A/N: Characters, locations, storyline and universe © Riot Games

This story is rated M for violence, death, sexual themes and occasionally language.

Now, with the formalities out of the way; this is my first fanfic within this fandom. I can't say that I have played the game all that much, but I will try to stick to the lore as much as possible, as I spin my story and try to do these amazing characters justice. Feel free to leave a review and let me know what you guys think, feed-back is a great source of motivation, inspiration and improvement. In any case, I hope that you will enjoy reading my story.

~WhiteWinterDragon

Chapter I

The Might of Demacia

The sun was at its zenith, its warm rays bathing the rocky landscape mercilessly. The air was heavy and dry on the throat and no breeze brought relief from the scorching heat. A group of men, fifty or so in number had sought refuge in the shade of a narrow, rocky canyon carved by a shallow river; the cool, clear water a welcome gift for the wary company. For two days they had been on the march, making their way across desert and through brush, clad in heavy armor with barely any rest. They were not called the Dauntless Vanguard for nothing and advancing into hostile, enemy territory at a reckless pace was not unusual for the most prestigious branch of the Demacian military. Still, even the most resilient soldiers could only go so long without water.

Scouts had reported Noxian activity in an area across the river, only a few miles east from their current position, not far from an old stone bridge which served as the only means to cross the canyon for several miles in either direction, making it strategically important. Gaelin, the Vanguard's Commander, a seasoned and accomplished warrior in his fifties, wanted to set up a small advance force there to hold the position until the main force could arrive; preferably before the Noxians had a chance to do the same, hence why the Dauntless Vanguard was in such a rush.

One of the men, very young by comparison to most of the others, stood by the water's edge and took in his surroundings with a scrutinizing gaze. His jaw tightened at the memory of the reprimand he and the Prince had received for questioning the sense of this endeavor the night before the Vanguard had departed the main camp. Letting out a sigh, he knelt to splash some water in his face, trying to wipe away some of the dust and sweat. He had managed to convince the Commander to at least send a few scouts ahead, but they had yet to return and though he had voiced his concerns on what that might imply, the stubborn, old veteran would not hear it, either failing or refusing to realize how vulnerable they were, going in blind like this. He let his gaze wander over the worn faces of his comrades. Their spirits were high enough, but he could tell from the look in their eyes that they were exhausted from the last two days' exertions. If push did come to shove, many of them would not be able to fight to their fullest.

His eyes fastened on the steep cliff on the opposite side of the river. Somewhere beyond those rocky outcroppings the Noxians were probably making their way to the bridge as well. A humorless, low chuckle escaped his lips at the thought. They would just have to get there first and hold the position with what they had, failure was not an option. He splashed his face one more time before shaking the excess water out of his bangs.

"Lieutenant Crownguard."

The young man straightened to his full height. Though he was still in his growing years his massive frame dwarfed that of his commander by nearly a head. "Sir," he said curtly looking down at the veteran.

"Tell the men we are setting out again I want to reach that bridge before the sun sets, and make sure they are prepared for battle, from here on out we must be ready to deal with Noxian scum at all times." Commander Gaelin narrowed his dark, stern eyes, as he tried to read his Lieutenant's blank expression. "Is something bothering you Garen?" he then asked in a low voice, so only they could hear.

"Nothing I have not already brought to your attention Sir." Garen replied, his voice even and equally low.

Commander Gaelin nodded slowly, a grim expression on his grizzled face. "We are the Vanguard," he said. "We will not falter."

Garen had both heard and repeated those words many times before. "Yes Sir."

Commander Gaelin inclined his head slightly, satisfied that his point had come across, and gave his Lieutenant's pauldron a pat before walking off.

