I don't see much of Fiora on here… So I thought I'd pair her with a warrior of her caliber. We'll also be doing a bit more exploration of Valoran—brought to you Supreme Distraction style. This is… yet another fic that just kind of took off on its own. Enjoy the ride ;D

I do not own League of Legends. Thanks go to GrimGrave for beta-ing this.

-The Prideful Waltz of Blades-

It was dark—the all-encompassing dimness of non-existence.

For a time all was still and silent. Then, soft chanting began and a single beam of azure energy shot out of the ground, the form of a valiant young woman bearing a tall shield locked within its brilliance. Soon, four more pillars of light joined it, each containing a different figure—a tall, statuesque woman with a slender blade; a short, badger-like creature with a grin on its face and a bomb in each hand; a slender woman with a hooded cloak and long, pointed ears; a rugged young woman with enormous mechanical fists—and the circle of robed mages surrounding them chanted all the louder.

Soon after five more columns, these a rich purple, flared into existence, containing an even more varied collection of bodies: a little girl with a patchwork teddy bear, a humanoid figure with cloven hooves and a single horn, a stocky warrior with short hair and a blade that was still enormous despite its broken edge, a long-haired woman with a sniper's rifle dressed as an officer of the law, and a wild, furry beast with a single eye that resembled a lion.

"Champion lock-in complete."

The voice was feminine, echoing from nowhere and everywhere at once, and the chanting stopped.

"Generating battlefield."

There was a faint ticking sound—as though a clock was counting down. Ten counts later, it went silent and the voice announced:

"Let the match begin."

Everything went white… And then the vision of ten chosen Champions was flooded with vibrant colours.

"Welcome to Summoner's Rift!"

Diminutive blue caster minions marched along the grassy lane, their staffs held high as they charged boldly towards certain death. They passed the Nexus turret and the one following it, all the way up to the end of the lane where the enemy lines began, dispersing the fog of war and scuttling swiftly towards the row of purple caster minions that were revealed as a result.

As they struck each other roundly, making no complaints despite the senselessness of their collective existence, a streak of red-silver blurred across the verdant terrain, emerging from the tall brush that grew along the uppermost section of the lane, and collided with a second blur—this one silver and beige.

'CRACK!'

Metal met metal in a ferocious parry, both blurs proving to be two beautiful, fearsome women trying their best to win the upper hand.

The woman allied with the blue minions was a tall, slim Frenchwoman with cropped tresses that were black with a wine-coloured bang—short in the back and long in the front—and almond-shaped gray eyes. She smirked, her rapier—the perfect symbolism for her poise and grace as well as her deadliness in combat—glinting wickedly as she tried her best to break through the giant broken blade that the other woman held in front of her like a shield.

"Had enough yet?"

Her opponent, a shorter blonde woman with a similar hair style, though ash blonde, and dark, serious brown eyes, grunted in response and her muscles flexed powerfully as she brought the blade up, sending the brunette sliding backwards. She wore a form-fitting burgundy spaghetti-strap tank top over which she had draped the tattered remains of a dusty brown cloak and a short skirt made of sandy beige fabric was wrapped loosely around her hips. Her armor was a hodgepodge—a single spaulder, gauntlet, and armored boot—for she had lost the other pieces long ago.

The woman dashed forward, a poisonous green shield forming around her for a brief moment as she closed the distance between them, and the Frenchwoman laughed, her countering Lunge allowing her to dart nimbly past the blonde so that she could thrust her blade into the exposed area between her underarm and shoulder.

It would have been a crippling blow had it landed. Instead, the warrior's shield deflected the blow and she twisted, deflecting the strike with enough force to send the taller woman flying; the woman flipped elegantly, landing on her feet and holding her blade parallel to her body, that enigmatic smirk firmly in place.

"Oh-hoh! I knew you'd be a worthy opponent, Riven."

Riven, as she was called, smiled faintly. "The same could be said about you, Fiora."

They met again in mid-air with a 'clang!' and parted not an eye-blink later, the air whistling with the speed and powerfulness of their attacks as they struck again and again—a symphony of parries.

By the time both Champions went still some distance from each other, muscles trembling as they mentally prepared themselves for another attack, both minion waves had destroyed each other entirely.

They were alone.

Fiora tilted her head to the side, brilliant orbs shining excitedly. She loved the thrill of battle—of an opponent well met.

"Again."

Before either could move, a loud, terrifying roar echoed across the lane and a huge, bipedal lion-beast leaped out of nowhere, long white dreadlocked fur flowing behind it as it emerged from it's the brush and slashed through the tall woman's throat with the honed edge of the hunting knife clutched in its paw.

Eyes went wide—one pair gray and one green—as the duelist fell to her knees, her lips moving soundlessly before her blade clattered to the grass and she collapsed, crimson staining the high collar of the white sleeveless half jacket she wore.

"First blood."

"Rengar…" Riven growled through gritted teeth, her knuckles going white as she clutched the hilt of her blade. She twirled the blade in a wide arc, attaching it to her hip in a practiced motion, and pushed past her ally, stepping around the minions that hurried dutifully towards the opposing turret and stooping next to her fallen opponent.

She reached out, expression unreadable, but the brunette's inert form dissipated into nothingness before her fingers could make contact.

"Sorry, Cupcake!" The grinning pinkette held up one huge gauntlet, a red beam of light connecting her to her partner and current opponent, and hurtled forward, closing the distance between them in the blink of an eye and grabbing the brunette by the front of her teeny top, hoisting the officer up into the air as the propulsion system in her gauntlets purred powerfully. From just beyond the jungler, the hooded archer drew the string of her ice bow back, narrowing indigo orbs as she loosed an arrow, the resulting crit doing enough damage to destroy the AD Carry's remaining health the instant she landed. "Woo-hoo! Dat Ashe!" Vi cheered.

Ashe smiled demurely, returning her attention to earning gold from the growing pile of minion corpses, and the cocky bruiser disappeared into the jungle.

One kill was all well and good, but…

Riven grunted with effort, swinging her greatsword one last time in order to destroy the innermost turret that guarded the opposing team's Inhibitor.

… Gaining access to the Nexus was far more important.

As predicted, her enemies didn't appreciate the gesture and many had returned to base the moment their Summoners had noticed her intrusion. The first to reach her was the stubby scientist and a minefield of bombs covered the ground around the warrior's feet, but she dashed out of the way, a shield forming around her and reducing the damage the projectiles inflicting drastically. She went further into the base rather than back to her lane, knowing fully well that Vi would come roaring out of the tree line the moment she was in range, and headed for the mid-lane Inhibitor turret.

