A/N: A couple of things, mostly addressed to readers who solely view this site and as such have not seen me talking on my thread. (Yes this is long and I'm (not really) sorry.)
1) I apologize for how long this took me. The reason WHY it took me so long is because a) dude it's so fucking long, and b) (more importantly) I just completed my first semester of college, which took up more of my time than I was ever expecting. I never abandoned this story and I spent my off-hours between studying constructing this chapter, which gave me a headache because of its length and because of how important it is plot-wise. I confess I wrote drafts of it about 3 times. I already have fragments for the next chapter in development from awhile ago, so chapter 12 should not take me nearly as long as this one did, in theory.
2) I have received some seriously amazing fanart. Like, actually. I love you guys. And if you want to see it, which you should, because it is amazing, you should search up my thread on the LoL Fanfiction forum.
3) It occurs to me that, since the majority of people giving me feedback sound totally awesome, I should formally issue an invitation to anyone reading this to add Silver of Souls on the NA server and/or NyokaKione on the EUW server if they so desire to play with me sometime - I have a nice long break until classes start again. Which I will also use for writing, of course.
4) I'd like to thank Cerubois, KobuZero, and Mr Ratz. The three of them keep me writing through soft encouragement and, occasionally, pokes with sharp sticks. But you didn't come here to read a really long author's note, so let's get on with the story, shall we?
Chapter 11: Probation
Day 1
"I can already tell that this isn't going to work," said Soraka, her brow furrowing as she took in the sight of the battle-clad assassin before her.
"You and me both," growled Katarina with distrust.
The healer gestured incredulously at the Noxian's attire. "You're working in a hospital…and you show up wearing belts of knives."
"I was unaware of a dress code."
"It's common sense, really. You're on probation."
"I always have blades on me," she replied defensively, absently rubbing the tight bandage over her wrist.
Soraka shook her head, exasperated. "Not anymore. You've been assigned to work with us, and you'll follow our regulations." Just then, Akali passed by, wearing a fairly revealing nurse uniform. She seemed to make a point of not looking at the Noxian. Katarina's eyes followed the ninja as she passed.
"Tell me I don't have to wear that," she muttered. If Akali heard her, she made no indication and continued walking.
"No," answered Soraka. "Wear what you like, but you will follow our rules, which include the prohibition of weapons within the hospital walls," here the Starchild extended a hand, as if expecting the assassin to simply hand over the belts of weapons that she carried.
Katarina's eyes narrowed to thin slits as she glared venomously at the Ionian, as if challenging her. Neither moved.
"Katarina," said a voice behind her, breaking the tension in the room. The Noxian turned and found Grímnir staring at her from his position in the doorway. Her frustration transferred to him instantly.
"What are you doing here?"
"I have been sent to ensure that you are adjusting to your assigned task," the man stated simply, his expression returned to the hard stoicism he had displayed when Katarina had first seen him. "I trust you are having no problems?"
Despite his guarded expression, his eyes spoke volumes as he continued to stare at the Noxian.
You are on thin ice.
Wordlessly, Katarina broke the stare and turned back to the outstretched hand of the Starchild. Another tense moment passed before she reached down and opened the clasp, placing her belt in Soraka's hand. She moved to the bands that encircled her thighs - each holding several throwing knives – and relinquished those as well before pulling the pair of long blades from her behind her back and laying them across the healer's outstretched arms.
"And the rest," said Grímnir, earning a sharp glare from the woman as she added her arm spikes to the pile, dislodging several long, thin blades that had been concealed.
"Legs."
Katarina growled dangerously as she pulled off her leg spikes, revealing even more concealed knives. That done, she folded her arms across her chest, but Grímnir still watched her expectantly.
A full minute passed before the Noxian unfolded her arms with a sigh and reached beneath her jacket, hand closing around another hilt. Soraka's eyes bulged when she observed the size of the weapon as it was added to the pile, her eyes flying incredulously to Katarina's chest.
"How does that f-"
"Where are you putting them?" interrupted the assassin with annoyance, and the Starchild decided to abandon her question.
"In the medical supplies room," she answered. "The door is locked and well-secured."
"You will receive them again when you leave, and I recommend that you keep this incident in your mind for the future," added Grímnir.
The Noxian snorted in response, her eyes never leaving the pile in Soraka's arms. "Just tell me what to do so I can get this over with."
Soraka nodded to Grímnir after letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. To Katarina, she said, "Follow me."
The blades clinked as they walked, filling the corridors with the sounds of ringing metal. "This is the general care unit," said the healer as they passed by the open doors of several examination rooms, most of which were empty due to the fairly late hour. They reached a locked door, and Soraka motioned for the Noxian to step back.
As Katarina watched, the Starchild emitted a soft green glow not dissimilar to the glow of healing she often emitted on the Fields of Justice. The door seemed to reflect this light for a moment before slowly sliding open. They entered, and Katarina glanced around, taking in the many shelves of medical supplies.
"I don't have to learn what all of these do, do I?"
Soraka hid her smirk well, finding an empty space to store the assassin's knives. "Not unless you're here for a very long time," she replied. "You're starting small, especially with that wrist. Food deliveries, nightly checks. Things like that."
