Chapter Text

Empire Above All

Good soldiers followed orders.

Good soldiers fought until the bitter end, good soldiers pushed on despite the pain, despite the scorching agony that sat deep below ones bruised and battered skin. Just another step, just another painful push forward. Towards what exactly? Glory? A bright future? A new tomorrow? Whatever lay at the end of the horizon, you were hellbent on reaching it, on getting there. Hot air strained your eyes, your hand covering your dirt covered face as you pushed through the sea of corpses beneath you, arrows lining your path as you followed the trail of destruction that lay before you. You had a mission, and you were determined to see it through. Dying here was simply no option, the task at hand too important as to just accept defeat. Your body was aching, your limbs burning up as you marched onward. Debris and ash clung to your boots; the blood of soldiers being covered by layers of blackened mud.

Your first real mission, your first order given directly by the Grand General himself. Joining the Noxian military had been a natural for you, seeing as your entire lineage consisted of nothing more than soldiers. Your career had begun in the infirmary, your talents laying within the medical field and the art of treating wounds and seriously injuries. A field medic, such was your title, and so you carried yourself. Freshly joining into the military had been exciting enough, but then to be called on by the Grand General himself? Priceless! Your family had not been anything special so to say, neither had your own achievements during your training been something particularity noteworthy.

However, the one thing that was smeared across each and every one of your papers, was the one word the higher-ups thought to be something to follow up on. Loyal. You were a Noxian loyalist, an ideologist who wholeheartedly believed in the empire and its philosophies. The principles of strength spoke true, the Noxian dogma absolute and freed of falsehoods. Your loyalty had been noticed early, your eagerness to serve noted across your reports and certificates. And see there, it had paid off! Your first mission had been issued by the Grand General himself, the man calling a small group of medics and engineers into the throne room of the Immortal Bastion. You had been a mixed bunch of sorts, some very new, some experienced and well versed in the art of war. Grand General Swain had looked at you, had silently wondered who may survive, and had then spoke on the mission at hand. The Commander General needed reinforcements, needed a small group of soldiers, engineers and further medical staff for his campaign in the western grounds of Noxus. A rebellious settlement had cut ties to the empire, the uprising now being cut down by the Trifarixan General himself.

Yet while the campaign itself seemed to be running fairly well, several fundamental positions within the warhost had been eliminated. Medics, mages, seers, engineers. Many that held the background tasks had been lost, so your group was to be the replacement. Or so the plan. Your group had consisted of only a handful of people, two Trifarian soldiers escorting you across the Noxian steppe. The road had been reasonably kind, up until you had to leave your mounts and vehicles behind in order to cross harsher terrain. The march had been tedious but doable, your little group easily traversing the dry ground of the Noxian wildlands. All had been well- until you had suffered an ambush from seemingly nowhere. Rebels had attacked from all around, iron clashing against iron, bodies littering the ashy soil below as limbs and heads had flown around left and right. Blood had splattered against all it could possibly touch, the cold midday sun offering little comfort as meat was butchered below rusty steel. You had bounced in-between friend and foe, had thought on what to do, right before you had done the only thing you thought as logical in that moment. You had fled. No need to stick around deadweight you thought, your legs carrying you towards the battle you were destined for. There was simply no reason for you to risk injury or death while you had not even arrived at your destination! Agonizing cries were left behind to rot out of your sight, your eyes turned towards the red horizon, towards the reason you had been sent out for. While your fellow soldiers and medics cursed at you, the Trifarian guards understood, and they let you as they gave their lives to aid your escape. They let you leave, because they understood. The few, for the many.

Noxus was your all. You had been born Noxian, had grown up Noxian, and lived as a Noxian. You were to serve the empire, and you would do so with vigorous bravado. It did not matter how many bodies you crossed. It did not matter how much death you had to crawl across, how many slaughtered lambs you had to leave behind as you continued onward. Young soldiers, young Noxians, their hopes and dreams ground to dust as their bodies lined the soil below. Six eyed ravens calmly sat atop sun-scorched bones, the avians cautiously watching your lonely march. So many of them held no chance, had not a single drop of luck within them. They were fodder, so they would die. Once more, the few, for the many.

A young woman you were, your body wrapped in light, agile armour that allowed you to run and sprint if need be. A light sword sat at your back, a dagger at your armoured thigh, simple military uniform shielding your body from possible attackers. Your upper thighs and shoulders were exposed following the typical Noxian fashion, your fingers callused as were those of every good, true soldier. You carried the Noxian crest on your chest and back, an additional symbol indicating your purpose as a field medic. You were essential, you were well aware of that. Determination burnt from deep within your red heart, your skin itching in anticipation as you followed the trail of destruction across the land you called your own. Leather boots aided you across partially still simmering debris, the heat of the freshly laid ash scorching the hair around your feet and legs as you pushed on. Dying embers rose to the black-tinted sky, equally black ravens guiding you towards the Noxian war camp.

Several large tents stood out in a scorched field, the Noxian banners raised to the skies as soldiers scurried across the camp. Fallen soldiers were being aligned outside of the camp, their bodies to be given an honourable funeral by those that remained alive. The injured were being carried in by comrades, their cries bouncing off the red cotton of the large war tents as they fought through pain and torment. Business as usual.

When one of the guards approached you, you showed him your papers, the man eagerly nodding in response.

“Finally, a damn medic. Last ones a pile o’ bones, come now lass,” the man said, nodding towards a scorched mess of ashy bodies. The camp was reasonably large, able to hold several hundred soldiers and their respective mounts and vehicles. The kitchen and infirmary ran at full potential, smiths equally busy as the casualties of war piled up on their front doors. Smoke filled the air around, the loud banging of iron being bent and reformed deafening the cries of the injured. You had seen these kinds of camps before, had learnt to live within their chaos. You had still been in training back then, but now, now you stood as a free soldier.

“I heard the Grand General was sending reinforcements. Where’s the rest of ya’?” he asked, already dreading your answer.

“Dead Sir!” you replied, following him through the muddied pathways of the temporary settlement. The guard scoffed at your enthusiastic answer, shaking his head in tired amusement. Damned youngsters and their upbeat attitudes. He tried taking you to the infirmary, yet you refused, shaking your head as you sought confrontation.

“I am here on the order of Grand General Swain himself. I am to report directly to the Hand of Noxus,” you said, thumping your closed fist against your battered chest plate. The guard grunted, shaking his head in annoyance over your insolent prattle.

“That would be suicide! The General Commander is at the front lines right now, it’s hell out there girl! Stay here and wait for his return,” the man yelled, the camp bustling with life as he forced his voice to reach your ears.

