Chapter 7: Uncontainable
Katarina vehemently swore under her breath as her narrowed eyes followed the smug figure of Tryndamere. He took his place on the platform, dwarfing the crowd of yordles around him, who all stared at him uneasily. Their startled expressions provided the perfect contrast to the angered faces of the Frejlordians, who threw curses at the yordle summoners across from them.
Ashe, however, was the picture of serenity, as if nothing was amiss. After a moment, her team seemed to follow her example and settled down considerably, with the exception of the barbarian summoner, who fidgeted with anger and anxiety as he deliberated with himself.
"Interesting," came a voice from directly behind Katarina, who turned to face Swain as he observed the platforms. "And here I was, thinking that perhaps I had set an example."
The assassin ignored him, turning back to the selection. The barbarian summoner was conversing animatedly with his team as the timer counted down. Finally, he stepped away from the crowd with a frustrated sigh.
"We select the duelist Fiora for our final pick," he announced with a hint of annoyance as the Demacian passed through the crowd and took her place across from Tryndamere. Though the barbarian sneered at her rudely, Fiora made a point of ignoring him. She gave a slight bow to her teammates, who seemed relieved by the summoners' choice of substitute.
"How interesting," muttered Talon beside Katarina, his eyes taking in both teams as they prepared for summoning. Swain nodded in agreement, and the two began to discuss tactics and possible outcomes for the battle. Katarina moved away, unable to concentrate on their conversation. Her eyes were drawn to Ashe, who stood stone-faced on the platform, setting a noble example for the rest of her team, who quickly adopted her demeanor as the two summoner teams took their places and began to chant the words of summoning.
A blue glow immediately surrounded the each of the ten champions, and as they disappeared, a single, elderly summoner stepped forward in between the two now-empty platforms and began to mutter a complex incantation. Moments later, a bright orb appeared at the tips of his fingers, rapidly expanding to fill the vacated space. The edges shimmered and refocused until an image of Summoner's Rift appeared on the surface. As was common, a few members of the gathered crowd began to leave, but many more lingered, curious as to how the battle would play out.
The viewing orb first followed the Frejlordian team as they organized into their lanes. Katarina's eyes followed Ashe as she moved through her team's jungle, taking up a perch by the river to watch for enemies.
On the other side of the river, just beyond the archer's line of sight, Tristana did the same, but she appeared to be distracted by the barrel of her gun. She ran a hand over the canon, humming softly to herself as she did so. From across the river, Ashe silently pulled an arrow from her quiver and gripped her bow tightly, eyes scanning the enemy jungle.
"What is she doing?" asked Talon in confusion as the archer drew her bowstring. His surprise was echoed by the crowd, who rose in a confused murmur.
Carefully, Ashe aimed her bow in the general direction of the yordle gunner, who turned her back on the river at precisely that moment.
The arrow released.
A sickening thud echoed as the missile hit Tristana directly in the back, eliciting a small squeal of pained surprise from the girl, whose first reaction was to turn back in the direction of the river with quivering hands and terrified eyes.
The move was a mistake.
A second arrow followed the first, this one burying itself directly between Tristana's eyes. The force of the impact sent her flying backwards onto the ground, where she quickly scrambled for footing, but a third arrow sailed out of the tree and quickly stopped the girl in her tracks.
First Blood, declared the announcer, and the crowd let out a roar of amazement.
Even Talon was staring at the viewing orb in disbelief. "How did she see her?"
As the audience watched, a tiny crystal hawk dove from a branch above Tristana's body, soaring directly to the outstretched hand of its master. It gave a dignified call of victory as it reached Ashe's fingers, disappearing into a burst of shimmering light. The archer's face betrayed the tiniest grin as she stepped down from her perch. The crowd erupted in shouts and applause.
"She is not to be underestimated," said Swain slowly, narrowing his eyes on the image as the minions began to spawn, beginning the true battle.
As the fighting wore on, Ashe and Nunu worked together flawlessly, denying the already discouraged gunner and her eccentric lane partner, who, despite her best efforts, could not seem to keep Tristana alive. By the battle's ten-minute mark, the ground between turrets was hardened by a sheen of ice as the Frejlordians continued to beat back their opponents.
