Chapter 14: The Belly of the Beast

The world fell in and out of focus, but the image of the proud raven never faltered. Beatrice stood at her full height, no feather out of place, no sign of the collision she'd just thrown herself into. Her red eyes fixed on Katarina, reflecting a predatory glint. The Noxian glared right back.

"I'm going to rip out all of your feathers," she growled darkly.

The bird blinked in response, craning her neck forward in order to point to a small scroll that rested on the ground between them. Katarina ignored it, keeping perfectly still as her right hand slowly reached for a knife at her belt. The raven clicked her beak and threw her head back, shaking from top to bottom. The sight was completely bizarre until she realized that the creature was producing a crude imitation of laughter. Her hand closed around the knife.

Like a switch, the laughter stopped, eyes again staring at Katarina as if she was dinner. Without another word, the assassin shot out, hurling the knife at the empty space where Beatrice had just stood. A flurry of black feathers fell on top of her face as the clicking laughter faded into the sky, and she was alone.

"Fuck," winced Katarina, curling in on herself and biting down on her lip to fight the pain. Her head filled with images of battle wounds, of knives and arrows embedded into her skin, of the nights that followed battles, filled with the cries of those who were afraid to be bleeding in the dark on foreign soil.

Summoning magic would never be able to instill the pain of real wounds. Biological pain responses proved easy enough to emulate, but no man cries for his lost limb when he knows that moments later he will be free to sit in his own room and pretend the incident never happened. Katarina was very aware of the miles she'd already put behind her, the miles that lay between her and the twin peaks looming ahead of her, and the pain – more real than any she'd felt since the Ionian War.

She gripped her knuckles tightly to distract herself from the agony of lifting her head from the blood and dirt on the ground below her. Calmly, she remembered her survival training from many years previously. She could almost hear the voice instructing her.

Assess your ability. Are you wounded?

Broken wrist. Possible broken ribs. Wounded shoulder.

Broken?

She checked. No, but a long, deep gash was bleeding where she had scratched the windshield on the way out.

Stop any bleeding. If you are in unfamiliar territory, clean up and leave the area. Your blood will attract attention.

The medical kit in the van. Where was the van? Her eyes found it crumpled up against a tree just 20 feet away.

Move carefully, but quickly.

Clamping her teeth together so she wouldn't cry out, the crimson-haired woman managed to get into a standing position. Slowly, with great caution, she began to walk.

Make sure to recall the last orders you were given.

Katarina's eyes fell to the scroll that lay between her and the van.

Follow them.

She staggered past it on her way to the vehicle.

If you are physically incapable of following them, begin searching for help.

Her eyes fell between the path she had taken from the Institute and the dark, shadowy crags of Dodkjole. At last, they settled on the twin peaks. She moved to the van and stumbled awkwardly to a stop, pulling the medical kit from the floor of the twisted metal frame.

If you are wounded, judge yourself to be at least 10 miles from your nearest ally on hostile territory, and are unable to carry out your orders, this is considered a Class E survival situation.

Carefully, Katarina began to clean the wound on her shoulder, biting her lip as she poured disinfectant over the gash.

Determine the nearest source of any possible aid. Move quickly and do not sleep.

The assassin's hands tightened as she began to wrap a bandage around the wound.

Above all, remember: if you die, you die in silence.

The roll of bandages Katarina was holding unceremoniously slipped to the floor, and her face fell into her good hand. Behind her closed eyelids, the Noxian crest seemed like a burning emblem across her vision, obscuring all else - even the darkness - until a single tear fought its way through, sliding down the jagged line of skin that formed the scar of a wound that had never quite healed properly.

Don't let your father see you cry, came the voice of Swain from years ago, triggering the memory of his face – younger, but no less menacing. He stood before her - a terrified, barely-initiated first year student of Valoran's most brutal and renowned military academy. His eyes were the same piercing red as they fixed on her small form. If he saw you, he wouldn't tell you that with this much kindness. Nor will I, if I ever see you do it again.

He hadn't seen her do it again. No one but Ashe had. She had struggled with her bloodlust, with her own fervor, with her internal drive to kill, but never again with her urge to cry.