Animals were smart enough to stay in the shade this time of day, soldiers were not so privileged. Less than five minutes after the Lieutenant had voiced the commander's orders, the Vanguard was once again on the move.

ooOoo

A myriad of red, purple and orange shades adorned the sky when they could finally lay their eyes on the bridge. Though there was no sign of Noxians the Vanguard approached with caution. With the Commander's permission Garen went ahead with a handful of soldiers, scouting out the surrounding foliage in an attempt to avoid a potential ambush. He pushed his senses to their limit as they entered the first thicket, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of movement and listening for the sound of snapping twigs and rustled leaves. When nothing spectacular occurred during the fifteen minutes that followed, he was finally convinced no one lay in wait for them and regrouped with the rest of the Vanguard. Though Garen thought the men deserved a break after their long march, he wasted no time before shouting out orders left and right, setting up camp and stationing a couple of forward sentries on the other side of the bridge. They may have gotten here first, but until the main force caught up with them, they would be like sitting ducks.

By the time his orders had been fulfilled the setting sun had been replaced by a full moon and the heat that had been so taxing during the hours of the day had disappeared with it, the air now crisp with the barest hint of frost. Garen stood at the edge of the camp, his gaze fixated on the modest stone bridge not fifty yards from where he stood. It didn't look like much, only ten feet wide and about thrice as long, devoid of any form of ornamentation. If he knew anything about Noxians, Demacian blood would be spilled for the sake of those stones soon enough. A white wisp escaped his nostrils as he let out a snort. The Noxians would have to fight and bleed for every inch he would make sure of that.

ooOoo

Another sunrise, another sunset, another day of suffocating heat followed by another night where strange sounds filled the frosty air and a ghostly moon played tricks on sleep deprived eyes. Time began to blur with nothing to distinguish it save the change between night and day and with each passing moment, Garen felt an uneasiness grow, as they spent hour after hour seated in the little shade provided by the thorny, low bushes that ran along the edge of their camp. There was no way the Noxians had failed to notice their presence here, so why had there been no attacks? What were they waiting for? Garen tugged at the long blue scarf he was wearing around his neck to loosen it a little. His men said he was crazy for wearing it and in this heat he was almost inclined to agree with them. Almost. It was given to him by his younger sister Luxanna, as a parting gift when he joined the military. That was nearly three years ago now and he had not seen his precious sister since. He scowled at his water skin before he downed the last remaining drops. A wayward droplet fell on his breastplate and he watched with grim amusement as it sizzled on the scolding metal for a second before disappearing. In theory they were less than fifty yards from a water source, but to reach it they would have to scale a hundred feet of steep, treacherous cliff. Dispatching a small party to fetch water further down the river was also out of the question, they were stretched thin as they were and simply could not spare the man power needed to carry enough of the precious liquid. Food was also starting to become a concern. The dry landscape offered little to scavenge in the immediate vicinity, forcing them to ration the few supplies they had brought with them from the main camp. Their situation was dire, if the main force did not catch up soon, the Noxians wouldn't have to finish them off because the desert would do it for them. Now that he thought about it that was probably exactly what they were waiting for.

Garen had barely finished the thought before one of the scouts, a man he recognized as Atticus came running up to him, gulping for air, beads of sweat trickling down his ruddy face. "They are coming," he managed to gasp between heaving breaths. Garen did not have to ask who 'they' were, the wild look in the man's eyes was telling enough.

"How many?"

"At least a hundred Sir."

Garen nodded once before getting to his feet. The wait was over; the Noxians were finally making their move. "To arms men! I want a perimeter blocking our side of that bridge! Shields and lances to the front, move!" His deep, booming voice carried his commands across the camp and all around him soldiers were springing to their feet. Even starved, thirsty and exhausted they were still the best Demacia had to offer and within moments they had taken up their positions by the bridge, where Garen joined them. Commander Gaelin was already there, his gruff voice easily distinguished despite all the noise.

"Stand your ground men! We will hold them on the bridge!"

