#katariven

She hadn't been buried in a commoner’s graveyard, nor did they lay her with the rest of her fallen soldiers in a war grave. Her wife had made it clear that it would be over her dead body if she were to be buried anywhere other than amongst the most prominent elites of Noxus. So there her cenotaph now stood, sharing the soil that entombed emperors and bluebloods in the Du Couteau family's corner of the necropolis.

Riven hadn't meant to stay for as long as she did—she hadn't planned on ever coming back—but she'd been drawn to Katarina's weakness, her pain, like a moth to a flame. Such a sight was a murderer grieving her death, and such a comfort it was to know that killers like them could love and be loved.

For nearly three days and two nights her widow had been as unmoving as the stone engraved with her name, age, and rank until her siblings finally came to drag her home. But she was back the next morning, another fresh rose in hand, another day of silently cursing Riven’s name for breaking her promise to return from the Ionian front.

"If you die, Riven, I swear I'll bring you back to life just to kill you again."

"I love you too, Kat."

Soon after, Katarina's daily visits slowed to a weekly effort. Then she only came at the start of every month. Eventually the four seasons passed, returned, then passed again, and the wind blew her crumbling roses away like dust.

Katarina never came to see her again.

Today the skies were clear, not a droplet around for her to hide her own tears behind as the plot next to hers was being excavated. The sun beat down, a very warm welcome for the newest inhabitant in their city of bones. They buried Katarina, per regulation, four feet away. It was four feet too far. The casket they lowered made Riven’s heart sink so low it crushed the butterflies in her stomach. Unlike her own stunted coffin containing her runic blade buried in her place, this one was large enough to hold a body.

What did they bury her with? Katarina owned many knives but treasured few. Did they know her favourite belt? Were her daggers holstered on the left, her throwing knives on the right and a little bit to the rear just the way she liked them?

Riven knew. Riven would’ve gotten it right.

It’d been over five years since her feet last touched the Empire's soil and here she was in the very heart of it. She’d been docked in Bilgewater replenishing supplies when the news finally reached that particular corner of the empire. Lady Du Couteau has fallen! Her stolen horse had made it halfway to Noxus before Captain Fortune even noticed she was gone.

Traditional funeral rites were done with added pomp and splendour, the kind of grandiosity one could reasonably point the finger at Cassiopeia for. Riven suspected the heavens didn’t ruin the ceremony with its lamenting showers simply because Cassiopeia had forbade it so. Cassiopeia and Talon stayed the longest, but eventually they left too. The living had things to do, after all, and Katarina wasn’t going anywhere.

She gave it another hour before she left her twice-proven hiding spot. It was caution, she reasoned, and not a crippling heartache that kept her from throwing herself before Katarina’s tombstone sooner. For every rose that had ever been placed on her grave, Katarina had ten. The dozen bottles that were poured in libation far outnumbered the single glass that had been offered to Riven. Her cenotaph stood at five feet tall, basic in shape, so Katarina’s stood at six, fully sculpted, her inscription a little bigger and a little longer. The true-to-size statue of the mighty assassin immortalized everything she emanated in life: her cold expression, proud stance, sharp attire.

“You never did like to be outdone, Kat,” Riven mumbled, cupping a hand to the face of the statue. Time hadn't been unkind to her wife. Katarina looked right past her, frozen and unspeaking. Beautiful as ever, but Riven didn't remember her this way.

Katarina used to smile at her. A lot. She could be casual and put her guard down at times, trusting Riven to have her back. She wore nightgowns to bed and an apron when she cooked. She fell asleep with a towel around her wet hair once. That was the Katarina she remembered.

Riven was dying to see her again.

"You can come out now."

Footsteps from behind.

"Perceptive as always, my love."

Riven turned and watched Katarina stop just out of reach, looking a lot like the statue come to life. It takes a long time to get to know somebody, but not nearly as much time to become strangers again. And that was who was standing before her, a familiar stranger. One she longed to touch again had the space Katarina kept between them not forbade her from doing so.

"I would ask you how you knew, but I forget myself," said Katarina. "You invented this game, after all. I simply learned from the best."

Riven took the jab in stride. Katarina was entitled to her anger.

