Chapter 3: Unseen
"Sit still!" scolded Soraka, holding Katarina's arms by her sides.
The Noxian glared at her healer with open hostility, her body shaking with violent jerks. The Institute's only hospital was operated by Ionians, and the idea of putting herself under the care of the Starchild while in such a vulnerable condition did not please Katarina. The look Soraka was giving her was disapproving, but didn't seem to be loaded with anything heavier. Still, the assassin lay tense on the table as her body shook involuntarily.
Soraka's face softened slightly and she released her hold on Katarina's arms. "Please. Relax as much as you can."
Slowly, Katarina managed to unclench her fists. Her shakes escalated and she winced as a bolt of pain shot through her body.
"Teemo's poison attacks muscle tissue," explained Soraka. "The effects have a very short duration on the Fields of Justice, but you're getting the uninhibited version."
Katarina lay silent, closing her eyes tightly as she tried to will her body into stillness. She could still feel her limbs, though they twitched periodically and hardly responded to her commands. A sharp jab in her arm broke her concentration and her eyes shot open to glare at the syringe in Soraka's hand with a pointed hatred.
"It's to numb the pain," she said in a level voice. "It should begin working in the next few minutes."
Katarina's look did not fade. "Warn me first," she growled.
Soraka turned away. "You are far from the first Noxian I've treated."
"And how many have you killed?"
"I could ask you the same of my people, Sinister Blade, and your answer would far surpass mine."
Katarina opened her mouth to retort, but remembered Swain's words and shut it again. Now was not the time to make enemies. That day would come later, and she would be ready. But it was so tempting…if her limbs were still under her control, she would have punished the Starchild for her words. No, she scolded herself. Behave.
A door opened, diffusing the remaining tension, and Katarina watched as Ashe entered the room. Soraka looked up as well, her face a mask of surprise and confusion. "Just a visit," said Ashe quietly. "I won't be long. They said it was alright."
The healer's surprise didn't fade, but she faced away from the Frost Archer, who turned her sympathetic gaze to Katarina's rigid form. "I did warn you."
The assassin grumbled in response and Ashe approached her bedside. "Can you move at all?"
Why is she here? The idea of having visitors while in such a state was not pleasant – here she was, completely defenseless, in a room with two foreigners. And worse, one of them was an Ionian. She cursed Swain silently to herself.
The Noxian glanced down at her body and realized with vague concern that she couldn't feel anything below her neck. "No," she said in reply.
Soraka turned around. "That means it's working." She thrust a hand in Katarina's face, clutching a small, blue pill between her fingers. The Noxian's distrustful look returned.
"I'm not going to poison you," she sighed. "Just open your mouth."
Katarina grudgingly took the pill, swallowing with great difficulty. "It tastes like piss."
Soraka chose to ignore her. "It should help negate the poison. You should be fine in the morning. I'll have your personal items returned to your room." She moved to the side table and began to gather the pile of belts and knives, as well as the lone icy arrow.
"No!" snapped Katarina suddenly, reacting instinctively to the idea of an Ionian handling her blades. The healer raised an eyebrow at her and the assassin again recalled Swain's words.
"Leave them. Please."
Without a word, Soraka turned to leave, casting another look of confusion towards Ashe, who was too busy staring at the pile on the table to notice. Slowly, she reached out and took the arrow.
"I'm surprised you managed to remove it…" she whispered, her soft tone catching Katarina off guard.
"Well…it wasn't exactly difficult," she lied.
Ashe looked at her with an expression that let Katarina know that she had caught the lie, but she otherwise let the remark go unchallenged and placed the arrow back on the table. "Anyway, I came here to make sure you were alright and to let you know that Teemo's being scolded again."
The assassin snorted softly. "As if that will help."
Ashe smirked, absently brushing her hair out of her eyes and revealing the not-quite-healed bruise.
"What's that from?" Katarina asked before she could stop herself.
"Hmm?"
"Your bruise."
Ashe's hand flew to the discolored stain under her left eye. "Training accident," she replied quickly. "Stupid, really. I drew my bow wrong and the recoil hit me."
