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

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

So we reach number six and we are still going strong, pretty much only getting started. Thanks to all of you who took the time to review. I hope you guys will like this chapter too. Enjoy!

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter VI

Sins of the Just

Katarina was unsure what to think. The streets of Bilgewater were very different from the streets of Noxus. Here the smell of saltwater and seaweed permeated the air and the shrieks of the seagulls and ship bells were a core part of the town's melody. She let her gaze wander the many stalls and structures on either side of the alleyway. The buildings here were mostly made of wood, many of them haphazardly slapped together from what looked like various parts of what might have been ships and boats once.

Breathing in the salty breeze, she relished in its freshness. It had been a long day. Finding her barracks had not been too bad, but registration at the command central had taken up most of the afternoon. She wrinkled her nose with disdain as she thought of the many hours she had been forced to spend waiting in the overcrowded courtyard, filled with common, Noxian soldiers, many of whom would like nothing better than to test their mettle against a renowned soldier such as herself. Needless to say, she had had to break a few eggs – or noses more specifically. She scoffed. At least she had established her superiority. Those who had witnessed her little display would think twice before trying to provoke another fight and those who had been on the receiving end… Well they'd have to leave the infirmary before trying anything else.

The sound of laughter, music and cheers emanating from a tavern caught Katarina's attention as she continued her aimless walk down the half paved street. A worn, wooden sign, spelling: 'The Mary Mermade' in faded, golden letters, hung from the tavern's façade, swinging lightly in the wind. Katarina rolled her eyes, unsure which was more atrocious – the spelling or the cliché ring to the name. She shrugged before entering. Since she was going to be stuck in Bilgewater for at least another month while the preparations for the Ionian invasion were finalized, she might as well get to know the place and this seemed as good a spot to start as any. Besides, she could really use a drink.

The room was crowded, noisy and hot, as taverns tend to be and Katarina made a beeline for the bar ignoring a few dog whistles and less than gracious offers along the way.

"What can I get fer ye lassie?" The barkeep was tall, bald and packed a few more pounds than he should.

"Ale – the good stuff, not that horse-piss you serve those idiots." She gestured to a group of particularly drunken men. "They might not notice the difference, but I'll know and I won't be pleased." She kept her tone neutral, clear and only threatening enough to get her point across without causing a scene.

The barkeep raised an eyebrow, but did not otherwise seem bothered by her words. "Course lassie, but it'll cost ye."

"I can pay," she said sliding him a few coins across the counter.

The barkeep took the money, nodded and sauntered off, only to return a moment later, carrying a large mug of ale. "Dark, Demacian ale, best o' the best," he said as he slammed the mug down on the counter in front of her, spilling some of the white foam. She did not miss the glint in the barkeep's eye, nor the slight twitch to his lips. She glanced at the dark, bordering on auburn liquid with a slight sneer of disdain. Demacian ale… The irony was not lost on her. Still, she had paid good money for it and that barkeep looked much too smug already, so she took a proper swig of her drink. She would never admit it out loud, but it was indeed the best ale she had ever had. Apparently Demacia was good for something after all. The barkeep watched her intently as she got her first taste, raising his eyebrows questioningly, when she put the mug back down. "Well?"

"This will suffice," she said coolly. The barkeep gave her a broad grin; some of his teeth were missing.

"Holler if ye need anythin' else," he said before lumbering off to serve another customer.

Now that she had her drink Katarina took the time to get a proper look at the room she was in. It seemed the 'Merry Mermaid' was a gathering place for all sorts of people, right from the gutter-goers looking for cheap drink to the 'respectable' men looking for expensive company. Between the average Bilgewater sailor, fisherman or trader, she wondered bemusedly which were engaged in piracy – probably all of them on some scale. The life of Bilgewater was dictated by coin. It was a city where people could make their own fortune, unhindered by the confines of a strict law. As a Noxian, having the freedom to make the most of your life with your own two hands was an ideal Katarina could appreciate. Yet, the lack of order was problematic. Loyalty and discipline were important for efficiency and Bilgewater was sorely lacking in terms of both.

