Author's Note: Its the first chapter of a Garen x Katarina fanfic. Can't get these two out of my head for some reason, so I thought, hey why not do something about it. I take some liberties with the lore. And by some liberties, I mean all the liberties. Benjamin Franklin is jelly of all the liberties I got. If you see something in here that you can't find in the lore, odds are I made it up. I also changed some names. Anyway, enjoy! Or don't, it's a free internet.

"For all that's detestable about Noxus, I hear they have some choice cunt." Jarvan casually spoke to Garen.

The soldiers around Garen and Prince Jarvan chuckled. Garen risked a glance at his father and the king at the head of the procession. If they had heard Prince Jarvan's words they gave no sign.

Garen sighed. Jarvan always had a way of shattering his more contemplative moments.

The way an urchin's wayward rock shatters a stained glass window. Garen thought.

Garen had been reflecting on the mighty pines and firs looming above their small company of soldiers. The trees stood like great brown green sentinels, their thickets scattering the light of the sun like a glass prism. The smells of pines and sap were heavy in the air as their company's horses trotted through the brown underbrush. A gust of wind passed and sent dead foilage scattering and the banners of Demacia and house Dragonbane flapping in the wind.

And his mind is lost in a woman's privates.

Typical Jarvan, did he not understand that he and their company were on their way to what may be the most singularly important event in Demacian history for—

A soft voice spoke on Garen's side. "Garen, what's a cunt?"

Garen's heart did not so much as sink, rather it was shot down to his bowels as though an archer had fired an arrow from atop the trees and into his chest. Garen heard his neck crack as his head snapped to the voice. Sure enough, he saw his golden haired sister atop her mount, Moonprancer, alongside them. Across Luxanna's sweet face was spread an achingly innocence smile.

(If Garen had been a little less distracted he might have noticed her smile was a little too innocent)

Jarvan continued. "I am not suggesting I would give a Noxian the lord's kiss, but I also wouldn't be adverse to trying some Noxian cherry p—"

Despite himself Garen elbowed his Prince-Regent in the ribs.

Jarvan grunted. "Oh come now Garen there's no need for..." His eyes found Luxanna. "Oh...ooh."

Luxanna tilted her head. "Jarvan, what is a cunt?"

Garen gave Jarvan a hard look.

Jarvan looked between Garen and Luxanna. "Er...what I said was bundt, as in bundt cake. I hear Noxus is oddly renowned in the ways of baked goods."

Luxanna looked up and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Bundt cake huh? You know I think mom often makes bundt cake, especially for father. She's always trying to shove her bundt in father's face." Jarvan gave a sneeze that sounded dangerously close to a snort of laughter, and evidently the Prince's sudden allergies were shared by the soldiers around them.

Luxanna continued with a hint of a smile on her lips. "But I don't think father likes it. He tells me mother's bundt is usually dry, salty, and smells funny."

All attempts at concealment were given for lost as Jarvan and the soldiers burst into laughter. Garen felt the blood drain from his face, and again glanced at father and the king. Again there was no sign they heard. Garen sighed, furrowed his brow, and looked to Luxanna.

This time he did see her smile was too sweet.

As the soldiers laughed around them Garen leaned close to his sister and whispered through gritted teeth. "Dear sister, sweet sister, you and I both know mother does not bake bundt cakes. She bakes lemon cakes and father finds them delectable."

The fluttering of Luxanna's eyelashes would have put a hummingbird to shame. "Oh! Is that so, brother, I must have forgotten! Do lemon cakes count as bundt? If so then father spends most of his waking hours at home with his face buried in mother's bundt."

A fresh burst of laughter. The blood came back to Garen's face with a vengeance, and he had to shut his eyes to keep himself from shaking.

Jarvan's words were choked with laughter as he said. "Luxanna, stop! Please, gods alive, look at what you're doing to poor Garen!"

Garen reached for Moonprancer's reigns. But the black-spotted white horse lived up to her name and danced away from his hands.

Garen shouted. "Luxanna come here!"

Luxanna responded by putting the heels to Moonprancer and shooting off into the woods, giggling as she darted through the trees.

Garen's anger left as quickly as it came. He always found it difficult staying angry at his sister. Even at her worst Garen's affection for her always won over.