“I am sorry Sir, but I must follow my orders,” you huffed back, the guard grabbing your shoulder as he leant into you. He spoke to you as a Noxian, yet also as a father as he saw your youth pool within your eager gaze.

“Listen, I know what your orders tell you, but please – don’t do anything stupid. We need you, especially considering your groups demise. Return alive, you heard me?”

“Yes Sir!” you yelled, saluting the man as you turned on your leathered heel, your sore feet carrying you across the brittle ground below. You followed the trail of injured soldiers, black smoke guiding you further into active battle. It took you what, an hour at best, before you started seeing flashes of flame and ember pierce through the clouded sky above. Red. Wherever Noxus fought, all was turned to red. So you ran, you carried your body across the scorching soil, ran until your lungs burnt and your eyes stung from the aggressiveness of the ash. It was all to serve the empire, to serve the future that was to be draped in red.

Noxus was your home, and you had watched it grow and change with you. You had been but a young girl when the Trifarix had been proclaimed to the people, had watched as old patriarchs and slavers had been hung in the narrow streets. Your family had been brought to Noxus as slaves many centuries ago, had freed themselves through militaristic labour, and had now come to exist below the empires harsh hand it held above all. While others cursed Noxus for what it was, you embraced it, followed what it promised. Meeting Jericho Swain face to face had been just another reason for you to keep going, to keep fighting. The Trifarix was the right way, and you would do anything to secure their safety, even if you may lose your insignificant life in the process. It mattered not, for all that truly mattered was the empire and its ever-growing grandeur.

When you finally reached the front lines, you forced your way past retreating soldiers, some men having lost limbs or other parts of meat as they were forced to step back, to seek out battle another time. While Noxians fought and fell in battle, the orders had been clear: no more casualties. Or rather, minimize the casualties if and when possible.

The Grand General had sent you out to aid the Hand of Noxus himself, despite your inexperience. When you finally approached the heated front lines you barely managed to dodge an arrow, smoke filling the air around you as you started crouching, your body close to the ground as you crawled across the ash covered debris below. As sweat ran down your dirtied skin, you kept lowering yourself even further, your body now flat on the ground as you wormed your way through trenches and fallen bodies. Blood and guts stuck to you, your fingertips burnt from the hot embers that kept assaulting your vexingly alive body. You were on a mission, no time to waste.

When you found a soldier of the enemy faction still drawing breath, you pulled your sword from your back, a swift cut ending that pathetic life before it could bear the fruit of further resistance. When you found a young woman clutching her severed arm, you did just the same, ending her before she could cause any more troubles to the empire you so dutifully served. They had their chance. They had willingly taken to arms against the empire! They deserved no less, they deserved nothing but an end to such a pitiful existence. Maggots, all of them. Useless parasites that did nothing but dirty your blade.

A Noxian knows who he is, and what he must do.

So you told yourself, repeating the words the Grand General had said within one of his timeless speeches. You were a big fan his, the man a skilled speaker and philosopher. Meeting him had given you newfound vigour, your path in life seemingly on the right track if you were meeting such nobility on your very first mission.

You had finally made out the Hand of Noxus, that beast of a man fighting at the very front of the formation that he had taken into battle. Quickly lifting your body from the blood-soaked soil, you readied yourself, forcing your body into a comfortable jog as you tried reaching him. Arrows and debris shot past you, your mind too focused at the task at hand as to realise just how insane this entire situation was.

“Fall back!”

Huh?

A brutish sound shattered through the heated air, Noxian soldiers scorched on sight as fire magic cut through the front line of the warhost, forcing the ground below you to shake and boil as the air sizzled from sheer heat alone.

“Commander General! Orders, please!”

You stood there, your body slowly cooling down as your motivation was but snuffed out when an arrow pierced your left thigh.

Huh?

Another one hit your shoulder, a third cutting into your wrist as you stared at the scene that lay before you.

Oh, right, the Noxians were losing.

Darius screamed for his men to retreat, the Hand of Noxus fending off incoming arrows and sundering embers. Your mind felt awfully numb as you fell to your knees, blood oozing from your sore body as you felt the ash below burn your skin. Soldiers ran past you, some of them being shot down as they tried to escape, some managing to hide within previously dug trenches as the warhost retreated. Too many casualties, too many for today.

As you felt the heat build across your aching body, you moved your gaze towards your shoulder, a wooden arrow lodged deeply within your blueish flesh. Such a damn shame. Such a fucking shame, you had been so excited for your first mission. Your backpack was filled with medical equipment, rare ointments and medicine delicately wrapped as they were meant for the Hand of Noxus himself. You should have been an asset, should have been worth something to the warhost. Yet now, now you sat and you bled. And for what? For nothing.

Your mind felt terribly empty, your blood warming your cracked and bruised skin as it soaked into your clothing. Ah, your uniform. The iron armour you carried had done barely anything to protect you, your flesh having been easily hit by stray arrows.

A fellow soldier collapsed beside you, the mans heavy body riddled with arrows as he fell to his knees, his chest hitting the soil beneath you as you dared not to look at him. No, no use for sentiment.

“My…daughter…”

No, his death would serve the empire. No need for sentiment, or for empathy.

“Please, tell my…”

No, you could not care less. He had served his purpose, and he would fall in battle as each good soldier should.

“My…my wife…my beautiful flower…”

No, his wife would find another, and the empire would live to see another day. You did not care, you cared not one single-

“SOLDIER, BACK ON YOUR FEET!”

A callused hand gripped your jaw from below, your face forced upwards as you met the gaze of the Commanding General. Right, you had been sent here for him. You were to aid him in his efforts, to tend to his wounds and injuries. If you could, you would apologize, yet your mouth had grown horribly dry at the prospect of your own death.

Darius kneeled before you, the large man forcing you to look up at him as you silently stared back at him. You had seen him before, had seen him during public events or during speeches. Never had you seen him this close, never had you felt his hand on your face as you dared to bleed out before him. He was handsome, his squared face carrying a subtle stubble across his chiselled jaw. Thick, black eyebrows sat atop lavishly grey eyes, a scar crossing his left eye as his black hair carried a singular white streak. How pretty, how Noxian. He looked strong, the man oozing might even by appearance alone. He spoke again, yet you heard not a single word as he tried to wake you from your dazed slumber.

Only when he violently shook you did you finally snap awake again, your lungs filling with hot air as you felt your body fire up from within. Right! A Noxian fought to the end, or until he had to lay down his own life to serve a greater purpose. So you furrowed your brows, focusing at the situation at hand.

“I was sent here by Grand General Swain himself! We were a group of medics and engineers, all of us soldiers before all else. The others have all been killed, so it’s just me,” you bleated, the older man grunting in response as he watched his own warhost retreat.

