Chapter Text
The mountains whisper their condolences in the blood-stained dirt. It clumps in her palm, sorrow of the earth in the crimson snow. Winter’s wind sees it trickle through bandage wrapped fingers, falling over the nameless carcasses. The village left in ashes crunch under worn boots, the scent of death heavy and thick. Fresh in the way it lingers, sticking to the burnt wood of already decrepit homes.
“This reeks of the Black Roses,” Logan grunts, nudging a skull with her boot.
Vi’s gaze follows the fading footprints that trail up the mountain as she stands, her knee soaked and dirtied from where it dug into the ground. She wipes her palm along her trousers.
“We can’t be sure just yet,” she replies, her eyes still tracking along the thick snow. Her words fall on deaf ears, including her own. Because her second in command is right. It does reek of them. The boldness and brutality all point to the death clan of the north. The mountain dwellers that work for no one but whoever has the most coin. But this attack was targeted. A waste laid on Piltover’s soil, the border between the kingdom and the mountains that separate them from Noxus too specific not to mean something.
Atlas sits heavy on her back, the blade an extension of her very being, thrumming to life with the scent of death and battle. Her men continue to gather bodies, piling them at the center of the small farming village. It reminds her of home, where her brother and sister have lived all their lives. It strikes a fear in her chest at the thought of them now, the image of their burnt bodies will surely haunt her dreams tonight. She needs to do better. She could have prevented this had she just–
“What do you want to do with them?” Rito heaves, dropping a body on the growing pile.
“Burn them,” Vi says quickly. It’s a ritual and tradition that’s common in these parts. Even if it brings unwanted attention. Torches are lit and the sun sinks behind the treeline. They set the bodies aflame, the smoke rising in dark, wispy curls. They don’t stand around for long after, the village’s remnants repelling them with every moment they spend here.
The hair on the back of Vi’s neck stands on edge as her men ready to leave, their horses reluctant to stay still. Vi approaches Midnight, the black stallion more restless than ever, when she hears it. She knows she isn’t meant to hear the sound, their footsteps usually deathly quiet.
“Don’t move,” Vi commands softly to Logan. She raises her brow, her hands rummaging through her pack on her own horse for the pipe Vi knows she isn’t supposed to have.
“Why?”
But Vi doesn’t get to answer.
“Agh!”
Vi whirls around, her hands instinctively gripping Midnight’s reins as she rears at the sound of a blade striking true. “Shit,” Vi curses, unsheathing her sword. Masked figures emerge from the shadows cast from the growing flames, previously hidden by the wide oak trees.
Boggs falls to the ground with a padded thud , the snow eager to soak him into her arms. The masked assassin doesn’t utter a word, merely stepping over the new obstacle with a speed that would frighten anyone. But Vi is faster. She lets Midnight run into the trees, knowing she would come back when this is over, and swings her blade down before it can make contact.
“Told you,” Logan breathes, their backs flush with the oncoming attacks.
“Yeah, yeah.”
There’s more of them than Vi had originally thought. But that doesn’t stop Vi or her remaining six men. The windcleaver blades slice through the night, roses engraved on the steel and the hilts a dark ebony. They clash with each sword and fist like a symphony until all that’s left is more red than white.
Vi pants as she withdraws her sword from the gut of a Black Rose, their body falling limp into the snow.
“What the fuck was that? I thought we missed them,” Lyle barks, his face carrying a new scar across his cheek.
Vi wipes Atlas against her cloak, adding to the stains and grime from the weeks of travel. “Obviously not,” Vi says distractedly, sheathing her blade over her back and kneeling by the body, her hands tired and frigid in their searching. She pats and searches like the thief she used to be until her suspicions are confirmed. She pulls the sleek metal from around his neck, yanking the leather binding before holding it up for her order to see.
“Looks like we got what we came for though,” Vi says with a grimace. Her men deflate around her at the gold pendant in her hand.
“What does it mean?”
Vi refrains from sighing at the stupid question. Not every knight has been trained since they were old enough to wield a sword. Or to think critically for the sake of survival. But this should be obvious.
“It means,” she starts, standing to look him in the eye, her fist closing around the distinct gold. “We’ve got bigger problems than the Black Roses.”