"Can I be security?"
"No."
"But-"
"Moving on." The Starchild side-stepped the begrudging woman, moving into the hall and resealing the door behind them with another burst of green energy. As they moved, they began to pass other Ionians, most of whom stared at Katarina as she passed. "Further along here, we have quarantine, for the very ill," she indicated a long hallway. "Through that door, we conduct major surgeries. Down that hallway are the recovery rooms." She continued on, reaching another corridor lined with doors. "Psychiatric ward," she stated. "Illnesses of the mind."
The Noxian snorted. "You're running a madhouse?"
Soraka fixed her with a hard expression. "A mental handicap should not be confused with lunacy," she stated. "The Institute can be a stressful place to live. We run counseling and help for those struggling with problems of the psychological nature, and I would not give me that look, Sinister Blade, considering that you were almost sent there for evaluation."
The woman stiffened, but before she could recover, the Ionian had already passed through a pair of double doors labeled 'Staff.' After a moment of hesitation, she followed the healer.
"Staff lounge, administration, and through there is the kitchen," finished Soraka, indicating everything as she spoke, "and I believe that's all you need to know at the moment. It's almost dinner time, so head to the kitchen. You're running food delivery tonight." With those words, Soraka departed.
Katarina heaved a sigh and ran a hand across her forehead. The summoners' ideas of "rehabilitation" seemed like a pointless waste of her time. Work in the Ionian hospital was apparently equated with "being constructive," which would apparently be "good for her well-being."
She was an assassin. Nothing she did was ever constructive.
Still. It was the only way to remain in the League. And her lapse in control had been…disconcerting, even in her own mind. She still couldn't piece together the moments leading up to her attack on Renekton, and, though she would never admit it to even herself, parts of her were afraid to remember.
With a frown, Katarina headed to the kitchen and found a metal cart already stacked with covered plates, and a paper outlining the list of deliveries. Better get started, she thought darkly.
After delivering meals to several sick summoners, Katarina found herself in the psychiatric ward. There weren't many deliveries to be made here, suggesting that the number of overnight patients in this hallway were fairly low. She approached the first door, wondered for a moment if she should knock, then shrugged and opened the door unceremoniously.
A pair of wide eyes met her from across the room. She stood in the doorway with the covered plate in her hand, staring at the small figure who was hunched against the far corner, trying to make himself appear as small as possible. It took her a moment to recall the name of the boy she was looking at.
Cal.
The Demacian summoner (or perhaps former Demacian summoner) was the picture of pathetic. The previously light colored carpet that surrounded his sheltered corner was stained yellow, as were his white clothes, and the bed across from him looked perfectly untouched. It appeared as though he never or seldom moved from his position.
Still, even as he stared at her, Katarina saw a brief flicker of recognition pass across his face, but only for a moment. He did not speak.
According to her written instructions, it was standard procedure to place the plates on the bedside table if the patient was not awake or otherwise unable to receive them directly. The Noxian stepped forward to do so, her eyes never leaving the frightened boy.
As she reached the table, she frowned. He didn't look as though he'd be moving to eat any time soon. She examined the paper, but found no special instructions for him in particular.
He made a soft noise then, a pitiful little sound of fear that brought her eyes back to his.
He probably thinks I'm going to kill him, she thought to herself, wondering if the boy had his wits about him enough to recognize her as Noxian.
When he made no other sounds, Katarina stepped forward, careful to avoid the yellow patches, and dropped the plate just inside of the boy's reach. He looked thin, even smaller than when she'd last seen him, but he made no move to get closer to the food.
She thought of Swain then, and wondered exactly what had transpired that day on the Fields of Justice. For one insane moment, she almost considered asking the boy, but turned away and closed the door before the sight of his pitiful body could disgust her any more.
She grabbed another plate off the top and entered the second door without a thought, hoping that whoever was there would not be nearly as pathetic as Cal had been.
She stopped dead in the doorway.
The figure that lay curled on the bed was not that of a broken summoner, as she had expected. Her eyes met a cool blue gaze, and though the woman was clearly self-aware in a way that Cal would likely never be again, her expression mirrored his in a way that was remarkable and terrifying.
For just an instant, right before the recognition kicked in, she was broken – completely and utterly broken.
"Ashe?" said Katarina, unable to keep the shock from her voice.
The look faded, replaced immediately by cold indifference. She was certainly not dressed to impose – like Cal, she wore a simple white tunic that seemed a little too large, and long white pants to match. Coupled with her snowy hair and porcelain skin, she almost looked like a ghost against the crisp white sheets. The only bits of color that stood out were the mostly-healed cut across her cheek and the familiar, ice blue eyes.
Yet still, something in her expression, once it changed to conceal the part of her that was broken, portrayed nobility. And anger. Deep, smoldering anger beneath the surface. Katarina felt a cold shiver slide uneasily down her spine.
The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before the Frost Archer finally spoke.
"Leave the plate and go," she commanded, and in her shock, the Noxian could do nothing but obey.