“Wait- I was to be sent a medic. Are you…?”

“Yes Sir! Commander General!”

Darius just glared at you, the man left in disbelief over your appearance. You!? You were a mere hatchling, badly equipped and already injured. A young woman that had only previously graduated her training, a little sack of meat to attend his ailments and injuries? Darius just glared at you, watching as your youthful face brimmed with motivation and devotion. The Hand of Noxus sharply inhaled, silently cursing the Grand General for his sick sense of humour as he moved his gaze towards the fallen soldier.

Darius knew the man, knew he had a wife that carried an unborn daughter. Deep seated sorrow ravaged his body, long forgotten memories of his own lost love crossing his mind. It hurt, it still did. Even after so many, many years. As Darius silently mourned his late wife, the burly man failed to catch you as you fell over backwards, your head hitting the ground below as you fell unconscious.

The injured soldier deserved to live. He deserved to see his wife and the birth of his daughter. He would be too injured as to continue his service if he were to survive. He could take the pay and get out. Take his wife and child, take what mattered and just…leave. Because if the Hand of Noxus just left him here, he would be dead in no time, no way around it. Was this really it? Was this how he was to end? Was Darius to be the one to once more sign a paper declaring the woman a widow and the child half an orphan? He had done so many, many times before. A break would surely be nice, your death would be handled easier in forms of paperwork anyway.

Darius reached out towards his fellow soldier, the dying man groaning under his grasp as you began to bleed out beside them. You were so young; it was such a shame. Your body was painted by battle, but not by war. War made the body age, it made the skin sag and dry out, caused the eyes to lose the sparkle one once held within. Just as Darius was about to forsake you, seeing as he only had enough strength left to carry one body back to camp, his mind wandered towards Swain. Or well, it rather wandered towards the implications your arrival possibly carried.

Swain would never just send anyone to the front lines like this. No, that was not like him. You had meaning, you had purpose. But which one? To die on the field like mere fodder? No, it was not that. Swain always planned, he always schemed, and he always had something to say, something to show. Even if he did not speak the words himself, anything done by him carried meaning, it carried a message. It took the Hand of Noxus a short moment, the man finally coming to realise your intended use.

Potential. Swain had seen potential within you, his visionary gaze having picked your body from the rest of the attendees. And who was better at nurturing potential? Hah.

“Real funny Jericho,” the Hand of Noxus groaned, dropping the male soldier as he reached for you, lifting your limp body from the ground. The black-haired general was renowned for his ability to foster the promising, many soldiers blossoming beneath his stern guidance. Swain knew that, of course he did. So, he had sent you out here, so that you may learn and grow under Darius’ leadership. Funny, real funny.

Darius cursed Swain out as he lifted you, abandoning the dying man as he called for retreat once more, the large man leaving the battlefield behind as he accompanied his soldiers back to safety. You were pressed up against his armoured chest, your smaller frame engulfed within his larger one as he carried you out of the endless despair that lay behind him.

“…tell…my daughter…”

Darius did not look back, yet he knew the sound of boiling blood all too well, the scorching fires ending the man’s life as he lay there a boiled sack of meat. The blood and water within his lungs began to simmer, hot steam leaving his charring corpse as the iron armour he carried cooked him from the outside. Fire magic was one tough nut to crack, the enemy mage more skilled than they had anticipated. The scent of burnt meat filled the air, the Noxians retreating – for now. Battle would commence soon enough, yet as of current, they needed a new approach, a new day to take to arms.

You chocked on your own spit, your unconscious body slumped against the general’s warm armour. Darius grunted, the grey eyed soldier softly shaking you as he sought to soothe your twitching self.

“Fight little soldier. Do not die on me so early into our campaign,” the older man grumbled, his voice sending vibrations down his chest as you just quietly whined, blood still trickling from your aching limbs. You were proving rather useless for a medic, your presence having caused nothing but trouble up until now.

Darius sighed, the black haired Noxian looking to the skies as he marched to the beat of the warhost, his mind racing with battleplans and strategies. This battle was not over, no, the enemy did not even seek to chase or follow them. Despite the grim circumstances, the campaign was not yet over. Oh no, a new day, a new opportunity was to come, one that would melt away all that had stood before him just earlier.

They would bow before the empire or find their heads missing. It was that simple. So the Hand of Noxus straightened his back, lifted his gaze, and proudly carried his new asset off towards the war camp. This was far from over, they would see.

He would win, he would do so for you and himself, just as well as for the freshly deceased man, his now widowed partner and their unborn child. Yet first and foremost, he would secure this victory for that which mattered most – the Noxian Empire.

Empire above all, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

A deep, painful groan escaped your lips when you felt the arrows be pulled from your pitiful meat, your body turned and wrapped as you were tended to by colleagues of your own profession. An entire day was wasted as you lay there, your wounds bandaged and stitched up by the remaining medical staff that had survived up until now. The fighting had meanwhile continued, the Hand of Noxus returning to the front lines as he and his soldiers sought to eradicate the enemy mage. All while he was serving his empire dutifully pushing onward as the ground below his feet trembled, you were stuck being useless, mere deadweight to the campaign itself.

You had done nothing, not one single productive thing up until now, that fact alone filling your subconsciousness with agonising shame and humiliation. When you did finally wake, you felt your mouth akin to a desert, your eyes aching as the dim light of the infirmary hit your pupils. Groaning in discomfort, you forced yourself upright, pain ravaging your body as you managed to sit up straight. A shaky hand wandered towards your aching shoulder, your meat bruised and battered from the impact of the projectile. Your shoulder was wrapped and bandaged, as was your thigh and your wrist. From the looks of it you had been lucky, nothing too serious it seemed.

“You're awake? Good, get going girl, move!” a nurse yelled, causing you to jump to the best of your abilities. You forced yourself from the confinements of your rest, your sore body moving to the side as a group of medics placed a wounded soldier on the bed you had now freed up. Hazy memories clouded your mind, your body still sore from your prolonged rest as you searched for your backpack. Right, you had to get to the Hand of Noxus himself! Your mission, you had already wasted too much time on nothing! You damned waste of life, you useless little weakling. Two members of your beloved Trifarix had counted on you, and what had you done? Gotten shot at and then slept for an entire day.

You quickly got back on your shaky feet, your unsteady body moving out of the infirmary as you searched for the General Commander’s personal tent. Smoke filled the air above, the heavy footsteps of soldiers ringing in your ears as you aimlessly wandered through muddied pathways. Today’s soldiers and generals had returned, their push forward seemingly victorious as they brought back a singular enemy body, the mage as it seemed. The defeated fire mage was dragged into a tent to be dissected and studied, a six eyed raven calmly waiting to relieve the corpse of its secrets. Yet you cared little for the bird, your focus on your mission and your purpose in life. Your purpose was to serve and serve you would.