"How–"

"I went to Coeur, you know," Katarina interjected. "They made me bury you without a body. How detestable. An arm, a leg, or even a finger. I would've been happy to take any piece of you home with me."

"You had a hunch because you couldn't find my body?" Riven asked, impressed.

Katarina laughed. "No. I had a letter."

Riven raised a brow questioningly.

"You know what they say." Katarina smiled. "Fortune favours the bold. Misfortune favours those I ask her to."

Misfortune... Miss Fortune? Riven's jaw dropped as the pieces fell into place. "Sarah?" Her captain... her only friend?

She'd known. Sarah Fortune had known and she'd sold her out. The hand extended in friendship had been just another transaction. Riven's place in her crew was safekeeping for the day Noxus would decide to collect.

"What can I say, I have old friends in high places." Katarina swept her arm to the side, as if Riven's troubles were palpable and not worthy of their time. "Worry not, Fortune's lips are even tighter than her pants."

"If you knew then why didn't you just come to me, Kat? It's not like you to play the long game," Riven growled.

Katarina hardened equally. "You have no right to accuse me of playing any kind of game with you. I would've tailed you around this continent like a cheated wife and you know it. But I tire of chasing those who don't want to be found. On the other hand, the role of grieving widow ill befits me and patience is a virtue I do not care for. I knew you'd return eventually. It was only a question of what it would take."

Riven moved aside when Katarina walked a straight path to her statue. She brushed some nonexistent dust off her marble shoulders and spoke with her back to Riven.

"It must've been hard for you to leave our life behind, I understand that now. Whatever your reasons for staying away, I knew you were in danger. I couldn't look for you," she finished sadly.

Riven broke their distance and wrapped her arms tightly around Katarina for the first time, regretting the years wedged between them. Katarina could never return to Noxus. Never speak to her siblings again. They were ghosts without a home and Riven wasn't sure they still had each other.

Katarina eased her doubts when she relaxed ever so slightly into her embrace. "It didn't take long for me to see that Noxus isn't what it used to be, but I still couldn't bring myself to forgive you." A pause. "It's a good thing people change."

"I'm sorry our first words were in anger," Riven whispered to the woman who'd given up just as much to be with her.

"Hm." Katarina patted her cheek. "As long as they're not our last."

They rode until the sun was lower on the horizon than the distant spires of Noxus. Eventually the mountains greeted them with uninviting shadows. For all of Riven's experience and Katarina's planning they were underprepared for the penetrating cold the night would bring.

They made camp under the stars. Katarina laughed indulgently at Riven's anecdotes of her days as a green deckhand on the high seas and Riven listened raptly as Katarina painted her a picture of the political web she'd been caught in. With Cassiopeia's guidance she'd puppeted most of High Command expertly. Yes, her sister, the new head of House Du Couteau, will do just fine without her.

The fire died quickly, destroying the last of the meager shrubbery they'd managed to gather before settling down. But Riven wasn't cold, not even close. After so many years apart Katarina's easy words throughout the night were like oil on her skin. Her touch, igniting. What time had ruined between them, it would also heal.

When dawn broke over the pass, mountain birds heralded the new day, their songs carried in harmony by brisk winds. Riven woke and wanted to sing with them.

Katarina greeted her from the saddlebags of their black geldings where she'd already packed her bedroll. "Good morning."

Riven smiled, watching Katarina take a swig from her canteen before wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. It was a strange thing to get aroused over, but the simple movement was so carefree and uninhibited.

"So it is."

They were to begin their new life together as ghosts, doomed to the shadows under the light of Noxus' reach. But she woke that morning with a new lens on life and she was able to see for the first time the brilliance of the world around her.

"Where to?" Katarina asked.

Riven stood from the dewy ground, arched her back in a stretch, and released a big yawn. "I'll let you take the reins on this one, Mrs. Friends-In-High-Places."

Katarina chuckled. "All right then." After a moment's thought, "Follow me."