A Ki Burst stopped an invisible Rengar in his tracks and Riven didn't miss a beat as she ran headlong towards her destination.

"Stop her!"

It was then that Riven hesitated, her eyes meeting Fiora's. Fiora, the woman who was bearing down on her at full tilt, murder in her bright gaze—the only woman whose swordplay could match her own.

Her muscles ached, desperately desiring to clash blades once again, and she clenched her eyes shut, reaching out to touch the ivy-covered white surface.

There would be another chance. Now was neither the time nor place.

The chat was flooded with profanity as the Exile disappeared through the stone wall surrounding the base with a Flash.

Five Minutes Later…

"We're down by five turrets and an inhib." Vi sighed wearily, her shoulders slumping. "That sneaky bitch really set us back."

Fiora frowned, her hand reflexively going to the pommel of the sword at her hip, but she didn't comment on the bruiser's crassness.

Ziggs, who was juggling a few bombs with lit, hissing fuses, tutted. "My lane is fine."

"Would you cut that shit out before you kill us?"

He scoffed, but tossed his explosives straight up in the air, tilting his head back and opening his mouth wide—

"What the fuck are you doing!?"

—into which they fell and he closed his jaw, grinning manically a moment later as smoke left his nostrils. "Problem?"

"Enough," Ashe interrupted, ever the peacekeeper.

Her support, the infallible tank, Leona, nodded in agreement. "Fighting amongst ourselves will do us no good. If we cannot band together for one final push, we may as well lay down our weapons and allow the opposing forces to storm our Nexus."

The others mumbled their agreement and they left the base together, focusing on mid lane where they had managed to destroy the most objectives.

One final push. One last chance to cross blades with Riven.

The Grand Duelist's rapier shone as she activated Riposte, the blade pointing straight upwards and at the ready, and she Lunged forward, slicing neatly through a minion and using the second charge to close the distance between herself and the little red-headed girl standing in the middle of the field all by herself—

"Tibbers!"

A trap. Fiora winced as intense heat scorched her skin, the paralytic effect of the mage's fourth spell taking effect and locking her in place, her limbs refusing to cooperate.

The girl, Annie, grinned, brilliant emerald orbs burning with dark flames as she pointed a single finger at her opponent.

"Got'cha."

Before the flaming bear monstrosity could take her in long, curved claws and rip her to shreds, the giant silhouette of… a smiley face flashed for a split second on the ground—a warning—and Annie gasped, quickly running out of the circle of devastation, but her familiar wasn't quite agile enough and the massive explosive that went off just a moment later charred the earth and reduced the possessed stuffed animal to cinders; the heat rolled harmlessly past Fiora, though she flinched reflexively.

The Frenchwoman's fingertips twitched, a sign that the stun was wearing off, and her body blurred, her world becoming a rush of wind and colour as she moved more quickly than the eye could see, striking her opponent one… two… three… four times—

Unfortunately, the fact of the matter was the blue team's prospects weren't very good and it seemed the Summoners realized that as well because the silent forfeit vote filled the Champions' subconscious and their limbs became heavy as the power that controlled them loosened its grip.

"No!" Fiora barked, whirling and striking her enemy a fifth and final time, cutting down the young pyromaniac without hesitation. "Never surrender!"

Naturally, her opinion had no bearing and the vote passed. The ground beneath them rumbled ominously, dissolving into lines of neon green numbers—varying combinations of zeroes and ones—and reassembling itself into the post-game lobby: a lush field of thigh-high grasses growing around an impressive tree that's boughs reached for the heavens. There was also a waterfall that roared as it smashed into the clear surface of a lake below, but the raven-haired beauty didn't hear it over the disappointing pounding of her heart in her ears as the disembodied voice announced,

"Purple team wins!"

…

'Shik.'

Fiora looked up: the blonde woman had embedded her greatsword in the earth and was stretching, rolling her shoulders and twisting at the waist. She came closer, leaning against the tree's broad base and taking care not to trip over the sprawling roots. "I apologize for my teammate."

"…"

"I was so caught up in our duel that I didn't hear him ping his approach. You know that I would have alerted you had I noticed."

"…"

Riven sighed, sliding down to sit next to the prideful woman. Their unlikely friendship had developed over the past few months with their shared love of battle and their strict codes of honour but, at times, Fiora's moodiness placed a strain on the stoic mercenary. One moment, the raven-haired woman was brimming with energy and coyness; knowledgeable in several subjects (especially weaponry) and charmingly charismatic. The next…

It was like talking to a wall. If walls could look at you with icy gray orbs that somehow made you feel small and insignificant, that is.

"Don't be upset." She had just spent the last five minutes dutifully accepting the praise of her teammates in regards to how she had performed in battle without caring either way what they thought of her and yet the very thought of Fiora being upset with her made the blonde shift anxiously. "There will be another—"

"… I envy you." The statement, said quietly, unexpectedly, made the Exile gape slightly and she could only stare for a full minute before managing to wrap her brain around it.

Fiora Laurent was the most renowned duelist in Demacia, the human city-state known as a paragon of virtue and honour. She had been born into the House Laurent, a wealthy family that had been duelists for generations, keeping her chin up and her nose clean.

And Riven? Well, she had sampled nobility once and it tasted of the bitter copper tang of blood—both her hands and on her blade. Upon her self-imposed exile from Noxus, the brutal city where strength was all that mattered, she had taken to the wilds, going where the wind led her.

They were opposites in everything but their ideals, really.

"What…?"

"You are free, mon ami."

"I suppose that depends on how you define 'freedom.'" she said bitterly.

Fiora's expression was thoughtful, though she didn't speak as she rested a hand gently on Riven's shoulder and the blonde swore she could feel the feather-light touch even through the single spiked metal spaulder she wore.

The thought was somehow discomfiting.

"My apologies. I did not mean to assume."

"Mm…"

A blinding flash of light illuminated the clearing and a portal appeared, its shining surface a kaleidoscope of colour. "Ah. Home awaits."

Her heart throbbed painfully and she sighed, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. She supposed she should be used to being on her own… The warrior's friendship had spoiled her to the notion that another human being would enjoy her company enough to stay by her side. "See you."

Fiora rose from her seated position and started towards the rift in space, but she paused just before it, half turning to look at the other woman.