Katarina frowned, sill staring at the mark. She couldn't quite match the injury to its description. A taut arrow string would make a stinging welt, not a bruise. And the mistake sounded elementary to Katarina – the sort of thing she herself would do if she was given a bow, the same way a green assassin might cut his fingers while attempting to sheath his knife. But she was well-trained and far beyond such mistakes, the same way that Ashe was a master with the bow.
It didn't totally matter to her, but she had spent enough time in torture chambers to gain a certain understanding of when someone was lying.
Katarina opened her mouth to speak before her door opened again, this time revealing the figure of General Swain. He stepped into the room and paused to take in the scene with well concealed surprise.
"May I have a word with Miss Du Couteau please?"
Katarina raised an eyebrow at the use of her last name, and she noted Ashe looked uncomfortable in the presence of the Noxian general. "Feel better," she said as she left the room.
Swain closed the door behind her and let the surprise show on his face. "What interesting company you keep."
"Thought you wanted me to be social," Katarina retorted.
"Forgive me if I didn't expect you to take the assignment to heart," replied the general, taking a step closer to the bed and looking down at the assassin's rigid form with a frown on his face. "I also wasn't expecting you to be bedridden so quickly."
"Save it, Swain," she snapped. "Why are you here?"
He tsk-ed softly in annoyance, his bird giving a quick ruffle of its feathers. "I was going to apologize for leaving you under the care of the Ionians, but I don't feel inclined to do so anymore. I also wanted to ask when you're getting released."
"Tomorrow."
"Good." He turned away from her the moment he was assured that his pawn was not going to be out of commission for too long. At least, that was what Katarina thought with a certain level of very well-concealed disdain as she watched the well-dressed man stare with a frown at the Ionian crest displayed proudly on the wall. "Now, why is the Frost Archer coming to visit you?"
"How would I know?" shouted the assassin in annoyance. Her head began to grow light and Swain's figure distorted slightly.
"Interesting…" Swain whispered to himself. He glanced back at her, and through the growing haze Katarina caught the pity in his expression. She wished she could wipe the look off of his face.
"Get some rest. I can't have you looking like that tomorrow. And keep me updated. The Frost Archer is an excellent start." Without waiting for a reply, he crossed to the door and was gone, leaving Katarina alone with her thoughts.
Though she loathed the feeling of helplessness, she was only able to let out a quiet groan of frustration as her body lay perfectly still and rigid on the bed. The shapes of the room continued to blend into odd mixes of colors as her head grew lighter. Eventually, she succumbed to the haze in her brain and drifted into a deep sleep.
Many hours later, Katarina awoke with great confusion. Someone had moved her from the hospital to her room, and the lingering effects of the drugs gave her no memory of falling asleep. Slowly, she rose from the bed, testing her limbs as she stood. Everything seemed to be in working order.
"Finally, you're awake."
Katarina's head shot up and she instinctively moved to pull a knife from her belt, her fist closing on open air as she met the amused gaze of her sister.
"Don't startle me like that!" she growled at Cassiopeia, whose expression did not fade.
"What a way to greet someone who waited by your bedside."
Katarina turned away in response, searching for her knives.
"You're off the Fields of Justice for today," said Cassiopeia casually, "Maybe tomorrow, too."
"I'm perfectly fine," muttered the assassin through clenched teeth, opening the drawers in the dresser next to her.
"Don't shoot the messenger. Oh, and they're in the bottom left drawer."
Katarina pulled the handle viciously, revealing her pile of blades. Beneath them she could see the sleek crystal arrow gleaming in the glow of a strange blue light that came from behind her. Confused, she turned around and realized that the light was emanating from Cassiopeia, who looked pleased.
"Just what I was in the mood for," she hissed as the Summoning magic began to take hold. "Enjoy your day off, sister."
The assassin sighed, fighting back her jealousy. How badly she wanted to kill things after her last few boring days. "I need a drink."
"Don't go to Singed's place," her sister warned in parting. "It's closed for cleaning. The little voidling vomited everywhere." The blue glow intensified, and Cassiopeia's body began to shimmer. In the blink of an eye she was gone.
"Damn it!" Katarina swore. Singed ran the bar in the eastern wing and typically served champions and summoners allied to Noxus and Zaun, while Gragas ran an opposing business in the western wing for those allied to Demacia, Ionia, and Freljord. The two had started out in business together until the League had forced the creation of another bar due to the tendency of opposing city-state champions to brawl with each other. While there was no law banning anyone from either establishment, it was generally understood that both sides would stick to their own bar.