Day 2
In the morning, Katarina breezed through her daily routine - including another note written to Swain – before rushing to the hospital.
"Someone's eager," commented Soraka as she passed through the entrance, her mind racing, as it had been for most of the night.
"I just want to get this over with," she muttered.
"And here I thought I'd be pulling knives off of you for at least a week."
The Noxian ignored her, heading straight for the kitchen, where the same metal cart awaited her, this time loaded with breakfast. She made her rounds quickly, making all of her deliveries (save the door she knew to be Renekton's – the summoners had informed the staff that she was not to go in there) before entering the psychiatric ward.
Cal was in the same spot that she'd left him, and she once again dropped the food close by. The dishes from the previous day were gone, and she assumed that someone was tasked with clearing later at night. She wondered if the summoner had eaten anything.
When she stepped back out into the hallway, she glanced at Ashe's door and tensed, knowing that she had rushed the rest of her deliveries to reach this particular room. For a long moment, she stared at the nondescript white door, several uneasy emotions stirring in her gut.
Aside from the dismissive command Ashe had issued the previous night, the two women hadn't spoken since Katarina and the summoners had detained Tryndamere and dragged him off to who-even-knows-where. The Noxian still felt shock when she thought of the regal Queen put up in a psychiatric ward. What had her evaluation revealed? The broken gaze from the night before still haunted her as she slowly pushed the door open.
The Frost Archer was on the bed once again, but sitting up this time. She had been staring at her feet, and glanced up quickly when she had heard the door open. Katarina again felt herself taken aback, seeing the woman without her cowl, her battle dress, her bow. She seemed…vulnerable, even as her eyes once again hardened at the sight of the Noxian.
Another tense moment passed.
"What are you doing here?" she finally demanded, her eyes passing over Katarina, clearly noting the absence of her knives.
"Probation," replied the Noxian. "Summoner's bright ideas."
The archer's eyes narrowed as she remembered. "You attacked Renekton."
"Yes."
"Why?"
The question caught her off guard. "I don't know," she replied.
"Yes, you do."
The assassin kept silent, completely still under Ashe's gaze. Her hard expression never faltered or changed.
"Leave the plate and go," she finally said, in the same tone as the day before. Katarina felt the urge to challenge her this time, and so she stood for a moment, debating internally. Soon, the cold eyes won the silent battle, and she set the plate on the nightstand and departed without another word.
Day 3
"Why is Ashe here?" demanded Katarina upon entering the hospital the next morning.
Soraka looked up from the front desk and raised an eyebrow at the assassin's unconventional entrance. "Yes, good morning," she replied.
"I asked you a question," growled the assassin, placing her hands on the table and leaning forward.
"If you're trying to appear to menacing, it's not working," sighed the healer. "We both know how much trouble misbehavior will get you into." After a stern look, she returned to the stack of papers she appeared to be sorting. "As for the Frost Archer, that's none of your concern –"
Katarina cut her off. "I brought the council's attention to her –"
"…and all our records are completely confidential," finished the Ionian, as if she hadn't been interrupted.
"Without me, she would never even be here!"
Soraka shook her head vigorously, beginning to lose her patience. "Yes, I've spoken to Grímnir. I'm fully aware of the situation. You still have no access to Ashe's medical records."
The Noxian lowered her head, glowering at Soraka with dangerous eyes. "What did he do –"
The healer interrupted, slamming down the large stack of files she had been holding. "Enough. Get to work," she said dismissively, turning away from the desk and disappearing into a door behind her. Katarina glared at her back as she left, then reluctantly moved to the kitchen.
Her agitation was not helped by the fact that she had not been sleeping, her mind to preoccupied with images of the smoldering anger within the archer's eyes to even contemplate the possibility of sleep.
What have I done? Katarina wondered to herself as she absently made her deliveries, receiving considerably less stares from the patients and other hospital workers who were beginning to grow accustomed to, if not comfortable with, her presence.
She could not call the feeling regret. Regret, in her mind, was a fatal decision in battle, an instantaneous blunder, a lost match. Regret had no place off of the battlefield. It was not shameful, not remorseful - but angry, tinged with battle-fury. Every wrong move, every fatal blow she took was a bitter lesson, and in her rage at her own failures, still, she learned.
But this…this feeling. What was there to gain from this? It was the same feeling she'd felt while locked in the dream, staring at the broken figure of Ashe lying on the Institute, the same feeling she'd felt in the brief hazy moments after her failed kill on the Fields of Justice right before the resurrection magic had taken hold, the same feeling she'd had staring into Ashe's murderous gaze after Grímnir had detained Tryndamere. But she had no name for it, no knowledge of it.
However, the assassin had ways of dealing with emotions she could not comprehend.
Bang!
The door hit the wall roughly, causing the air in the room to vibrate with enraged energy. The Noxian crossed the room immediately, shoving the plate onto the side table and turning a narrowed eye towards the other occupant of the room.
The natural terror on Cal's face only escalated when their gazes locked, and he made himself even smaller as she took several slow, threatening steps in his direction.