"Where do you call home now?"

The vortex swirled chaotically, the force of its suction causing wine red tresses to dance and Riven was struck by how the mystical ambiance highlighted lovely features.

"Home is wherever I happen to wander."

A slight smile curved pale pink lips. "Perhaps someday you'll wander into Demacia, hn? If you do, come find me."

It was the closest thing to an invitation she'd get from the crafty Frenchwoman and that somehow made the words all the more… inviting.

Without waiting for a response, the Grand Duelist stepped into the portal, disappearing in a flash of light.

Desert stretched on for as far as the eye could see, its dusty surface warping like a serpent under the intense heat of the sun. No creature dared to brave the elements save a single humanoid figure wrapped in a dingy beige cloak—an attempt to protect themselves from the heat.

Riven peered up at the sky, raising a hand to shade her eyes, and sighed. She had been travelling in this direction for so long that she had lost her way and, while she didn't have any particular destination in mind, the knowledge would have been comforting given that her water canteen was drained and she was beginning to feel dizzy.

Part of her was afraid of what that would mean for her. The other part relished the idea that she could just close her eyes and sleep forever.

She was tired… So tired.

The warrior's foot caught on something—a shin bone that had been picked clean, upon later inspection—and she stumbled, falling to her hands and knees in the sand. She could feel the heat of the surface burn through her pants and sting her palms, but she found her limbs wouldn't cooperate and allow her to struggle back to her feet.

Wonderful…

At least she knew where she was now; growing bravely out of the sand was a single green sprout holding up a bright pink flower—a species native to the Shurima Desert region.

A shadow fell over the warrior and she gritted her teeth, one hand going to the hilt of her blade even as the other grasped futilely at the ground.

"Riven?"

That echoing double tenor… Hadn't she heard it before?

Dark green orbs flicked upwards at the being that stood there—a tall, muscular bipedal jackal with a stern, foreboding air, dressed in gold armor that glistened in the sunlight—and she released a humorless chuckle. "Small world."

Nasus, the Curator of the Sands.

"Indeed it is. What brings you to the Great Library?"

The what? Her expression must have reflected her confusion because he swung the blunt-ended staff in his hand and the ground beneath them shook; from it emerged a large, stone dome with a set of barred double doors leading into its innards. Its surface had been worn smooth by the elements and the change in temperature resulting from the long shadow that stretched past it made the mercenary feel ten times better.

"I lost my way."

"An easy mistake to make." Something about his tone, though no words actually left his snout, made the blonde bristle. A giant, furry hand reached out, lifting her as easily, gently, as one would a feather. "Where was your intended destination?"

What was with the interrogation?

"What are you doing here?" The last she had heard, Nasus had abandoned his post here in the sands in order to chase down his scaly monstrosity of a brother (and don't ask how that species combo worked out) to the ends of Valoran and bring him to justice.

The jackal heaved a great sigh. "Follow me."

Great Library, ground floor…

Metal braziers flared to life on either side of the entrance, casting light on rows upon rows of wooden bookshelves lined with ancient tomes and tightly rolled scrolls. The wall was somehow free of sand, though complex spider webs strung from the support beams arching across the ceiling like faintly gleaming banners.

"This library delves deep into the ground, housing entire generations of information gathered here by the residents of the desert."

Somehow, Riven didn't think that the Curator of the Sands had brought her down here for a tour, so she waited patiently for the guardian to reveal his intentions. Here in Valoran she wasn't invulnerable and, despite the fact that Nasus could actually harm her if he wished to, she knew the Champion to be a warrior of honour.

If they were to cross weapons, he would challenge her formally at the very least.

"I had hoped to discover a way to break free of the chains that bind us to Summoner's Rift."

Blink. "Why?"

The Champions bound to Runeterra had all joined willingly in order to achieve some grand goal. Nasus himself had yet to bring down the Butcher of the Sands, so why would he be in such a hurry to leave?

"I am weary, Riven. We immortals sometimes forget how long 'forever' truly is."

"Mm…"

"I meant to ask you: why do you fight on the Fields of Justice? Perhaps you would be interested in escaping bondage as well."

Not particularly. Most everyone in Runeterra had their own reasons for wanting to run endlessly to their deaths on the battlefield, achieving nothing in the end, and Riven's was quite simple: she had nowhere else to go. When she was in Valoran, she wandered as she had today, treading the fine line between life and death and daring cruel fate to strike her down.

It never did, but sometimes she wished she'd find the end of the long, long road she was following into oblivion.

Nasus tilted his head. "You are deeply troubled, warrior."

Yes, she supposed she was.

A tingling began at the crown of the blonde's head and worked its way down to the tips of her toes and she frowned. "I'm being Summoned."

"Safe travels. I sincerely hope you find whatever it is you're looking for on the battlefield."

She nodded curtly, his words sending a niggling sensation of doubt deep into her subconscious, and, a moment later, she dissolved into flecks of light.

-m-

At the heart of Demacia, within several rings of civilization that served to separate commerce from housing and, further still, peasants from nobility, the fine houses and expansive lands were divided up by a network of cobblestone roads.

And along such a path a pair of horses lead a metallic, dome-shaped carriage at top speed, the driver seated in the box at the front urged them faster still with a crack of his whip. Within its velvet interior sat an elegant duelist, her back rigid, long legs crossed, and a thin, pallid man with an impressive mustache whose nose was long and rat-like. The jostling from without wasn't reflected with in the slightest.

"Madam Laurent, I-I really must insist…"

"Non. You understand me, Richard? We shall speak of this matter no more."

"But—"

There was the dangerous 'shik' of metal on metal as the fencer drew her rapier, pressing the pointed tip up against the underside of the man's jaw. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Oui…"

"Tres magnifique."

Fiora rose, bursting through the door of the carriage before the young man waiting at the end of the footpath leading into the Laurent manor could open it for her and storming across the grounds—not towards the house, but towards the barracks.

"I am not to be disturbed for the rest of the evening," she snapped over her shoulder, leaving the confused boy and driver in her wake.

"What's troubling Madam Laurent?" the driver asked as Richard emerged from the vehicle.

The mustachioed man threw his hands up, mumbling a string of profanity as he ignored his present company and headed towards the house.

Both young men exchanged a confused look, for all they could make out was, "Wait until her mother hears about this."

…

"En guard," Fiora muttered, launching a flurry of strikes at one of the many straw dolls littering the training yard before her in quick succession. She fell still, lowering her blade, and the dummy toppled, broken clean in half at the middle.