"Stop it," she commanded herself, her voice breaking as a second tear joined the first, only serving to anger her further.

Her eyes slid open and in the failing daylight, she saw the towering mountains that held the pass that served as Freljord's gate. The image lasted for only a moment before her vision had blurred too much to make out any details. She could feel tightness in her throat and an overwhelming urge to release the built-up sob, but she bit down her lip to suppress it, her free hand swiping desperately at her face to dispel the tears.

With shaking fingers, she finished bandaging her wounds, though it took her far longer than normal due to the injuries of her left arm. When she had finished, she waited a moment, practically daring her body to betray her with tears again. They did not come.

Gradually, a feeling of purpose filled the assassin as she turned back to the north, facing the two mountains. She had almost willed herself to begin to move when something caught her eye. On the ground several feet away, near where she had landed after being thrown in the crash, the tiny scroll sat beside a pool of blood.

With great effort, Katarina shuffled from the vehicle. Slowly, she limped to the scroll, which had rolled open as it landed.

Return to Noxus. Immediately.

She stepped on the paper and kept walking.

After several hours, the instructing voice in her head returned, as clear as it had been so many years previously.

Yesterday, I mentioned Class E survival situations. We'll expand on this. The vast majority of soldiers under these circumstances die of exposure or starvation. A smaller percent are taken prisoner – Class F – and another percent just disappear. Du Couteau. Out of one hundred reported plausible Class E situations, how many achieve rescue, on average?

"One, Sir," Katarina answered out loud.

Look at me right now and tell me if you're capable of being that one in a hundred lost soldiers who actually comes crawling home.

"Yes, Sir," she replied again, feeling the numbness in her feet creep slowly up her leg as the temperature around her continued to plummet.

Wrong answer, Du Couteau. You are in an Introductory Survival class, are you saying you're better than my elite men and women who have not returned home this season?

"Not better, Sir," she explained in a level tone, flinching involuntary at the breeze that blew on her wounded shoulder. "Just different."

And why are you different?

"I have already killed a man who was in that situation, Sir," she said to the empty, barren forest around her.

Killing a man at that age means nothing.

Cold steam billowed out of Katarina's mouth, filling the dark air like thick smoke.

You cannot possibly understand the significance of what you have done.

In the distance, the two mountain peaks loomed ahead, beginning to reveal what looked like pass that Ashe had referred to.

You don't understand the life that you're taking. The life that you hold.

Katarina's shoulder starting shivering violently in the wind that ran through the evergreen trees of the northern forest. Her eyelids slowly slid shut.

You will never understand the value of life until you are staring in the face of death.

It took her a moment to realize that the steel pressed to her throat was real and not a remnant of her past. She stood perfectly still. Though she had nearly lost the ability to feel cold, a final, bone-rattling chill racked her entire body, and she nearly buckled under its weight.

I'm going to die, she thought, and though it was not the first time in her life that this had occurred to her, she was surer of the fact now than she had ever been.

Her captor spoke, but her ears rang so loudly that she heard nothing.

I'm going to die.

Everything inside of her screamed to fight, to pull a knife from her belt, to yell – anything to break the hold she was trapped in, but she did not move.

After what felt like hours, her lips finally fell open. "P-please," she stammered, her voice a ghost of the sharp tone that she typically wielded like a knife.

The world pitched sideways, dimmed, flickered for a moment, and then went black.

"Katarina," a familiar voice called.

The Noxian squeezed her eyes shut tighter and ignored the summons until she felt a hand gently shaking her.

"Kat!"

"Go away," she muttered, turning over on the bed.

"I know you're not sleeping," the voice accused.

She let out a growl of annoyance. "No shit, because my stupid sister won't leave me alone."

Cassiopeia filled the room with her peeling laughter. "It's my fault, is it? Surely it can't be the fact that you're being sent away in the morning."

Katarina's eyes shot open, greeted with her sister's playful smile. In the dim light cast by the flickering candle on the bedside table, she saw that Cassiopeia was standing in a beautiful, flowing gown, the sort of garment that Katarina was known for destroying if ever forced to wear. Yet it seemed almost like a second skin to her sister, accentuating the grace and fragility of her body. Though beautiful, she was small, even for her nine years.