Katarina though for a moment, contemplating her options. She picked up the still-frozen arrow and toyed with it absently while she considered. Swain had suggested that she develop at least some form of social interaction between champions from other city-states. On the other hand, she really didn't want to find herself surrounded by Demacians now. She glanced out of the window and noticed that it was still early in the afternoon.
Well, damn it. She figured she might as well get up and go. There wasn't any point to just sitting around, especially since that was all she'd done since being hit with Teemo's poison. She stood up and tucked the arrow back in the open drawer, took a moment to replace all of her knives, and then took off for Gragas' place.
She walked through the halls without difficulty until she entered the western wing. There, she began to pass groups of Demacian-allied summoners who shot her strange expressions, some of disgust and others merely of surprise. Katarina answered the looks with threatening glares of her own before passing into the bar.
It was a well-lit place, and certainly more crowded than she would have liked. The looks she received in the hallway only intensified here. The patrons at this hour were mostly summoners, but in one corner, she caught sight of Garen, Prince Jarvan IV, and Tryndamere all sitting together, clearly drunk. Beside them on either side stood four stoic, unobtrusive-looking guards. The champions they watched over appeared to be celebrating an excellent match they had just had. From what Katarina could gather, Tryndamere had been their MVP, and he sat between the other two champions and seemed to drink enough for all three of them.
The Noxian rolled her eyes and avoided the table. Despite the fact that she had fully healed, she didn't feel in the mood to start anything with the enemy champions. She slid onto a barstool and held out a hand that closed around a bottle of Graggy Ice a moment later as Gragas answered her wordless request while hiding his surprise, for which Katarina was grateful.
She sipped the drink casually, staring off into the distance, thinking of and seeing nothing in particular. Her limbs, though fully under her control, felt slightly stiff, and she resolved to train that night before bed.
Behind her, the voices that she had been carefully tuning out erupted into laughter, and she turned to find the reason for the uproar, annoyed.
Luxanna Crowngaurd entered the bar and approached the table where the three Demacians sat, presumably to speak to Garen. Upon seeing the state of the trio, however, she seemed to think better of it, and after an instant of internal deliberation, she turned on her heal and made to leave.
Her move had proved too late, as Tryndamere had noticed her enter.
"Damn, Garen!" he roared, "That sister of yours sure has a sweet ass!"
The blonde girl winced and froze in the entrance, her face flushing a deep shade of crimson as the barbarian howled with laughter. Beside him, Garen looked confused, clearly deliberating as to whether he was supposed to laugh along with Tryndamere or punch him right in the face. After a moment, he let out a laugh as well, although Katarina had the impression that he was faking it. Or maybe he was just too drunk.
"Come on, Tryndamere," shouted Jarvan with a chuckle as he clapped his friend on the back, "You got a wife!"
"Doesn't mean I gotta ignore a fine ass when I see one!" he countered, turning back to the unsettled light mage at the entrance. "Hey, sweety!" he called in a voice that was far too loud, "C'mere and let me get a closer look at that ass of yours!"
Lux didn't move, clearly unsure as to what to do. Her face grew even redder, which only served to fuel Tryndamere's laughter.
A moment later, a familiar cowled figure entered the bar, placing a hand on Lux's shoulder. The girl jumped, startled, and turned to look at the Frost Archer with a terrified expression.
"Ashe, I-I'm so sorry," she stammered, "I didn't – "
The woman cut her off, her voice firm but kind. "I know." It was a reassurance as well as a request to leave, and Lux took it as such. She was out of sight very quickly, but the three men in the corner had yet to stop laughing.
Katarina watched with vague interest as the Frost Archer approached the table with piercing eyes, though she still seemed perfectly controlled. The strength with which she held herself was admirable.
"Tryndamere," she said sharply, her voice filled with ice. The barbarian finally ended his gut laugh and looked at his wife, his previous demeanor gone. Instead of the sheepish look Katarina had expected, Tryndamere's expression was one of annoyance, his tone rude.
"What the hell do you want?"
Ashe didn't falter. She lay her hands on the table and leaned over it, her glare intensifying. The two men on either side of Tryndamere looked uncomfortable, and the Demacian guards discreetly took a step closer, though made no move to interfere.