It brought her a small measure of satisfaction, but not enough to dispel the rage that boiled her blood.

"I thought I'd find you here." That voice—cultured, rich, almost mocking in its coyness—could only belong to one person.

"Mother."

The duelist turned to face the tall, imposing, brown-haired woman leaning lazily against the gate that allowed entry past the fence running the perimeter of the sandy arena, stormy orbs meeting amber.

Cecilia Laurent—her mother.

The older woman chuckled. "If looks could kill, mon cheri…"

Tch. She sheathed her blade. "To what do I owe this honour?"

"Richard tells me that you do not approve of my plans to unite the House Laurent and the House Florence."

She bristled indignantly. "By using your daughter as a peace offering? No, I do not."

"Fiora." That stern, reproachful tone never failed to make her feel foolish. "Think of what's best for your family."

"Excusé-moi?" Such a comment stung like salt in a wound for Fiora had spent her entire life doing what was "best for the family." She had gone so far as to challenge and strike down her own father—the only man she had ever trusted—in order to maintain their honour.

Her mother sighed. "You know that I care for you, Fiora."

She had a strange way of showing it. Before the Grand Duelist could comment, a tingle ran from the top of her head and along the length of her spine and she clenched her fists. Just her luck: she was being Summoned.

"What's wrong, my dear? You've gone pale."

"… It's nothing."

Civilians couldn't know of the chosen Champions' role on the Fields of Justice… She had to get rid of the nosy woman before her secret was unceremoniously revealed.

"I have no desire to marry, mother."

"Why? He is such a nice young man. So 'andsome and charming."

The tingling worsened, becoming a slow burn, and she gritted her teeth, fighting off the magic as best she could. She knew she'd face a slew of expletives and complaints about "lag" from the other Summoner's upon joining her fellow warriors in Runeterra and the thought alone made her temples throb.

"Fiora?"

"You want to know why?" she snapped, desperation making her tone sharp as steel. "It is because I do not like men!"

The brunette gasped, swooning against a fencepost, and the Champion took advantage of her lowered guard, dashing off and darting behind the squat, military construction and out of sight. She released a sigh of relief as she dissipated into a cloud of light fragments.

"Fiora, wait!"

Cecilia came running around the corner of the building, but the younger woman was nowhere to be found. It was as though she had just… Vanished.

(break)

It was true: Fiora didn't particularly care for the companionship of men. Ever since her father—the sniveling, cowardly, cur—had abandoned the honour and integrity that the Laurent family crest stood for, she had lost all faith in the male sex. He had been a figurehead and, while her mother ran everything in his shadow, he took all the credit as though he deserved it.

If there was anything Fiora hated, it was a fake—a liar.

Besides, women were so much better. They were soft and sweet smelling, yet strong and willful; beautiful to look at and even more beautiful to feel for.

They weren't all good, of course. Some were a real pain—lovely on the outside and rotten to the core. Leeches who fed upon their partner until they bled them dry before trapping another poor soul in a trap comprised of pretty lies that hid the ugliness of their intent—which was why finding love was a dangerous game indeed.

… And also why she was so intrigued by the Noxian exile, Riven. Not only had the former captain of the Crimson Elite managed to match the speed and outright ferocity of the Grand Duelist's swordplay, but she was also a humble person, living by an honor code that Fiora couldn't help but admire.

She was one in a million—a fearsome warrior, a beautiful woman, and a faithful ally.

She was also coming down the lane towards the warrior, her gate slow and measured.

…

"We meet again." The Exile brandished her blade and gestured for the pretty Frenchwoman to come closer with her free hand. She was still fatigued from her journey, but there was no way she was going to go out without putting up a fight.

To her surprise, Fiora didn't respond in kind, her expression drawn, tense, and Riven lowered her weapon despite herself. "Is something wrong?"

Something dark crossed over the dark-haired woman's lovely features, but just as quickly as it had come, it was gone, and the corners of her lips quirked daringly.

"Hello again, mon ami."

There, that was better. Riven slid her legs apart, raising her arm so that her greatsword was poised above her head—much in the manner of a scorpion's stinger. "I've been meaning to ask you what that means."

She just hadn't gotten around to asking because it sounded so… pleasant. The phrase could have been a horrible insult, but the way the other woman said it made her want to be a "mon ami"—whatever that was.

Fiora chuckled. "'My friend'," she clarified, drawing her own weapon and holding the blade parallel to her body. The stance was a familiar one, but the way her shoulders slumped, a mockery of her usually perfect posture, was a red flag.

Riven wouldn't be a very good friend if she didn't ask, "Are you certain nothing is troubling you?"

"A turret has been destroyed."

"Now is not the time for talking," was the curt response. "En guard."

That was all the warning the duelist gave before she Lunged forward, her movement swift, precise; the tip of her rapier nicked the blonde's cheek as she dashed to the side just a heartbeat too late.

She wasn't used to this sort of aggressiveness from Fiora. Normally, their clashes were good-natured with no real concern as to the score, but now it was as if she was in another place far from here, fighting some mortal enemy.

A powerful thrust of the Frenchwoman's rapier made the Exile's arm tremble as she raised her greatsword to deflect it and soon she was being driven back, towards her turret. She continued to lose ground as she was jabbed and swiped at, the air whistling with the force behind her opponent's strikes. There was no way for her to counter, no way she could do anything but defend herself, lest she end up like the minions that fell to the wicked point of the Grand Duelist's blade.

"An ally has been slain."

From the sound of it, mid was getting crushed…

"This time, we shall not lose." Her blade shone with the attack-boosting effect of Riposte as she stilled completely, seemingly unconcerned about the enemy turret that loomed forebodingly behind the Exile. For now, it shot laser beams at the enemy minions, thinning the tiny mob until just one remained.

This was her chance! Riven swung her greatsword, the blow doing just enough to the siege minion to fell it so that her turret turned a glowing blue visor on Fiora—

But the Grand Duelist disappeared entirely, leaving only a lingering image of herself that resulted from the incredible speed with which she was moving. A moment later, the untargetable Champion loosed her Waltz of Blades, striking Riven once…

The blonde cried out, raising a hand to staunch the blood that dribbled down her side.

Twice…

She stumbled, her own state of weariness making it impossible to keep up with the enraged redhead.

Then a third time…

Physical pain Riven could bear. This all-out assault felt strangely personal, however, and that stung worse than the shallow wounds all over her body.