"I'm not being sent away!" the older girl snapped, swiping a hand at Cassiopeia, who nimbly dodged the blow. "You're too young to understand!"

More laughter, "I'm teasing, sister." Still, she moved until she was an arm's length away from the bed. When she looked back at Katarina, her face quickly softened. "So, you're not scared, then?"

"Of course not," she lied, turning back around to face the other side of the room.

"I am," the younger girl confessed.

Katarina's face twisted in anger, but she did not turn back around. "You don't have shit to be afraid of," she spat.

"I'm afraid for my big sister," she clarified. "If half of what they say about the academy is true –"

"Then I will be one of the greatest soldiers in Valoran," Katarina finished for her, "and the last thing I need, Cassie, is for you to tell me otherwise."

After a moment, Katarina felt the bed dip behind her. "Can I ask you something?" her sister's voice was quieter and more timid than usual.

"Only if you ask me if you can leave and let me sleep," she replied without turning around.

Cassiopeia ignored her. "How did you kill that Ionian assassin?"

Katarina's heart immediately jumped, accelerating as she remembered the man on the floor, covered in blood.

"I know that something happened that day," she continued, and the bed shifted as she lay down, about a foot away from her older sister. "No one can understand how you managed to do it. Father is the only one who isn't surprised."

Katarina shook her head. General Du Couteau was the only man who knew what had happened, the fluke that had intervened and guided her blade home. "He's still surprised," she said out loud, "he just hides it well."

"Tell me," she begged, placing a hand on her sister's shoulder and tugging gently, a silent request to turn around. "I swear that I won't tell anyone."

"I don't want to talk about this," she growled dismissively, shrugging the hand off. "And you don't want to hear it, anyway."

"I want to know that you're going to be safe," Cassiopeia confessed after a moment, her voice soft and gentle. She was good at soothing with her voice, but she almost never used such a kind tone with her sister. "I want to know that you're strong enough to protect yourself."

Katarina whirled around, throwing the sheet off of her as she did so. "Of course I'm strong enough!" she said indignantly, but Cassiopeia's soft expression did not change.

"Then tell me what happened," she asked again with patience that Katarina hadn't inherited.

Katarina held her sister's gaze for a moment, searching her eyes. She had thought over the events countless times before, but she had only told the story out loud once before. The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. "You know those ledges, the ones that run along the corridors, about 10 feet off the ground?"

Cassiopeia nodded. "You climb on them. Father kept saying you would fall and hurt yourself."

"He certainly doesn't think that anymore," she muttered. She shifted, uncomfortable, but Cassiopeia's small nod egged her on. "I was on the second floor, perched on one of them and looking out of the window. There are more ledges that run along the outside wall. They're too small for even me to safely climb on…so I was confused when I saw someone pressed against the wall, sliding along the window. I couldn't tell who he was, but he was dressed in black and I could tell that he hadn't seen me. But he was coming towards my window and as soon as I saw him I…" she stopped herself from admitting the truth – that she had been filled with a terror that she did not understand, a feeling so primal that she had nearly fallen off the ledge. Her father had frowned when she had told him that part. "…I just knew that he had to die. I saw him coming close to the window and quickly moved along the ledge. I was about 20 feet from the window when I heard it opening.

"I had the knife that father gave me, and I took it out. I don't know what good I thought it would do, but I held it and waited." She left out the part where she considered jumping from the ledge and running away in terror. "He came in through the window like a shadow, perched on the ledge, facing away from me. And then…"she struggled for words, as she had before when recounting the tale to her father. "I knew that I couldn't move, that he would hear me no matter what I did. That was the last thing I thought before I was standing right next to him."

Cassiopeia's brow wrinkled in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Katarina shook her head vigorously. "I mean that one second, I was 20 feet away from him, and the next…" her mouth went dry at the memory. "You're too young to hear the rest."

"But how did you get there?"

In truth, she had no idea how it had happened. Her father had seemed to know something, but he had kept silent, telling her that she would know everything in time.