They were heavily outnumbered, but if they could keep the battle by the bridge, they could use it as a chokepoint and prevent the Noxians from swarming them with sheer force in numbers, making the odds a little more even; for a time at least. Garen eyed the Noxian forces as they approached the opposite side of the bridge. Clad in black and red armor, their bodies obscured by the rising dust, they marched slowly, but steadily forward. He let his hand close around the hilt of the large two-handed sword he was carrying on his back, drawing it from its sheath and raising it before him. For generations it had been passed down from father to son in the Crownguard family. The blade was marred from previous battles, but the gleam and sharpness of the metal revealed the devotion it received from its wielder.

Step by step, second by second the moment of battle neared and the whole world seemed to briefly stand still, before it came back to life with full force when the Noxians finally charged, their steps vigorous and their battle cries loud and fierce. Garen let his voice join the roar that erupted from the ranks of Demacian soldiers as they rallied to the name of their beloved city-state in response. "Blood for Noxus!" and "Demacia!" blended as the two armies collided. The sounds of clashing steel, shattering shields and the throaty screams of the dying were deafening and the smell of blood, sweat, leather and dust permeated the suffocating air. Despite the chaos all around him, Garen could hear the steady sound of his own pounding heart, the rush of blood and adrenalin making him acutely aware of himself and his surroundings. He could feel the tension in each rippling muscle before it was released with every devastating swing of his sword, the sprays of crimson left in its wake vivid before his eyes, as he carved his way forward.

"It's the hand! The hand is here!" at those words Garen stopped his onslaught and shifted his gaze to the figure emerging from the Noxian ranks on the other side of the bridge. The heat and dust obscured the man to the point where his visage seemed to be shimmering. Dark steel plate-armor covered him from neck to toes. A man-sized great axe was held firmly in the grip of his right hand, the metallic scratching sound it made as he let it drag against the stone seemed to drown out all other noise on the battlefield. He was even taller than Garen himself with a calm, confident expression on his scarred face and eyes that held the promise of death. The Noxian soldiers almost scrambled to get out of his way, they knew better than to get caught between their general and his prey. Garen knew General Darius by reputation and name only, but as the man started tearing through the Demacian ranks as if they were made of paper, it was clear that he more than lived up to his title and his renown as a ruthless but formidable fighter and Garen had to grudgingly admit he was both an intimidating and awe inspiring sight. He shook his head to clear it of his treacherous thoughts, reprimanding himself for his indiscretion. It would not do to harbor any admiration, even a grudging one for an enemy who would spit in the face of all Demacian values. He had to focus.

The blood General continued his approach at an even, undisturbed pace, cutting down anyone in his way, and Garen realized with mounting dread that the he was headed straight for Commander Gaelin. It was a fight Gaelin could never win; Darius was younger, stronger and faster and Garen knew that no amount of experience would save the old veteran when pitted against such a formidable foe. Even so the old Commander stood his ground, calmly awaiting the inevitable. 'We are the Vanguard. We will not falter.' Gaelin's words echoed in Garen's mind when he saw the first exchange of blows between the Hand of Noxus and the Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard.

Three strikes were all it took. Gaelin parried with great skill, but succumbed to the overwhelming force of the blows that shattered his guard until he lay bleeding and defenseless on his back, arms raised in an instinctive, but useless attempt to shield himself from the fatal blow everyone knew would come. Garen stopped thinking. With a speed that took the Noxian soldiers before him completely by surprise and an absolute disregard for defense he charged forward, swinging his sword in a horizontal arc and building momentum until he was practically spinning, cleaving anyone foolish or unfortunate enough to cross his path of carnage. He saw the bloodied blade of the Noxian General's great axe glinting in the afternoon sun, as it was poised high above the head of its wielder just before it bore down on Gaelin's broken form.