A fourth…

Fiora's rapier drew a pattern in red, its deadly sharp tip drawing and distributing the Exile's blood like a paintbrush would paint until the blonde was lightheaded, staggering about as though she was walking a tightrope.

When the fifth strike didn't come, Riven fell to the earth, her limbs no longer possessing the strength to hold her upright, her body bruised and bleeding. She flinched when a too warm hand cupped her cheek, lifting her gaze to meet Fiora's.

"Je suis désolé…" The read-head sounded almost fearful and the mercenary actually felt bad for the woman who had whipped her so soundly.

"What…" She coughed, struggling for a moment. "… does that mean?"

Stormy orbs lowered to the ground in an uncharacteristically defeated manner. "'I am sorry.'"

Sorry? For—

Pain bloomed like a flower of heat and agony beneath her breast as the short blade that the duelist kept hidden at the small of her back found its way between her ribs and into the still-beating muscle within their protective cage. It wasn't the underhanded nature of the attack but the kiss—the chaste, almost apologetic meeting of lips—that followed that made the blonde gasp, green eyes going wide.

"I am sorry," Fiora repeated, her concerned expression going black and white as Riven's body went cold.

(break)

Riven stirred, starting awake as her memory came rushing back. She remembered dying, but she didn't remember the blinding flash of light that occurred just before respawning, nor did she recognize the room she was in. It was spacious and the bed she was lying on was plush. The walls were a calming shade of yellow and the floor was paved with pale brown marble richly veined with a contrasting shade. There was no other decoration save the writing desk that her greatsword was leaned up against in the far a corner, so she quickly surmised that the room didn't often see use. The open window next to the bed afforded a view of an herb garden of some sort and a warm breeze wafted in, stirring blonde tresses and lifting her spirits. She wasn't a prisoner here, at least… But where was here?

The sound of the door opening pulled her attention from her musings and she tensed, her muscles protesting as a result of the reflexive action, but it was only Fiora.

Wait… What?

Her confusion only grew when she saw what the redhead had in her hands: a metal tray upon which there was a roll of bandages, a ceramic bowl that she assumed to contain some sort of medicine, and a pair of scissors.

"Soraka informed me that you are in an extreme state of exhaustion. You are to refrain from combat until you've recovered your strength."

That was preposterous. The Exile tried to sit up, her lips parting in protest, but she soon found that she couldn't manage to stay upright.

"Don't be stubborn" Fiora chastised gently, resting a hand on Riven's shoulder—wait, where was her armor?

It was then that the mercenary realized that she had been stripped down to the corset-like top and her breeches. Upon giving her caretaker an incredulous look, the Frenchwoman smiled sheepishly. "I thought you'd be more comfortable if I removed your armor."

Actually, the lack of the familiar weight was more off-putting than anything, but she chose not to comment.

"Where am I?"

"The Laurent manor. I brought you back with me once it was clear that you were not going to awaken."

She supposed she should thank the other woman, but a little red flag went off in the back of her mind and she frowned. "You…"

/ Soft lips pressed against hers, leaving just as quickly as they had come, and Fiora's expression was uncharacteristically shameful.

"I am sorry…"/

Blink. Had that even really happened? Riven wasn't too sure any longer.

"Allow me to dress your wounds," Fiora was saying, when she returned to the present. She had pulled chair from the desk up to her bedside and was rubbing the crème smelling sweetly of jasmine between her palms. A warm, gentle hand spread cool salve over Riven's skin and she leaned unconsciously into the touch, craving the contact on some visceral level. Human beings were social creatures, after all.

"How did I…?"

"You did not heal completely as Champions normally do on the Fields of Justice. I believe it is because you did not respawn properly."

Oh… "How bad is it?"

She shrugged. "A cut here and there. Nothing to worry about. This paste is meant to ensure that you do not scar." Her fingertips lingered. "You are so soft and smooth it would be a shame if…" Abruptly, the redhead removed her hand. "Pardon, I overstepped my boundaries."

"No!" Riven cleared her throat, settling down when the other woman gave her a curious look. "It's fine. I'm rather sore."

That wasn't quite the truth, but… She just really needed the contact right now.

Stormy orbs narrowed a degree and the duelist hesitated a moment before saying softly, "Allow me to help you alleviate some of that soreness."

"Please."

Warm, strong hands rested on her shoulders, squeezing together at the base of her neck and the mercenary made a low sound deep in her throat, her head falling forward to give the Grand Duelist more space to work. Perhaps sore hadn't been the correct word for it—the tenseness she carried in her shoulders had become knots of stress that melted under Fiora's expert touch and she shivered.

Hot air gusted over a sensitive ear and the blonde nearly moaned. "Ah… Am I being too rough?"

No. Before Riven could demand more, the door swung open and in strode a striking woman with long, dark brown hair, her exquisite features highlighted with a light dusting of blush and dark red lipstick. She was taller than Fiora, her build more willowy beneath a form-fitting viridian dress, but the family resemblance was undeniable.

"Fiora," the woman barked. "First you disappear and now—"

Her daughter straightened quickly, placing as much distance between herself and the Exile as physically possible without leaving the chair. "Mother, this is Riven."

The elder Laurent composed herself, becoming far less intimidating. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Riven… How is it that you know my daughter?"

"I—"

"Please do not interrogate my guest."

"It is not an interrogation, mon cheri. I merely wish to know what sort of relationship the two of you share."

What was that supposed to mean?

Fiora bristled. "This is about earlier."

"Yes, and we have much to discuss."

The blonde shifted uncomfortably as the air between them became tense. More than anything, she wanted to flee the room, but she noticed the way the redhead's clenched fist trembled and, before she even realized she had moved, she reached out and rested a tanned hand over a pale one. The grateful look she received for her efforts made her feel oddly warm and she smiled slightly, encouragingly.

Amber orbs flicked to the point of contact and the imposing woman's expression became unreadable. "I need to speak with you."

"Give me—"

"Now, daughter."

Riven glanced between the two, fully expecting Fiora to challenge that authoritative tone, but the fiery duelist merely deflated.

"Yes, mother."

The pair left the room, closing the door shut with an ominous sound and the mercenary was once again alone.

Naturally, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and grabbed her weapon before hurrying after them.

Fiora watched as her mother paced the length of the sitting room, torn between amusement and annoyance.

The former melted away completely when the brunette dragged a hand through her hair, snapping, "I cannot believe you!"

