Desperate Times
a League of Legends fanfic
Chapter 4: Questions and Answers
Garen felt every nerve in his body burn as the small cart jostled to a stop. Katarina had not been overly gentle during her 'rescue' of him, ensuring only that he was still alive, before hiding his face in a cloth sack, and dragging him limply through the Gulag to a small cart waiting out front. Once there, she had unceremoniously heaved him into the back, thrown a covering of sacks and cloth over and around him, and quietly left the city with him in tow.
That had been what felt like hours ago. Since then, Garen had focused all of his effort and focus on healing, and not feeling the endless bumps and movements of the road. Now the cart came to a stop and he heard the woman climb down and make her way around to the back. the light through the sack over his head grew brighter, and then suddenly blinding as first the covering was pulled back, and then the sack pulled off.
There she stood, glaring at him, as beautiful as ever. He couldn't even prop himself up to look at her properly. "Hello Kat," He said weakly. "What are you doing here?"
She climbed gracefully up onto the cart, knelt down beside him, and slapped him. "You bastard." She seethed a rage that Garen had never seen before. As he made to speak, a knife blade appeared at his throat. "You? You were a Black Rose cultist? You lucky I didn't just slit your throat in the Gulag! Unfortunately for you, the High General has some questions for you."
"Listen Kat, I'm not some cultist. I don't even know who these Black Rose bastards are, the first I ever heard of them was two weeks ago, when I was arrested." Katarina blinked, the blade moving a hair's breath back. "All I know is that whoever this cult is, they attacked Jarvan. But I think that something went wrong during the attack."
"How can you know that?"
"Inconsistencies that don't add up."
"Such as?"
"Things like the fact that whoever they are, this 'Black Rose' obviously knows a thing or two about secrecy, if they can operate undetected in Demacia at all. If that's the case, then why such a grand, attention grabbing attack? Why a bomb? why not just send a few assassins and do it quietly? And then there is the scene of the blast itself. I brought Caitlyn in, to see if she could find something that Demacian investigators had missed. There was absolutely nothing, they left without a trace. except for one conveniently hidden badge."
"That's why they found a badge in your house?" Katarina's expression had gone from wrathful to thoughtful over the course of Garen's report.
"Yes. I took the badge in hopes that I could find information with it. But I was unsuccessful. The cult has managed to infiltrate almost all ranks of Demacian society, they've intimidated those that they haven't recruited into silence. And now it seems that they have managed to get their hands on my oldest friend. They somehow convinced him I was a cultist, then it was simply a matter of him sending the Dauntless Vanguard after me."
The knife was now far enough away from Garen's neck that he knew he had convinced her, at least a little. Katarina had a look on her face that Garen had never seen her make, "Let's say you're telling the truth... what do you intend to do?"
Garen steeled his resolve, "I am going to clear my name, the I'm going to hunt down these Black Rose bastards and kill them all."
The knife vanished, returned for now to whatever hidden sheath was it's home. Katarina gently helped Garen into a sitting position against the wall of the cart. "Good. I was almost worried that prison had weakened you, well... beyond the obvious physical ass kicking they gave you. I might have killed you on principle if you had said something along the lines of 'run and hide'"
Garen smiled in spite of himself. Then winced as pain lanced through him. "As much fun as sitting here, professing my innocence, to a Noxian of all things, is. I probably should think about finding a healer, if that's ok."
"I have a couple healing potions in here somewhere. They aren't meant to fix this level of damage, but they'll at least get you up and limping around." She dug around in the gear laying in the cart bed, and produced two small vials of red liquid. Stamped on a label across both vials were the words 'Property of the League of Legends. Do not distribute.' She handed them both to Garen and then clambered over him towards the driver's seat, "Don't worry about the label," She said as she settled herself down and took up the reigns. "I may have 'borrowed' them from the league's storehouse when I stopped there on my way here. But they still work all the same."