An infectious, cheerful laughter cut through the noise of the crowd and put an end to Katarina's musings. The source was a woman. At a guess Katarina would say she was probably a few years older than herself. Thick, red, wavy locks fell graciously from her head. Her lips were full and stretched into a charming, inviting smile. Her clothes hugged her curves and modesty was probably a word she didn't know. Judging from the crowd surrounding her, she was well-liked and looking at the way she moved, she enjoyed the attention. Katarina took another sip from her ale. The little display reminded her somewhat of her younger sister, yet the redhead before her possessed an honest cheerfulness that Cassiopeia lagged. Still, Katarina was intrigued. Whatever the woman's story was, she seemed to command some respect, for although she was flirtatious, charming, even challenging in her behavior, people were unusually well-behaved around her, given the circumstances. Of course she did have a pair of guns strapped to her hips, but Katarina still got the sense that there was more to this woman than what mere appearance could tell.

Katarina continued to observe quietly from her spot by the counter as she continued to nip at her drink. She was starting to lose interest, when a man amongst the other redhead's crowd of admirers caught her attention. His eyes were darting around the room, too restless to linger for long in any one place, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and his neck and she could see from the way that his nostrils flared that his breathing was too quick. All were telltale signs of a man who was about to do something stupid, desperate and probably dangerous. The man downed his drink in one go for, what Katarina assumed must be, some much needed liquid courage, before procuring a small leathery pouch from inside his vest. He then proceeded to pour its powdery contents into the other redhead's drink. Amateur… It was so painfully obvious that Katarina was surprised no one seemed to notice. For a moment she considered letting the whole ordeal play out without interfering. Hell, the redhead almost deserved what was coming to her for failing to notice that her drink had been tampered with. Then again the poisoning was so poorly executed it was practically an insult to her craft. Katarina bit at her lip, as she finally made up her mind, crossing the room with a swift stride and grabbing hold of the other redhead's wrist just as she lifted her mug.

"Wouldn't drink that if I were you."

"Oh? And why is that?" She met Katarina's gaze evenly, her ocean blue eyes revealing nothing of her thoughts.

"Your friend decided to spice it up a bit," Katarina said nodding towards the culprit, who had practically frozen, his skin almost turning ashen in color as she spoke.

"Is this true?" The woman's voice was sweet, almost soothing, but there was a hardness too, a glint in her eyes that Katarina knew all too well. There would be no mercy.

"O-of course not! I…"

"Who sent you? Marcellus?"

"No! No I…"

"Buck? Fisher? Chantelle? Sharkbait?"

The man was practically sobbing now, his breathing racket and fast, bordering on hysterical.

"Gangplank?"

A small, pathetic wail escaped the man's throat and he started whimpering something unintelligible.

"Drink." It was not a request, but a command. The woman held the beverage out to him, one of her guns already firmly grasped in the other hand. She drew the trigger slowly, deliberately. His hand shook, as he took the mug from her. He took one last glance around, probably hoping for some miracle, but no one came to his defense, heck only the people in their immediate vicinity were even aware of what was happening the rest were partying on none the wiser.

To most people, watching a crying man chug down poison to a backdrop of merry backwater music would probably feel somewhat morbid. Katarina was not most people. Her father had instilled in her early that death was something one should face head on. And so she barely batted an eye, as the would-be-killer fell to the floor, foaming at the mouth, his body seizing in his final moments. The other redhead made a chastising clicking sound with her tongue. "Poor baby… I always said that fortune doesn't favor fools," she said, almost regretfully, before turning her attention towards Katarina. "I believe I owe you my thanks hun. Sarah Fortune's the name."

ooOoo

Lux pulled her cloak more tightly around her, as another cold shiver wracked her form and made her teeth clatter. They had been on the move for three days already and the majority of their journey was still ahead. Though they were travelling by a relatively large road, they made slow progress in the deep snow, as the horses practically had to plough their way forward. Lux glanced down at the enormous, black stallion she was currently riding. He did not seem bothered by the snow, eagerly moving a good distance ahead of the company despite having to carry an extra rider.