Weak limbs carried you towards the largest of tents, your battered body being allowed entry as you stumbled into the war tent, your shaky eyes managing to catch the man you were sent here for. The red tent was filled with only bare necessities, a simple bed, several wooden racks that held pieces of armour, a large table and some cutlery. Seriously - it did not look like the war tent of a leader, quite the opposite. This just looked like the tent of any common soldier, far from what you had imagined when thinking of a Trifarixan war tent. Darius liked it humble, the man was a soldier, not a spoilt nobleman. Speaking of Darius, the man sat calmly on his bed, his armour still attached to his body as he attempted to rid himself of his iron shell. He grunted, callused and burnt fingers scratching at his chest plate.

“Stop staring soldier, come here and speak,” the man grumbled, his aching fingers scratching at the leather straps that held his armour in place. He did not gift you one single glance, his eyes fixated on his own predicament as he tried ridding himself of his heavy armour. Sheepishly entering deeper into the tent, the man finally raised his gaze towards you, his expression unreadable as he watched you approach. It was glaringly obvious that you were hurt, your nimble self carefully creeping over towards him. As you stood before the large man he just dismissively gestured towards your backpack, the man wanting to see what you carried within.

Right! You opened your mouth, a soft wheeze escaping your lips as nervousness spread through you. Apologise, you had to apologize!

“Sir - Commander General, I am sorry for getting injured on my first day of the campaign, Grand General Swain sent me to-”

“Why are you here? You're hurt,” the black-haired man grumbled, his gaze wandering towards your bandaged thigh. Ah, the wound had seemingly reopened. The bandage had begun to bloom in a most treacherous red, an exhausted sigh leaving your dry lips as you knelt down before the man, your shaky hands moving to retighten your wounded limb. How embarrassing for you to show such weakness in front of one of your idols.

“I am here...,” you huffed, trying to focus on the wound that caused your freshly acquired limp.

“...because I was sent here to aid you in your campaign. I bring some supplies from the capital,” you groaned, your brows furrowed as you fought through the pain. Darius sat on the bed before you, the large man freeing himself off his armour and layers of fabric. The black-haired Noxian placed his heavy armour aside, his axe already placed against the bedpost next to him.

“No. I mean why are you here? You're injured,” he plainly replied, grey eyes scouring your battered body. Huh? What sort of question was that? You blinked in confusion, your mouth still painfully dry as you tried to regain your composure.

“It's fine Commander General, it really is,” you immediately said, reaching for the backpack you carried with you. This was the main part, the main thing that mattered. You had managed to deliver the goods to the General, had done your job despite the few missteps you had made along the way. Everyone had a purpose, and yours was to follow orders so that Noxus may prosper. Even if the Empire was to nurture itself from your slain corpse, it would serve a purpose. That was what mattered. You wanted to matter.

The Hand of Noxus was massive, even more so up close. While you knelt on the ground below like the useless youngster you were, the seasoned warrior sat atop his bed, his bruised and battered form telling of successful battle and great success. He was terribly muscular, his skin covered in old scars and blemishes. A warrior, a soldier, the embodiment of might itself. Ogling him was something you would come to enjoy, it seemed.

Offering him the backpack, you watched him from below, the older man just glaring down at you. Was he...going to take it from you? Grey eyes just mustered your face, your unwavering admiration you held for him shining through those lovely eyes of yours. Of course you were a fan, you looked up to each member of the Trifarix. They all held such power, all claimed victory in service of the empire. So, it was important that he was supplied with the best possible medicine, was treated with the utmost best the empire had to bother. Right? Darius dismissably looked at the contents of your backpack, the man grunting in response.

“Grand General Swain sent these for you personally...,” you muttered, growing uneasy at his inaction. You flinched when the wound at your thigh pained you once more, pale fluid leaking into the bandages below. Why was he so painfully uninterested in your delivery? You had been filled with joy when you had been told to aid the Hand of Noxus personally. Well – sort of. You were to aid the campaign as a medic, to be the reinforcement for a lost colleague. That was the mission, yet you had also been subtly told to be at the Generals’ personal service just as much. Swain needed Darius strong, needed him healthy and taken care of. So he had said, and right he was. So why, why did the Noxian embodiment of might seem so unimpressed by your little stunt, by your purpose?

“Show me your wound,” he then said, causing you to shake your head in response. No - wait - you did not mean to refuse his order, but rather you found his question to be confusing, senseless if you dare say so. Why did he care about some lowly soldiers wound? It made no sense.

“Uh...of course Sir,” you muttered, placing the backpack next to his boot before you took to your own leg. Slowly unwrapping the bandages holding you in place, you were met with an oozing, bloody mess. Even you knew that it looked questionable, the wound a nasty shape as it leaked red fluid across your skin. You stared at it, then looked up at the man who seemed awfully disinterested in the entire situation.

“Sir...?” you quietly asked, waiting for him to give you direction. He spoke so little, especially in comparison to the Grand General.

“Hm? What are you waiting for? Use the supplies from the backpack for your leg. If you don't do anything against that mess now it will just get worse,” the Hand of Noxus ordered, causing you to huff in confusion.

“Eh- Commander, with all due respect, those medical supplies are for you. Grand General Swain insisted-”

“The Grand General is not here, so you listen to my orders, soldier,” he blurted, interrupting you in your useless prattle. What on earth!? You just helplessly stared at him, confused beyond your own understanding as you slowly reached for the medical supplies. An order was an order, wasn’t it?

“But Sir-”

You were shut down by a hot, annoyed glare, your chipped fingertips moving to the sacred stash of supplies. Cautious fingertips reached for an ointment, a deep feeling of guilt lingering beneath your skin as you reluctantly followed your orders. Slowly applying the salve to your leg, you quietly grumbled, your brows furrowing in discomfort as you treated yourself. Grand General Swain would surely cut off your head for that. This was not what you had come here for! Like a beaten dog you lowered your head, unsure of what to do. This was...this was not good. You were going against the Grand General’s orders! If he ever found out, you'd surely be butchered like the lowlife you were. While you drowned in lowly self pity and worry, the older man just watched, waiting for you to bandage yourself back up again. There, good enough.

“Hmpf. Swain sent you here for me? You're a field medic?” he then asked, grey eyes trailing the Noxian medical crest that sat at your upper chest. Lifting your head you enthusiastically nodded, a hopeful glimmer laying within your gaze as you awaited his next words. Of course you were! This was your time to shine, your time to prove yourself to the empire, to show just how talented you were. Yet before you could say even another word, the older man just grunted at you, his eyes brimming with almost lacklustre boredom.