"Are you going to say something?" she demanded in a low, dangerous voice, scoffing with disgust when she noticed another puddle spreading beneath the boy's legs. She lowered herself almost to his level, very careful to avoid the mess he was making. A long moment passed before his trembling lips finally began to move in a feeble attempt to form words.
"P-p-pleas-se," he whispered, voice hoarse with lack of use, "d-d-don't-t hurt-t m-m-me," he forced the nearly inaudible plea out with great effort, his last syllable fading into a frightened squeak as he brought his shaking hands to cover his face.
"You are the most pathetic piece of shit I've ever seen," muttered Katarina with loathing. "Made no better by the fact that you're Demacian."
The boy continued to make a series of kitten-like whimpers as he gradually pulled himself into a smaller and smaller shape.
"Your weakness only proves the inferiority of your city-state." As she spoke, her eyes fell to the boy's chest and she imagined, just for a moment, a brilliant flower of crimson spreading across his loose white shirt. The image was tantalizing, but she released it, reminding herself of the reason why she was currently standing before him in the first place.
Slowly, the Noxian rose, crossing to the table where she had hastily discarded the plate of food. She moved it back to the floor, just in reach of the cowering summoner, and departed without another word.
Anger still paced through her mind, red-hot and sharp. The feeling flared as she lay a hand on the Frost Archer's door and shoved it open…then dissipated instantly as her eyes fell to the figure on the bed.
The snow-haired woman lay asleep, curled in on herself. She was facing the door, hands clutched to her chest, her face still and peaceful in the rays of sunlight that shone from the window behind her. Katarina was again struck by her current state, how bizarre she looked without armor or her bow. In fact, she looked completely vulnerable at present – soft and fragile, a sight that would under normal circumstances lose all respect from the assassin.
Still…in her figure, there was a remarkable strength, and her limbs almost seemed to thrum with energy even as she slept. There was a life to her, a vibrancy that was evident, even now.
Careful not to disturb the other woman, Katarina gently lay the plate on the side table beside her. She surprised herself by remaining still for another moment, silently observing the archer – the way she seemed to squeeze the sheets in her grasp, the disheveled state of her hair, the sight of her brow as it furrowed slightly. How unusual it was to see the Freljord queen like this.
As if she could hear the other woman's thoughts, Ashe stirred gently before opening her eyes, her body tightening when she realized that she had company. Before Katarina could react, she had bolted upright on the bed, glaring at her with distrust. She said nothing, and the two stared at each other for a long moment.
"You can go now," said Ashe, her voice ringing with authority, but Katarina did not move from her position.
The Frost Archer's gaze never faltered and her jaw clenched tightly as the seconds ticked by. It was Katarina who broke the silence.
"Why did they put you here?" she asked, her voice coming out more forcefully than she had intended.
"That isn't your concern."
"Isn't it?"
The archer's eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. A full minute passed before Katarina spoke again.
"You know what I think?"
Ashe said nothing.
"You're not helping yourself. You're sitting there angry and you can't do a damn thing about it."
"What do you know about me?" retorted Ashe.
Katarina took a step closer to the bed, crossing her arms across her chest. "Not nearly as much as I know about rage." She leaned in, her eyes locked onto Ashe's. There it was, smoldering deep beneath the surface, ready to explode. "Such a proper, dignified monarch. When was the last time you let yourself get angry?" her tone was intentionally condescending, as if she were speaking down to a child. She saw the blue eyes in front of her flash crimson.
"Unlike you, I have self control," countered Ashe, still holding herself together despite her rising anger, "which they don't seem to teach you in Noxus."
Katarina let out a short, humorless chuckle. "If they didn't teach me self control, I assure you, the halls of the League would be permanently stained red."
Despite the subtle threat, Ashe didn't even bat an eyelash. "Violence. Killing. That's all you know, isn't it?"
The assassin fell silent, searching the archer's eyes. She realized that Ashe was shaking, almost imperceptibly so.
"That's all you know," she repeated. "It's all both of you know!" Suddenly, she shot off the bed, her hand colliding with Katarina's chest and shoving her away roughly. "Get out!"
The Noxian recovered quickly and stood defiantly, holding Ashe's gaze. The archer's trembling was becoming more visible.
"Out," she repeated again, the word so commanding it could have made anyone fall to their knees.
Katarina turned away and left, closing the door behind her with a soft 'click.' She listened at the door. The sounds of agitated pacing echoed for several minutes before the room once again fell silent.
Day 4
Despite the rise that she had been able to get out of the archer on the previous day, Ashe gave no acknowledgement of the events that had transpired that morning. When Katarina entered with the plate, she was lying on her side, facing away from the door.
"Turning your back on an assassin. Interesting decision."
Ashe didn't move. "You're not going to hurt me."
The Noxian couldn't help the gentle smirk that spread across her face. "I thought that violence was all I know."
"Are you denying it?"
Katarina thought for a moment, letting the images fill her mind once again. "No."
Silence filled the room for a long, tense moment.
"You belong in here," said Ashe. "More than I do."
As she spoke, Soraka's words danced around in Katarina's mind. I would not give me that look, Sinister Blade, considering that you were almost sent there for evaluation.
Deep within her, the Noxian felt the truth of those words, but she shoved them aside.