Suddenly, the viewing orb shifted to the middle lane, where Anivia was skillfully holding off the Hexplosives Expert just as Volibear burst forward from the jungle with a furious roar. Before Ziggs had any time to react, he was thrown in the air, clamped in place by powerful jaws as Anivia froze him solid, ending him instantly. Without wasting any time, the Cryophoenix soared at the enemy turret, covering it with a blast of ice as Volibear ripped the structure from the earth with his enormous paws.
"Looks like I was right," said Swain, and Katarina turned to see the general carrying on a conversation with Talon, who was shaking his head.
"Volibear decided that one. If left alone, I assure you, it would have been different."
"What about top lane?" asked Katarina. The two men looked at her in surprise.
"Well, Fiora has that covered, of course," replied Talon.
Swain was already shaking his head. "I wouldn't be so certain."
Another shift in the orb's field of vision pulled them from their conversation and brought their eyes to the top lane, where Tryndamere and Fiora were fighting viciously, blade-to-blade. The match was quite interesting to watch, as Fiora's natural grace met Tryndamere's brute strength.
Her rapier moved with blinding speed, parrying a sweeping blow from the barbarian and landing a painful slash to his shoulder, quickly followed by a jab in his left side. By then, he had recovered, but she jumped just out of range before he could swing his hulking blade again.
"That huge sword is his downfall," remarked Talon. "Fiora moves too quickly."
"Just watch," muttered Swain.
The duelist returned her attention to the minions, though her eyes hardly left Tryndamere's form as she looked for an opportunity to attack. When he lifted his sword over his shoulder and brought it down across a wave of minions, she dove at him.
He had anticipated that. Right before his weapon dug into the offending line of minions, he changed its direction, sending the blade parallel along the ground, catching Fiora's ankle and knocking her out of the air. She gave a cry of pain as the heavy sword bit into her ankle, and the blow caused her to land awkwardly, staggering as Tryndamere rose his sword once again.
Fiora gathered her wits and deflected the blow with her rapier, causing it to glance off her sword arm. Despite the indirect hit, the sheer weight of the blade delivered a powerful enough strike, and the blunt force nearly knocked her off balance again.
She launched an immediate counter-attack, gouging Tryndamere across his exposed chest, and at the barbarian's roar of agony, it became obvious that both of them were fading. Fiora did not back down. Her rapier became a blur of movement as she took advantage of the man's limited ability to block her attacks, and just as Katarina was sure he would fall to her, he let out a ferocious battle cry and raised his blade, ignoring the hits that Fiora continued to land on his torn body.
The duelist's eyes widened in terror as she abandoned the assault, diving just to the right of his sword arm and barely missing the crippling blow that would surely have killed her. As she jumped, she threw out her sword, aiming straight for Tryndamere's chest. Her rapier tore through his heart, the blade's tip sticking straight out of his back.
The duelist grinned in triumph, but her victory was short lived.
Reacting quickly, the barbarian lifted his sword just off of the ground and pulled it in a single, vicious slash in front of him, cleaving the woman in half. As soon as she fell, he ripped the rapier from his chest just as the last flickers of rage died from his eyes. Breathing heavily, he gripped his sword tightly with one hand and began to teleport back to his fountain.
Talon cursed under his breath.
"Told you," said Swain.
Katarina continued to watch as the barbarian quickly restored to full health, still coated in blood from the previous fight. With no hesitation, he took off in the direction of the jungle.
"Where is he going?" asked the assassin, her eyes narrowing as he reached the river bank.
The orb switched views suddenly, just in time to observe Ashe take down the dragon in its sheltered pit at the river's edge.
Behind her, Tryndamere was approaching quickly, but she seemed oblivious as she took another step into the pit and began to teleport back to her team's fountain.
"Does he see her?" asked Talon, his eyes on the hunting barbarian, who was just approaching the entrance to the pit, hefting his blade over his shoulder.
A second passed in absolute stillness as the audience collectively held its breath, waiting.
