A/N:

ideal formatting is on ao3 (link in my profile). i post the new chapters there first.

i would be most grateful for any reviews/thoughts. enjoy! :)


The war began because of the blue-haired, blue-eyed beauty.

She had refused a marriage proposal from the Noxian Crown Prince. So the Prince and his guards slew most of the Piltovan Councillors, tore down the border wall from the inside, and their army invaded. In mere days, half of Piltover was in Noxian control. The remaining Piltovans retreated behind the river that split the country in half and burned the bridges, buying just enough time to construct fortifications to protect what was left. There, they held on by a hair's breadth, their superior technology their one saving grace.

You didn't think it possible for one to be beautiful enough to start a war. There must have been other reasons for such wanton devastation.

But then you laid eyes on her.


The first time you met her, the sky was grey.

The mood of the Piltovan encampment was the same. Piltovan soldiers watched the arriving Zaunite reinforcements with a mixture of curiosity, disdain, and relief. Their military uniforms, blue with gold detailing, spotless and refined, were in stark contrast to the Zaunites' grey fatigues, dusty and crumpled from your travel here. The air smelled of smoke, sweat, and barely disguised resentment. As you and your soldiers moved to your designated area, Mylo, being Mylo, made one of his characteristic careless remarks.

"Don't see why we have to clean up their mess," he grumbled under his breath. They treat us like dirt under their fingernails for decades and now we fight for them?" He spat on the ground.

Cold Piltovan stares pierced at his disrespect. This silly man. You, of all people, do not want to be fighting for them. But if the Noxians conquered Piltover, Zaun was next. You fought because of necessity, not of want. If more wasn't at stake, Piltover could burn to the ground and you'd thank the heavens.

But before you could ask him to shut his big mouth, he said something even worse, heedless of the atmosphere, the volume of his voice. "I say we take back Piltover, give the Noxians the bride they want in exchange for peace, and tell them to fuck right off."

You closed your eyes and sighed.

It was too much to hope that no one heard him. A Piltovan lieutenant—Nolan, by her name tag—marched right up to him, her orange bob swishing in indignation. She shoved his chest. He shoved her back. Claggor grabbed his shoulders while another Piltovan lieutenant, Steb, held Nolan back.

A voice cracked out.

They stepped back from each other, hatred twisting their faces. But it was too late. The damage was done.

All fell silent. Breaths were held.

Then Caitlyn Kiramman strode into the scene. Blue-haired, blue-eyed beauty, indeed. She moved like a feline—sleek, purposeful, almost sexy. Taller than you, legs for days. All lean muscle. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail and her dark, perfectly plucked brows pulled together as she studied the scene, then turned to you. When those blue eyes snagged yours, there was a flutter in your stomach.

It was hard to say how long you stared at each other. It could've been minutes, seconds, months. All you knew was that it felt impossible to look away. You wanted to apologise for Mylo's disrespect, for the uncomfortable atmosphere not ten minutes into the Zaunites' entrance. But the apology stuck in your throat, unable to be dislodged.

But she spoke first, taking you by surprise. "My apologies for Lieutenant Nolan's behaviour." Her gaze lingered on your cheek tattoo, then dipped to your name tag. "Captain Violet."

You had never heard your name in such posh Piltovan accent. Annoyingly, another flutter. "Apology accepted," you replied in a voice less shaky than you feared. "And mine, for my subordinate's, Major Kiramman."

She held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. "I look forward to working together," she said. And without waiting for a response, she departed as swiftly as she arrived.

You watched her go, knot still in your throat. Thoughts crashed together like cymbals in your head, but overwhelmingly, the one that rose above all else—

You now knew what kind of beauty could inspire a war.


The next time you met her, was only a few hours later.

A mission briefing. In attendance, the Piltovans—General Grayson, Major General Marcus, Major Caitlyn Kiramman; and the Zaunites—General Sevika, Major Ekko, and you.

General Grayson had much to say. She went on and on about the promise of Piltover's and Zaun's partnership, of your victories on the Northern Front pushing the Noxians back, how it was now possible to take back the rest of Piltover.

She didn't mention, of course, the constant skirmishes between Zaun and Piltover; or the long-standing contentious issue of House Kiramman owning hexore mines in Zaun territory and their infamous, violent solution to the miners' rebellion; or how a Piltovan enforcer murdered Vander, the first President of Zaun.