It was not the dull sound of a man getting split in two, but the loud ringing of steel against steel that cut through the air and cleared the fog that had taken residence in Garen's mind at the sight of his Commander's peril. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he had somehow managed to block the great axe's descend, a numbness in his fingers and a throbbing from his wrists to his elbows a testimony to how much of an achievement that was. He should have felt proud, but with his head clear there was room for thoughts and his first was: what now? He felt his breath hitch in his throat, not sure if he had remembered to breathe. Cold sweat made his bangs stick to his forehead and he could feel his arms tremble under the pressure put against his blade. Gaelin lay still and soaked in blood between his feet, no one could tell him what to do. Fuck!

"Lieutenant?"

The voice was soft, almost a whisper; full of fear, doubt. Garen couldn't even tell which of his men had spoken, but it was sobering. With their Captain down they turned to their Lieutenant. He lifted his gaze slightly to look his opponent straight in the eye. Darius bore an expression of mild irritation, but there was also a hint of intrigue as he sized up his new challenger. Garen swallowed, hoping against odds that his voice would carry and not stutter.

We are the Vanguard. We will not falter." Demacia!"

It came out louder than he intended but it was clear and it was enough. Two of his men had the sense to drag the wounded Commander away from the Noxian General and their Lieutenant as they broke off the deadlock between them and proceeded to clash with increasing ferocity. Every blow sent jolts up his arms and shook his frame to the core. Darius's attacks were relentless and it was all Garen could do to keep parrying. He was left with no reprieve to use for counter attacks and he was forced to rely heavily on his instincts and sharp intuition to make up for the immense difference in experience between them, but somehow with no small amount of luck he was holding his ground. Darius was grinning now, his teeth bared and his stare intense like a wild dog that had sniffed out a particularly tasty treat it had yet to reach. Garen grit his teeth and glared back with all the determination and fervor his azure eyes could convey, even as every fiber in his body was burning from the effort of barely keeping up.

He didn't know how long they continued like this, seconds, a minute? Time seemed meaningless when faced with imminent death and he knew his luck would run out sooner or later, he could only hope it would be later. The hollow sound his sword made when he blocked an overhead strike aimed at his left shoulder served as his only warning. Instinctively he jumped backwards, as the blade of the antique sword shattered near the hilt. It was not enough. He felt the great axe sunder his armor and carve a gash from the left side of his chest and all the way down to the right side of his pelvis. His attempt at dodging had saved his life, for now anyway. It was a flesh wound, but the feeling of a steady flow of warm, sticky liquid down his stomach told him it was bad enough. He might not be spilling his guts, but he was losing a lot of blood very fast. Sending the remains of his sword a quick glance he supposed it didn't really matter that he risked bleeding out. He would not be able to ward off the next attack and retreat was out of the question. Garen watched, transfixed, struck by a strange sense of apathy, as the Noxian General positioned himself to finish him off with a horizontal swing. So this is how it ends? He had always known he might fall in battle, he thought he had come to terms with that fact years ago, but now standing at the precipice his thoughts wandered briefly to his little sister, to his best friend, to all the things he had wanted to do and he found he could not simply accept it. With no other options he leapt forward. He felt the stem of the great axe bruise his ribs, but he managed to avoid the blade and for the first time during their fight Garen saw an opportunity to attack. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his chest, he capitalized on the fact that his rather unorthodox evasion tactic had actually managed to catch the General by surprise and slugged him in the face. The sickening crunch and the feeling of bone crumbling from the impact of his armored fist were immensely satisfying, but Garen had no time to savor it. A sharp, searing pain shot through his left side as he was pulled forward and next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees.

He tried to get his bearings, tried to stand, but his world was reeling, his vision blurry. All movement around him seemed hazy, as if seen through a veil or smokescreen. He tried to focus on his hand; a pool of crimson was growing steadily beneath it. He coughed, only now noticing how hard it was to breathe and it took him a ridiculous amount of effort to lift his head enough to once again meet the gaze of his opponent. He was surprised by the look he found there. There was fury for certain, but also… Acknowledgement? It was an expression he couldn't place. Suddenly shouting and the sound of Demacian horns blearing pierced the air. The main force.