At the last possible instant, the barbarian let out an enraged shout and spun his blade to close the distance between him and his wife, canceling Ashe's teleportation. The woman stared at him in shock, ducking to avoid his swinging blade, and firing an arrow as she righted herself. It dug into his chest, opposite his heart, covering him with ice crystals to slow his progression. The crowd burst into shouts and cheers, calling for blood. Katarina grinded her teeth together as the scene unfolded.
Ashe quickly scanned the area, looking for an escape, but Tryndamere was in front of the pit's only exit. She quickly dodged another wild strike, leading him to the side, her eyes locked onto the exit as she launched another arrow to meet the first. Her large, elegant bow clearly wasn't designed for close-range shots, but she seemed to be managing it despite the uncomfortable distance.
It wasn't enough. Tryndamere's next spinning slash brought him nearly on top of her, closing the meager distance she'd managed to create by slowing him. His blade cut across her back, staining her tunic crimson. His free hand closed tightly around her wrist to prevent her from drawing another arrow, causing her bow to slip from her hand. He twisted her arm at an unnatural angle, eliciting a sharp hiss of protest.
"Someone's been giving you too many kills," he whispered under his breath, a smile on his face. Anyone else would mistake his words for a harmless taunt, but Katarina saw the cruelty in his eyes as he regarded his prey.
Ashe kept her face impassive, taking a deep breath before suddenly wrenching her grip from her husband's hold and spinning around on her heel.
"Strong," remarked Swain with surprise, leaning forward onto his cane.
With her bow discarded and her back nearly up against the cliff wall, the archer's hand flew to her belt and drew the thin dagger that hung there, earning another murmur of surprise from the crowd.
"I thought she can't fight close-range," whispered the general.
Katarina shook her head, unable to look away from the orb. "She can't."
Tryndamere was staring at his wife with a perplexed expression, his eyes locked onto the tiny dagger. He shook his head and chuckled, hefting his blade onto his shoulder again.
Ashe was ready for him, and she quickly dodged the attack, desperately slashing her dagger at her husband's sword arm. Before the blow could land, Tryndamere's free hand closed around the knife, ripping it from Ashe's grip and tossing it aside. His next move had the archer pinned up against the wall by the flat of his blade.
For only an instant, Ashe's controlled face betrayed her rage and hatred as she stared up at the man who held her trapped against the cliff wall. Tryndamere only grinned, twisting his sword and using the weight of his body to drive it home, slicing the woman open from her left shoulder to her right hip as a spray of blood erupted between them.
Katarina was on her feet and out the door before the announcer had even declared the kill.
In the stillness of her bedroom, Katarina counted the seconds as they ticked by, her eyes locked onto the knife-gouged ceiling as the last lingering rays of dusk slipped away. Part of her almost wished for her sister to knock at the door, for the pull of summoning; anything at all to distract her from her thoughts, to silence the periodic thumps of her blades as they bit into the worn ceiling.
She continued the mundane exercise long after the room had fallen dark, undeterred by the fact that she could no longer see the target directly above her head. Her arms were too accustomed to the motion to let the night stop them.
After a number of hours, her throwing arm finally fell slack, releasing the knife she had been poised to throw, and the assassin fell into a fitful sleep.
It felt like only a few moments later when she was woken up by a piercing screech.
Katarina bolted upright, immediately alert, gripping the knife she had previously dropped. Her heart pounded with adrenaline as she searched the darkness for an enemy.
Movement near the window caught her attention, and she watched a small, dark shadow that seemed to perch on the sill outside, concealed by a dark curtain. Blade ready, Katarina silently rose from the bed and pulled the curtain back.
Two beady red eyes stared at her unblinkingly. The raven's midnight black feathers shone brightly in the moonlight, lending it an almost ethereal quality that unsettled the assassin, despite the fact that she was very familiar with the bird. As the two observed each other, the raven let out another sharp squawk.
Katarina flinched at the noise and nearly threw her knife at the offending creature. "Get away!" she yelled in annoyance, shooing it with her hands.
The raven made no move to leave, and Katarina finally sighed in frustration. "Fine. Whatever. Tell him I'll be right there."
Satisfied, the bird spun around and took flight, disappearing into the darkness. Katarina pulled the curtain shut and quickly got dressed, cursing to herself as she did so. Leave it to Swain to wake her up at obscene hours of the night.