   Each time Katarina sees Riven, Riven looks weaker.  Her skin is marred by bruises, purpling masses that resemble sections of Ionia, and there are new wounds weeping blood through the bandages that have started to cover more and more of her arms. “Is the war in Ionia not going well?” Katarina finally plucks up her courage to ask. Riven looks at her oddly for a moment, then laughs. The sound sputters out into coughing too quickly and she reaches a hand up to the bruise that runs around her throat like a collar. “Ionia is not the problem. Noxus is.” Riven’s words are wry and her smile is sad. Her glow of her runed sword is usually matched by her eyes but today, her gaze is dim and distant. “What do you mean, Noxus? Were we attacked on a different front?” Katarina asks. Riven always know the status of the city state better than any of the intel that the Noxian High Council receives. “No.” Riven is quiet then, scrutinizing Katarina. Within her amber eyes, cities burn and Katarina feels herself stripped bare by the weight of ages within Riven’s gaze. She is so young compared to Riven, so raw and so short-lived; Riven’s full attention makes her knees want to buckle, makes her want to kneel and pledge her allegiance to the Spirit of Noxus, again and again. Riven has had her heart since before they ever met and Katarina knows it is only too evident whenever Riven looks at her. “It’s Noxus,” Riven says finally, touching the raw split in her lip.  “Noxus is rejecting me.” Riven’s words leave Katarina staring at her blankly. How can Noxus reject Riven? Riven has been there since the inception of Noxus. Without her, there would be no Noxus - only a collection of buildings and soldiers.

“You are Noxus--” Katarina starts to say. The shake of Riven’s head silences her as surely as a knife to her throat. “Noxus is changing and I cannot,” Riven says, her voice rough as she ghosts her fingers over the bruises on her throat. “I am your Noxus. I am courage, I am honor, I am loyalty, I am strength and I am sacrifice. But the people of Noxus want quicker victories. They choose the chemical weapons of Zaun. They attack civilians and soldiers alike.” Her voice quietens and she looks over Katarina’s shoulder at the sparring soldiers whose skin is marked with chemical burns. “They turn away from the foundations of Noxus and in doing so, they turn away from me.” The truth of Riven’s words stings Katarina. The weapons that Zaun makes for them are a coward’s weapons; they drop from on high and Noxus suffers no risk when they’re used. Soldiers who are caught in the infection radius are written off as casualties, calculated losses compared to how many they’d lose in a conventional battle. Noxus risks nothing but loses everything, if Riven is to be believed. “I’ll talk to my father,” Katarina promises. “He has a voice on the Noxian High Council. He can steer them away--” Riven reaches up and very lightly, lets her fingertips graze over the scar that runs over Katarina’s face and eyelid. She doesn’t say anything; she doesn’t need to. They both know that General Du Couteau no longer trusts his oldest daughter.

“I’ll find a way,” Katarina says instead.  Her tone makes it a sacred vow, a promise unbreakable. “I will, Riven. You are the best of us. Whatever Noxus becomes without you, it will be worse.”

Riven smiles but there is no faith in her eyes. The light touch of her hand against Katarina’s face becomes a caress and Katarina leans into it, her eyes closing. She’ll find a way, she vows to herself, because there is no god at whose altar she worships. There is only the Spirit of Noxus and Katarina will not lose her.

---------------

Katarina slashes to the left and her dagger hits Riven’s arm - then passes through it. “Is that a new ability? Because it’s cheating if --” Katarina asks, flipping backwards to get away from a counter attack that never comes. Riven is standing frozen on the spot, staring at her arm, and the stricken look on her face makes Katarina’s words die in her throat before they ever reach her mouth. This is no trick. This is a symptom. “I have to leave Noxus,” Riven says, deathly bleak, and her words are coffin lids slamming shut. “No.” The first time, the word never makes it out. It’s just air that puffs past Katarina’s lips before she shakes her head and insists audibly, “No! You are Noxus. You can’t leave us.” “Noxus is more than the city. Noxus is the countryside and the soldiers. If I leave the city, perhaps the belief of those outside the city will sustain me,” Riven reminds Katarina even as she continues to stare at her arm. It looks so solid but when Katarina reaches out, her fingertips drift through it as if Riven were nothing but a Zaunite illusion. “And if it doesn’t?” Katarina asks, hating the hopelessness in her own voice, hating she has to even suggest that the people don’t believe in Riven the way that she does. “Then I will fade.” Riven’s words are calm but her eyes hold a fatal sorrow. It slays Katarina’s heart. “I have been here since the start of Noxus and I had thought to remain until its fall, but if I no longer represent the true Spirit of Noxus--” “You will always be the Spirit of Noxus to me,” Katarina interrupts fiercely, flicking a dagger up into her hand, “And I will kill anyone who says otherwise.” ‘Blood for Noxus’ was her old cry but she will change it if she must, she will cry ‘BLOOD FOR RIVEN!’ and plunge into the thick of battle fearlessly if it will return Riven to her once more. “Riven,” she says when Riven does not respond to her vow, and Riven smiles, sudden and brilliant as a polished weapon drawn from its scabbard. It lasts for only a second but it fills Katarina with fire from the soles of her feet to the ends of her hair. She would live and die for this woman; she would live and die for the Noxus that Riven embodies. “When you say my name, you say it the same way you say Noxus,” Riven says, and her hand is light as a cloud’s caress against Katarina’s cheek but her lips feel warm and real against Katarina’s mouth.