“Go back to the capital girl. I do not need a medic; I can take care of myself. Leave the supplies here for my men, I need none of them, my body is fine as it is,” he said, causing your heart to sink down to the very bottom of your chest. Ouch.

“But Sir...!” you gasped, a deep feeling of dread piercing your aching mind as you felt your entire purpose be violently ripped from you. He did not want, did not need you? All of this, it was for...nothing? Your journey across the steppe, all of that blood and death, had it all meant nothing? Nothing at all?

“I said leave. Get out of here,” he just said, causing that little heart of yours to shatter into but a million of razor-sharp pieces. But...but he couldn’t!

“But Sir-”

“Stop talking. I gave you an order,” he mumbled, standing up from the bed as he rose to his full height. Darius was ridiculously tall, the man oozing masculinity and pure might as he grabbed a few used bandages from his nightstand, wrapping them around his sore fists. No, he couldnt just send you away. You had worked for this all your life! You had struggled, had bled and killed to get where you stood now. For wolfs sake, you had run from your assigned group to get here! He had no right to deny you of your purpose! Darius stood there only wearing his partially ripped trousers, leather straps holding the fabric in place as he began bandaging his lower abdomen. He stood without a shirt, his muscles glistening below a layer of dirtied sweat. Scars covered his aged skin, the Hand of Noxus standing before you in all of his brutish, imperious might. Such a force of a man he was, so tragically nice to look at. Your ogling was interrupted by our own stinging heart, your sense of self deeply wounded by his orders. No, you could not accept that. You refused to.

“I am sorry Commander General, but I will not return to the capital. I came here to serve and serve I will,” you finally said, gathering what little courage you held within your bones. The fire that burned within you burned for Noxus, not for the whims of a man too prideful to accept help when he most certainly was in need of it. The black-haired general slowly turned his face towards you, the man glaring at you with utter annoyance, yet also with perhaps the slightest hint of admiration locked behind those stony eyes of his.

“Are you refusing an order from your commanding general?” the older man asked, slowly approaching you as you swallowed hard, pearls of sweat chasing each other down your pitiful form. You quickly stood, trying to stand your ground as you sheepishly looked up at him. Darius stood above you, the man staring down at you as you tried to hold his scorching gaze.

“I…I was sent here to serve the empire. And I will do just that,” you huffed, feeling the tension between you grow uncomfortably heavy as the larger man scoffed in disdain.

“Serve? You mean die for nothing. Your cause is noble – but it will not help you. You will die if you step out there again,” the black-haired man grumbled, furrowing his brows at you. He saw a rebellious yet enthusiastic child, a young woman too stubborn to lay down her weapons. Before you could object another time, you felt a large finger push against the crest of your uniform, Darius pushing your upper body back as he lent downwards towards you.

“A good man died for you. A good soldier whose wife is now a widow, his unborn child left without a father because you were shot first thing into the charge. I left him there to give you a chance at life. And you’re wanting to throw it away over nothing. I will not allow it,” the black-haired man sneered, a vein nearly daring to pop as he loomed over you. He smelt of ash and sweat, the faint scent of iron lingering across his hardened skin as his words let that poor heart of yours sink even deeper up until it broke against your churning stomach. Ugh.

You scrunched your nose, a deep frown crossing your face as you felt him push you back by his finger alone. His words stung, they hurt, the weight of his accusations tragically painful as you tried to hold yourself together. That man had died for you, yes, but he had also died for the empire. The Hand of Noxus wanted to show some sort of mercy towards your youthful self. He saw promise, but he also saw overconfidence and blind idealism. He searched your face for an answer, but was left with nothing more than silently frowning on your part.

You deeply inhaled, calming your racing mind as you lifted your head once more, your gaze meeting that of the General Commander. He was so damn tall, the man a damn trunk before you. His black hair stuck to his forehead, his grey eyes carrying a faint sense of worry as he mustered you.

“I fight for the empire, not for you, General, or for myself. I will not be sent back,” you grunted, causing the older man to groan in annoyance. Damn youngsters. He lifted his hand from your upper chest, running his callused palm through his black hair all while you just stood your ground, too proud as to back down. Darius was too damn tired as to deal with such a brat like yourself, the man in desperate need of rest.

“Ugh. Fine. Join the other corpses then little soldier, I will not mourn you. But you will not work as a medic, you will fight as a soldier. That is an order,” Darius just sighed, the man too tired as to keep up an argument with such a stubborn little thing as yourself. Your eyes lit up with newfound vigour, your hand immediately saluting the older man as you stepped back to find your footing.

“Yes Sir! Commander General, I will not disappoint!” you bleated, the older man grumbling in pain over your enthusiastic outburst. While Darius turned from you so that he could sit back down to rest, you just stood and stared, your body brimming with energy and rejuvenated passion.

“Tell me one thing girl. If I ordered you to die for me, would you?” he suddenly asked, slowly seating himself as you considered the question. Weird thing to ask, no?

“For you? No. For the empire, yes,” you quickly replied, the black-haired man raising a thick brow at your words.

“But am I not the Hand of Noxus? The embodiment of might, and as such, a piece of Noxus itself?” Darius asked, seeking to probe you further. He wanted to hear it himself. Hear you saying it, that what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, but there will be another to do what you do once you pass. I serve not a single man but the empire itself,” you blurted out, confidentially stating your loyalties as the black-haired warrior hummed in approval. Your little rant reminded him of his own words, his own convictions and morals. He had been the same, still was like it even after so many years. He had told Swain the same back then, had told him that he served Noxus, not just one man. Darkwill had not seen it like that, but the Trifarix did.

“Hm. Go and rest, I expect to see you in appropriate gear tomorrow morning. Go now little soldier,” the Noxian General said, watching you quickly bolt from the tent as he dismissed you. Darius was too slow to realise you leaving the backpack behind, the older man having to begrudgingly accept the supplies as he was the only one left to make use of them. Wasting them was no option either, so he rather make use of them. His mind wandered towards you, your defiant and rebellious stunt that had left even him impressed. Sure you were right, your stubbornness a fruitful trait you carried into battle, yet still. A soldier who refused orders? He would see that you learnt some obedience- if you survived. He just scoffed to himself, shaking his heavy head as he had to rid himself of your memory.

x-o-x-o

“To your right!”