The corridor appeared to be completely devoid of life as the assassin silently slid out of her door and in the direction of Swain's quarters. She had nearly made it to his door when a set of footsteps sounded behind her, accompanied by a familiar voice.
"Sinister Blade. May I speak with you?"
Katarina found herself face-to-face with the Noxian summoner who had called on her during the tournament match. Despite the late hour, she did not appear to be tired at all, and she still wore her summoner robes.
"Go to bed," grunted Katarina dismissively.
"I've been training all day," blurted the girl, "and into the night. I'm just now leaving the Fields."
Katarina examined her closely for a moment, noting that her natural confidence was once again faltering under inspection.
"And why do I care?" she asked calmly, leaning up against the wall and folding her arms across her chest. "I do not concern myself in the affairs of summoners."
The girl watched her with badly-concealed nervousness, clearly unused to the emotion. "I wanted you to know that I'm practicing. And that I plan on summoning you in practice sessions before Noxus has another tournament match."
The hall filled with an awkward silence as the girl waited for a response.
"What's your name?"
The girl looked startled by the question. "Raina."
Katarina let the name sink in. It sounded soft, unassuming. She couldn't decide if it fit the small girl in front of her. "And you believe that you're cut out to lead the Noxian military?"
Raina's eyes widened. "You saw that?"
The Sinister Blade smirked, shaking her head in disapproval. "Learn to bar your mind if you don't wish it to be invaded."
The girl's cheeks were visibly heating. "Do you always treat summoners this way?"
Katarina shrugged off the question with ease. "No, I typically ignore them." Her tone was vaguely threatening. "And do you always incessantly bother champions this way?"
Silence.
"I believe I told you to go to bed," dismissed Katarina, starting to turn her back on the summoner.
"Just you," came the reply.
"Hmm?"
Raina's voice was no longer laced with hesitation. She met her superior's gaze with a look of fierce determination. "I look up to you," she admitted. "I have for years now. That's part of the reason I decided to come to the Institute. To learn strategy. To serve Noxus. To meet you."
Despite Katarina's raised eyebrow, the girl continued. "I know, I don't look like much. I'm not cut out yet. But I'm learning. I wasn't born great…not like you."
A sudden pulse of anger flashed through the assassin's limbs, and her body went rigid at the words. Not like you.
I wasn't born great.
The corridor fell away and Raina's face faded into oblivion. Katarina found herself in a dark room, surrounded on all sides by towering, shadowed figures. The sight of them sent a thrill of primal terror down her spine. The feeling intensified when her gaze fell to her bare feet, stained crimson with the growing pool of blood that spread from the body of the man who lay before her.
"Katarina…"
Her father's voice was full of surprise, a fact that terrified her nearly as much as the mangled body on the floor. She could feel his hard gaze on her, but she could not bring herself to look up at him.
The blade slipped from her shaking hands and clattered to the ground, calling Katarina out of the vivid memory. Her eyes rose to meet Raina's. The girl grew silent as she noticed the look on the assassin's face. The two stood staring at each other for an uncomfortably long time.
"Is that what they tell you summoners?" she finally whispered, her voice low and dangerous. At the sound, Raina unconsciously took a step away. Katarina caught the movement, and something about the tiny betrayal of weakness pushed her over the edge. In a flash, she was right in front of the girl, her face inches from the horrified summoner, another blade poised in the air between them. "Is it?" she demanded when the girl didn't reply.
"I…"
The blade shifted, inching closer to Raina's throat.
"You've made a serious mistake," she whispered. "You think you can win any influence here? As a faceless summoner?" Her free hand closed around Raina's wrist like an iron vice, causing her to flinch and close her eyes. "You can't even fight back. How do you expect to lead an army?"
The silence that followed was palpable. Katarina did not loosen her grip. Neither dared to breathe, until Raina once again surprised her.
"You underestimate the value of what I'm learning here." She opened her eyes slowly to meet Katarina's. "The strategies I've seen. The tactics I, myself, have developed. It takes a lot more than personal strength to lead."