"How are you holding up?" Garen asked quietly from directly behind her, concern seeping into his voice.

"I'm alright, just a little cold," Lux said, sending him a small smile over her shoulder to reassure him. Her brother frowned at her, looking very unconvinced before letting out a sigh and wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her close in an attempt to shelter her from the harsh wind and share what little warmth he could.

"We will make camp in about an hour. Think you can manage until then?"

"Sure."

"I'm afraid it'll be at least another two weeks before we are back in the capital. It'll be good to finally have a proper meal and a warm bath."

"Yeah, great," Lux mumbled absentmindedly, not really sharing her brother's enthusiasm.

"What's bothering you?"

She smiled ruefully. "Nothing brother."

"Lux…"

"It's complicated."

"Want to talk about it?"

She didn't answer right away. While in Noxus, Lux had wanted nothing more than to return to Demacia, but now that she was actually on her way there, she was filled with a sense of dread. She loved her home, yet felt estranged from it. She would serve her country to her dying breath, yet loathed to do it from the shadows. She never wanted to be a spy, but what she wanted had never mattered. 'For Demacia' was just not enough for her, not anymore. She wondered if Garen of all people could understand how she felt. After all, he was generally considered a paragon of Demacian values – the values that she had found herself questioning more and more as she grew wiser. When had they grown so far apart?

Up until now Lux had refrained from sharing any details regarding the nature of her work, because she really didn't like to talk about it. It left her feeling empty and petty and angry and ashamed for thinking that way. She let out a quiet sigh and chanced a glance back at her brother. His expression was open and painfully honest, as he met her gaze, patiently waiting for her to decide whether or not she wanted to confide in him. Lux looked away, taking a deep breath, as she made up her mind. "I… I want to serve on the battlefield. Like a proper mage or maybe a strategic advisor. I don't want to work as an infiltrator anymore."

"You won't have to do anything you don't want to."

She let out a sad chuckle. She wanted to believe him so badly, but she dared not. "They enlisted me against my will you know. On the day I turned thirteen they came to the mansion." It was the first time she ever put words to that experience. Somehow it felt both terrifying and liberating to share it with someone who cared. Garen said nothing, and for that Lux was grateful, for she was unsure she could muster the courage to finish, if she was interrupted. "To polish my magic they said." Warm tears started to trickle down her face and even though she had been taught better self-restraint, at that moment she could not be bothered to feel ashamed. "I called out to mother, but she just stood there as they dragged me away. And I asked for you," she whispered hesitantly. "After they took me to the college, I asked for you many times, but you never came."

Garen remained silent even after she finished her brief recount. When he finally replied Lux was surprised to hear a softness in his voice that she thought had been long lost to the warrior he'd grown into. "I wanted to see you, but I was always told you were busy studying. After a while I stopped asking." He tightened his grip around her, hugging her closer, barely audible when he whispered: "I'm sorry Lux, I should have been there."

ooOoo

The sharp cry of an eagle resounded in the snow-covered valley. Quinn looked up, soon catching sight of Valor between the myriad of falling snow flakes. No matter how much time she spent with him, she could never get enough of seeing the majestic bird flying free. He was happiest out here in the wilderness and so she cherished every moment where duty didn't call for them to stay cooped up indoors. She was grateful to the Prince for giving them this chance to prove their worth. They would not let him down. For days now, she and Valor had been tailing the assassin who attacked Luxanna Crownguard. The course he had taken so far indicated that he knew well to stay clear of Golden Crossing where half of the Dauntless Vanguard was standing ready to cut him off. Quinn silently congratulated herself on deciding to veer off the road to pick up and follow his trail directly.