"As though this is somehow my fault?" Incredulity coloured her tone, which only seemed to further agitate the older woman.

"Who else would be at fault? Me? Oh, where did I go wrong…?"

"One cannot choose who or what they are attracted to any more than one can choose the colour of their skin," she retorted coolly. "No one is 'at fault'."

The elder Laurent rounded on her daughter. "I swear, you do this to spite me."

"And what exactly am I doing?"

"It's unnatural! You and that-that Riven girl."

All at once, annoyance was replaced with an icy calm. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're trying to say, mother. Riven is my friend."

"And since when do you look at your friends with those doe eyes of yours, hm? Waiting like a dog for a kind word or a pat on the head."

Blink. "I don't…" But the argument fell flat. She didn't do that… did she?

"Your so-called friend may be oblivious to the way you revere the very ground she walks upon, but I am not."

How in the world had she gleaned all of that from their brief meeting?

"Snap out of it, Fiora. You are a Laurent and therefor have an image to uphold. Honor, valor—"

"—pride," the redhead completed duly. Those were the three words inscribed on ribbons that curled underneath two crossed rapiers—the image that served as their family crest.

"Then you haven't forgotten. Good."

"I have pride, mother. And pride will not allow me to lie down while you walk all over my preferences." She straightened her spine, silently challenging the older woman. "If I am unnatural, so be it. I will not change who I am—for you or anyone else."

A slender, manicured hand drew back like a cobra about to strike and Fiora braced herself for impact… That never came. One stormy eye cracked open quizzically and the duelist gasped, her heart beating loudly against the inside of her rib cage.

Riven.

"While your quarrel with your daughter is none of my business, I cannot stand idly by and watch you strike someone who is unarmed and unresisting." The blonde released her iron grip on the elder Laurent's wrist only after placing herself between the woman and her target. "How can I help you resolve this issue?"

"There is no issue," Fiora said quickly.

"You can show me what that ungainly hunk of metal at your hip is worth," Cecilia said at the exact same time.

No, she could not. She was on bed rest by the order of a half-unicorn healer from a magical realm, but the older Laurent couldn't know that.

"Fine." The Grand Duelist glared and the blonde shrugged her shoulders. "If I win, you allow Fiora to have her way in your argument."

"Fine. As unlikely as that is, I will honor your terms. If I win, however, you are to leave Demacia and never return. Am I clear?"

Exiled yet again? But losing access to Demacia—to Fiora, in a way—wasn't alienation she could cope with. Not now, while she was so strangely attached to the Frenchwoman.

The brunette extended a deceptively delicate hand and they shook on it, the strength behind the older woman's grip actually managing to startle the blonde. "I will see you in an hour."

Cecilia stormed out of the room, the longer fabric at the back of her dress sweeping theatrically behind her, and Fiora rounded on Riven.

"I can defend my own honor."

"I know."

The sincerity behind the simple statement quelled her ire almost immediately and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not daring to meet the mercenary's gaze. "… How long were you listening?"

"I arrived just before she raised her hand to strike you."

Relief made her feel somehow lighter. But just as quickly, the realization of what the Exile had just done dawned on her and her stomach flip-flopped in a dizzying manner. "You just…"

"Mm?"

"You challenged my mother. To a one-on-one duel."

Riven nodded, one eyebrow quirked questioningly.

"My. Mother," Fiora repeated slowly, as though to a very stupid child. "The former head of the House Laurent—pride of Demacia's duelists for centuries."

Ah. There was the expression she was looking for: eyes wide, lips parted in a quiet gasp. Just as quickly as it had come, however, it passed, and the blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "I'll be fine."

She sincerely hoped so. Losing the ability to see the mercenary anywhere but the Fields of Justice was more than the Grand Duelist could bear.

Riven sat cross-legged in the sand, her blade resting across her lap as she prepared herself mentally for the fight to come. She had reequipped her armor, though she had exchanged her skirt for a pair of leather breeches that had been leant to her by Fiora. Here in Valoran, the warrior didn't have free use of the powers the magically charged air in Runeterra afforded, so she would have to use every skill in her arsenal.

There was the cheerful jingling of chains as the gate to the training yard was unlocked and Cecelia Laurent strode through it, still wearing the dress she had been wearing earlier. The gold pattern that snaked its way up her side and across her thigh glinted in the sunlight, as did the rapier at her hip.

"While your courage is admirable, your stupidity is appalling," she called, stopping at the other edge of the circular arena. "Just what do you hope to accomplish here by fighting me with that piece of trash?"

Riven breathed in, channeling her focus inward. No sense in letting the tall woman get into her head and gain any sort of advantage over her.

"A broken blade is more than enough for the likes of you."

"What was that?"

The blade glowed a dull shade of green, the edge jagged edge growing outward, becoming whole again, and she twirled it as though it was weightless, hefting it so that the sharp edge rested across her shoulders.

"Come."

The brunette blinked, caught off-guard by the transformation, but she raised her rapier, the blade perfectly parallel to her body, and stiffened her spine. "Very well."

"The victor shall be the one left standing. Losing your weapon is an automatic loss," Fiora explained from the sidelines. "Leaving the ring is an automatic loss. Any outside assistance is an automatic loss. Understood?"

Riven nodded and Cecilia did the same, tension coiling through the air between them like a giant, hostile serpent.

"Begin."

And, just like that, the ash blonde warrior was alone in the middle of the arena, dark eyes searching frantically for her opponent. How was it possible for Cecelia to just… vanish?

A chill went down the Exile's spine, a warning flag going off at the back of her head, and she leaped backwards just as the dark-haired woman hurtled from the heavens to land where she had just been standing, blade extended as she vaulted forwards, thrusting her rapier towards the Exile; they met with a burst of sparks and a "CLANK!", the force behind Cecelia's strike numbing the blonde woman's arm.

She whipped around, pirouetting with all the grace of a dancer, and stepped into the warrior's blind spot, slicing a thin cut through the bandages wrapped around Riven's lower arm when the woman just barely managed to step out of harm's way.

The eldest Laurent was a ruthless combatant indeed.

With agility more suited to a feline creature, Cecilia twirled again, a confident smirk curving full lips as she struck again and again, the pattern too rapid and nonsensical for the blonde to be able to predict it; a deafening clap like that of thunder punctuated each meeting of blades, but every so often, metal met skin and the mercenary recoiled.