The Sinister Blade was growing even more furious at the girl's insolence. It was an insult to hear such words from a summoner. An apprentice summoner, no less. "You stand on a stone platform every day," she growled. "You remove yourself from battle and watch while we kill for you. Do not think for an instant that your little tactics make you a leader." Slowly, she ran the very tip of the blade in a line across the hollow of Raina's throat, eliciting the shallowest of scratches.
"And you think the Fields are the worst you have to deal with?" she chuckled pitilessly. "You can't handle the realities of war. Imagine living the images I showed you." The girl tensed in Katarina's grip as she leaned forward, her words so soft they came out as little more than breaths against the summoner's ear.
"Strategy won't stop this blade from plunging into your flesh –"
A little ways down the hallway, a door opened, casting a rectangle of light across the floor and sending Katarina back to the wall, returned to her original position as if nothing was amiss. Beside her, Raina stared with wide eyes at the doorway, her body still, her mind distant.
Swain stepped out of his room and into the light, turning to face Katarina with a deep scowl on his face. "I do not like to be kept waiting, Sinister Blade."
Banishing the moments that had just transpired, the assassin managed a dark smile. "I was directing this summoner to her quarters. She appears to be lost," she turned to the wide-eyed girl beside her, "very lost."
Raina seemed to break out of her trance, her eyes locking onto Katarina's. Though she expected to see defeat, the assassin found herself staring at a mask of defiance, the small girl's expression betraying anger and, perhaps, even hatred. "I'm not done with you," said the summoner, slowly turning her back on Katarina, who watched the girl's departure with a stoic expression.
"Making more friends?" asked Swain, directing her attention back to him.
"No," she said simply, stepping around him and into his room without waiting for an invitation, which she knew would annoy him to no end. "Just…correcting an apprentice who sorely needed it." She glanced around at the walls of Swain's room, noting the fairly expensive décor. How the hell had he managed to get a room with paneled mahogany walls at the Institute?
"Hmm, strange. It didn't sound to me as though you got through to her. But please, sit." Swain motioned to a large leather couch that sat beside a crackling fireplace, one of the few sources of light in the naturally dim room. Katarina ignored him.
"Why am I here?" she demanded.
Her question was met with an indignant 'squawk,' and Swain softly stroked the agitated bird on his shoulder. "Hush, Beatrice." He crossed the room and eased himself into a large wingback chair beside the fire. "Always to the point."
"It's after midnight."
"Perceptive." His tone was mocking. "And were you actually sleeping?"
The assassin moved away from him, her eyes ghosting over the tapestry that nearly consumed the opposite wall. Besides the size, it matched the one in her room almost perfectly. "No," she lied.
"Then you have no reason to complain." Swain reached into the cabinet beside his chair, removing a large bottle of scotch and two small glasses. "Care for a drink?"
Silence.
"A snack, then? You never seem to eat…"
Katarina pulled her gaze from the huge crest and folded her arms across her chest, growing impatient. "Enough with the pleasantries."
She could have sworn that she detected a faint smile on the general's face as he poured himself a drink. "I'll be away from the Institute for a few days."
The assassin cocked an eyebrow. "During a tournament?" He said nothing, taking a slow sip from his glass. "Are you insane?"
"I've discussed it with the powers that be, and they have granted me leave."
Katarina scoffed. "And what sort of lies did you tell to get them to agree to that?"
From her perch, Beatrice picked up her head and gave an irritated screech. Swain seemed unaffected. "That's none of your concern. But I would like you to know that I plan on keeping in touch with you, with Beatrice's help."
"What's so important that you need to leave right now?"
The man fiddled with his drink for a moment, his gaze growing distant. "That's none of your concern, either." He lifted the glass to his lips again, draining the rest with one gulp. "I just need you to understand that you're going to be my point of contact with the League while I'm gone, and to follow any orders that I issue, without question." He immediately began to refill his glass. "Also, it's very important that you understand the need for secrecy. My absence is to be as concealed as possible, particularly among the other champions."
Katarina considered his cryptic requests, searching for ulterior motives. When she could think of nothing outright, she shifted her focus. "And why me?"
The glass of scotch was already empty. "I would trust no one else," he replied with confidence.
"Why not Talon?"
"You outrank Talon."
The assassin chuckled humorlessly. "You ask for subordination, efficiency, and secrecy. Yet you turn to me."