"Why are you here?" she asked, hoping for an answer this time. She watched Ashe's shoulder blades rise and fall in a heavy sigh.
"I'm here because of you."
The Noxian's eyebrows rose at that. "Funny thing to say to someone who saved you."
"You don't understand how to help people," Ashe said, keeping her voice level. "And it's better if you don't. It's not your style." The assassin frowned, crossing her arms and leaning against the closed door. Swain's words came to mind, and she reminded herself of the reasons she had started speaking to the archer in the first place.
"Helping people doesn't suit an assassin," Katarina agreed after contemplating for a moment, "similar to the way that being helped doesn't suit a monarch."
She watched Ashe's body stiffen at her words. "You have no idea what you've done."
"Enlighten me."
Ashe finally turned around to face the Noxian. "Did it ever occur to you that there was a reason I stayed in that marriage?"
"Well, I figured it wasn't his good looks," muttered the assassin.
The Frost Archer ignored the remark. "Our union was more than the joining of two people – it was symbolic. It linked our tribes with the Northern barbarians."
Katarina almost laughed. "You realize who you're telling this to."
The look Ashe gave her was almost capable of melting lead. "You're the last person I expect to understand my goal, Noxian," she said coldly. "Freljord has been fractured for too long. All I am trying to do is hold my people together."
"By marrying a man who beats you?"
"I wouldn't expect you to understand. Go back to work. We're done here."
Day 5
Concealing weapons was not new to Katarina. Still, she felt slightly less than confident about the idea she had thought up.
Soraka no longer glared at her closely when she walked through the door in the morning, a fact that the assassin was more than happy about, especially seeing as it was the only way that her plan would work. The size of the blades did make them more difficult to conceal, but she felt confident that, so long as the healer did not examine her too closely, she would be safe.
As luck would have it, the Starchild barely even looked up when she came through the entrance, too buried in a stack of papers to pay too much attention. "Kitchen," was all she said as the Noxian carefully made her way through the doors labeled 'Staff' without saying a word.
Despite the order, she bypassed the kitchen, making a beeline for Ashe's room. As soon as she reached empty hallway, she slipped the blades out from their hiding places at her back. She did not allow herself a moment to pause before throwing the door open, causing the woman on the bed to jump and face the door with surprise.
Katarina stood in the doorway, both blades at the ready, her face twisted into a look of violence. Without a word, she tossed one knife in Ashe's direction, hilt first. The woman barely managed to catch the weapon safely.
"What are you –" she started to ask before the assassin cut her off with a sudden charge that sent her flying off the bed as a clash of steel echoed off the walls. "Are you insane?!"
"Lift your weapon and fight," the Noxian demanded, charging the woman again without warning. The archer threw up her blade in a poor, hasty block that barely saved her neck.
Ashe managed to put distance between herself and the assassin, but her attempt to speak was again silenced by Katarina's assault. This left the archer close to the door. She made a break for it, but the Noxian was too quick, landing directly in front of her retreating form and shoving her back into the room. She followed the movement with another lunge that Ashe blocked with a violent, angry slash, nearly knocking Katarina aside.
Despite the apparent unrestrained nature of her attacks, the Noxian was being exceedingly careful not to harm the archer, but she disguised that fact behind calculated brutality. Ashe was now beginning to retaliate, striking the other woman's blades with sudden vigor. Her face had twisted from confusion to anger.
Katarina was careful to keep her own face neutral as she kept putting pressure on the archer, blade swinging wildly in complicated flourishes. Ashe began to respond with relentless rushes of her own, and though her movements were awkward and elementary, the sheer force of her attacks caught the Noxian off-guard. Katarina threw her blade out in a vicious stab, but Ashe responded with amazingly quick reflexes, knocking the blade out of her hand.
The next instant, she threw her weight against the Noxian and lifted her blade, pinning her to the wall as she rested the knife tip against Katarina's throat. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.
The assassin allowed a small smirk to form. "Are you angry yet, ice queen?"
The archer's eyes narrowed to slits and the knife came a fraction of an inch closer. Katarina stared back, unflinching.
"Do you think this is some kind of joke?" Ashe growled, venom dripping off her words.
"Not at all," came the honest reply. "Repressing your rage is quite serious."
A vein in Ashe's forehead tightened as she clamped down on her jaw.
"Get it out. Now."
Something in the other woman's eyes snapped. For half an instant, Katarina was sure that her life was about to be cut short by the knife tip at her throat. As soon as the realization entered her mind, the metal receded just enough to allow the Freljord Queen to lift her free hand, slapping the Noxian across the face, hard enough to send a flurry of stars dancing around her field of vision. Katarina tensed instinctively and automatically moved to attack, but Ashe instantly redoubled her grip.
"Don't even think about it," she growled in warning.
The instinctual urge to kill faded, but Katarina remained on high alert. "Am I really the one you're mad at?"
Ashe remained silent for several long moments, but her grip did not slacken.
"Why did you let me live?" she finally asked.
The words twisted knots in Katarina's stomach. "What are you talking about?"