At this rate, the Frenchwoman would wear her down. There was no way she could outrun the older woman, so there was only one option remaining—

Riven loosed a battle cry, Valor sending her hurtling forward, and she drew her arms up above her head, smashing the blade into the ground with enough force to create a crater that sent sand raining down on the combatants.

—Overpower her.

Muscles strained beneath tanned skin as the former Noxian swung again, the wide arc of her blade forcing the duelist on the defensive. As long as she kept up her assault, pressing her foe back and rendering her unable to retaliate…

The Exile leaped, Broken Wings allowing her to move quickly while clobbering the earth between each agile aerial motion, the third flip allowed her to knock the fencer into the air; her blade burned a toxic green—

"I am awakened."

—and a conic wave of like coloured wind shot from the blade's edge, smashing the eldest Laurent into the ground. Blood dripped down Riven's side and she clutched an arm across her mid-section to staunch its flow, her free hand gripping the hilt of her blade so tightly her knuckles were white.

Cecelia rolled clear as the mercenary landed in the spot she had just been, her greatsword creating a splintering crack through the earth, and quickly regained her footing, brandishing her rapier—

"No!"

The blade had been snapped clean from the cross-guard—two lions back to back, rearing up on their hind paws, their great maws parted in a fearsome roar—and was lying in the sand, glinting almost apologetically.

"Winner!"

But Riven barely heard the younger Laurent's voice over the rush of blood in her ears as darkness flooded her vision.

...

Riven awoke to find herself in the guest room bed, her bare torso wrapped in bandages. Fiora was sitting in a chair next to her bed, slumped onto the plush surface, her expression peaceful—how long had she been sitting there?

Without thinking, the mercenary reached out, running her hand through silken wine tresses and smiling affectionately when the fencer's brow furrowed adorably, her eyes moving restlessly beneath closed lids. The blonde trailed her fingertips over the bridge of the redhead's nose, skipping to the corner of pale pink lips and lingering for a moment…

Fiora stirred and the warrior quickly reclaimed her renegade appendage just as stormy blue orbs opened.

"I fell asleep...?"

"It appears so." She chuckled. "In your defense, I must have been asleep for quite some time."

Guilt flashed across exquisite features. "This is my fault…"

She shook her head, smiling faintly. "I stuck my nose where it didn't belong."

While that was true, she still felt incredibly guilty because the other woman had been hurt. The Exile had fought without knowing what she was fighting for because she believed in Fiora… and that made the redhead's heart flutter.

"I know you'll take good care of me," the blonde continued, relaxing back against the pillows.

When her eyelids fluttered shut, the duelist swallowed, shoring up her courage. "Riven…"

"Mm?" A single chocolate-toned orb cracked open to regard her, though the mercenary remained completely at ease. Fiora knew that she didn't usually let her guard down like this and the fact that the warrior trusted her that much had the corners of her lips quirking happily.

"Earlier, when you stepped in between my mother and me… We were arguing."

"You don't have to tell me. I know whatever it was, it meant a lot to you."

If only she knew. "You are correct. We were arguing about you."

"What?"

"I've… fallen for you."

For what felt like an eternity, Riven only stared, her lips parted slightly, and Fiora felt sick to her stomach with anxiety. Finally, she said softly, "I think maybe I have too."

What?! She barely dared to breathe as the shorter woman sat up, wincing slightly as the cut along her side throbbed painfully.

"I've never been one for romance, but I know that I enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you on the Fields of Justice and I miss you when you're away." She chuckled. "Now that I think about it, I suppose it was obvious."

This couldn't be happening. It was just too good to be true.

Riven gave her an amused look, reaching out and placing her hand over the fencer's just as she had before. This time, she threaded their fingers together, her gaze softening. "You're the closest thing I've had to a friend since leaving Noxus, Fiora. I care about you."

Ba-bump.

"I care about you as well, Riven. As a friend… and perhaps more."

Tan cheeks flushed. "What do you mean?"

Stormy orbs raked down her form, the heat within them like a physical touch, and the blonde shivered. She had never thought about being with another woman like that, but when it came to Fiora… Well, the Frenchwoman was incredibly beautiful and an adversary worthy of her admiration.

There was a thin line between admiration and desire, it would appear, and that single, smoldering look was all it took to ignite the flames. This time, her muscles ached for a clash that had nothing to do with blades.

The mercenary licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry. "Show me."

They kissed again, meeting half way this time, and the meeting of lips became a dance of tongues that made searing heat pool between slim thighs and sent electric pleasure zipping from neuron to neuron. As the kiss became steadily more heated, Fiora's hands roamed, touching every inch of tanned skin that wasn't covered by bandages and cloth, and the mercenary purred, pressing her body against the taller woman's.

When Riven winced, the duelist pulled away—an incredible display of will—and just stared for a moment, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "We should wait. At least until your wounds has healed."

While her reasoning was sound, the Exile's raging hormones weren't really in the mood for logic. She would have grabbed the other woman and pulled her into bed with her, but the spike of pain that lanced from her side when she reached out prevented her from doing so.

Fine. She would wait.

The next day…

Fiora yawned and stretched like a cat, her body curiously hot. When the action pressed her up against the curvaceous form of her bedmate, she gasped: Riven's bare breasts pressed into her back and the hand that had been tracing sensual patterns over her front slid upwards to cup twin peaks through the sheer cloth of her nightgown.

"Riven…!"

"Morning," the warrior husked, pressing a kiss to a pale shoulder.

She had moved the young woman from the guest room to her own room under the thinly-veiled excuse that it would be easier to care for the blonde if she was close by and the two spent all of their time together save the moments when the Grand Duelist disappeared to do battle on the Fields of Justice.

Riven wasn't sure how the Frenchwoman had done it, but the rumor going around Runeterra was that the wounded Champion was "bugged" and she hadn't been Summoned at all as a result. It was a nice little break and the faster she got better…

"You're so…" Fiora's breathing hitched as a thigh slid up between hers, pressing into private flesh that was already damp with arousal. "… Stubborn…"

"Mm…"

The duelist moaned low in her throat, sweet, sweet friction erasing all rational thought, and she forgot herself for a moment, riding the other woman's thigh, her eyes rolling back in her head.

But then reality came flooding back and she regretfully stilled her hips. "I… Ah. I need to change your bandages."

The fighter released a disappointed growl as the lovely redhead detangled herself and got out of bed, hips swaying, that itty bitty dress leaving very little to the imagination.

… And wait.