The general sighed, frowning into his empty glass before setting it back down. "You are perfectly capable of following orders, despite your bravado. And it's that bravado I'm relying on to cover up my departure. And, perhaps, to carry out my particular tasks."
Curiosity was getting the best of the assassin. "What are you planning?"
Swain looked at her for a moment with a searching expression. "I've said too much already. I assure you, this will make sense in a few days." He stood up, crossing the room to a delicate golden perch that stood in the corner of the room. After gently setting Beatrice on it, he spent a moment running his hands over her feathers. She gave soft noises of appreciation.
Katarina took his lack of attention as a dismissal, and went to leave. Her hand was on the doorknob when Swain's voice stopped her.
"I will, however, leave you with this. I chose you, Katarina, because, unlike Talon, you are a leader. Anyone can follow orders. I want someone who can adapt to whatever situations they may face, even in my absence."
"Despite his ability, I will confess that I have at times questioned Talon's intent." He looked up from his position, one hand still resting on Beatrice's head. "That's crucial for an assassin. Intent. You of all people would know the difference between pressing a blade to a man's throat, and stealing his dying breath with it."
The memories from the hallway threatened to overtake Katarina again, but she forced herself to pay attention.
"What has Talon fought for all his life?" continued Swain. "His own survival. But you? Your first blade was christened in blood to serve Noxus. And you did it all of your own intent. You are the greatest weapon at my disposal, when properly aimed. And I assure you," he said, his crimson gaze piercing into hers, "you will be aimed. Soon."
A deep shiver passed down the assassin's spine as the general turned away from her. The feeling, though difficult to identify, set her body rushing with adrenaline.
"I'll await your bird," she muttered as she departed.
Sleeping was out of the question. Katarina always found it difficult to fall asleep after being woken up, even if the source of the disturbance was something mundane. Cursed with a sense of alertness that made her so well at her job, she passed right by her bedroom door without even slowing down. The halls lay cloaked in such dark stillness that even her light footfalls seemed to echo off the stone walls.
She paid little mind to where she was going, crossing out of the Noxian corridor and into the main hall, her eyes tracing patterns across the glowing purple lights that dimly lit the Institute during its off-hours. The few she crossed paths with made no acknowledgement of her as the exhausted late-shift summoners moved wraith-like to their beds.
Swain's promise rang in her head, enticing words that called forth images of bloodshed.
It was different off the Fields.
Sure, it felt similar. Battle was battle, and death was death. Yet there was a distinct difference between temporarily ending someone on Summoner's Rift, swathed in resurrection magic, and ripping the final dying breath from the chest of an opponent.
As she walked, Katarina's eyes fell to her hands. How long had it been since they had truly taken a life? As she wondered idly, she caught sight of a small fleck of red staining her nail bed. She frowned and quickly cleaned the offending blood, not sparing a thought for possible sources. The sigh that escaped from her lips was involuntary, the result of her lingering agitation.
She hated this feeling, resisted it whenever she could, yet the fact remained: death in the League was only so satisfactory. As long as she stood within the Institute's walls, she could not fight without restriction. Of course, this fact wasn't entirely lost on the assassin, as the lack of true death allowed for greater risk and freedom in battle. Yet it also led to stupidity, and, ultimately, the knowledge that anyone she killed would not pay for their inferiority, but would rise again in moments, undeterred. It was maddening.
A shadowed figure at the end of the corridor caught her attention, bringing her thoughts to a halt. Despite the fact that the figure's back was turned, a shock of white peaked out from beneath the dark cowl and gleamed unnaturally bright in the moonlight, betraying the woman's identity.
Ashe was sitting on a lengthy sill before a crystal window, seemingly unaware of Katarina's presence. Her gaze was cast towards the north, on the towering mountains that rose from the horizon. The assassin found herself idly wondering what the other woman was thinking about.
Just as the thought surfaced, Ashe turned her head, eyes twinkling under the same moonlight that lit up her porcelain skin, a stark backdrop for the dim shadow that ringed her eye.
That wasn't there before, noted Katarina as the two regarded each other in silence. A moment passed before the Frost Archer lifted her hand and motioned for Katarina to come closer. The woman hesitated for just a moment before approaching the windowsill. Her eyes followed Ashe's outstretched hand as it rested on the cool glass. Slowly, her index finger extended towards the mountains.