"I thought about standing next to him and hurting him," she whispered, "and then it happened."

Somewhere in the distance, Katarina could hear heavy footfalls. The sound roused her, but her eyes remained tightly closed as feeling slowly returned to her limbs, which were heavy with fatigue. She stifled a groan as she realized that something underneath her was moving, bumping against her shoulder periodically. A small rope bound her wrists together, and her fingers twitched, twisting around the thick fur that seemed to surround her on all sides.

Bear, she thought to herself, and the musty smell confirmed it. Her searching fingers found the edge of the fur and pushed beyond into the cold air. She withdrew her hands immediately and opened her eyes in the darkness.

Katarina focused on the footsteps, which she now understood as they matched the movement of the body beneath her. Bound to the horse with rope and wrapped in bear skin, her captor had taken measures to ensure that she would live. It was a blessing, and Katarina felt the briefest flicker of relief before a second set of footfalls reached her ears from beyond the thick shelter of fur.

"Tyrus," called a deep voice in surprise, muffled but close by, "what brings you this far north?"

The other man responded with a phrase in a language she didn't recognize. It was much harder to hear his words, but she managed. "Grímnir ordered me home. What have you got there?"

"An assassin. Noxian, by the looks of it. She's in bad shape."

The second voice came closer. "A Noxian assassin wandering alone through Freljord in winter?"

"See for yourself."

After a moment, the horse she was bound to stopped, and she heard the other approach. The fur in front of her face was pulled back. In the faint rays of dawn, her eyes met those of the barbarian summoner she had seen speaking to Ashe. He gaped in shock when he saw her. "Katarina Du Couteau," he whispered, adding more words that the Noxian did not recognize. "Gisle…do you not know her?"

"If she's from the League, I wouldn't," he admitted. "I have too much to worry about at home to keep up with what happens at the Institute."

Tyrus shook his head in amazement. "You've captured one of the most dangerous assassins in Valoran."

Another face entered Katarina's view, and she noted the curious sapphire eyes and thick blonde beard of the Freljordian man. "She's no danger to anyone right now," Gisle said, his gaze softening, "she was nearly dead when I found her, stumbling around in the woods and muttering to herself."

"But what is she doing up here?"

The other man shrugged. "Haven't asked; she's only just waking up. What brings you to Freljord, Noxian?"

Katarina struggled to open her mouth, but her throat felt dryer than sandpaper. Gisle noticed and quickly produced a water skin, which he handed to Tyrus.

The barbarian hesitated for a moment. "Is she bound?" When the other man nodded, he brought the skin to Katarina's lips and the assassin relaxed when she felt cool water in her mouth. She swallowed with great effort, drinking her fill until the barbarian pulled the skin away and gave her a moment to breathe. As she did, her eyes flickered back and forth between the two men, and she noticed the stark difference in their expressions – Gisle's face was almost kind, while Tyrus's was narrowed and accusing.

"Ashe," she finally said, her voice thick and hoarse.

Tyrus now looked confused, "The queen is at the Institute."

Gisle shook his head. "I saw Eigile flying overhead in the pass about an hour ago."

The two men exchanged worried glances. "Something's going on, and I bet she has something to do with it," the barbarian summoner was looking more wary by the minute.

"I…I have to speak with her," she continued.

Tyrus wasn't having it. "If there's a diplomatic incident, you need to report it to a summoner immediately."

Despite her fatigue, the boy's tone struck her nerve, and she managed to glare at him, mirroring the distrust in his expression. "Done. He didn't care."

The boy opened his mouth to speak again, but Gisle cut him off. "We're a few hours from Läslina. I'll take you there immediately."

"This could be a trick," protested Tyrus, but Gisle gently kicked his horse into a canter. The barbarian summoner followed suit, keeping pace with the man.

"That's for the Frost Archer to decide," he said with stern finality, and the young summoner fell silent.

Despite Gisle's estimate, the three of them approached a high gate about half an hour later. The ride was swift and silent, with Tyrus following right behind Gisle and glaring at the Noxian whenever he got the chance. Katarina did her best to ignore him, but she couldn't help but study his sour face. The anger in his eyes only strengthened his resemblance to Tryndamere, as did the lighting, which made his hair seem darker. She felt a stir of unease at the thoughts and forced them from her mind, turning her attention instead to the gate that towered above her head.