A few days later…

The kitchen, like the rest of the Laurent manor, was elegantly decorated yet completely functional with steel cooking appliances hanging from a rack on the ceiling and smooth marble countertops. Fiora's back was to the half door leading into the kitchen and she reached up to a shelf above her head to retrieve a container of seasoning.

"What are you cooking?" Riven asked, her dark gaze tracing over smooth curves. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing and Exile's stomach grumbled.

"Breakfast," the duelist-turned-chef responded smartly.

"Clearly." She crossed the tiled floor and sat at in one of the two wooden chairs at a small square table to the side of the room, propping her feet up—then quickly put them down when she received a reproachful look. "Let me be more specific: what are you cooking for breakfast?"

"Just eggs." She held out a forkful, smirking. "Try some."

The mercenary scoffed, but she rose and stalked over to her roommate, purposefully pressing up the redhead and pinning her up against the counter. She opened her mouth and the Frenchwoman fed her, her cheeks a shade darker than they had been before.

"Just eggs," Riven repeated incredulously. These were the best damn eggs she had ever had.

"Just eggs," Fiora agreed. "With some ground black pepper, red peppers, onion, and fresh basil." She kissed the tip of the other woman's nose, pushing gently past her in order to get some plates out of another cabinet. "Come, let's eat."

More time passes…

"How are you feeling? This isn't too rough for you, is it?"

Caged. Restless. Horny. It didn't help that the Grand Duelist's full, rounded bottom was pressed into her pelvis.

"Fine." She gripped Fiora's waist tighter, resting her forehead against the woman's shoulder. "Where are we going?"

Fiora dismounted, helping the mercenary down and promising that she'd return shortly before melting into the crowd that milled around a squat building with a thatch roof that was out of place amongst the other stone structures.

"Riven?!" Luxanna "Lux" Crownguard beamed, running over to the older girl and, though she seemed to want to throw her arms around Riven, she danced excitedly in place instead. "I didn't think I'd see you in Demacia."

"I'm visiting for a while."

"I've missed seeing you on the Fields of Justice. How have you been?"

She had? The mercenary wasn't familiar with that sentiment—except when Fiora was involved. "I'm nursing an injury, but I'll be back soon."

The light mage's expression became concerned in an instant and she reached out, resting a hand on the woman's shoulder. "I hope you feel better."

"She will as long as she rests like I keep telling her to." Fiora had returned with a parcel wrapped in brown paper tucked under her arm.

"Oh… I didn't know you two were friends! We should all hang out—"

"I'm quite busy. Perhaps another time." Stormy blue orbs were narrowed, almost challenging, and Riven arched an eyebrow. Was the redhead… jealous of the attention Lux was paying her? "If you'll excuse us…"

As she was ushered away, Riven glanced back at Lux, shrugging in response to the blonde's confused expression. Oddly enough, seeing this side of the duelist made her heart beat fast.

Finally…

The room was dark and two naked forms were entwined on the bed, the luminous moon pouring its light through the window as it bore witness to their intimate waltz.

"Ah…" Riven bucked, mewling blissfully, and the taller woman slicked wet hot excitement over feminine lips, sliding deep inside velvety depths and drumming her fingertips against the far wall. White hot pleasure rendered her muscles unresponsive as she rode long, talented fingers.

"Are you certain you're well enough for this?" Fiora's lips brushed against her ear as she spoke and the blonde shivered. "I do not wish to open your wound—"

"Shut up and fuck me."

When she asked like that…

The Frenchwoman quickened her pace; chuckling as her lover squirmed and squealed, silently begging for more with the arching of her back and the parting of her thighs. She leaned in and took a pale pink nipple into her mouth, grazing her teeth over the sensitive peak. When she bit down, curving her fingers in a rough "come-hither" motion, Riven actually screamed, her inner muscles clamping down in a vice grip as orgasm crashed into her with the force of a tsunami.

Sweat glistened on the tan warrior's skin and she pushed ash blonde locks out of her eyes, sighing happily and collapsing onto the bed, limbs akimbo.

"So good…"

"Merci." Fiora pressed a kiss against the Exile's sweaty forehead, rubbing gentle circles across her back. "You should rest, love. Your wounds—"

"Ah, ah, ah." She flipped the taller woman onto her back, playfulness gleaming in dark orbs and the Grand Duelist's core became hotter still. "My turn."

No more waiting.

-m-

"Mother."

Cecilia Laurent looked up from the document she was reading, glaring at her daughter over the rounded lenses of her reading glasses. "What is it?"

"May I speak with you?"

The Frenchwoman reclined in her high-backed chair, placing the quill in her hand back into its holder and folding her arms over her chest. She didn't say anything, gesturing for the younger woman to say her piece.

"I have no wish to alienate you by being with Riven."

Blink. "You thought that I would abandon— what do you take me for?" When Fiora stared sheepishly down at her feet, the woman gentled her tone. "You are my daughter and I love you no matter what. While I cannot agree with your actions, I will not punish you for them."

Stormy orbs glistened with unshed tears and the Grand Duelist cleared her throat, her throat clogged with emotion. She hadn't thought… She had always assumed that her mother would hate her and she had never been happier to have been proven wrong.

"Mère…" It was the first time she had referred to the older woman as such in a long while.

Cecilia smiled. "As long as you are happy, mon cheri."

The sun was setting, casting shadows over the Laurent estate and washing the sky with a romantic shade of orange-pink. From her vantage point high atop a mountain overlooking Demacia, Fiora could see the citizens going about their lives, hurrying to finish whatever it was they were doing before darkness covered the land.

"You seem happy."

Fiora didn't have to look up to recognize that husky voice. "Come." She patted the ground beside her. "Sit with me."

The redhead went stock still as a tingling sensation travelled the length of her spine, warning her that she was going to be plucked from her realm momentarily.

"To battle," she said lightheartedly, holding out her hand. "Don't wander while I'm away, hm?"

Despite her tone, Riven knew the fencer was actually worried that the mercenary would disappear without warning as she was prone to. The Exile reached out, helping her lover to her feet and kissing her farewell.

"I'll wait for you," she promised when they parted.

"I'll hold you to that."

They kissed again then, the Grand Duelist's form faded, dispersing into flecks of light. Riven smiled slightly, tilting her head back to watch as the twinkling fragments swirled through the darkening sky and out of sight before turning and picking her way back down the mountainside.

She didn't feel particularly inclined to wander… After all, Fiora was her reason to stay.

-End-