"Do you see that pass?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
Katarina looked out at a section of the range that was scored with cliffs that appeared precarious, even from the distance. "Over there?" she indicated the treacherous crags.
Ashe shook her head. "That's Dodkjole," she explained.
The assassin blinked. "What?"
"Dodkjole," Ashe repeated. "It means 'death chill.'"
"Pleasant."
"Generally, we don't go there," she clarified. "I was pointing to the left of that."
Beside the sinister terrain sat two enormous mountains, separated by a narrow valley. Katarina nodded in understanding.
"I live just beyond there," said Ashe with a hint of pride in her voice.
The towering glaciers looked anything but hospitable to the Noxian, but her eyes again focused on Ashe's face, this time discreetly. She caught the woman's brilliant smile, surprised. "And how do you keep from melting?" she asked casually.
The Frost Archer laughed – a long, tinkling sound that rang like bells. "I've mostly adjusted," she explained. "I do have a tendency to retain heat. Here," she took Katarina's hand in her own chilled grip, startling the other woman.
"What are you doing?" she asked quickly.
Ashe ignored the question. "Give me your other hand."
"Why?"
Without answering, the archer took Katarina's free hand, using both of them to cover her own. Slowly, the cold began to fade as the Noxian's body heat warmed them. After a minute, she could perceive no difference in temperature.
"You see?"
Katarina nodded, still holding Ashe's hand between her own. "How long will it stay like that?" she asked, curious.
"A few minutes, most likely, after you let go," she gave the Noxian a gentle smile.
Katarina felt her face heat, and she quickly released the other woman's hand, suddenly self-conscious and awkward.
"The Institute is alright, but I don't do well in climates that are much hotter than this," explained Ashe, flexing her warmed joints. "I wasn't always like way. Not as cold, that is. I was warmer as a child."
The assassin looked at her again, observing the vague fascination on Ashe's face as she examined her hand. "What changed?"
The archer made a fist and met the Noxian's eyes. "A lot of things," she whispered. "I also used to be blonde."
Katarina's gaze was drawn to the lock of pure white hair that stuck out from under her cowl, shining brighter than fallen snow. "I see."
Immediately, the woman's face hardened. She turned away from Katarina and lowered her hand, all at once standing like the dignified royal she so often was. "I apologize," she said quickly. "I should not speak of these things."
Curiosity burned inside of the assassin, yet she kept herself in check. There would perhaps be another time to learn of the Frost Archer's past. Tonight, however, she sought a distraction, since sleep had become impossible. And the way Ashe had suddenly reverted to her typical demeanor unsettled Katarina, though she could hardly say why.
Quickly, she changed the subject.
"Alright. What you should speak of is that dagger of yours," she indicated the knife, now back in its proper place.
Ashe's face maintained its passive expression as she glanced down at her belt. "What of it?"
Katarina shrugged. "I just thought you'd said that you haven't used it before."
The archer did not meet her gaze, clearly embarrassed. "I haven't."
"My offer still stands. I could teach you."
Ashe was already shaking her head. "I told you. It's just for show." She started to walk away.
"It doesn't have to be," said Katarina to her retreating figure. "I saw you today. Your first instinct when you lost the bow was to pull it."
The archer froze in her tracks, sighing heavily.
"It's not as though you don't have the ability," continued the assassin.
An uncomfortable silence filled the hallway as Katarina waited for a reply. Slowly, the Ashe's head turned back to her, giving an unobstructed view of the uneven purple ring near her eye.
"Why do you want to help me?" her voice was cold and flat, almost hostile. Her words conjured up an image of Tryndamere in Katarina's mind. No doubt his temper had gotten the better of him after the battle earlier that day.
Katarina shook off the mental image, shrugging again. "Why do you even want to talk to me?" she countered.
Ashe didn't respond, her gaze growing distant. Katarina waited for the woman to make up her mind.
"Alright," she finally whispered. "When can you teach me?"
The assassin smirked and closed the distance between them, taking hold of Ashe's wrist as she passed. "Right now."