Valor let out another cry and Quinn held out her arm, calling: "Valor to me," in a soft-spoken voice. Within moments the eagle landed, playfully nipping at her fingers in a loving greeting. She laughed, at his antics, gently stroking his feathers. "So, what did you find?" Valor cocked his head and chirped before he set off from her arm and glided away, staying close to the ground and keeping a pace where Quinn could follow.

It didn't take long for them to reach what Valor had spotted. It was a body. Sprawled in the center of a clearing, the great pool of blood around it made for a stark contrast to the white of the otherwise undisturbed snow. Quinn drew her crossbow and moved forward cautiously, only to be surprised when she recognized the corpse upon closer inspection. This was the man she had been tracking.

The body was stiff and cold to the touch and a modest layer of snow was already covering him. At a guess Quinn estimated he must have died some time during the night. The cause of death was obvious – his throat had been neatly slit. Quinn took a good look around the clearing. The snow was almost pristine, no visible sign of a struggle. Another assassin? It was the most likely explanation. The dead man's face was frozen in an expression of mild surprise, as if he'd barely even registered what happened.

Quinn searched the body for any sort of information, like a name, orders, letters, anything. In a fold of his cape she found a crumpled note with a small hand drawn map and some hastily scrawled directions. "This is..!" In her hand Quinn held what was a crude, but fairly accurate, map of Northglenn Garrison's interior, complete with instructions for the best way to slip in unnoticed. "We had better return to the capital and tell the Prince what we found here, don't you agree?" Valor flapped his wings and exclaimed an affirmative cry.

ooOoo

Talon paused before the ornamented oaken door that led to the private study of General Du Couteau. He had come here immediately upon his return to Noxus, not even taking the time to grab a bite to eat or change to a dry set of clothes – such trivialities could wait. He landed two heavy knocks on the door. "Enter." The General looked up, as Talon walked in, closing the heavy door behind him. "You're back early," he noted. "I take it all went well?" he continued, his tone easy-going and conversational, as if they were discussing the weather and not matters of high treason.

"I escorted the girl safely to a Demacian garrison in the Howling Marshes, where the Prince received your message. Last I heard, he was well on his way to the Demacian Capital, might even ride through the gates as we speak."

The General nodded. "Very good, well done Talon. Now I need you to…"

"General. Swain sent one of his own assassins to dispose of the girl."

"You are sure?"

"I overheard a Vanguard patrol speaking of the incident roughly a day after we parted ways. Apparently Crownguard sent half of his forces out looking when Swain's man botched his job."

General Du Couteau remained silent, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face.

"I did not want to run the risk that he might have learned something that could incriminate you, so I tracked him down and made sure he was silenced for good, but this means that Swain must have known where I was taking the girl from the start." Talon paused for a moment, ashamed that he would have to make such an admission. "That or I failed to realize we were followed the entire time."

The General scratched at his chin. "I find it more likely that Swain simply assumed she'd seek out her brother."

"Her brother?"

" Don't tell me you never bothered to ask her who she was?" the General added upon seeing Talon's slightly confused expression. Marcus Du Couteau let out a soft sigh. "The girl you escorted was Luxanna Crownguard, younger sister of Garen Crownguard."

The girl's unrelenting insistence that they head for a backwater garrison in the middle of the Howling Marshes suddenly made a lot more sense. "Even if that is the case, it might be wise for you to lay low for a while," Talon said quietly.

Marcus gave him a strange look and when he finally spoke, his tone was serious, almost grave, but not unkind. "Concern Talon? How very unlike you. I appreciate the notion, but there is no time to sit idle I'm afraid. Swain will stop at nothing to achieve his goals and I fear what that might entail for us all."

Talon clenched his fists and let out a frustrated sigh. "Then let me help, tell me what is really going on. Why are you trying to communicate with the Demacians? What is it Cassiopeia is supposed to find in Shurima and why are you keeping Katarina completely in the dark? Why…" Marcus held up a hand and Talon immediately held his tongue.