As he watched her guide Moonprancer through the trees his mind went to when he first saw Luxanna. From the moment mother brought the babe bundled in her arms ten years ago, he felt a love for his sister that was stronger than any love he had known before. At first he felt guilty of it, as though his strong love was a betrayal of his parents. He had idolized his father as a child, a tall broad shouldered man with dark-brown hair who looked as though he could carry the world on his back without so much as a grunt. He had loved his mother too, a face so much like Luxanna's yet fuller and more stern, with dark hair instead of light, cascading to her shoulders. Father was his hero, while his mother was his place of refuge, songs, and stories. But the day they brought Luxanna home, when he first laid eyes on her, when he reached out to her and she grasped his finger, something had awoken in him. He did not have the words for it then, but he did now.

Devotion. She was his little sister, she was delicate, fragile, and this awoke in him a sense of duty he did not know he had. Garen liked to believe it was then he truly began to understand what it meant to be Demacian. The mantra of Demacia was Vigilance, Honor, and Courage. But these words were just a different way to say another word, Love. Love of family, love of neighbor, love of country, love of the gods and all that was good in life. As he watched his giggling sister disappear into the small host behind them, Garen was reminded why Demacia held so tight to its values. Demacia practiced vigilance, treasured honor, and had courage so that what they love might endure. He had once told Jarvan as much four years ago. They were merely boys of twelve, reading books on the history of Demacia in the castle's study.

Jarvan had laughed then. "Garen, only you could make Demacia's words sound even sillier."

At first Garen thought it a mistake to tell Jarvan what he thought, but Garen swore from that moment forward Jarvan seemed to take their lessons with the scholars and priests more seriously, and he never cracked wise so much in the ceremonies.

Now Garen turned his eyes to his friend and his Prince-Regent. Jarvan and the soldier continued to laugh, the sound bouncing off the trees, making it sound as if the pines and firs were laughing with them.

Garen thought. Mayhaps I have had no effect on him at all.

His father's voice brought him out of his thoughts and into the present. "At attention men! Stormflower Hold is within sight!"

His father, as always, told it true, and only a moment later the woods parted to show a great outcropping, and in its center stood the ruined walls of Stormflower Hold.

Stormflower Hold must have been a mighty sight to behold in its golden age. The walls stood almost as high as the ancient trees, dark grey stone cobbled by deft and dedicated hands hundred of years ago. It had been nearly one-hundred-and-fifty years after the Noxian siege which broke the city. A new siege began, then this one by time, the elements, vines, and moss. Though the city fell, the walls still held. Legend had it that Stormflower Hold was founded by a wandering group of survivors from the Rune War. Unnatural storms raged across the world then, churning oceans and pummeling mountains to dust. After such a storm these survivors were said to have stumbled across a small outcropping that had remained untouched by the storms. In the center of this outcropping bloomed a single flower. The survivors took it as a sign from the gods, named it Stormflower Hold, and built one of the first settlement since the end of the Rune War. Looking at the mighty walls Garen found the tale credible.

Father and the King's company had stopped so Garen's and Jarvan's could converge. When they did so the king looked to his son. To Garen, King Jarven's face exemplified Demacian fatherhood. It was firm, but gentle, strong, yet caring. Now, as King Jarvan looked to his son, his was stern. "Son, you know what comes next." It was not a question.

Garen looked to Jarvan, any mirth Luxanna's jape had produced was now gone from his face so completely Garen wondered if it was ever there.

Jarvan said. "Yes father."

"Son." His father's voice was soft but stalwart.

Garen turned to his own father and nodded his consent, a queer dread filling his chest.

His father smiled then, his chiseled face wrinkling at the corner of his eyes. "Say the words of our house, my son."

The dread grew, but he would not falter. "Our heart and soul, always for Demacia."

Father smiled. "Our heart and soul, always for Demacia." Father's face became grim determination as he donned his helm. "Vanguard, to the king!"

The dozen Dauntless Vanguard formed ranks around the king. The smell of horse and men almost overpowering the smell of pine and sap as hooves tore earth and grass alike. And then they were off, heading for Stormflower Hold.

Garen looked to Jarvan. His friend looked strained, and with a hint of...what? Anger? But why would the Prince be angry? Garen put a hand on Jarvan's shoulder. Jarvan jumped, looking as though he forgot Garen was there. The Prince-Regent gave him a smile that did not meet his eyes.

Garen said. "Jarvan, do not fear for our fathers. Not even Noxus would be so treacherous as to attack the king and Vanguard at an armistice."

Jarvan shook his head. "Oh Garen, dear Garen."

Garen said. "Do you think Noxus is that craven?"

Jarvan looked across the field. "I wouldn't have believed it possible for Noxus to call for an armistice. Now, I'm not sure what Noxus is capable of."