"In the battle. Right before you attacked Renekton," she spoke urgently, her face searching the Noxian's. "You had me. You could have ended it right there."
"You were too fast," she insisted.
"That's a lie."
"I'm complimenting your quick reactions," Katarina's voice rang heavily as her glare intensified. "I suggest you take it."
More silence.
"You couldn't kill me."
"Bullshit!" Katarina made a sudden, fruitless jerk against Ashe's hold.
The Frost Archer shook her head and tightened her grip. "You had a full two seconds and you couldn't kill me."
"That's not –"
"Why?" Ashe's face was directly in front of hers, icy gaze burning holes into her skull. "Why did you throw the match?"
"I didn't throw shit!" she hissed.
"And why have you been visiting me?"
"I told you, I'm on probation."
Ashe's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? And is that how you're meant to help the patients? By attacking them with knives?" Her voice was rising, and she was beginning to shake when she spoke. "I don't know what shit you're trying to pull, Katarina Du Couteau, but I'm not putting up with it."
Katarina's expression turned incredulous. "What I'm trying to pull?"
"You've ruined everything!"
"Have I?"
The knife blade lowered just slightly. "Do you realize what's going to happen when word of all this travels north? When my people hear that their king is locked in the Institute's prisons?"
Katarina pretended to think for a moment. "No. Should I?"
Ashe grit her teeth in frustration, losing whatever remained of her usual cold, measured composure. "The Barbarians are going to revolt. They'll turn against me, against the tribes, because they'll think that I've betrayed them. Tryndamere's imprisonment is the worst kind of insult in their eyes!"
The two remained in tense silence, Ashe's words hanging heavily in the air. Finally, the corners of Katarina's mouth twitched into a gentle smirk. "And good riddance."
Two things happened at once. First, the knife slipped from the archer's fingers, clattering to the floor. Immediately after, an icy hand slipped around Katarina's throat and squeezed once, tightly. The Noxian tensed and once again reigned in the urge to kill. Some logical part of her that had spent countless hours studying the eyes of torture victims told her that this woman was not capable of taking her life.
Regardless, the Freljord Queen's anger persisted. "Let me get one thing clear, Noxian." The Frost Archer's fingers twitched slightly as she spoke, but did not loosen. "I would do anything for my people."
"Why do you think you need him?" Katarina's words were strained, but she still managed to force them out.
Ashe's eyes seemed to search hers again, and she loosened her grip ever so slightly. "Because of you."
"What?"
"Noxus. Demacia. Piltover. All strong city-states. All composed of citizens united under their own common goals." Ashe's words were heavy with emotions that Katarina could not identify. "And Freljord? Fractured. Always at war with itself. We have enough potential enemies in the rest of you, and still we kill each other." Her tone was tinted with well-concealed sorrow. "It must not be. I've made it clear that my main goal is and always will be the union of my people. Freljord will not live in the shadows cast by the rest of you."
Determination mingled with the anger on her face, and Katarina felt the success of her plan. Here was the side of Ashe that few saw, the side that was never allowed out. What was more, she felt the woman's unwavering loyalty and love for her land in every word she spoke. There was something she could understand.
Still, it would have all been much nicer if she could breathe.
She slowly shook her head back and forth, indicating discomfort, and Ashe again loosened her grip, just enough to easily let air in. The assassin took a moment to recover from the tight hold before speaking again.
"Your efforts are pointless. Valoran is in peacetime."
It was Ashe's turn to smirk. "You, of all people, should know that this won't last."
Her words sent icy shivers down Katarina's spine, and under Ashe's cold gaze, she found herself wondering if the archer knew what she was concealing. This wasn't the plan. Can't let her get too far off course.
"Whether it does or not is irrelevant," she argued, "if your choice of allies is so poor."
Another heated flare. The cold fingers around her neck twitched. "The Barbarians are good people," growled Ashe, "and allies that I fully intend to keep. The political situation is tense and a split will be disastrous. Which is why I can't forgive you."
Shit.
"And why are you so angry at me?" asked Katarina, knowing that she was rapidly approaching some hidden limit within the other woman, "as if I was the man who put you through all of this."
Ashe seemed to recoil from her words. "I told you –"
"Protecting your people. I can understand that. Letting that idiot barbarian rule your land? Rule you?" The words came out as an accusation, and Ashe's face twisted into a look that was almost pained. Katarina paused, carefully examining the other woman for a moment.
Her eyes widened as she understood.
"You're not angry at me at all."
The look faded instantly, replaced with the anger. "That's not what I –"
"No." The word came out with force, and Katarina ripped her wrist from the archer's hold and twisted her body, flipping the two of them around so that Katarina was the one pinning Ashe to the wall. "You're angry at him. I knew that - it's why I'm here, to get you to admit it. But I just figured it out – you wanted me to tell."
"What are you –"
"You needed help, and you fucking knew it," the Noxian insisted. "That's why you stuck around. You wanted to get the hell out, and you had no idea how, because you're oh-so-noble, you're willing to sacrifice your own fucking body just to do what you think you have to. But you knew that I knew, didn't you?"
Ashe did not respond.