"The less you know the safer you'll be. For now, if you really want to help me, go to Bilgewater and meet up with Katarina. I will rest easier knowing that the Blade's Shadow is there to watch over her once the Ionian war begins." The General let out a tired sigh and for a moment he looked very old. "Keep my daughter safe Talon that is all."

ooOoo

Garen clenched his fists, fighting hard to keep his expression neutral and remain silent. Their audience was held in the throne room in the presence of the King and half of the Demacian council. The modest light of a clouded winter sky that fell through the tall windows on the east-facing wall made the room seem bleak and grey. Garen chanced a quick glance at his parents seated amongst some of the other representatives of the major noble houses. Albeit a little pale, his mother looked sublime in her dignified indifference, untouchable and unfeeling like a statue of cold marble. His father looked more thoughtful, his expression bordering on grave as he looked down on them. "I sent word ahead of us by bird, it should have arrived weeks ago," Jarvan said, his voice calm and clear despite the anger Garen could sense bubbling just below the surface.

"We received your message your Majesty," the gruff voice of General Gaius Malcavian, the father of Garen's Lieutenant Bakaris and head of house Malcavian, echoed in the room. With his grizzled features and full beard he didn't resemble his son much, but their pointed chin and nose and beady, piercing eyes were exactly the same.

"And yet there has been taken no action to aid the Ionians. Why is that? Must they come to us crawling on their hands and knees and beg for our help before we bother to act?"

"Jarvan mind your tongue, when you speak to your superiors," the King said curtly.

"No offense was taken my Lord," Gaius said smoothly. "To answer your question Prince Jarvan, no action has been taken, because we do not rush blindly into war based only on the words of a little girl. For all we know, it might be a trap."

Garen took a step forward, his blood was about to reach the boiling point. How dared he make light of Luxanna's credibility. "General, Jarvan and I would not have rushed all the way here, if there was no evidence to support Luxanna's report. We have had no notable Noxian activity in the Marshes since we apprehended them at Andras nearly three months ago and we have received reports of similar conditions in other border regions as well. The Noxian forces have been pulled elsewhere and a war against Ionia would explain this state of events."

"Of course if you want additional confirmation, I am sure we can spare some adult infiltrators, because I am sure no one in this room support the idea of sending a child on that kind of mission, correct?" Jarvan interjected with particular emphasis on adult and child. An uncomfortable silence followed this bold statement. Jarvan had always been good at making smart-mouthed comments that, more often than not, hit a little too close to home and Garen did not miss the variety of displeased and uncomfortable expressions amongst the councilmembers, as they witnessed this unexpected and rather unorthodox behavior from their Prince. Garen's mother in particular looked like she had taken a rather large bite out of a lemon. While Garen was grateful that Jarvan spoke so passionately on Luxanna's behalf, he was also worried, because Prince or not, this behavior would not be tolerated, especially not in the King's presence.

"Jarvan," the King said, his voice carrying a warning tone.

"My Lord, What the Prince means to say is…" Garen said, trying to diffuse the situation before it could escalate, but the King merely held up a hand to silence him, sending his son an expectant look.

"My apologies father, I merely find it ironic that we condone sending 'little girls', as you call it, deep into enemy territory to act as spies only to question the validity of their word specifically due to their young age afterwards," Jarvan said coolly.

This was the last straw. The King rose slowly from his throne, his expression was calm and dignified, but his eyes gave away his rage. "I believe we have lent ear to quite enough from you Jarvan. I expect you to keep your tone civil and uphold the same standard as everyone else and since you continuously fail to do so, you will await my summons outside this room. For now you are dismissed." The King's tone was harsh and cold as he glared down at them and the tension in the room was suffocating. Jarvan immediately turned on his heel and marched out of the throne room without bothering with common courtesy.

"Requesting permission to leave as well my Lord," Garen asked seriously.

"Granted," the King said after a short pause.

Garen bowed his head respectfully, before making a very brief salute and leaving in the same direction Jarvan had.