To Garen's surprise Darius lowered his axe to his side, a low chuckle escaping his bruised, bloodied lips. "It would seem luck is on your side today." With that he turned around and despite all the noise and his slipping consciousness Garen could swear he heard him say: "If you survive, come fight me again, when you are old enough to grow a proper beard." Once again the sound of the great axe dragging against the stone cut through the air, only this time it left a trail of blood as the Hand of Noxus walked away, disappearing in the dust.

"Garen! Garen! Hang in there."

Jarvan's voice. He could tell it was Jarvan's voice. He felt a pair of strong arms grab hold of his arm and shoulder, gently turning him so he was lying on his back. When had he face planted the bridge anyway? He could hear Jarvan talk, yet the words and their meaning eluded him as he tried to focus on the Prince's swimming face hovering above his own. It was to no avail though and before he could be bothered to feel annoyed about it, he was lost to blissful oblivion.

ooOoo

Everything hurt, a dull, throbbing kind of pain. If he just kept his eyes closed, maybe it would go away. Wishful thinking. Garen opened his eyes slightly, blinking in an attempt to focus his vision and get an idea of his surroundings. He was on his back, there was canvas above him. He recognized the color and texture of the fabric. An officer's tent most likely. The cot he was lying on was soft and comfortable as far as military standards go. A thin blanket had been draped over him and someone had stripped him from the waist up and bandaged his wounds.

"Finally awake I see."

Garen whipped his head around, letting out an involuntary groan, when the motion sent a jolt of pain through his left side. Jarvan was sitting on a chair a few yards away, near the tent-opening. His face was set in a serious expression, his jaw clenched and his posture almost rigid. Garen grit his teeth from discomfort as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position to better be able to talk to his oldest friend. At this Jarvan hurried over and put a hand on his uninjured shoulder, gently pressing him back down.

"Take it easy. You lost a lot of blood and don't want to risk reopening your wounds, trust me," he said and pulled the chair over so he could sit by the bedside. Garen would have objected that he was healthy enough to sit up properly at least, but the tired, worried look on Jarvan's face made him hold his tongue, it was clear that his friend had missed out on more sleep than he should.

Garen sighed and let himself sink back down on the cot. "What happened after I..?" He trailed off and looked up at the Prince expectantly.

"Well… You practically collapsed in my arms as soon as I got to you. It took three of us to haul you all the way back from the frontline, that was two days ago." Jarvan paused for a few seconds as if unsure how to continue, before letting out a sigh. "There is no gentle way for me to say this. You were victorious, you managed to hold the bridge long enough for us to arrive, I expect you know how better than I." Garen noticed how Jarvan avoided his gaze before he continued: "But counting you there are only sixteen members of the Vanguard left alive and four of those will never be able to fight again. If they survive their injuries that is."

Jarvan's face fell and the two of them shared a moment of silence, as Garen let the words sink in. Fifty men he had known and fought beside for nearly three years and only twelve were left including himself. He clenched his fists, anger burning in his core. It was directed at the Noxians, but dammit he had known from the start that the whole operation was a fool's errand, if he'd made his superiors listen, no, Demacians did not make excuses for their failures. If he'd fought harder on the bridge, maybe… his mind raced with all kinds of possible outcomes, but all of them came down to the fact that he had fought his damn hardest and it just hadn't been enough. He could blame no one else. "I'm sorry I didn't do more."

"Don't you start!" Garen was surprised by the anger in his friend's voice. "Commander Gaelin told us what you did for him before he succumbed to his wounds. He said you were a damn fool albeit a brave one. There was nothing you could do. " So the Commander was dead too. Garen supposed he should not be surprised, considering the state he had been in when he had been carried off, but it was still hard for him to wrap his mind around. He half expected the old veteran to enter the tent and shout some colorful profanities at him for acting rashly in the midst of battle.