"You saw it. I know you did," Katarina continued. "Maybe you didn't even realize what you were doing. But some part of you wanted out."
"You're wrong."
"Bullshit. You needed an exit and felt cornered. You couldn't bring yourself to tell anyone else. No…that would be a betrayal in your mind, wouldn't it?"
Ashe tried to look away, but the Noxian followed her gaze. "Look at me. You know it's true. I knew what he was doing and you recognized that. You could have cast me away, and that would have been that, but you didn't."
"Let me go."
"Admit that I'm right."
"LET ME GO. RIGHT NOW." In a single violent shove, Ashe threw the Noxian across the room, sending her crashing into the side table. Katarina barely even felt the pain, her eyes locking onto Ashe's murderous gaze.
"I wish I could kill you!" She roared, her hands balling into fists.
"Me, or him?" asked Katarina.
"Both of you!"
Katarina slowly stood up, ignoring the shooting pain in her back where she had collided with the corner of the table, as well as the angry throbbing in her broken wrist.
"You know why I attacked you today?" she asked, carefully stepping closer to the archer, as if she were a desperate, cornered animal that would strike at any moment. In a way, she was. "You're so angry. Furious. Murderous. But who would ever know? The ice-cold Freljord Queen doesn't feel anger, does she?" She paused right in front of the woman, but did not touch her. "Trapped for that long – you're ready to murder him. But you fucking repressed it. That's something you just never do."
Ashe's balled fists started shaking at her sides.
"You're finding that out pretty quickly."
Without warning, Ashe lurched forward – not at Katarina, as the assassin originally thought, but at the bed, where she landed in an animalistic crouch and began furiously beating the pillow. Katarina watched the spectacle with a hint of amusement. The look was cut short when, over the enraged shouts of the Frost Archer, the Noxian heard the sound of the door click behind her, snapping her into full alert once again.
Immediately, the assassin turned on her heel, face-to-face with a very bewildered Soraka. Before the healer could properly register what was going on, Katarina closed the distance and threw her weight against the door, slamming it shut in the Ionian's face.
Ashe continued beating the pillow, oblivious, as shouts came from the other side of the door that Katarina continued to hold shut.
"What's going on in there!?"
Katarina could think of nothing to say that would explain the odd situation, and so she remained quiet as the healer pounded on the door in time to Ashe's own furious punches.
"Open this door!"
Katarina swore under her breath as she felt a particularly rough punch against the wood beneath her left shoulder. Suddenly, the voice was no longer Soraka's.
"Let us in!"
The words were deep and filled with a cold fury, punctuated with a single, definitive thud that splintered the wood of the door and sent Katarina flying. She was caught mid-air by a rough grip around her one good wrist as it arrested her movement, shoving her against a deceptively strong body. Cold steel found its way to her throat.
"What's going on here!?" demanded Grímnir, holding Katarina firmly in place as his eyes moved to take in the bizarre scene, landing at last on Ashe's crazed, animalistic figure.
The sound of his voice seemed to break through to her, and she finally halted her relentless attack on the pillow.
"Get out!" she screamed, her voice some horrible deformation of her usual commanding tone, dripping with malice as her eyes narrowed on the intruders.
"My queen –" Grímnir began, but was instantly cut off by another scream. Soraka backed out of the room without question, and the summoner began to follow suit, keeping his blade hovering an inch from Katarina's throat. The assassin slowly reached behind her back and held her broken wrist in her one good hand, feeling the limb again throb with protest at her mistreatment. Slowly, she raised her head – careful not to disturb the blade – and met Ashe's cold eyes, which were burrowing into her own.
"Release her!" she commanded in the same voice. As if her words were a spell, the knife disappeared. Katarina did not move, her eyes locked onto Ashe's as the summoner behind her reluctantly left the room.
Silence filled the room as the two regarded each other – Katarina with a deceptively calm assurance, and Ashe with a hint of the rage she had just expressed hanging thick on the air. Her chest heaved as she gradually caught her breath, streaks of pale white hair clinging to her forehead.
"Why did you do this?" she finally asked, cutting through the silence of the room.
Katarina rubbed her wrist absently as she spoke. "I told you. You needed to release your anger –"
"I understand that," interrupted Ashe, "but why? Why even bother?"
Katarina thought of Swain in that moment, of the letters she'd received, but she said nothing.
"Get out," ordered the Frost Archer after a long moment of silence.
Katarina waited a full minute before she turned away from the woman on the bed.
"...But come back tomorrow," she finished softly, and the assassin only nodded in response as she stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.
She was not surprised to find Grímnir and Soraka staring at her sternly.
"What do you think you're doing?" the man demanded roughly, glaring at her with distrust.
"Helping her," replied Katarina, her eyes traveling towards Soraka as the healer spoke up.
"I saw your knives in there," she began, "you know the rules."
The Noxian nodded slowly. "You have my permission to remove them. Later, though. The Frost Archer needs rest."
"I'm far more concerned with how they ended up there in the first place," interjected Grímnir.
Katarina stood stoically, her eyes flicking between the two imposing figures, betraying no hint of intimidation. "I brought them, naturally."