The sound of the massive doors closing shut behind him bore an unnerving note of finality, as Garen made his way into the adjacent corridor and found Jarvan seated on the cold, granite floor with his back to the wall. His visage was pale with beads of sweat and his gaze was rigidly fixed straight ahead. "Why did he throw you out?"

"He didn't, I wanted to keep you company and he permitted me to leave."

Jarvan shook his head slightly, a rueful smile on his lips. "Unbelievable," he said, letting out a long, tired sigh. "Remember that promise we made when we were… What six? Every time you do something stupid I get to punch you and vice-versa, that one?"

"Yeah I remember," Garen muttered, sitting down next to the Prince. "Want me to punch you right now? I think I owe you a couple anyhow," he added with a half smirk, as he gave Jarvan's shoulder a friendly jab in a vague attempt to cheer him up. Jarvan rolled his eyes at his childish antics, but smiled nonetheless and they fell into a comfortable silence.

It was nearly two hours before the doors to the throne room were opened once again, allowing the various councilmembers to file out and return to their respective posts. The last person to come through the doors was Xin Zhao the seneschal of Demacia. Being their former tutor Garen wondered what might be going through his mind, as he looked at the two of them sitting there on the floor in the exact same way they used to when they were just small boys waiting to get scolded for making trouble. Xin let out a sigh and shook his head slightly. "That back talking mouth of yours is still your greatest enemy," he told Jarvan sternly, but with an air of sympathy. "The King will see you now."

Garen gave Jarvan's shoulder a reassuring pat. "Want me to wait out here?"

"Actually, the King has requested your presence as well Garen," Xin added, giving an affirmative nod, when Garen sent him a perplexed look.

Xin did not follow them into the throne room, instead closing the doors behind them. Their steps echoed in the grand hall, as they made their way to stand before the King, who was currently engaged with some paperwork. When he finally decided to acknowledge their presence, it was with a look of disappointment. "What do you have to say for yourself?" he asked, addressing Jarvan.

"I…" Jarvan hesitated for a moment. "I apologise for the rudeness of my words, but I stand by them," he said though Garen could see his resolve was wavering under the scrutiny of his father's gaze.

"You forget your place Jarvan. You may be the Prince, but that does not entitle you to speak or act as you please. Demacian law dictates that until Luxanna comes of age it falls to her family to decide how she serves and you have no right to question their decision."

"So, Luxanna can have no say in this. How is that just?" Jarvan's tone was hesitant.

"Justice is not easily defined Jarvan. I am not pleased with Luxanna's predicament, but the law is the law and like me and Garen and Luxanna and any other Demacian citizen, you will have to accept it regardless of what you might feel about the matter personally. If you cannot do that, how do you expect to ever become an exemplar for your people?"

Jarvan remained silent for a moment, his gaze firmly directed at the floor. Garen couldn't help but feel bad for him. The Prince could be cocky and impulsive and his rather untraditional views and ideas often made him clash heads with the more conservative members of the nobility. But he was also kind and open-minded and most importantly he cared deeply for his people. As Jarvan's friend it saddened him that the King failed to recognise these qualities, because few things mattered more to the Prince than his father's approval.

The King let out a heavy sigh. "Jarvan, I want you to return to the marshes, take a moderate number of your men and confirm beyond doubt that the Noxians have relocated their forces. If possible, find out where. Also, while you are there, I ask that you note the respect with which your men treat you. Do not return before you can show your superiors the same. That will be all, you may go," the King said returning his attention to the document he had been working on when they entered.

"Yes father," Jarvan said, placing his right fist over his heart in a proper salute before turning to leave. Garen did the same.

"Garen, stay," the King said. Jarvan and Garen exchanged confused glances, but the King did not look up or pause his writing before Jarvan had vacated the room.

"My Lord?"

"You think I am being too hard on him." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes my Lord."