A brutal slam downwards, a quick step to the left and a swift turn saved your head from being severed, the heat of the battle scorching your limbs as you watched one of the deserters die and wilt before you. With the fire-mage gone, the Noxian troops proved a fierce predator, Darius’ warhost cutting through enemies left and right. You had joined as was preferred, the medical crest cut from your uniform as you stood as just an ordinary soldier. Clad in standard armour, your body ached below the new weight, your form weighed down by heavy shoulder pads and the sheer size of your sword. Yet while your body ached and burned, your mind raged on with insatiable wrath, your weapon cutting into whatever dared to stand in your way. As you took down another enemy you turned your head, your gaze finding the back of the Commanding General.

Darius was quite the sight, the large man impressive as he swung his ridiculously heavy weapon, the Hand of Noxus raining down brutish death as he cut through tender flesh. You stood there in awe, your gaze trailing his muscular arms as they raised the weapon to the skies, his might brought down in heavy, forceful swings. All you could do was stare in admiration, your eyes trailing his form as he fought for his empire, the might of Noxus being handed to those who dared opposing him.

Your little staring session was interrupted by an enemy soldier, the young man managing to pierce your already injured thigh as you yelped in response. Grunting in pain you stepped back, shaking your head as you focused on the fight. The man eyed you, the traitor mustering your expression as you readied yourself for battle.

“You’re so young, this isn’t right. Don’t die for them - you shouldn’t be here! I beg you, turn around!” the man called out to you, the ashy ground groaning beneath his step as he offered you sanctuary. He offered you a way out, offered you a chance beyond the sea of red you served. Yet your gaze remained unchanged, hatred and anger boiling within your scorching body as you shook your head in refusal.

“You and your people turned on the empire, you had your chance. Each word you speak insults my ears,” you spat, the young man snarling in response to your blind patriotism. He just shook his head, readying himself as you charged him. The fight was messy, neither of you seasoned warriors, yet both desperate to win. He tried cutting your thigh once again, your limp having returned as you were forced to dodge and grow defensive of your bad leg. Steel clashed against steel, blood splattered across the scorched soil below as tears streamed down pained faces while you fought for nothing but survival. You would not die. You refused to.

When he managed to hit your wrist with the dull side of his sword you were forced to drop your own, your body immediately forcing you into action as you jumped the man, both of you going down as you wrestled each other for dear life. Dust, mud and blood were thrown across the field, soldiers falling and dying beside you as the two of you fought against each other in a most desperate manner. The fight was ugly and unsightly, the man scratching your neck and face as you tore hair from his scalp, the battle around you passing you by as you focused on your own survival.

Fight for the empire. Kill for the empire. Fight to survive.

When you finally got him onto his back you bit into the leather strap of your armguard, the metallic piece of armour sliding down your battered arm as you grabbed it within your bloodied hands.

“For Noxus,” you spat, blood staining your teeth and lips red as you raised it, using the pointed piece of metal as a dulled club of sorts. It did not matter as you began bludgeoning him to death, your hand relentlessly plunging the object into his bruised and battered face. He cried and screamed, begged for mercy as you violently massacred his head, his voice turning to nothing but gurgled yelps as his throat filled with crimson.

Like the desperate animal you were, you took him out, fragments of bone and muscle splattering against your dirtied face as you murdered him in cold blood. No mercy, no sympathies for traitors. When he finally stopped moving, you felt your aching body beg you for rest, your muscles burning in agonising pain as you felt your vision blur. Your head was spinning, your heart daring to explode as you crawled off the man, warm vomit creeping up your throat as you threw up onto the ground below. The sound of combat rang in your ears, your body growing tired as you sat there, your lungs burning from the sheer violence you had just forced upon an unfortunate young man. Yet you felt not an ounce of regret or shame, your heart burning with conviction as you tried to keep yourself conscious. The battle around you continued, blood being splattered across the darkened soil as you raised your head, falling over backwards as you fell unconscious a second time. Not a very good track record you had there, fainting twice during combat not something to be proud of.

As active combat passed you by, your mind desperately tried to wake you as you felt your subconsciousness strive for victory over your own body. You did not know how long you were out for, but when you woke the battle had commenced, and the Noxians had won. It was over, you had won, and you had survived. Shaky hands reached for your weapon, your aching body slowly standing upward as you forced your legs towards the other survivors. Unsteady legs carried you across a sea of gore and steel, the battlefield slowly calming down as soldiers secured and stabilized the injured. You watched as the aftermath of the battle was being sorted, the dead counted and carried off as you dragged yourself towards the gates of the settlement. Clutching your bruised and batted body, you finally found the man you were looking for.

Darius stood at the gates of the settlement, the man directing soldiers and other staff as he handled the reconquered land. He spoke order, reinstating a new general as he sought to fully recapture the previously lost settlement. He found himself almost baffled when he saw you, the Hand of Noxus turning from a fellow general as he approached you.

“Little soldier! What a pleasant surprise,” the black-haired man mused, a slight twitch in his charred lips as he watched you drag yourself towards him. Darius was delightfully surprised, the man having not expected you to survive. Yet seeing you alive and well, it was a pleasant little gift, especially after such a nightmarish and brutal battle.

“I…did it...,” you wheezed, your poor being aching as the Hand of Noxus calmly gazed down upon you. Without saying even a single word, he raised his large hand, placing it on your head as he ruffled your hair. The soft and tender nature of the gesture made you calm down for a mere moment, your racing mind forgetting all about your pain and anguish for a split second. Huh?

There you stood, bleeding and aching, the man you looked up to gently patting the top of your head. If you were in better condition, you would have probably succumbed to your own adoration of the man, yet your current predicament calmed you right down. Still – the gesture was unexpected, and moreover, unexpectedly…nice? Darius was praising you on the open field, the Hand of Noxus himself congratulating you on your survival. When he lifted his armoured hand, you just gazed at him in confused adoration, your eyes wide in awe as you stood beside him. He had just…pet you? Of course he had, like the damn loyal lapdog you were.

“Well done little soldier. Now, let us retake the city. Report to the infirmary and join me for drink this evening. We have a successful siege to celebrate,” the black-haired Noxian said, his stern gaze on yours. The man ran his eyes across you once more, right before he left you there, your eyes still wide from the friendly gesture.

“Yes…yes sir…,” you muttered, your entire body growing numb as you reached upwards towards where his touch still lingered. Uh – a member of the Trifarix praising you? Touching you? Ruffling your hair and congratulating you on your first successful battle?

Pinching yourself you groaned, the pinch very much hurting as you were forced to accept reality. This was not a dream, you had not died, you had actually been praised by Darius, the Hand of Noxus himself. How many soldiers would ever experience such an honour? You couldn’t believe it! You quietly snickered to yourself, your own fawning interrupted as your body reminded you of your injuries and aches. Right! You had to get patched up, the General had ordered you to!