Jarvan must have noticed his somber expression and sighed. "Sometimes Garen…" The prince shook his head and when he looked back up there was steel in his gaze. "Death is inevitable. One can only hope to avoid defeat." Garen nodded slightly, it was a small consolation, but he appreciated the notion nonetheless.

"So what happens now?" Jarvan stared at his face intently for a moment. It was obvious that with only twelve men left and no commander, circumstances did not bode well for the future of the Vanguard and Garen did not have to ask about it specifically for Jarvan to understand what he meant by his question.

"I might as well be honest with you, since you will hear it sooner or later anyway." Garen narrowed his eyes at this, he did not like where this conversation was going. "Relax it's not what you think." Jarvan added upon seeing the change in his expression. "The Vanguard is not getting disbanded. Rather I think my father intends to fill up its ranks again, probably expand its numbers too and get it back to full strength."

Garen lifted his eyebrows at this. He was relieved they wouldn't just get disbanded, but the Vanguard had always been comprised of elite soldiers who had managed to distinguish themselves one way or another. In fact he was the only exception having joined their ranks at the 'ripe' age of fifteen, much to the chagrin of the veterans until he had earned his place among them. He was a bit skeptical at the prospect of having a vast majority of newcomers in the force, but then again they needed more people, no one could deny that. "Whoever gets appointed as the new Commander is going to have one hell of a task getting all the new additions up to speed."

Jarvan nodded slowly and looked away. "Yeah, about that, my father seems to think you are the right man for that task." Garen stared at his friend for a moment, searching his face for any sign that might indicate it was a joke. Jarvan must have noted the disbelief evident in Garen's expression and added: "I'm serious. As soon as you are deemed fit to travel we set out for Demacia, I assume you will receive your promotion officially once we get there." Garen wasn't sure what to say. It was a great honor no doubt, but a huge responsibility too. A firm grip on his uninjured shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts. Jarvan's lips curled up in a lopsided, sympathetic smile and Garen felt pretty certain that the Prince knew exactly what thoughts were racing through his mind, being no stranger to them himself.

"Don't worry too much about it, for now at least, just try and get some more rest, the healers say you are making an unnaturally fast recovery, let's try to keep it that way." With that Jarvan gave him a few pats on the shoulder, got to his feet and left the tent, leaving Garen to his thoughts. Garen closed his eyes, but sleep would not come and he found himself wondering how he was supposed to react. His mother would be thrilled, no doubt. He grimaced slightly at the idea of being dragged around ballroom by the arm, getting introduced left and right to noblemen and more specifically their daughters, put on display like a prize stallion. He groaned. With his eighteenth birthday coming up she was bound to push even harder for an arranged marriage, and Garen found himself half wishing that the Hand of Noxus had finished the job. Brilliant…

ooOoo

"Brilliant," the clear voice of Lelia Crownguard echoed through the hall as she stood on her toes in an attempt to flatten the unruly, auburn hair of her son. "I cannot reach dear, you have grown so much since the last time I saw you." Garen sighed and dipped his head, knowing all too well that objecting would get him nowhere. "There. Now let me have a look at you." She raised a single exquisitely plucked, blond, eyebrow and looked at him expectantly. Garen rolled his eyes and turned around on the spot under his mother's scrutinizing gaze. She did not look satisfied. "You are not honestly thinking to wear that ghastly thing, are you?" she said indicating his blue scarf with a slight wave of her delicate hand.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" He crossed his arms and straightened to his full height. A motion that could intimidate the most experienced soldiers in the Demacian army was entirely wasted on the petite woman before him.

"What is, dear," she said curtly before reaching for the source of her ire. Garen took a step backwards, he was going to be stubborn about this. Despite the immense difference in their heights his mother was doing an admirable job of trying to stare him down. With an indignant huff she said: "It is shabby and worn and too glaring, why you insist on wearing it in the first place is beyond me."

"Lux gave it to me," he mumbled."

"Speak up."