The King slowly put down his feather pen. "He needs to learn what it means to be a King Garen. He will always be held to the highest standard by those who serve him, he cannot falter or compromise when he pleases, or he will seem weak. I always hoped he would learn from you in that regard, but even as a boy he had a talent for landing the two of you in all kinds of trouble."

"Pardon me my Lord, but as I recall, we were both very good at that."

The King let out a soft chuckle. "Your loyalty does you credit, but Jarvan will be King one day and he needs to learn how to act like one. As things stand, he is far too comfortable letting you take charge, when things go south, so he blunders ahead without tact and without thought. Therefore I would ask that you do not go with him this time. Stay in the Capital. The city watch is in dire need of some order and discipline."

"But my Lord, what if..?"

"Garen, my son needs to realize that he cannot always count on you to be there to clean up the mess he leaves behind. Even today during your audience, it was clear you were ready to cut in the moment he stepped out of line."

Garen did not deny it – it was true, at least to some extent. "I… Understand my Lord but..."

"Good. Then you are dismissed," the King said, leaving no room for Garen to argue any further.

ooOoo

Garen adjusted the scarf around his neck as he made his way through the palace gardens. Everything looked so different in the winter, every tree and every bush covered by a white blanket. His destination was a small, remote pavilion, well-hidden from view by a grove of ancient oaks. "I thought I might find you out here," Garen said, quietly, as he seated himself across from the Prince, who was currently engaged in a game of chess against himself. The board was made of onyx and white marble, every piece finely sculpted in the same materials. "You could have picked a warmer spot you know."

"Well you know me," the Prince said moving his white tower to take a black bishop.

"So, what are you going to do now?" Garen asked joining the game by repositioning one of his knights.

"What choice do I have, but to do as he says? When are we leaving?"

"I'm not coming." At this Jarvan finally looked him in the eyes.

"Why not?" he asked moving one of his pawns forward.

"Your father has asked me to shape up the city watch here in the capital," Garen said, placing his bishop so he could take Jarvan's tower in the following turn.

Jarvan moved his tower out of harm's way. "So I misbehave and you are the one who gets stuck with glorified guard duty? That's rich." He spread his arms and adapted a mock-superior expression. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the land of the just!" he exclaimed, taking his voice down an octave to exaggerate the grandeur.

"You shouldn't joke about such things," Garen said seriously, dragging his queen across the board. "Check."

Jarvan let out a sigh, moving his knight to stand between Garen's queen and his own king.

Garen did not hesitate to take the knight. "Check mate."

Jarvan nodded solemnly, toppling his king and picking up his knight. "Actually, I'm glad you are staying," he said quietly. "It's the knight's duty to protect the king and with everything that's happening I'll breathe easier knowing you'll be here to keep him safe," he said handing Garen the piece before he got up and left without another word.

Garen stayed behind, studying the little, white piece in his hand intently. 'It's the knight's duty to protect the king.' Garen looked at Jarvan's disappearing form. "Yes it is," he said quietly, closing his hand around the chess piece. "But my King is not the one staying in the capital."

ooOoo

A/N: And it's done. Most challenging chapter so far I think, so many jumps in scenery and all those serious conversations. God it's difficult to write King Jarvan as strict, without making him sound like an utter douchebag. Also there was quite a lot of development to set up on terms of character relations. Garen and Lux for instance will have to go through a lot before theirs can get less strained, even if they care deeply for each other, they see the world differently. The friendship between Jarvan and Garen is a lot more established and I like the dynamic it creates between them to have Garen being the by the rules guy, while Jarvan is the more open-minded of the two. Talon and General Du Couteau have a complex relationship to say the least, because Talon is quiet, efficient and fiercely loyal and holds a deep respect for the General. Overall this is actually the shortest chapter yet. I had to cut it early, because I have to go away for a week and I thought I'd kept you all waiting long enough already. As always, reviews would be nice, I love to hear your opinions and overall feedback. It'll be a week or so before I can reply to them though.

Take care all and enjoy your summer, until next time.

~WhiteWinterDragon.