#handofnoxus

She seemed to respond to the hand with fear and distress. Even touching his armour lightly would cause her to panic. But when she wondered into the Hand's chambers, seemingly lost and in a daze again, he was not in his armour, he was resting with heavy wounds bandaged. When she turned and saw his discarded weapons and armour, broken and bloodstained, that's when she shrieked, and... Ran to Darius. Clung to the large man, trembling like a leaf, mumbling something about coffins, about him being trapped and hurt. It all made sense. His armour, such a metallic behemoth to a small girl, must've seemed like yet another device like her own. That's all it would be to her, that's all it could be to her, which made her hold him tighter.

It was hard to make a prognosis at this time. They only just managed to pull her from immediate danger. June would live, for now, but for how long? And will her magic survive with her? All they knew was this: The bedridden child had saved the Immortal Bastion and all inside it from destruction, overloading her own power and absorbing a force that was dangerous and violent, the equal and opposing force causing the threat to fizzle away, and June to fall to the floor in a heap.

This was not a restful period for June, as Le Blanc filled in the blanks that her own powers would manifest, if she had the strength. That her sacrifice meant nothing, that no one was waiting for her on the other side, and without her magic, she was useless, he would discard her. It was only the inner circle of the Bastion present, watching June listlessly whisper to herself. "Nothing... nothing..." If she were in this state before, she'd be rudely awakened and thrown back into her work, she was simply waiting to be seized.

"You best put her out of her misery now, Jericho... What is she to you without her powers? Even more of a burden... Nothing. It was pathetic, her infatuation for you Darius, you should all abandon her, go back to your posts, she means nothing... She'll die how she lived, alone in a dark room, in pain, unloved, nothing to anyone..." "Nothing... Nothing..."

Swain could hear the voice, that malicious thing—she was talking to both of them, his secret agent of Guile, former lover, and maestra of Noxian upheavals, successes and all manner of shifting since its inception as a sovereign nation. He tossed his hand about to dispel her, holding June’s small fingers in his large, ruby, demonic one.

She liked that hand, he knew, so he held hers with it.

Nearby, the Hand himself stood, arms folded behind, watching with concern, brows furrowed. Outside the door, he knew his brother waited, watched, and guarded. Draven was insufferably full of himself, but even had had come to appreciate the waif mage who’d taken up residence in the Immortal Bastion. He figured he probably scared her and that was just fine; she wasn’t his type anyhow, but there was something about her that made a fellow want to be protective—like a sister, he figured, since he’d never actually had one.

“My orders are from him,” Darius responded smoothly. “We are of one mind when it comes to Noxus.” He did not know if these words reassured her and at that moment, he didn’t care. For the first time in a while, Darius was in real pain. He cared little for the rough treatment, however. Given his size, they had little choice. But someone like her, who had never been large or strong in any physical capacity, could not possibly have empathized with that.

He felt himself chuckling dryly at her other declarations, commenting that, “you sound like my brother.” The laughter caused him pain, but it was good pain as he made the strange mental comparison between June and Draven, the latter of whom had unleashed more than a few colorful curses when the battlefield medics had begun manhandling his battered brother.

Draven didn’t even pretend at not caring about Darius. He never had. The guy wore his emotions on his… well he didn’t wear sleeves, but if he did, they’d be there, writ large. Draven kept nothing to himself, told Darius it was unhealthy to bottle shit up, all that. Darius wasn’t sure he bought it, but it made Draven feel better, so he let it go. Anyway, Swain was strangely fond of the lunatic—about that, Darius was certain, but baffled. The Vision was an enigma.

Darius was all alone, his brother on his own escapades that was when the doll-like young woman shuffled up to him, for a short moment she stood next to him, silently, trying to work up the courage, before she offered the rose and spoke. "You protect Noxus with all your might, Ser Darius. You are very strong, a-and very brave and loyal, and you've never been cruel to me. So I wanted to give you this, apparently it is a show of fondness, alliance."