Grímnir's natural composure was very rapidly breaking. "And what possessed you to do that?"
"You should believe me when I tell you that I'm helping her."
"And why should I?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "You've brought illegal weapons into the room of the vulnerable monarch of a foreign city-state and clearly caused her much disturbance. Given your history and your ranking in the Noxian military, I see absolutely no reason to trust your words."
Katarina crossed her arms as well, mirroring his stance and expression. "I seem to recall you being the one she sent from the room, not me."
Just as Katarina began wondering whether they'd be locked in a staring contest forever, she felt a familiar stirring in her mind, and tensed instinctively.
I never said you could do that, she growled in warning.
Strange words, from a woman who wants me to trust her, countered Grímnir as he began sifting through memories.
Katarina grit her teeth against his inspection and quickly shoved him out with a force that surprised even herself. My words are truth; my thoughts are my own.
Don't think I haven't seen it already, replied the summoner darkly, his expression turning back to stone.
Katarina's eyebrow twitched in confusion at his strange words. What are you talking about?
The League understands you far better than you understand your own self, Du Couteau, he replied cryptically, we see what you do not acknowledge.
Whatever thought the Noxian had been about to throw back at him died as he turned away from her with finality. "She speaks the truth. Allow her to continue her probation unhindered."
Soraka, who had been watching the silent exchange with well-concealed curiosity, stared at the summoner with surprise that was not so well-concealed. "Are you certain that she –"
"Yes."
The word held so much weight that even the healer seemed to forget whatever she had been about to say, cast one more exasperated glance at the assassin, and quickly went to follow him as he began down the hallway.
Katarina fell back against the wall, pressing a hand to her forehead. As she did so, she felt the presence in her head again, and tensed instinctively before realizing that it was not meant to be invasive.
Remember what I have done for you, Katarina Du Couteau, after the ice breaks.
The assassin gave a sharp, involuntary shudder, nearly collapsing under the weight of his words. Though she could not understand them, they struck her harder than any weapon.
Day 6
The next morning started out very unusually - with a loud knock on the door.
The sound was so unusual, in fact, that the Frost Archer sat up and stared at the door for a full ten seconds before replying with, "Since when do you knock?"
Katarina took that as a "come in," and entered with a plate of food, which she immediately brought to the table beside the bed. Her only answer to the question was a gentle shrug.
"Don't tell me you're actually concerned for my well-being."
Would I be here if I wasn't? thought Katarina briefly, but out loud she said, "No, that would be ridiculous," in a voice completely devoid of pleasantness.
Something in Ashe's expression told her that she wasn't fooled, but she let the matter slide. "This is going to sound strange," she began, adopting a manner of speaking that was dignified and yet somehow still casual. "But I want to thank you."
"It doesn't," replied Katarina.
A long moment of silence filled the room, and the assassin stood next to the table, staring absently at the plate of food.
"I wasn't going to tell you this," said Ashe softly, and the other woman rose her head in curiosity. "Do you remember that night in Gragas's bar?"
The Noxian's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You didn't..." She turned to meet the archer's gaze.
"Eigile was overhead. He noticed you. I didn't realize until later - he's my hawk," she added for clarification as she noticed Katarina's look of bewilderment. "What you said last night was, in some way, true. I did know that you saw him for who he was. I also - mistakenly - believed you would not tell..." here she tilted her head, searching the Noxian's face. "You surprised me. I thought I understood you, in that respect."
"Yet you sought me out," said Katarina, unnerved by the way Ashe was scrutinizing her and wanting to change the subject.
"That I...can't explain," she confessed. "You may have been right there as well. But...I won't acknowledge it." Ashe dropped her gaze and her cheeks seemed to color, just slightly. "Also I...take back what I said. About you being like him."
Silence.
"No, you're right," said Katarina. "Violence is all I know. Although I'd appreciate it if you could refrain from comparing the two of us."
Ashe was shaking her head before the other woman had finished speaking. "The fact that you're even standing here, having this conversation with me, proves your difference."
The assassin scoffed and folded her arms.
"Oh, stop it," said Ashe, reaching out and taking Katarina's good wrist in her hand, contact that sent pleasant rays of cold down the Noxian's arm. "I may not have completely figured you out yet, but I do know there's more to you than anger."
"Not very much," answered the assassin, pointedly ignoring the physical contact.
"Like it or not, Katarina, you care. I'm not sure why, but you do."
Katarina felt the rising discomfort again, and it increased exponentially when she heard the other woman speak her name with a hint of fondness to it. No one spoke to her like that, and she visibly fidgeted, agitated by the contact. Why was Ashe bothering to speak to her? And why was she listening?
"Yesterday, you helped me release my anger," said Ashe. "I want to help you see that anger doesn't have to control you."
The eyes were on her again, searching, looking for something. Gods, those eyes. How did anyone have eyes like that? How could she look at her and know so much?
Why would she even try?
"You can stop doing that, because you're not going to find anything," said the Noxian, pulling her wrist from the archer's grasp and heading for the door.
Ashe smiled softly and watched the other woman as she left. "I already have," she whispered, but Katarina was just too far away to hear.