“Where did you find this?’
Sevika drops the pendant in the Queen’s open palm.
“It was taken from one of the Black Roses that attacked my Captain and her order,” she replies, stepping down from the stairs of the throne. Vi stands solid and stoic at the center of the almost empty throne room. The crest embroidered on navy blue banners hang along the walls, matching the double set of keys encrusted on the shoulders and belt of her armor.
Queen Cassandra Kiramman stiffens on her throne, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the pendant. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger, the barely risen sun catching it through the stained glass windows.
Sevika comes to stand just barely in front of Vi, her broad shoulders taking up most of the view. Vi breathes deeply, her shoulders heavy and her legs sore from the three day ride back to the Gold Keep. She hasn’t even had a chance to change yet, the dried blood still sticking to her knuckles and everywhere else.
Vi sent the rest of her order to wash up and rest, fearful of what is to come with the new information. Sevika had been waiting for her, a scowl already on her face when dropped the pendant on her desk to be taken to the Queen. It stopped the grumbling short on her tardiness at least.
“So it’s as we’ve feared,” the Queen muses, her eyes still on the pendant.
“I don’t like to speculate but this is the third attack on the border mountain villages in the last six months. We need to strike back, your highness,” Sevika answers bluntly, never the diplomat. Vi can’t contain the snort. Sevika glares over her shoulder and Vi bites the inside of her cheek. She shifts from one foot to the other, trying to bring some sort of stimulation back into her toes.
Sevika’s post as General of the Queen’s Guard is recent, the role still a gaping hole Vi’s father left behind. It doesn’t surprise her when Sevika suggests a counter attack, she doesn’t even disagree with it. But by the way the Queen’s eyes widen, she clearly isn’t used to such brute force as the first suggestion. She had grown used to the diplomacy Vander honored. But it’s also led them here.
“We can’t afford a counterattack like that, General .”
Vi rolls her eyes at that voice.
“With all due respect, Chief , this doesn’t really concern you,” Sevika spats, the chief of the City Watch a thorn in her side just as much as he is in Vi’s.
Marcus sneers, opening his mouth to retort when the Queen holds up a placating hand, silencing the quarrel before it can truly begin.
“That’s enough–”
Before the Queen can continue, the large double doors of the throne room creak open.
“You called for me?”
Vi’s spine stiffens at the voice but she makes no move to look at her. Not yet.
“You’re late,” her mother states, her nose crinkling. “I called for you hours ago.”
Vi does contain her chuckle this time, her lungs expanding as the princess glides through the room.
As she approaches, their heads bow instinctively, albeit begrudgingly on Sevika’s part, her head more nodding than bowing. But Vi bows, her eyes stuck on the cobblestone floor until she’s certain the princess is out of—
When she looks back up, she’s met with the ocean’s depths. The princess’s eyes pin her, drowning her until she’s being nudged in the ribs to stand back up. She clears her throat and straightens, failing to notice the blush that peeks above the princess’s chest, crawling up her slender neck, her own cheeks warmer than before. The throne room has always been too stuffy and warm.
Vi can count on one hand the amount of times they’ve locked eyes over the years. The first being in this very room. Princess Caitlyn Kiramman is a mystery she’s decided she’s solved years ago. Spoiled and reserved. Stubborn to a fault if the rumors are true. Every man that’s ever tried to court her has left the palace with their tails between their legs, which Vi can’t help the twinge of endearment at that.
Vi was young the first time she ever saw her or anything in the capitol. She grew up in an old farming village, her sister only a toddler when a horde of rogue mercenaries burnt half the village to the ground. She hadn’t eaten for a week, making sure her sister was fed on the scraps she could find until her parents would return to their house at the top of the hill.
But when a bulky man covered in sleek blue armor took up the entire door frame, she knew without needing to be told. She hadn’t expected him to haul her and her sister into his arms with gentle apologies on his tongue. It wasn’t a question of whether Vi would become a knight of the Kiramman clan, the sentiment was offered and accepted on the month’s ride back to the capitol. Her nine year old spirit reveled in the way a sword felt in her hands.