The dread returned and Garen looked after his father.

Garen missed the sad look Jarvan gave him.

Jarvan thought. Garen is true and sure as steel. But he's a soldier.

Garen was no fool, to be sure. There was a depth to him that could still surprise Jarvan even after eleven years. But Garen was a soldier, and he had the luxury of looking only upon battles that were waged with sword and shield. Jarvan was a Prince-Regent, and he had to look beyond the battles fought with steel. From the first Jarvan knew that something was wrong when he heard the news of the armistice. Noxus was at the height of its power, having conquered nearly six-tenths of the provinces and city-states across Valoran. To call an for an Armistice now...

Jarven thought. There's no other option. Father is right. They know...

How it was possible Jarvan could not—

A lone figure rode out of Stormflower. He held a banner, and it took only a moment for Jarvan to recognize it. A black lotus, dripping crimson tears on a field of white.

The sigil of house Du Coateau.

It can't be...

But Jarvan soon saw it was. He had never met the man in person, but he had seen his visage across countless letters over the years. Marcus DuCoateau, the High General of Noxus, was riding out to meet his father.

And he's riding alone.

Jarvan's horse must have sensed his confusion and anger, because the animal whinnied and stamped.

Garen shook him. "Jarvan what is—"

Jarvan spat. "Open your eyes Garen, it's him!"

Garen's eyes turned to DuCoateau, narrowed, and then widened. "No..."

Jarvan shook his head. Garen still didn't understand. Father, Pieter, the Vanguard, they wanted to be attacked. They hoped Noxus would take the bait and break the armistice before it even began. Then the realm would know them false, and then—

DuCoateau reached father's party. His father and Pieter broke ranks to meet him. Jarvan held his breath. For a moment nothing happened, then father and DuCoateau clasped hands.

Damn that Noxian bastard. Jarvan punched his thigh. Even at this turn they had been outdone.

Jarvan was riding out even before the Vanguard waived the banner, giving them the signal to follow. This time it was Jarvan who failed to see the look on Garen's face.

Garen watched Jarvan ride out and wondered again why the King had thought it wise to bring the Prince-Regent. Even after sixteen years at court, Jarvan the IV lacked the moderation of the III. He began to ride when he heard an all too familiar voice to his side.

Luxanna said. "Garen, what is going on?"

Garen was surprised to find there was no anger in him, only resolve. Without even looking at his sister he looked to the soldier closest to him. It was Petran, a tan-skinned burly woman with a delicate face that somehow didn't clash with her powerful physique. It was a blessing she was so close, she was one of the finest in their company.

Garen said. "Petran, escort my sister back to the inn at Goldenlamp and remain with her."

Petran seemed tightly taken aback, but when she saw Garen's face she straightened and said. "Yes, Lord Son." Garen raised his eyebrow and she corrected herself. "Lord Crownguard, sir."

Garen sighed inwardly. He didn't know which he disliked more, that even the soldiers had gotten to calling him "the Son of Demacia" or that they were calling him "lord." It didn't matter, what mattered was getting his sister to safety.

Luxanna said. "Garen let me come with you!"

Garen turned to face her. Her small face was squeezed into determination.

Garen said. "No, Luxanna. You will return to mother in Goldenlamp."

Luxanna opened her mouth to protest, but then she saw the look on his face. All the rebellion faded from her. She looked away from him and muttered. "Alright, Garen."

Despite himself his heart went out to her. In spite of the annoyance her stubborn wildness caused him, it always hurt him to see her spirit go out of her like this. It was like seeing a bright star fade into the night, and it made him oddly sad. He began to move to comfort her, when she reached from her mount, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him on the cheek.

He muttered into her ear. "Keep mom safe."

Luxanna said. "Alright, be safe Garen." Then she turned and began to ride back the way they came.

Garen nodded to Petran, and she followed his sister.

Garen turned to the other soldiers in his company.

"Soldiers to me!" The air was alive with the sounds of stamping and the rustle of plate as the soldiers formed ranks around Garen. Garen shouted. "To the king!" And they rode to meet the king, his father, and the High General of Noxus.

"Will father come back soon?"

Katarina turned to her little sister. Her small pretty face encased by her brown hair, braided for the occasion. Katarina lightly stroked her sister's cheek.

Katarina said. "Yes mon sucre he will be back soon."

Cassiopeia took Katarina's hand. "And then you will go away?"

Katarina grimaced internally. "Only for a little while, Cassi."