The cart lurched forward, Garen lurched with it, wincing again and pulled the cork off of the first potion. After drinking the almost sickly sweet liquid, he looked towards the front of the cart and asked, "So... I've answered your questions, your turn Kat. What the hell are you doing in Demacia? Not that I don't appreciate you showing up when you did, but... isn't this in violation of the peace treaty?"
Katarina laughed a bit, "Well, maybe it is, but General Swain seems to think that that won't last much longer. Something to do with the Black Rose. All I know is that he's had me and Talon hunting down and eliminating every Noxian cell we could find for almost a year." Garen shuddered, he had seen the those two in action together, not much could stand against them and have even a prayer of living. "As for this trip," She continued, "Swain told me to go to Demacia as soon as word of Jarvan's attack went public. I've been trying to find their base of operations ever since I arrived a month and a half ago, but like you said, they're very good at hiding."
Garen felt the Healing potion knitting his fractured bones back together, sighed with relief and opened the next vial. "Then it appears our goals are the same. What would you suggest?"
Katarina thought for a moment. "You can't stay in Demacia, that much I know for sure. If the Black Rose is dug in as deep as you suspect, then they will have the entire city-state looking for you, probably with orders to kill on sight. So, I suggest you relocate to Noxus for now, my house can protect you for a time while you get back on your feet. The High General will probably laugh himself half to death when he hears this, but he'll see reason. He knows a valuable ally when he sees one, and he knows how well you can fight."
Garen was silent for a very long time. When at last he did speak he sounded almost pained. "You know what you are asking me to do with your invitation right?" At her confused look he continued. "I have been a soldier for Demacia my entire life, it's what I am Kat. If I take refuge in Noxus... it goes against everything that I have ever known. It proves what the people are calling me right now, a traitor. I cannot throw my lot in with Noxus Kat. I appreciate what you have done for me, I really do, but this is a choice I cannot make."
The cart came to a sudden stop, enough to throw Garen to the floor from his seat. When he looked up, Katarina was standing over him. "Then what would you do Garen Crownguard?" She asked, glaring down at him. "What course of idiocy and suicide would you see yourself take? Just for the sake of some stupid pride. Noxus is almost completely clear of the cult, it is strong enough to protect you from the Demacian agents that will inevitably come for you." Her eyes softened just slightly, "And there is someone there who may just actually care enough about you to save your life."
He flinched as though he had been punched, feeling guilt stab through him. Emotions warred within him. Finally lowering his gaze, he nodded just enough that she would catch it, "Very well Kat. You win."
Her expression softened again. "I'm not trying to 'win' Garen." She knelt down and brushed a hand gently across his cheek. "I'm trying to help you."
The next several hours passed in silence, the cart making its way steadily eastward through the Demacian countryside. Katarina pulled the cart to a stop a few miles outside a small village just before the sun began to set.
"We'll need to disguise you if we're going into that town." She said, "No offence, but you have a pretty well known face."
"I don't know,"Garen replied with a slight smile, "Two weeks and change without shaving? Plus a few of the guards aimed for my face when they were beating on me. I'll bet you two gold that no one recognizes me tonight."
Katarina burst out laughing. "Tell me, oh noble Sir Garen, how do you plan on paying me when you lose?"
"Oh ye of little faith." He laughed.
"Fine." She said, climbing down from her seat. "Wait here for a bit, I'm going to go and find you some new clothes before you kill someone with that smell of yours. Two weeks in that prison did not do you any favors in that regard. Just to be safe, keep the cover pulled up over the cart back. It seems quiet enough out here, but you never know."
She vanished off through the bushes towards the village. Garen smiled as he watched her disappear, then lay back and pulled the cover over himself. I'm surprised that she's helping me like this. He thought, Friends or no, she's risking a lot by asking Swain to give me sanctuary. Not to mention the politics of it, she's a General, if the Noxian public hears that she's helping a Demacian... they'd be screaming for her blood before the hour was out.
About an hour later, she returned with a small bag over her shoulder. "Here, get changed." she said, tossing the bag to him and turning on her heel. Garen began changing as she continued. "The town seems quiet enough, the innkeeper says he's got a couple rooms available, and I found some food, it's in the bag as well. I figure, we get a room for you, then make for the Institute of War by tomorrow night."