No, it wouldn't do to bring up their very long, very bloody, acrimonious history.

And even if she did, you weren't really listening anyway. Your gaze was fixed on Caitlyn, as was hers on you. Away from the tense atmosphere earlier, you were better able to observe her. The youngest ever Head of House Kiramman; twenty-four years old, only a year older than you. The daughter of the woman who sanctioned the suppression of the mine workers' rebellion. You wondered if she knew she was staring at the daughter of the deceased leaders of the rebellion.

Maybe she did. Weariness wore on her face; wariness sparked in her eyes. But something else simmered there, unable to be parsed. Her full lips pressed together into a thin line as she took you in—the piercings on your lip and ears, the mullet that grazed your neck, and the shoulder tattoo that peeked from your collar.

"What do you think, Captain Violet?" Grayson asked, jarring you from your thoughts. You turned your head away from Caitlyn. Everyone was staring at you expectantly.

"I'm sorry, what was the question?"

"Were you not listening?" Marcus asked with a sneer.

"Marcus." A warning from Grayson.

Ekko and Sevika's eyes flicked over to you, apprehensive. But he would not get a rise from you that easily. They needed you here, as Grayson said. And that gave you magnanimity. "I was listening," you said evenly to Marcus, then to Grayson. "I just wasn't sure exactly what your question was. But yes, I am pleased my company secured your position on the Northern Front for you. Yes, your strengths lie in long-range combat and ours in close combat. And yes, with our combined might and current position, there is no better time to launch an offensive for the first time since the war began to retake Piltover City, then the rest of Piltover."

Grayson smiled. "Very good, Captain Violet. I am glad we are in agreement. With your achievements so far, both domestically and here in the war, it is Piltover's fortune to have you leading our ground troops for this offensive mission."

"What?" Marcus burst out. "We can't have a Zaunite leading—"

"Watch yourself, Marcus," Grayson cut in, bite in her tone. "We have struggled to secure the Northern Front in the three months this war has been ongoing. Captain Violet and her soldiers did that in a month." She nodded at Sevika. "Under General Sevika's guidance. They are simply more adapted to urban warfare than we are."

"Have them assist us, fine! But we should lead the charge. We are the most powerful. And it is our country!" Marcus snapped.

"Unfortunately, we lost the privilege of being the most powerful when we lost half our country. It is us, who will now assist them, with our knowledge of Piltover. I am not risking lives for your pride." Grayson paused to compose herself, then continued in a quieter voice, "Our long-range technology is unmatchable, geared towards the defence of our borders. But we cannot use them to retake the city, not when there are innocent civilians everywhere and we want a city to return to. The Noxians know this. They've quite clearly grown their skill in close combat and guerrilla tactics in preparation for this war. So be quiet, unless you have something useful to say," Grayson finished her admonishment, then angled her head to you. "Captain Violet will lead the ground offensive."

"Under our guidance," Sevika reminded Grayson, pointing between them. "And together with Captain Ekko, who leads the other company and—" Sevika looked to Caitlyn. "With your assistance too, I imagine?"

Caitlyn met Sevika's enquiring look. But when she said nothing, Grayson replied smoothly for her, "Of course, Major Kiramman is in charge of our artillery and snipers, and will clear the way in the first instance for the close-combat forces to move in."

A mixture of curiosity and disgust simmered inside you at the gall of Caitlyn to ignore Sevika. She had not said one word this meeting, only sat there looking pretty. This was to be your first major offensive and your first mission for the combined forces and she had nothing to contribute?

Those icy blue eyes flicked over to you. Almost like she could sense the hostility that raged in your mind. Her lips twitched as though suppressing a sneer; your jaw clenched.

"Alright then," Grayson said. "Let's talk details."


The preparations for the offensive began.

Along with planning strategies, the Zaunites continued to exercise, practice sparring, and become familiar with new Piltovan technology and weapons. But more importantly, they found some space to catch a well-deserved break. You'd been fighting nearly nonstop for a month. Even the most battle-hardened could use some time to rest, to process all that's happened.

It's not like you were a stranger to violence. Zaun was once a nation ruled by five gangs. Everyone grew up fighting. For territory, for honour, for loved ones, for food. Until Vander united Zaunites nearly a decade ago—capitalising on the nationalist sentiment that emerged after the miner's rebellion, he brokered truce through a combination of negotiation and brute force—your earliest memories were full of violence. And even since then, your role as peacekeeper included less peace and more physical confrontations than one would think.