Her sister squeezed her hand. "Promise?"

Katarina said. "I promise."

Cassiopeia threw her arms around Katarina's waist and hugged her tight.

Katarina said. "Cassi, be careful, we mustn't mess up our dresses." Katarina hugged her back all the same.

The servants had dressed her and Cassiopeia in the finery of their house's ancient culture. In other words fluffy, delicate, and lacy. Katarina hated it, so naturally Cassiopeia loved it. It spoke volumes to Katarina that Cassiopeia was willing to risk messing her dress to hug her one last time. Katarina disgraced herself by feeling like crying.

There can be no signs of weakness, especially now.

Katarina looked up to Talon. Her brother by all but blood looked at them solemnly. The sharpness of his features was especially accentuated by his pulled back hair. He had also been dressed in the ancient Pre-Noxian culture of house Du Coateau, after the male fashion of course.

It would be funny to see Talon in a dress.

She smiled. Still, the male finery wasn't much different. It was only slightly less silly, but equally as useless.

Talon's eyes met her own.

She nodded to Cassiopeia. Keep her safe. Help her when I'm gone.

Talon put his hand over his heart and nodded.

Again, Katarina disgraced herself by feeling the urge to cry.

Stupid weak little girl!

She could not allow herself to show signs of weakness in front of the Demacians, especially as a woman.

She remembered when her father had first warned her about the hardships she must endure because the gods saw fit to "bless" her with a cunt rather than a cock. She had been nine, they had finished training with blades when he put his hands on her shoulders and knelt down.

"Katarina, you must remember, men will look at you and see weakness. They will see weakness simply because you are a woman. Sometimes you can use that to your advantage, but you must never show them your real weakness."

She had replied. "I must get rid of my weakness, right father?"

They were in the dark undercroft of the Du Coateau Estate. Down there the air always had the smell of cold and the taste of mildew. It was towards the end of their session for the day, the fire in the braizers had burned so low as to almost be embers. The soft light gave father a dark look. "Get rid of those weaknesses you can, my daughter. No man can rid himself of all weakness."

Now that was something Marcus DuCoateau would never say in front of anyone. Anyone except her or Cassiopeia. One of the primary tenents of Noxus, never admit weakness. That tenent was followed closely by another, never show weakness.

She glanced around her. Besides herself and her sister, there were the twenty or so soldiers father brought into the Hold, two of his leftenents, and Talon. One of the leftenents was tall and broad, with skin the color of night. She did not know his name. She did know the other. Jericho Swain, a sharp-faced man with pale skin and white hair to his shoulders. Of them all, only Swain watched her and Cassiopeia.

Even showing this much weakness is dangerous.

She did not believe any of these men would turn on her father, but she had read enough history to know that many great rulers had absolute confidence in their companions as well.

Up till they found their throat slit by the ones they trusted the most.

But she would not deny Cassiopeia this last embrace.

Get rid of those weaknesses you can.

Could she get rid of this weakness? It did not matter. She would not.

Some weaknesses are worth the risk of keeping.

She began to stroke Cassi's hair.

As Garen looked upon the city that had once been Stormflower Hold he thought. The walls may have withstood the test of time, but the city has long since died.

And so it was, half of the buildings were made of stone, yet they were not of the same quality as the walls and were in various degrees of disrepair. The other half of the buildings, or rather what was left of them, had been made of wood and long since gone to rot. The city reeked of animal and mold as their company marched, the sounds of their horses echoing off stone walls.

Jarvan said. "It is a shame the villagers never tried to rebuild."

Garen nodded his agreement. The walls did not fall, but the second siege had lasted for four years, and the Noxians barred anyone enter or leave. The first siege had been seven years prior, and Stormflower Hold called upon Demacia for aid. Demacia answered the call.

We fight for those who cannot. Garen looked at a small pile of rubbish and stone on the side of the worn stone path and sighed.

By calling upon Demacia, Stormflower Hold had begun the War for Valoran. Demacia came and drove off the Noxian invaders, and Noxus had suffered its first military defeat since the early days of Noxian conquest. Noxus did not take that insult lightly. When Noxus had first sieged Stormflower Hold it was guessed only around five percent of the Noxian hosts were there. For the second the number was closer to sixty. Demacia had tried to aid Stormflower yet again, but even Demacia could not make it through sixty percent of the Noxian host with ease. If Stormflower Hold had held for another year Demacia might have freed the city. Alas, four years under siege and embargo was too much for Stormflower Hold, and the city had to open its gates and surrendered.