"No." The abruptness of Garen's reply caused her to turn. He sat there, pulling the tunic she had brought him over his head. "I was thinking about this while you were gone, They'll be watching the Institute. They'll expect us to go there, neutral ground and all that. They've already proven that they have the nerve to attack someone where that person is considered safest. No, what we should do instead is continue east until we come to the Tevarian Crossroads. Then turn north, towards Piltover. I have a few friends there, who could shelter us for a few days. After that, we can find passage either to Zuan or straight to Noxus."
Katarina thought about it, and the more she did, the more it made sense. The Black Rose were well connected, it wasn't impossible for them to get agents ahead of them and set up an ambush. She doubted that they knew yet that she was the one who had broken Garen out, but they would be looking for him, and no amount of disguises would hide them in the Institute. Piltover made the most strategic sense as a destination.
They made their way into the village to the inn. Garen wore a simple outfit and his own now rugged countenance, while Katarina wore a similar outfit and had a small bit of makeup covering her scar. "Remember Garen," She said softly as they entered. "You'll be owing me two gold by night's end. No doubt."
Garen laughed again. "Keep dreaming." They made their way towards the counter where the innkeeper stood.
As they approached, the keeper smiled broadly. "Welcome folks, to my humble homestead for the weary and tired. What can I get you tonight? I've a few rooms available, and the finest ale in all of Valoran. Direct from the brewery of Master Gragas it is."
Katarina took the lead, "Just a room for my companion, sir. The poor man was attacked by bandits out in the countryside a few days back, and he's still not quite up to full health yet. I'll have an ale however."
Garen flashed her a mutinous glare, Gragas' ale was beyond legendary, but played his part all the same. Once he had made it up to his room he turned to Katarina, "Bring me an ale later. Please. Having a Gragas brew so close and being unable to drink it is a cruelty that no one should have to endure."
"Haha, we'll see. You get some sleep and focus on healing, I'm going to keep a watch out for anyone searching for us."
Garen lay back and made himself as comfortable as such a small inn could allow. He had had worse beds to be sure, such was the life of a soldier, but something tonight kept him from sleep. So he lay there, alone in a darkened room, with only his thoughts to keep him company.
The man opened his eyes slowly, his head hurt and the sounds were far too loud. As the world came slowly into focus, his hearing began to pick out individual sounds; gulls crying out, waves sloshing, and an odd creaking. He sat up, taking stock of his surroundings with a soldier's efficiency. He was in a small cabin, shirtless save for a large bandage wrap across his stomach and lower chest. The room seemed to be moving, a gentle rocking motion that told him that he was on a boat of some kind, though how he knew this was unclear he realized, as he didn't even know his own name.
As he continued taking in his surroundings, the door of the cabin opened and a large man with a shaggy black beard entered. The stranger wore a long red coat with the sleeves torn off, and carried a sword, hung from his belt. The newcomer smiled, "Well, glad to see yer up. Ye gave me a bit o' a scare when we fished ye up out o' that bay."
"Um... right..." the man on the cot said, "What is going on here? I'm sorry to sound impolite, but, who are you?"
The man in the coat just stared for a moment, and then burst out laughing. "BAHAHAHAH, oh, that is a good one lad." When the confused expression didn't leave the man, he stopped laughing. "Wait... ye really don't know me?" A nod. "That's not good. How could ye forget ol' Gangplank?"
"I'm not even sure who I am."
"Oh." Another nod. "Well, then tis even better that I found ye. I happen to know someone who could possibly help. Ye used te know her too, but I be guessin that Soraka doesn't sound familiar."
"Sorry no. Who is she?"
"A healer, lad. She helps people that normal healers can't. Not te worry J lad, we'll get ye back up and rememberin yerself soon enough. Ye just wait here while I go get the crew roused and workin."
Gangplank turned and bustled out of the room, bellowing orders as he went. 'J' sat back against the wall of the cabin, trying to remember... anything. After almost an hour, all he could remember was a ticking, as if from a large clock.