"I want you to get out of here, now," she said dangerously.
Her husband snorted and took another sip of his beer. He set the glass down and turned his hard gaze towards her, then began to stand up, dwarfing her with his size. "You think you're the boss of me?"
Despite the intimidation, Ashe still did not back down. "I think you've had enough."
The two stared at each other for several tense, uncomfortable moments before Jarvan cut through the silence.
"Y'know…it's getting late," he said with a glance out at the darkened window. "I think I'd better go and deal with some…stuff. You coming, Garen?"
Relieved for the distraction, the big soldier nodded enthusiastically and stood up to follow the prince. The guards surrounded them as they quickly made their way out of the bar. Tryndamere's fury was palpable, but he said nothing as his friends departed.
"Let's go," Ashe said again, turning to follow them. Tryndamere finally reacted, and his movement was sudden and rough as his huge hand closed around his wife's wrist.
"This way," he muttered darkly, pulling in the opposite direction, towards the back exit. Katarina thought that she saw a flicker of pain flash across the Frost Archer's face, but she allowed herself to be pulled in the direction of the door.
The moment it had closed behind them, Katarina was off of her stool and crossing the room, her bottle of Graggy forgotten. She paused with her hand on the doorknob, waited a moment to allow the couple to get further away from the door, then soundlessly slipped out into the night.
It was easy for her to stick to the small ledges that jutted out from the side of the building, so she quickly jumped onto a nearby trash can, climbing up the wall. She moved with her back plastered against the wall, unclear as to exactly why she felt such a need to follow the two of them, but excused her curiosity by thinking of Swain's instructions. Perhaps she would find out something of interest.
She caught up to them fairly quickly, her body plastered to the shadowy wall as she observed the barbarian practically dragging his wife down the darkening path. With a single, determined tug, Ashe managed to rip her arm from his grip, and that was all he needed to turn on her in a fit of rage.
"Don't you dare waltz in on me like that!" he bellowed at his cold, unflinching wife. "I worked hard today and I damn well deserved a drink!"
The archer said nothing for a moment, and even from where she crouched, Katarina could see her eyes narrow to thin slits. She maintained the same calm, level demeanor she'd held in the bar. "You are royalty," she finally retorted. "Married royalty. You do not get to openly flirt with anyone. You need to conduct yourself in a manner fitting of your title as King of Frejlord –"
He silenced her with a sudden, hard slap to the face, right over her previous bruise. She gave the softest noise of pain at the impact.
So that's where it came from, thought Katarina grimly as she continued to observe the scene below.
"Don't you ever. Question me," threatened Tryndamere. "I'll conduct myself how I damn well please."
Ashe held a hand to her face, her eyes cast downwards. She took a moment to compose herself before returning to her previous position. Though she held the same expression, her eyes now smoldered with a deep, inexpressible anger. "You'll conduct yourself in a manner befitting your state," she warned.
Tryndamere grit his teeth and began to tremble. Katarina sniffed the air and realized that the faint smell of alcohol on the breeze was coming from him.
"You bitch!" He punched her in the gut, hard. Ashe seemed to deflate in front of him, crumbling to the ground. Any noise she made this time was caught halfway in her chest as she had the wind knocked out of her. Katarina watched, her dark eyes unblinking. She stared at the figure on the ground as the uneven echoes of Tryndamere's drunken tread led away. Ashe did not move.
Get up, Katarina thought, nearly voicing the silent command. The archer was breathing erratically, eyes glued to the ground with an arm clamped around her midsection. It was the look on her face that Katarina particularly noticed.
She wasn't simply angry. She was muderous. Katarina knew the look. It was the face of one who'd been tortured countless days in a dark Noxian prison. It was the face of one whose family had been systematically slaughtered by a single blade. Oh, she had seen the expression; but to view such pure, unfiltered hatred pouring off of the Frost Archer in heated waves was startling to anyone who'd ever known the cold, calculating face of the Frejlord Queen in battle.
A moment later, the look was gone, the cowl back in its position as Ashe returned to herself. She exhaled, coughed once, roughly, then turned to leave in the direction opposite of the path her husband had taken, completely oblivious to the curious eyes that watched her from above.
By the time the last of the archer's footsteps had faded away into the night, the assassin was already gone.