And so, you did what you always did. Looked after your people. Exercised. Completed paperwork. Trained. Write letters to Powder. After Vander's passing, Benzo took the reins of Zaun, with Sevika as his deputy. But while she was here leading the Zaunite army, you had insisted Powder remain behind to assist Benzo, rather than risk her life on the war front. She had argued. Furiously. With a physical tussle here and there. But eventually she conceded, frequent letters and a promise to return safely her two non-negotiable conditions.

Then on another grey day five days later, this one with clouds swollen with the promise of misfortune, the Noxians attacked.

The hextech turrets whirred into action, shattering the orderly calm of the day. Alarms blared immediately after, and you leapt to your feet, upending the carton where you had been playing cards with Mylo and Claggor, drinks spilling everywhere.

An explosion.

On the east side of the fort.

While the Zaunites scrambled into action, you noted with reluctant admiration that the Piltovans were already armed and ready to go, a result of no doubt countless repeated drills. It seemed discipline and practice were a necessity in such terrible times, the war a far cry from their usual luxurious lifestyle. But then again, you thought as you dashed towards the barracks, Piltover has always maintained a sizeable army of enforcers to protect their borders against their poorer neighbours and to enforce their laws.

Another explosion.

This time, debris rained down upon the camp. A chunk of concrete slammed into the ground where you just were a second ago. Blood rushed in your ears. You dived into your room as the gunfire began.

Rifle. Hextech vest. Helmet. Then, most importantly—Powdertech gauntlets. This was how Powder kept you and the other Zaunites safe. You strapped them to your side, then headed back out.

The fort was holding well. Piltovan and Zaunites jostled by to amass into their squads and companies. Turrets boomed on the ramparts; artillery drones buzzed overhead. Snipers would be hidden in nooks inside the wall, picking out enemy officers. You had the brief wondering thought where Caitlyn was—

Sevika's bark of orders drew your attention. She was composed as always, already in her battle gear, Powdertech arm humming in anticipation. Your eyes met. She jerked her head towards the decided exit.

Excellent. It was time to begin.

Your soldiers stood ready and prepared, Mylo and Claggor at the head; all clutched some kind of Powdertech weapon. They looked to you with determination. These were your soldiers and would die for you, as you would for them. With a tight smile, you rolled your shoulder, then gave the signal.

The hidden entrance sprang open, and the Zaunites poured outside the wall, directly into the right flank of the Noxian army. Your sudden appearance caught them off guard, and the back lines whirled around in shock, their weapons firing off wildly. Hextech shields sprang up from your front line, bullets ricocheting off harmlessly. For the Zaunites anyway. Some strays hit the Noxians, soldiers crumpling to the ground.

You gave the order. And the first rank opened fire.

Slowly, methodically, your company advanced.

Fire. Shield. Next rank replaces the front. Reload. Fire.

Fear-stricken screams joined the cacophony of noises. Ekko and his company should now be on the other side, attacking the Noxian's left flank. Caught in Zaunites' pincers, it soon became a blood bath. Your company was now moving through the bodies of those first felled; hands clutched at your shins, the smell of blood and excrement clogged your nose. Claggor and the brawlers took care of the unlucky surviving Noxians lying on the ground.

It wasn't long till the Noxians attacking the fort were mowed down. You saw Ekko across the field of corpses and exchanged a grim nod. There were no more Noxian reinforcements coming. The Noxians had ceased their advance across the river, their makeshift bridges pulled back towards their side of the river, unwilling for them to be used by the combined forces for any counterattack.

But unfortunately for them, you had planned for this. Orchestrated this very attack, in fact. The Noxians were good close-combat fighters. That and the element of surprise were the only reasons why they could've brought the mighty Piltover to her knees the way they did. But they were not as good as the Zaunites. With careful misinformation, they were led to believe the Zaunites would arrive a week after the time they actually did. Then all it took were some "lazy guards" at the Eastern side of the fort as bait, and the Noxians fell for it.

Hook, line, and sinker.

The hextech turrets switched their targets, and together with the drones, started bombarding the Noxian's defensive fort across the river. Under their cover fire, Piltovan makeshift platforms appeared quickly on the river. With a cry, the combined forces charged.