"Is that solid ice?"

Gisle followed her gaze. "That it is," he said proudly. "Nej-smält Holvik, the Unmelting Gate. It will stand forever, even if the sun falls to the ground. It was made untold centuries ago with ice from Dodkjole."

At the name, Katarina perked up. "What's so special about Dodkjole?" she asked.

"Have you heard of the Death Chill, Noxian?" he asked, his conversational tone now full of surprise.

"Ashe mentioned it once," she said, leaving out the orders that she would have received had her assassination been successful.

"It is a place of great power," he said, his voice full of reverence, "a scar frozen upon the land eons ago. The legends say that one of the first human summoners attempted to enslave some terrible evil presence within the confines of his spellwork. Whatever it was grew angry at his arrogance, and decided to punish him with a display of its great power."

"The great being took the form of an enormous, hundred-limbed frost dragon – Kuur Drak - and flew from the very heart of the Gelid Vortex. From mouth to tail tip, the beast could reach from the top of the Ironspikes to the heart of the tundra. Its ice scales were said to be colder than anything ever known to the ice tribes. The human summoner scarcely had time to look up on the dragon's face before it consumed him. The being abandoned the shell it had created, and the body of the creature perished, left to decompose in the ice."

"The land sat untouched for a century before the ice tribes dared to approach the dragon's gravesite – the creature was large enough to instill fear in many generations. But curiosity is a strong force, and the ice tribes grew brave enough to investigate the treacherous land. Dodkjole is the ice that the beast left behind, warped by its own chill. Those passes and tunnels are the coldest places in Valoran. The ice tribes were fearful of such a place, but a few brave souls sought to settle the unforgiving land. They are called the Isgå - Icewalkers." He paused and glanced back at Katarina, an apology on his expression. "Forgive me, Noxian, you did not ask for an entire history lesson."

The assassin shook her head. "No, I did ask. And I've never heard of the Icewalkers."

Gisle's expression filled with awe once again. "The Isgå may have never heard of you. They are small in number and keep very much to themselves, rarely leaving the safety of Dodkjole."

"Safety?" asked Katarina, "I was told it was the most treacherous area in Freljord."

"Of course it is," conceded Gisle, "for those of us who are not Isgå. Ice as cold as that in Dodkjole has never been seen before and likely never will again. Because of this, it is completely impenetrable – fire won't melt it, steel won't shatter it. Even when the glaciers of the north shore weep, Dodkjole remains a fortress against all harm for the Isgå, who traverse the ice tunnels unhindered."

Katarina's heart accelerated as she processed what the man was telling her. "I had thought that Dodkjole was a mountain pass," she said.

"The first mile or so is exposed, it is true," explained the man, "but much of the Death Chill takes the form of tunnels buried deep beneath the ground where the dragon's hundred limbs fell. It is rumored that the tunnels run the entire expanse of Freljord. Only the Isgå know for sure."

"And nothing destroys it? You're certain of this?"

"The Isgå have ways, which is how they shaped Nej-smält Holvik, but no outsider has ever managed to leave so much as a mark."

Katarina swore under her breath. "Gisle…does this horse go faster?" she spoke softly so as not to be overheard by Tyrus.

The man gave her another curious glance. "Does the Death Chill frighten you, Noxian?" he asked, keeping his tone low as well, for which the assassin was grateful.

An impenetrable series of ice tunnels spans across the region, when Swain holds bombs in his hands.

"Very much so," she admitted, and something in her tone made Gisle kick his horse into a gallop.

After another half hour, a huge castle that appeared to be made of ice – Läslina, Gisle reminded her - rose from the tundra, nestled in a high valley between two mountains. Here the terrain grew more treacherous, and the horses had to slow as the ride became more vertical. Tyrus struggled here, his horse making soft noises of discontent.

"That foal of yours from the League has no business here, Tyrus," Gisle teased, an amused smirk playing across his face.

"I'm not home enough to train a kall häst," he said defensively.