The Spirit of Noxus is kissing her and it is everything good in Katarina’s life. It is the yielding resistance of a blade surging into flesh, it is the adrenaline rush in the aftermath of a successful battle, it is the meeting of an opponent’s eyes, it is the warmth of the Noxian sunshine and the crisp kiss of the Noxian winter winds. It is courage and strength and loyalty, it is the Spirit of Noxus, and Katarina has never felt so devoted.

---------------

There is a monster lumbering around the barracks and the soldiers say this is the true Spirit of Noxus. This is a soldier, renowned and praised, whose hatred of the Demacians is so strong that he has risen once more to lead them into battle. Even death cannot stop Sion and after all, is that not the meaning of Noxus? To push onwards against all odds, to be strong? Katarina looks at him and sees a dead man walking, one who is incapable of hurt or death. What sacrifice is there in such a thing taking to the battlefield? ‘Blood for Noxus’ has ever been her cry but it works both ways. The soldiers of Noxus must be willing to spill their own blood and Sion has none to spill. If he charges onto the battlefield and eats the Demacian attacks, then he makes cowards of the legions behind him.

He needs violence; death and war are all his corpse can consume. There is no honor in him, no humanity, and Katarina will not pledge herself to him. (She has known the touch of the Spirit of Noxus. This pretender will not take that title from Riven.)

--------------- Her father was a General and before he left, he taught Katarina about the art of war, about the deployment of soldiers, about the importance of strategy. Battles are not won by men clashing on the field, he told her, but by the generals in their tents who plan the battles before hand. So Katarina plans and sends out her troops. Cassiopeia, beautiful once and monstrous now, still holds sway with the nobles of Noxus. They remember a time before the Trifarix, before upstart nobodies like Darius could rise to sit in control of Noxus. Darius isn’t even Noxian, Cassiopeia reminds them, and hisses poison into their ears until their minds reel and all they can do is repeat, repeat, repeat the words she wants spread. Every noble on their side is one less private army that will answer Swain’s call once the rioting spreads. Talon, sharp-tongued and violent, is feared in the Underground from where he rose. He speaks to the poorer people of Noxus, sits in bars and buys drinks while mentioning the armies of children, the way that the foot soldiers are always the poor people while Swain sets his favorites as generals where they’ll be well out of the way of battle. He talks about the Grand General’s demon arm, dredges up again the rumors of human sacrifice and what exactly the demon demands in exchange for the power it gave Swain. Nobody’s ever seen the Faceless. It’s easy to make them believe the Faceless is the demon and what Swain traded in exchange for power is Noxus itself. It’s easy to make them believe that Swain is ruining Noxus because it is true.

---------------

There is rioting in the streets and blood in the gutters. Katarina has not heard from Talon in hours but she has seen enough sightless corpses with bubbling green skin to track her sister’s passing. They’re winning. She thinks they’re winning, at least. They have to be winning because if not -- if not-- An enraged bellow comes down from the far end of the street. She jerks her head up, soot-streaked hair flying back, and sees Sion barreling down towards her, looking as unstoppable as death itself. She crouches, ready to leap out of the way and then a figure jumps down from a rooftop and Sion stops as if stunned.