The rest of his order were reluctant to take to Vi and Powder at first, but a month on the road is a long time. And Vi was nothing if not useful and hungry for the chance to learn how to protect in the way she failed to with her parents.
“Where’re you taking us?” Vi asked worriedly, clutching Powder’s hand when Vander kept leading them through the endless hallways and corridors until they stopped in front of the largest doors Vi had ever seen.
Vander had just chuckled, keeping the sisters at his side. The throne room has begun to feel smaller over the years, but Vi can remember how expansive it felt when she was a child. Like it would swallow her whole, the brick and marble begging for her to bleed. The Queen didn’t make it any easier. But her sworn protector did.
“When I sent you to check on the raids, Captain, I expected you to come home with a Rose’s head, not two children,” her gravelly voice echoed in the hall, the smallest smirk on her lips, stretching the wrinkles there.
“Do tell me what is the meaning of this, Captain,” the Queen’s voice was much harsher, and Powder tried to make herself smaller, clutching at the worn material of Vi’s shirt.
Vander, for his part, hardly budged. He merely placed a large hand on Vi’s head.
“They were the result of not acting soon enough, your highness. I plan to take Violet as my ward to eventually become a knight in your Queen’s guard. Her sister, Powder will live with me until she becomes of age to take on whatever role you deem fitting,” he replied without hesitation.
More words were had, but Vi can’t remember them now. Because all she was focused on was the prettiest girl she’d ever seen. Midnight blue hair flowed in loose strands, framing full cheeks and pouty lips. Her gown looked stuffy and frilly but Vi couldn’t help but stare. Her nose was buried in a book where she sat at the Queen’s feet completely oblivious to anyone else in the room. Grayson seemed to catch Vi’s gaze and gave a small nudge to the princess, startling her from whatever world was keeping her so entranced.
When their eyes met, Vi immediately looked away. But she saw enough to feel her stomach flutter and her cheeks burn. She could feel her stare raking over Vi’s ragged appearance, mistaking curiosity for judgment. She stood a little taller, daring to look again and being struck with so much blue .
Vi has surrendered to the princess’s gaze after so many years. She’s familiar with the disarming effect it has on her in the rare moments she makes eye contact. Now is no different, even though it’s been months since she’s laid eyes on her. Caitlyn looks away as soon as Vi glances her way again, the indescribable feeling of being unearthed still lingering in Vi’s bones. But Caitlyn doesn’t turn away quick enough for Vi to miss the dirt smudged on her sharp cheekbones, her riding boots muddied and her tunic far dirtier than she knows it should be for what her duties entail.
“I was attending to something,” Caitlyn defends sternly. Marcus scoffs quietly beside the Queen.
Queen Cassandra takes her daughter in, coming to the same conclusion as Marcus.
“We’ll discuss this later,” she decides. “Wait for me outside.”
Caitlyn huffs, her head turning to regard Vi and Sevika again, studying them before speaking again. “Should I not be here for this?” she asks, aggravation thick and her arms wave to gesture toward them.
“Had you been here on time, yes.”
“But I–”
“ Caitlyn. ”
Vi watches the standoff with only a hint of amusement and annoyance. This isn’t the time for the frequent disagreement between the princess and the queen. But Caitlyn seems to have gotten the trait honest. The princess eventually concedes from the silent battle, turning on her heel without a word. Vi doesn’t meet her gaze when she marches past, her scent filling Vi’s nostrils until the doors slam shut behind her.
Vi swallows, her throat suddenly dry and her body more taut.
“We’ll reconvene at the small council, General,” Cassandra says tiredly, rubbing a spot between her brows. “This afternoon,” she says, quickly, answering the unspoken question.
And with that, they’re dismissed from the throne room. Vi walks on sore legs, her armor chafing her arms as she pushes the doors open, Sevika and Marcus on her heel. Once again, Vi is struck with cold eyes of the princess, caught in her angry pacing in front of the doors, her arms crossed over her chest. She stops when the doors open, her brow furrowed as she releases her thumbnail from between her teeth.
Vi stops too, caught in the same trance as before, the same one that has trapped her since childhood, swirling blue and midnight hair. Unspoken assumptions are thick in the air, reverberating from the stone walls. Vi doesn’t have to ask to know how the princess feels about her. The coldness of her gaze, the pinch of her brow, her stiff shoulders all give it away. Disdain and silence. And Vi feels the same way, physical attraction aside.