So you turned on your heel, dragging your bloodied body towards the newly set up infirmary as you let yourself be stitched up. As you lay there, hands all across your form, you felt a newfound warmth within you as your ideals and convictions once more spoke truth. Yes – you were on the right path, this was what you were meant for, what you would fight and die for.

Chapter Text

With a deep roar you lifted the cup you had been given, your expression ecstatic as you celebrated victory with your fellow survivors. The settlement had been recaptured, your campaign officially named a success. Being stitched up and put back together had hurt like hell, yet now you stood back on your feet, your cup filled with ale and beer as you chanted old Noxian war songs. The mood was a good one, the soldiers and generals cheering and laughing as alcohol flowed freely. This had been your first actual battle, your first real campaign. You had followed through, had survived and killed for the empire. Pride filled you as you were complimented on your first successful battle, pride swelling in your chest as you accepted drink after drink.

You! You had done it! Had fought like a warrior, a soldier, just as the Hand of Noxus had asked you to. Darius sat at the same table, the man mingling with his fellow Noxians as he took the time to relax and enjoy the company of those still alive.

He had lost many good men, had signed several death certificates and reports of injury. Such a shame. All of them, it was just such a shame. He was used to death, was used to his men dying. It was the young ones that got to him, the young ones falling like flies that always hurt the most. He had gotten used to it, but the constant reminder of lives wasted sometimes still tugged at his consciousness. Painful reminders of what victory demanded of the faithful.

As the black-haired man gazed towards the celebrating survivors, he could not help but sigh, the laughter around him soothing his heavy heart. They had won. They had won, they had prevailed, and they had survived. It was enough. Lifting his beer to his lips, the man grunted, downing his iron cup in one go. Darius thumped his fist against his chest, relieving himself of the pressure built up by the carbonated beverage. Carbonated beer? A regional speciality. His men cheered and celebrated, alcohol being downed by the litre as Noxian songs were sung to the beat of playfully tuned drums.

Tired, grey eyes moved towards you, your enthusiastic roaring truly a sight for sore eyes. You looked a mess, bandages across your youthful body, badly bruised skin visible for everyone to see. Darius just silently watched, the warmth of the tavern adding to the relaxing atmosphere of the little get together. Soldiers celebrating after battle was always something nice to look at, the high of victory making for an excellent party stimulant. The intense rush of emotions numbed the pain, be it physical or mental, yet the occasional sting would remind each soldier of their still healing injuries.

Raising your arm, you ended up flinching as your muscles reminded you of their soreness as they forced you to slow down. Placing your filled cup back down, you exhaled in pain, quickly having to allow yourself a moment of rest. It hurt, your body begging for respite. A soft, pained groan left your lips as you allowed the ache to spread across your shoulder, your face visibly contorted as you had to quieten down for a moment, your eyes squeezed tightly together. Just a moment, you needed just a moment of rest.

Something wet suddenly hit your lips, your eyes snapping back open again as you found your cup being held up against your mouth, the Hand of Noxus lifting your drink for you. Nervous eyes mustered the Trifarixan General, your mind racing with all sorts of thoughts as the man reached across the table towards you.

“The injured should also drink,” Darius just said, pressing the cup upwards towards your dry lips. Slowly opening your mouth, you allowed the cold brew to gush past your lips and tongue, taking a sip. Yet as you nervously glanced back at the man, you could feel him angling the cup upwards, enticing you to down the entire thing. A gentle blush crept across your face as you lifted a brow, silently cursing him as you let him pour the entirely of the brew down your throat. When you finished, he set the cup down, a subtle cough leaving your lips.

“Thank you, Commander General,” you wheezed, licking your lips as the man gestured at the man next to you to switch places with him. Darius was not wearing his armour, his large body only shielded by his leathered uniform. His arms and neck were exposed, the skin badly battered and bruised. He had taken a few hits, a few blows here and there, some worse, some better. Strange, hadn't you been told the man was known for rarely taking any hits? You had been told it was rare to see him injured, made you wonder where that had come from. He sat down next to you, his massive size filling out the old wooden chair beneath him as he placed both of his arms on the table below. He reeked of blood and iron, sweat mixing in with the ashy debris of the battle. While the older man was handed another cup he asked for two, pushing a full one towards your pitiful form.

Right, he was drinking for someone of his size and weight, expecting you to keep up despite your smaller frame. A nervous smile crept across your lips, the pain within your body slightly numbed as you accepted another round. You would be slower; you had to be smart about your drinking. No way you could keep up with him and the sheer quantity he drank. So you slowly lifted the cup to your lips, allowing only the smallest amount to enter you.

“You did well for a first-timer, little soldier. You can be proud of yourself,” Darius said, your heart swelling with pride as you set your cup back down. Why of course you were proud. What else would you be?

“Heh. The enemy stood no chance,” you prattled, the older man raising a brow as you began to slightly slur your words. Seemed like you spoke like a soldier, but could not drink like one. The Hand of Noxus felt a slight hint of amusement sliver through his tired body, your prideful gloating rather charming to him as he finally allowed himself to relax. It was nice seeing the youthful and motivation filled prattle of a newly enlisted soldier after battle, it reminded him of himself. All those years ago, all the time that had passed, he remembered it fondly. Watching him drink another pint, you felt your stomach ache as the man too offered you another. Seriously?

You simply did not want to let the general down, choosing to follow suit as he downed another drink. To such a massive man it was nothing, yet to you, to you it was quite the challenge as you forced down the cool beverage.

“You can be proud of yourself little soldier. Managed to survive that mess at the front lines,” he sighed, pulling another glass to his lips. Being praised by one of your idols was akin to a damn blessing, your heart skipping a beat as you felt yourself grow giddy over his words. He! He had praised you! Darius, the Embodiment of Might himself! Despite your tipsy demeanour, you still remained polite, well-behaved and respectful, something the older man also picked up on. Little-goody-two-shoes, that’s what you were.

“You’ll make a good foot soldier, forget about that ‘medic’ nonsense”

“Ah...thank you Commander General, but you know, I was meant to be a medic. Perhaps - if I may ask - perhaps I could be reinstated as one?” you sheepishly asked, feeling his large arm press up against your shoulder as he lent into you. Hardened skin squeezed up against yours, the black-haired general leaning into you as you felt him itch closer and closer into you. Wait - wasn't he getting awfully close?

You blinked a few times in dire confusion, feeling a soft and warm blush run across you as you exhaled, trying to hold your ground as the man invaded your personal space up until his head came awfully close to your side. Darius lent into you, his breath reeking of drink and iron as warm, hot breath danced across your reddened ear as you tried to avoid his gaze. The scent of ash and blood clung to him, warmth spilling from his body towards yours as you tried to calm yourself. Surely, he was drunk and couldn’t properly judge just how close he was, right?