Noxus, however, wasn't looking to conquer Stormflower Hold. Noxus intended to make an example of it. These were the dark days of Noxus, when its cruelty and barbarity were at its peak. The slaughter that followed was unlike any crime Noxus had committed before or after, and that was saying much. The raping of women, the killing of children and elderly, the dashing of babes against rocks, all the horrors of Noxian war were unleashed that day upon Stormflower Hold. The historians guess that only a third of Stormflower Hold escaped that day. If Garen remembered correctly it was Chronicler Herulem who speculated the Noxians let them go to spread the tale. Perhaps they assumed it would be a lesson to other provinces and city-states that would seek to defy Noxus. It was a lesson, just not the one Noxus wanted. That day Valoran saw what Noxian rule looked like, and they saw the only ones with the strength and vigilance to stand against them.

Demacia is the light and hope of Valoran.

Garen eyed General DuCoateau. He was a sturdily built man, with a strong face covered with a large-but-trimmed moustache. He wore a suit of elaborate black iron armor, crimson finery worked into almost every inch of it. On his cape laid the sigil of Noxus, and engraved on his pauldrons were the bleeding white lotus of his house. The last siege of Stormflower Hold had been almost two-hundred years past, and Noxus had become (relatively) more civilized. Moreover this man had nothing to it.

But if it meant Noxian victory, would he show the barbarity and cruelty of his ancestors?

He thought he knew the answer, and put his hand on the pommel of his sword.

Soon they were passing under half of an old stone arch and walking towards what appeared to be the remains of a great amphitheater.

And then he saw her.

The priests and priestesses said that when you died, the gods sent their emissaries to carry your soul away to judgment. The emissaries were said to be of human visage, but transcendent in beauty. He recalled seeing depictions of them upon the basilica's ceilings in his youth, and marveling how such beauty could exist in the world. Upon looking at her, his first thought was that he must have died, and he now stood before such an emissary. His second thought was that there must have been some sort of mistake in the court of the gods. Demacia's gods were from the court of the Ivory Lady, the Ebony Lord, and the Hound of the Night. Demacia's gods were loving, stern, but fair. This emissary could not be from them. No, she could only be from a god of passion and fire. The face of the girl he looked upon now had the ferocity of a wildfire, with the beauty of a crimson dawn. Her hair was the red of an Edessan rose and she wore it in a long elaborate braid which fell to her shoulder. The first word that came to his mind when he saw her eyes were "emerald" but he dismissed it. He had never seen an emerald in court which shone so repletely or with such luster.

Her eyes fell on him. For a moment everything stopped. He forgot everything. Who he was, where he was, why he was, he had no answer. Nor did he find himself to need one, there was only her. She was all that mattered. A moment passed. An eternity passed. And then her soft lips worked...

into a sneer.

She looked away from him then, and he felt a sadness he had never known. He had felt worse sadness, when Uncle Dafvid had passed

was murdered

when he was only ten, and three years ago when his childhood friend Eini had passed after succumbing to a Freljordian arrow in the North Marches. The first was terrible, but it was a pain of a child, stupid and innocent. The second was worse, it could only be described as an aching emptiness in his heart. Both hurts were worse than the one he felt now, but there was something so strange about the way her sneer hurt him. His heart felt like it was bursting and shriveling up all at once. It felt—

Something hard hit his ribs with enough force to elicit a gasp. He turned to find Jarvan staring at him intently, his elbow in Garen's side. Garen's world came flooding back to him, and he remembered where he was and what was happening. While he was...out, someone had brought a table and two chairs to the center of the stone dais. King Jarvan sat on one end, DuCoateau the other, and a dark-skinned Noxian stood near the table.

The Dark skin Noxian spoke with an accent Garen thought came from the jungles of Kalamanda. "Are the terms acceptable to King Jarvan Dragonbane III?"

King Jarvan nodded.

The dark-skinned Noxian said, "And are the terms acceptable to you, General?"

The High General stroked his moustache, gave the scarlet-haired girl a look, and said. "Yes."

The dark-skinned Noxian bowed. "Then by all the laws of the land, the Armistice has begun. As per the arrangements, General, please hand over your daughter for ward."

The general motioned, and the scarlet-haired girl began to walk towards the Demacian host.

Garen felt an odd sense of panic and excitement. "Why is that girl coming here?"

Jarvan considered Garen, then said. "That is Katarina DuCoateau, and she is House Dragonbane's new ward."