Sevika rams her forearm into Vi’s back, forcing her out the silent stupor she found herself in. Vi clears her throat, her heart racing behind her ribs and continues walking. The princess shakes her head, huffing a small breath, giving the three of them a wide berth as she marches back into the throne room.
“I know you don’t see pretty princesses often, Lanes, but keep it in your pants,” Sevika hisses in her ear when Caitlyn is out of earshot. Vi scoffs and shakes her head.
“You’re one to talk,” Vi quips when the doors close, the loud creaking followed by a heavy slam sends a cold gust of what awaits them outside tenfold. Vi rolls her neck, satisfied with the pop as they separate from Marcus to the lower levels of the Keep where Vi can finally shed her months of travel.
Before Vi goes to her chambers, she raises her brow at Sevika, waiting for the order.
“You know the drill. Be ready before the fifth bell.”
“They needed my help,” Caitlyn justifies through gritted teeth. Her mother descends her throne, lines of frustration wrinkling the skin on her face. Every muscle in Caitlyn’s body is on edge, pulled taut like a bowstring. Her jaw is sore from the amount of clenching in this argument alone. Not to mention seeing her again.
“That is what the City Watch is for, Caitlyn! You are needed here . Your duties are here, in the Gold Keep,” she argues, taking the crown from atop her gray curls to place it on the awaiting cushion at the bottom of the stairs. Caitlyn stands firm and tall. Unwavering in the center of the throne room as her mother continues. “Not gallivanting in the undercity. You are my only heir and I will not have you killed because you resent your position and would rather play knight. You need to grow up and take your seat at my side. War is looming and I don’t have time to gray over your whereabouts.”
Caitlyn glares with narrowed eyes at the reprimand. Until her words sink in, her lips parting with the knowledge. “War?”
Her mother rolls her eyes with a sigh, walking past her with the silent command for Caitlyn to follow.
“You would know that if you were here when I called for you.”
They exit the throne room, their guards inaudible as they follow in their wake. None of them walk too close, the distance far enough as not to be noticed but close enough to intervene. No guard has walked close to her mother since Grayson.
“It’s the Black Roses again? I would hardly call that war,” Caitlyn reasons. Her mother’s surprise shows on her brow. Caitlyn scoffs at the implication that Caitlyn doesn’t pay attention. That she doesn’t do her own digging.
“Noxus,” Cassandra says more quietly, nodding gracefully as they pass members of her court. Caitlyn pays them no mind, too focused on keeping pace. “But that is not why I called for you. We are to receive an envoy in the next few bells and you need to be prepared to receive them.”
“An envoy from where?”
“Melanie of House Medarda,” a guard calls as a golden woman saunters into the small council chambers.
Cassandra, Caitlyn, and Sevika stand from their seats, Caitlyn’s gown and corset far too tight for her comfort. Elora had been frustrated when tightening the straps along her back. Her skin prickles with the gray eyes she feels on her back from the knight’s post against the wall. Caitlyn smooths her dress down.
“Just Mel is fine,” she corrects gently, fully entering the room to stand at the other head of the table. “Your highness. Princess… General.” Her eyes linger on the woman for a moment too long as she lowers her hood, revealing intricate braids encased in golden jewels. The general only grunts in reply.
The pleasantries are skipped in a heartbeat when her mother tosses the golden pendant on the long table separating them, the early evening sun shining through the window at her mother’s back. Mel sucks in a breath with a small nod.
“I assume you’re here to explain why three of our border villages have been ravaged and burned by the mountain clan to the west. All of them carrying this,” her mother says sternly., her head gesturing toward the Medarda crest engraved on the pendant. The same crest that sits as a golden ring on Mel’s dark finger.
“I came here as a warning,” she answers after a moment. All three women remain standing as Mel speaks, her easy demeanor gone for something graver. “My mother intends to invade Piltover in the coming months. She expects no resistance,” she states plainly. “I am here as a messenger, not a warrior. I came to warn you as a token of our long friendship, your highness.”
Cassandra braces her palms against the table, her jaw clenching visibly.