It took a good deal of courage to do the next part, but she felt he deserved it. She read this is what young ladies did to knights such as him, standing on her toes, she gently kissed his cheekbone, just under his eye by his scar. It was chaste, and sweet, and she found herself holding onto his hand for leverage.

He was never at home, unarmed like this amongst revelers. Any one of them might be an assassin, many of them were actively plotting against Swain. But of course, the man was well aware of this and not without his defenses. All the same, Darius could not let his guard down. He stood observing the celebration stoically, trying his best to look relaxed and failing miserably.

Her voice was so quiet, Darius almost didn’t hear it above the din of the party. He looked down and stooped a little to hear her, taking the rose as it was offered and feeling the petal-soft flutter of her lips against his scarred cheek. If there was a blush on his face, it did not show through his leathery complexion, but he smiled, if only a little. It wasn’t an easy expression for him, after all.

"I am here to turn myself in as... a traitor to Noxus." Her voice shook even then, even after all she'd done so far, she never considered herself truly Noxian, how could she? Now that she knows what she has discovered. She remembered her handlers, and knew there was one course of action. "And... I accept my execution. I am.. property of the Black Rose, their invention, their project... I can never belong here." She was so afraid to die now, not after she tasted peace, tasted happiness, but she did not want to be their snake in the grass, after all they'd done for her.

Had the general not been standing there, his men might have laughed and escorted her back into the Bastion with good humored ribbing at each other. They were not mean-spirited, but they were soldiers and had little idea how to deal with a delicate young lady like June. Darius was, however, present, so they stilled themselves as he moved forward.

“And you make this confession with what evidence? Did you… fresh out of the womb, swear eternal vengeance and betrayal on the nation of Noxus…?” He raised a brow, hands on his hips, standing tall over her, but not making a move to grasp those frail wrists which he could break with a simple squeeze. But why? Darius had never been a man to enjoy thrashing something weaker than himself. If they faced him in battle, he cared little, of course, but that was battle. This was the practice yard and a simple jerk of his head sent his men, Swain’s household guard, in fact, scattering about to find somewhere else to be while he addressed June.

“Treachery requires willing participation, June,” he said quietly, finally stooping to one knee, level with her face. His expression was soft, even though his visage was incapable of anything other than the craggy, scarred mask it had become. His eyes, a sloe gin color that was almost red in certain light, scanned her face for signs of the manifestation of her power, which could very well be dangerous to his men. At the moment, she appeared just an exhausted, terrified child.

"Careful, I'm filthy." Darius, at least, has the good grace to blush, though his complexion is ruddy enough that it hardly shows. Never mind the blood splattered on dark armor and flesh alike—it is not his—and the filth covering him; she seems not to care one iota. He clears his throat and straightens.

“I am relieved,” Swain says as June withdraws, “that Noxus was in capable hands in our absence.”

“You were worried for us?” Darius sounds baffled more than incredulous and his thick brows knit at the center of his forehead as his gaze moves between June and Swain, whose thin lips have pulled into a wolfish smile, dark obsidian-chip eyes glittering.

“You ought to be more worried on behalf of our opposition.”

“Hm?” The soldier grunted roughly, tugging his shirt on for propriety’s sake and smoothing it swiftly. “I wish I had a better story to tell than childhood mishap, but it was Draven’s doing—he wasn’t always so skilled with his blades.”

'Happy Crystal Rose Celebration.

Know you aren't a sweet man, so I bought some other exotic treats.'

-Talon

The biggest mystery is how the assassin had gotten in and out of the heavily-guarded barracks, past every guard, and into the commander’s windowless quarters. Darius wonders if he should remove some of them, elevate others, shuffle his command structure. But no, Talon Du Couteau is just thatgood. It is part of the reason the gruff soldier has come to appreciate him… maybe even to love him, if such a man is capable.

He doesappreciate the consideration. Sweets have never caught his fancy, but whatever is in the box is sure to eclipse anything sugary. Talon, for all his strangeness, has excellent taste.