"Uhm, you're welcome," Quinn said, as she quickly got to her feet and followed Jarvan out of the room, Valor setting off to soar above them.

Jarvan waited until they were properly out of ear-shot. "Quinn."

"Your majesty?"

"I want to take you up on your offer. I want you to track down the assassin."

Quinn sent him a skeptical look. "But Commander Crownguard said…"

"Never mind, what Garen said. He will come around once he has cooled off, don't worry."

Quinn raised an eyebrow, still not convinced. "Pardon me for asking Sir, but does he not technically outrank you?"

Jarvan couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "Yes he does, at least where the military is concerned." The distribution of power in Demacia was a rather complex affair. In matters of state Jarvan, as heir to the throne, had the more say between the two of them. Being Prince had its perks. But that was pretty much all there was to it though, perks. The real power in Demacia lay with the legislative, which was made up of representatives from the noble families – and his father. Of course the King had a say in everything, but without the support of the majority of the noble houses, he did not possess any real power to act with. House Crownguard, House Laurent, House Buvelle and House Spiritmight, those were the four pillars Demacia had been built upon and the foundation on which the Lightshield Dynasty rested. As the oldest son and heir of House Crownguard, Garen's official rank was Brigadier General, while his title as Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard stemmed from the fact that it was a special elite unit and held a separate ranking system than that of the Demacian army.

Jarvan let out a sigh. "Even so, will you still do it?"

Quinn studied him for a moment, before letting a small, determined smile grace her lips. "I'll see to it that the culprit faces Demacian justice your Majesty."

ooOoo

A/N: And that's it for this time around. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last two, still a good chunk of text though and I produced it in less than three weeks! Yeah… I'm trying to make it up to you for taking 3.5 months with chapter four. This chapter was fun to write, though still a challenge. It may seem like a sort of fill chapter, but like the previous one it introduces a lot of the elements that'll set up the future plot. Talon, Jarvan and Quinn have now been properly introduced and we finally got a name attached to our dear spy. Bet all of you had already guessed it was Lux though *wink *wink. Reviews, favorites, follows, any form of feedback really, are greatly revered, so feel free to leave some.

Ok, skippable lore and random trivia section here we go. So since a friend of mine got confused on the issue of heights in this story and lol in general, allow me to clarify. Ahem: Looking through champion trivia and so on when I initially did research for the very first chapter, I learned that Darius is 6 feet and 5 inches tall, equivalent to 196 cm… Now Garen does not have an official height as stated by Riot, but in this story, I have decided that he is 6 foot and 7 inches, equivalent to 200,6 cm. Jarvan is shorter than both of them. Why did I make Garen the taller one? Well, I'm obviously biased since he's my favorite, but also because when comparing their in game models, they are all roughly the same height despite the fact that Jarvan and Darius stand straight, while Garen is sort of crouched with his legs far apart… Hope that clears any future confusion. Lore-wise I have taken some liberties with this chapter (please don't kill me Quinn lovers). Part of Quinn's background includes a story of how she is sent by Jarvan to chase down an assassin, thought to be Talon, after a failed attempt on the King's life. See how my version is slightly different? In any case, I hope it's still bearable. By the way, does anyone know why Valor doesn't like Garen? The league trivia pages hold some seriously random facts sometimes, but rarely an explanation for them sadly. Anyways…

Until next installment:

~WhiteWinterDragon