“Did she give a reason?” Caitlyn asks to everyone’s surprise. Mel regards her carefully, hazel eyes glinting with the sinking sun.
“Your kingdom is thriving, Princess. My mother wants to claim it. As she does with everything on the continent apparently.”
“No thanks to your country,” Sevika scoffs, crossing her arms as she slumps back into her chair. She thinks she hears Vi snort, the sound going straight to her chest and annoyance is quick to take its place. But she won’t give Vi the satisfaction of looking at her again.
“Is that all you came for?” her mother finally asks, removing her hands from the table to clasp them in front of her waist.
“I am also here to advise you as I have for many years. You should call for aid. She won’t be expecting it,” Mel explains. Her mother gasps quietly at the proposition.
“Send me,” Caitlyn blurts. Her mother whips her head to face her.
“ Caitlyn. ”
Sevika sighs, straightening a little. “I think our Noxian here is right. We don’t have the numbers to withstand an invasion. But we can call on a few of our sister nations.”
“If this is as urgent as she says, they’ll be more likely to listen if the crown Princess is there–”
“–this is not up for discussion–”
“And what better way for me to establish my role as heir–”
“– Caitlyn, enough! You’re not going–”
“–You can’t keep me locked here forever!”
Caitlyn is heaving and her hands shake as the words strike true. Her mother feels as though she’s grown taller in her rage, only to shrink back down at Caitlyn’s outburst.
“You are my only heir and as your queen I command that are you to do no such thing! General, take your order to Demacia and I will send ravens to Iona and Bilgewater.”
The truth of the matter sits like a heavy stone in her gut. She cannot be shielded from the world any longer. Especially not now. But under so many eyes, certain gray ones boring into her skin even more than before, she gathers her skirts and leaves the small council without another word.
Caitlyn hardly sleeps that night. She refuses dinner when called for. She knows it’s unbecoming to wallow and sulk as she is. But the years of growing resentment boil over with each day that she’s molded into the very thing she resents.
She almost ignores the persistent knocks on her bedchambers early the next morning. The sun has barely risen, the rays just kissing the tips of the trees. She groans as the knocks continue.
“Princess!”
Caitlyn sits up in bed, exhaustion clinging to her body with the movement.
“Come in, Elora!” she calls half heartedly, not hiding her annoyance. Elora enters not even a moment later, Caitlyn’s clothes draped over her arms.
“Your mother is expecting you in the small council chamber,” Elora rushes, tossing the gown on her bed at Caitlyn’s feet. Caitlyn pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, a small headache creeping behind her skull.
“Goodness! Perhaps I could breathe today,” Caitlyn wheezes as Elora tightens the corset. She doesn’t reply in favor of tightening the straps again, forcing the air out of her lungs.
“She’s already waiting for you,” she says on her way out, leaving the door open behind her.
Caitlyn walks stiffly to the small council chambers, resentment leaking out of her pores. She shoves the door open unceremoniously, ready to continue their argument from the evening before when sees her.
Caitlyn stops in the doorway, catching her mother and the knight off guard in their conversation. Her mother motions for her to have a seat in front of her, but her eyes stay trained on the knight, her ears perked for the voice she’s only heard in passing.
She takes careful steps to the chair, her hand reaching out to pull it back, but gloved fingers graze her own, taking the chair from her to pull it out for her. Indigence rises in her chest but she sits anyway, avoiding the cool silver gaze and ignoring the way her hand tingles from where she’d been touched. She doesn’t fail to notice the way Vi’s hand flexes as if she’d been burned, her fingers stretching out before curling back.
Caitlyn glances around the room, noticing the lack of anyone else but her mother, herself and–
“What did you call me for?” Caitlyn asks bluntly. “And why is she here?”
“Ser Violet, please take a seat,” her mother says, ignoring her question.
Vi, ever the obedient soldier, sits next to Caitlyn without a word, heat emanating from her body. Caitlyn dares a glance, as she always does, eager to take in details of the mystery that showed up at her door some fifteen years ago. She doesn’t wear her armor this early in the morning but leather still wraps around her forearms, her tunic billowy and almost sheer enough for Caitlyn to catch the barest hint of tattoos she knows are there. Her hair is wild and untamed, textured and shaven in a way that makes Caitlyn’s hands twitch. She doesn’t fail to notice the blade strapped to her hip when she spreads her legs, careful so not as to touch Caitlyn again.