Garen grit his teeth. "It was a gift from Luxanna." At the mention of his little sister his mother seemed to tense up, but it was so briefly Garen was unsure whether it had just been his imagination. "Is she coming by the way? Will I get to see her?"

His mother's gaze flickered slightly before she let out a dainty, but shrill laugh that seemed to be forced, even for her. Garen lifted an eyebrow at this, but Lelia waved him off. "I am afraid not, you know how your sister gets, she is awfully busy with her studies, but she sends her regards."

Garen's face faltered at this, he had really hoped he would have a chance to see his sister. "I will be home for another four days, maybe she could…"

"No." The tone his mother used made it clear that this was the end of that discussion. He was about to argue, but was cut off by a searing glare. "Wear the damned thing if you must," his mother said curtly. "And try not to embarrass yourself in front of the King," she added before she spun on her heels and stalked off. Garen narrowed his eyes as he looked at her disappearing form. He was unsure what to make of this little display. It was clear his mother wanted to avoid discussing Lux, but he could only guess as to the reason behind it. Perhaps his sister was upset with him? They hadn't seen each other for nearly three years and she had thrown a tantrum when he left. He would have to think about that later. Any minute now, the great oak doors behind him would open. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, something he often did when nervous, messing up the neat work his mother had done. Letting out a breath he didn't know he had been holding he glanced down at himself. The Commander's armor, his armor, was heavier and more ornamented than a Lieutenant's. He brushed his hand lightly against the breastplate, beneath it ran a long diagonal scar, spanning from the upper left to the lower right of his torso, a testimony to his brush with death two months prior.

The doors opened. Taking a deep breath, Garen started to move forward, taking care to keep his back straight and his steps even, his pace not too quick and not too slow. He schooled his expression to one of stoic seriousness and locked his gaze at the King, seated on his throne at the end of the room, while he tried to zone out the many people gathered at either side of the aisle he had to walk. As he got closer, he chanced a quick glance at Prince Jarvan, who was standing to his father's left and at Xin Zhao, the King's personal guard, who was standing to the King's right. The Prince sent him a small, encouraging smile. Xin's face was stoic as ever, but he did make a slight inclination of his head. Upon reaching a podium and his assigned position before the King, Garen knelt, bowing his head low. Jarvan III stood.

"Lieutenant Garen Crownguard. Your show of utmost bravery and unshakable resolve in the midst of battle served as an example for those under your command. With the power that has been bestowed upon me in the name of my father and his father before him, I name you Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard. It is my hope that it will surpass its former glory under your leadership." The King paused and from the corner of his eye Garen could make out that he was handed something very long by the Prince. "Rise Captain and come forth." Garen stood and moved to stand before the King, who, he could now see, was holding a magnificent two-handed sword. It was easily the biggest sword he had seen in his life. Its hilt was ornately shaped and gilded, its blade strong, broad and sharpened, reflecting the light that fell from the tall windows in the room. King Jarvan held the masterpiece out to him and Garen took it hesitantly, not sure, what he was supposed to do. It was heavy, far heavier than his previous sword. "I was told you lost your weapon in the battle and took the liberty of having this crafted especially for you. You will find no finer sword in all of Demacia." Garen swallowed, it felt like his mouth was full of cotton and he was relieved when the King continued, simply because it meant he wouldn't have to speak right at that moment. "I named it 'Justice' because that is what you shall champion, when you show our enemies the might of Demacia."

ooOoo

A/N: And there you have it, the first chapter of what will hopefully be a long-running fanfic. I'm posting this to 'test the water' so to speak, so please, if you have any feedback, I would love to hear it. In any case I hope you enjoyed the read. Feel free to point out any errors you might find in a review or pm, so I can correct it, English is not my first language. I will try to update as frequently as possible, juggling this with my studies and work. It might take a while though because, as you might have noticed, the chapters are fairly extensive. Until the next installment.

~WhiteWinterDragon.