The Noxians remaining on the riverbank to defend retreated into the presumed safety of their fort. Their artillery put up a good fight, but ultimately fell short compared to hextech. Missiles battered their fortified walls relentlessly. At the first cracks, the Zaunites were there, cutting every and anyone down. In the face of the notorious Zaunite ruthlessness, it was too much for the Noxians. The fort came crumbling down, and the Noxians broke, scattering like dandelion seeds into the buildings beyond.

You found yourself caught up in the angry, hopeful wave of soldiers that surged through the broken fort and into Piltover City. This was the time to regain ground. But it would be hard work, given the vast metropolitan area. The Zaunites broke into smaller squads, and as planned, advanced into the city to secure sections of territory by suppressing all resistance, taking important prisoners, and helping trapped civilians.

It all became a bit of a blur. Everything narrowed to the rhythmic shudder of your rifle, the crush of skulls under your fists, the stickiness of blood beneath your boots. Information flowed through your earpiece and you pivoted where necessary, redirected others as required, and advanced as ordered.

Then, another explosion. This time far too close for comfort. You were flung away, crashing through the windows of a corner store into the aisles. Magazines and kitchen supplies tumbled down on your battered body.

You blinked rapidly. Dust and smoke swirled in the air. Your ears rang. Then, the world flooded back in with battle cries and the unceasing rat-tat-tat-tat of gunfire. Slowly, gingerly, you tried to stand.

A hand seized your collar, yanking you back down as bullets sprayed into the shop.

You whipped around, poised to strike—Caitlyn Kiramman. Her blue eyes bore into yours, cold and considering. "Remain out of sight," she instructed, peering through the shelf of party supplies towards the store entrance. "No one knows we're in here and I'd like to keep it that way."

Even in the midst of the battlefield, right on the frontline, she looked pristine and put together. Unbelievably so. Her hair was pulled into a tight, low bun under her helmet; her uniform was pressed and somehow didn't have a single speck of dust on it. She held a hextech sniper rifle in her hands, the gun seemingly incongruous with her elegance, and when she made to move, you grabbed her arm to halt her.

She turned on you. "What are you doing?"

"Stopping you?" you answered as though it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world. You pulled yourself into a sitting position. "You're a sniper. You're not supposed to be here until we clear the section. You hole up in an already cleared section and snipe."

"Unhand me," she demanded in that snooty accent of hers. When you did not, indignation flashed on her face. "Unhand me this very instant, Captain, or I will write you up for insubordination."

Frustration also flared inside of you. "It is I who will report you for insubordination. You may outrank me, but I am in charge of this offensive mission, not you. It is not safe for you to be here on the frontlines."

"I am a senior officer. I have my own mission to attend to, which is none of your business."

"Don't be ridiculous. There is no mission here except for retaking and securing sections. And every minute I waste here arguing with you is a second I spend not securing them."

"Then unhand me and be on your way!" she snarled, trying to yank her arm away.

"No." With your other hand, you reached for your radio, wanting to call someone to take this ridiculous woman away. But without warning, Caitlyn head-butted you—not with enough force to properly hurt, but enough to startle you into letting go—and darted out the aisle.

"What the fuck?" You said as you lunged, catching her ankle and she tumbled to the ground, one hand still gripping her rifle. "What is wrong with you?" You had to avoid the kick to your face as you grabbed her ankles and pulled her back into the safety of the aisle. "Everyone is out here risking their lives for you in this war and you're going to just offer yourself as a big fat target right on the frontlines?"

Another barrage of bullets slammed into the aisles as though to illustrate your point.

Both of you went still.

And when the danger passed, Caitlyn shoved you away, and you realised belatedly that you were hovering over her, the instinct to protect too automatic. "It's precisely that people are out here risking their lives for me that I need to be here to end the war quickly!" she hissed through clenched teeth. "So attend to your mission and leave me to it!"

Again, she rose to her feet, much quicker than you'd expect for a pampered heir, and you followed hurriedly, ready to wrestle her down if you needed to, when a grenade arced through the broken windows and thudded against the back wall.

Shock flashed on that beautiful face.

You threw yourself at her. Felt her body tense. Heard her sharp gasp. Then she was wrapped tight in your arms, and the world went white.