She feels as though she sees the knight all the time. She tries to be a shadow, an unseen hero that earned the title the moment she wielded Atlas at only sixteen. But every facet of the woman next to her begs to be seen. To be noticed. Bright hair and wild eyes, muscles honed to lethal perfection. And Caitlyn thinks she hates her for it.
She can’t truly recall the first time she saw Vi, not truly. It’s a hazy pink hue of a memory. No, her first true memory of Vi resides in the moment she first heard her voice. Vi had only been at the Gold Keep for about a year. Caitlyn hardly saw her then but in passing, her eyes always fleeting.
Caitlyn had snuck from her chambers one evening, restless and wired when she heard the tell-tale sound of metal clashing. Blades singing. She found herself perched on the cement of an open window, the bay arched and covered in vines. But it was a clear view of the knight’s training grounds.
She saw bright, rose-colored hair before anything, the shaggy strands drenched in sweat. Vi already moved like she’d been trained for years, even though the blade was clearly too large for her frame. The knight’s clamor was thick but Vi lifted it like it weighed nothing. She spun and moved like a graceful dancer, the blade colliding with a shield pinned to the straw dummy. Caitlyn could watch her for hours.
She’d heard of the captain’s ward before now. That she would make a promising knight. Jealousy ate at Caitlyn’s heart. But watching her eased it, morphing into reluctant admiration.
A shrill cry broke through the night, the clamor dropping to the ground with a heavy thud before a little girl Caitlyn’s seen only a few times runs out into the dirt covered arena. Tears streak her face and her chin wobbles as she rushes into Vi’s arms.
Caitlyn couldn’t make out the words, their voices too hushed and Caitlyn too far up. But she could almost make out the words “nightmare” and “you were gone.”
She watched Vi pick the little girl up, her powder blue hair messier than Vi’s with a fitful sleep, and carried to the lip of a fountain right under the window Caitlyn perched on. Fear of being seen gripped Caitlyn’s lungs and she ducked. But she didn’t leave, far too entranced with what happened.
For all the times she’d seen Vi training or in tow of the Captain, she’d never heard the girl speak before. Until suddenly, she was singing. The melody held no meaning to Caitlyn, not at first, the words clearly local and ingrained deep into their people. But the words didn’t matter. Vi’s voice was like velvet, soft and a little raspy. Gentle and sure.
“ Dear friend across the river
My hands are cold and bare
Dear friend across the river
I'll take what you can spare.”
With each verse, the young girl’s cries quieted until she was a snoring heap in Vi’s lap. But kept singing as if she could feel the hidden audience just above.
“I ask of you a penny
My fortune, it will be
I ask you without envy”
She stood, still singing softly and carried the girl back to bed, leaving Caitlyn both warmer and colder than she’d ever been. The song carried on the wind until Vi was out of sight.
“We raise no mighty towers
Our homes are built of stone
So come across the river
And find the world below .”
But here and now, her infatuation and endless ire with the woman next to her would only widen, growing to swallow her whole. Her mother seals their fate with a stern, decided gaze. Her mother clears her throat, her cup of tea already half drank in front of her before she speaks.
“In light of yesterday, and with the threat of Noxus looming over us, I’ve decided to appoint Ser Violet to be your sworn protector. Wherever you go, she goes.”
“Mother–” Caitlyn tries to speak, but the word comes out as a croak.
“–I should have appointed her to you years ago but there’s no time like war. We will hold the ceremony tomorrow evening.”
The finality in her tone steals the air from Caitlyn’s lungs. She can feel Vi stiffen next to her, her breathing an increment heavier. Caitlyn dares a side-long glance, anger dancing on the tip of her tongue, and is stunned to see Vi already staring at her, eyes wide and almost wild. Caitlyn’s heart tries to climb out of her throat, an idea and decision already formulating an escape plan.
Caitlyn doesn’t speak when she storms out of the room again, distinctly aware of the silver storm she’s left in her wake.