"Ice horse," Gisle translated for Katarina, who was starting to shiver again, even while wrapped in the bear fur. "I'll get you there soon, Noxian," he said, taking note of the woman's chill.

"Why are you talking to her?" snapped Tyrus, whose frustration finally seemed to peak with the failure of his horse.

"She is our guest," answered the man calmly, unaffected by the barbarian summoner's rude tone.

"She's our prisoner," he corrected, throwing another glare at Katarina as his horse took a misstep and shied for a moment before continuing on. "You even bound her!"

Gisle paused for a moment as he navigated his horse over a patch of particularly dangerous ice. "The Frost Archer will ultimately decide what she is. Until then, I will be cautious, but certainly not unkind. I had expected better of you, Tyrus. I know what the barbarians say about Noxians, but the League should have taught you better."

Katarina felt a pang in the pit of her stomach. She doubted the man would be saying any of these things if he had known that she had been ordered to kill Ashe before coming to Freljord. Her shivering grew more intense.

"Nothing to say, Du Couteau?" asked Tyrus.

"What I have to say is for Ashe's ears alone," she replied coldly, taking great care not to stammer despite her trembling.

"I'm sure she will be very interested in hearing your words, as we've arrived," Gisle interjected, and the horses both halted at the base of the stone staircase leading up to the castle gates.

"Is the castle made from Dodkjole ice as well?" asked Katarina hopefully as the man dismounted smoothly.

"No, Läslina is stone at its heart. Still, the ice on the walls melts only during the hottest of summers." He came to her side and gently removed the bear fur, exposing the ropes that bound her to the saddle. He made short work of the knots, but kept her hands bound, though she noticed that he took great care of her broken left wrist.

"Can she walk?" asked Tyrus, stepping down from his horse in a way that was not at all graceful.

The big man shook his head. "I would not try," he met Katarina's gaze, "but if she'll let me, I'll carry her."

The Noxian looked uncomfortable at the prospect, but nodded quickly, resigning herself to whatever would get her to Ashe the quickest. Her eyes fell on the huge door of Läslina, and her stomach bottomed out at the sight of it. She realized in that moment that she hadn't expected to be right where she was now, at the gates of Ashe's castle, bound like a prisoner. I let go of my life the moment the van hit the tree.

But she had taken it back again, and now that she had, the realization of what she was about to do filled her heart with lead. She held her face neutral as Gisle lifted her with great care, holding her as if she weighed nothing and carrying her up the steps. Tyrus followed behind, his brow furrowing even deeper as the door opened in front of them.

Katarina was almost too preoccupied to notice the room that they had entered. A huge hall spread in front of her, with icy walls that had been colored a gorgeous electric blue. On the walls hung white and gold banners that proudly displayed the Freljordian crest. Interspersed were black and red banners with war-painted skulls on them. At the far end of the hall, two ornate thrones sat on a dais…but the assassin's examination went no further as her gaze fell on one of the figures standing in front of the thrones.

Sapphire eyes met hers from across the room, and Ashe froze in shock, completely oblivious to the men who were standing next to her and speaking animatedly. Katarina's heart lightened, suddenly sprinting at double speed, and she felt the ghost of cold lips against her own. She was overcome with the urge to run, to jump down from the arms of the man who held her and dash across the room just to be near the Frost Archer.

"Katarina!" Ashe called, a string of emotions passing unhindered across her face as she leapt down from the dais, her blue cloak flying behind her as she ran across the room while Katarina lay frozen in Gisle's arms.

She came to a stop and all of the confliction in her expression fell, giving way to unhindered worry as she got a better look at the wounded, trembling Noxian. With no hesitation, her hand found its way to the assassin's cheek. Katarina was so cold that the archer's hand felt almost warm against her skin. The contact brought with it the dark feelings of treachery, and Katarina's eyes slid shut from the overwhelming thoughts in her head.

She opened her mouth to speak, so many words lingering on her tongue…apologies, confessions, desperate pleas…but she forced all of them aside in order to say what she had risked everything for.

"Noxus is going to bomb Freljord."

A/N: I TOLD YOU I WASN'T ABANDONING IT.