“No,” the man just said, forcing you to turn your head towards his, your gaze moving upward as you came face to face with the Trifarixan leader. No!?

“With all due respect Sir, I am better used in the infirmary or the medical tents. Even Grand Gene-”

“I said no. You will be a foot soldier,” he just blurted out again, your brows twitching in annoyance over his simple, yet horribly unfulfilling words. Perhaps it was the alcohol, perhaps it was the high after battle, but you felt a sliver of courage work itself through your heart and mind, your stance hardening as you refused to let yourself be put down like that.

“I...I want to be a medic. I studied it and I am good at it!” you huffed, trying to stand up for yourself as the large man came even closer, menacing grey eyes scorching you with a brutal hardness previously unknown to you. Darius was taking the piss, you knew as much. Was he having fun? Did it bring him joy to tease a young soldier such as yourself?

“Hmpf. I will give you a choice then little Noxian,” the Hand of Noxus mumbled, his eyes never leaving yours as he trailed your features and expression. He found you strangely alluring, liked the drive that sat behind those eager, fiery eyes of yours. However, something else sat within, something he disliked: naïve idealism and senseless faith within that which would kill you if you did not tread carefully. Too studied, too perfect, too polite. Darius felt his internalized sorrow leave him, his mind now focusing on you and your being as he found himself intrigued by your vexingly naïve bleating.

“You either return to the capital and work yourself up the ladder like the 'good' medical soldier you are, or you permanently join my warband as a simple foot soldier,” he proposed, your breath hitching at his words. That sounded like one hell of a promotion! Even if you were just a foot soldier, working directly under the Hand of Noxus was quite the achievement, a rare position to be held. This was a one in a lifetime chance to be directly hired into a prestigious warband. How could you not accept? Darius raised a thick brow at you, the man waiting on you to accept his offer. He was essentially offering you a fast-track towards military prestige and success, the position highly sought after by gods knew how many common Noxians. Curse him, he seemed hellbent on wanting you to join his warband. Why? You watched as he downed another drink, the man calmly waiting on you to accept his offer.

“No”

Darius was taken aback by your refusal, the man blinking in confusion as he was denied your acceptance. Huh?

“No...?” the Hand of Noxus huffed, watching as you crossed your arms in front of your chest, still holding his gaze. What did you mean, no?

“I am offering you a position within my own personal warband. Do you even know how many people strive for such an opportunity?” he muttered, visually taken aback by your rejection as he crept even closer, his breath clashing against yours as you felt the warmth of his body engulf your smaller form. He was now only mere inches away from you, his face even more handsome and toned up close. A lovely, chiselled jaw, small scars plastered across his face as a large one crossed his left eye, the man’s skin battle-worn and painted by life. You knew of his hardships, not all of them, but many. Knew that he was low-born, had worked himself up until where he stood today. Darius was an inspiration to many, a living legend amongst the Noxian populus and an idol to those who followed his teachings. Having him loom over you like that was quite the sight, the man’s domineering presence causing your stomach to ache from nervousness alone.

“Yes Sir - I mean no Sir - I have studied to be a medic, and I do not want to forsake my passion,” you said, the black-haired man grumbling at your words as he found them most vexing. He was so damn close - too close for your own liking. He seemed to muster you, seemed to inspect your every pore and hair, his eyes continuously wandering across your youthful face. He huffed, shaking his face in disbelief of your refusal. Suddenly a hand snapped upward, the large Noxian grabbing your face as callused fingers wrapped themselves around your jaw. His grip was not mean-spirited, was not painful or brutal, but domineering and absolute.

“Stubborn thing,” he simply sighed, hot breath dancing across your reddened skin as you looked up at him, nervousness plastered across your face.

“Sir?” you squealed, feeling his fingers squish your cheeks, the Commanding General humming at your words.

“You can hire me as a medic..!” you blurted out, Darius scoffing at your blatant demands. Funny thing you were, stubborn and starry-eyed too, way too enthusiastic about your own work. So much so, that he feared for your meaningless life.

“Not happening. Come,” he then said, letting your face go as you reached upward, gentle fingers trailing the skin where his touch still lingered. His grip had been hard and demanding, yet not brutal or cruel in any way or form. No, it had been firm, had even been somewhat kind. A soft blush covered your face, your heart still tirelessly pounding against your chest as you watched him stand up, the man gesturing you to follow suit as you quickly tagged along. Soldiers and warriors watched as the large man took you outside, the men turning their attention away from you as you were led outside.

Usually seeing an older man lead a young woman away from shared drinking was seen as something scandalous, yet with the Hand of Noxus, no one even dared to think of such debauchery. Darius had been married, many, many years ago, never having showed any interest towards other women after his wife had passed. He was infamous for being apathetic towards the opposite - or the same- gender, never showing a sliver of interest towards another. It was almost like a damn curse upon the Trifarix - Swain was exactly the same. Everyone on that damn council was too focused on their work and their own ambitions, never tending to their personal desires or longings. So it was that no one cared that the Hand of Noxus took a young lady with him, the surviving Noxians drowning in drink and food as Darius took you out of the tavern. It was dark by now; the camp having been moved into the badly damaged town. The population was left inside of the city-walls, allowed to continue their everyday lives as soldiers scouted out the last remaining enemies. Everything here was on lockdown, the general population remaining inside as the Noxian soldiers scouted the place for any potential threat or danger. Darius and you slept within the town square, your tents having been moved into the centre where the situation was being restructured and handled by the higher ups.

He took you past the tents, leading you past celebrating soldiers and high-spirited generals. All was well, the mood was peaceful and harmonious, subtle rain coating the town in a silky layer of drizzle. The Hand of Noxus led you into a back alley, your naive mind never even picking up on just how suspicious it seemed that he sought to drag you away from the others. When he turned into a small stone-walled alley, you found yourself at a dead-end to which the dim light of the lanterns barely even reached. A soft drizzle caressed your battered body, your aches and injuries numbed by the alcohol and the adrenaline of being so close to such an infamous Noxian hero. Was he going to hire you here? If yes, then this alleyway surely was a weird place to discuss such personal matters.

“Beat me in hand-to-hand combat, and I will allow you to work as a medic within my own warband”

Huh? You blinked a few times, not quite understanding his proposal. Duel? You against him? You were by no means a weakling, but fighting the embodiment of might in a one-on-one fist fight was pure suicide, nothing more.

“Uh....Sir?” you asked, feeling the colour drain from your face as Darius circled you, the large warrior blocking off your escape route as you felt yourself cornered, wet stone encasing you as your steamed breath clashed with the cooling air around.

“If you win, I will allow you to pursue your wish of working as a well-paid military medic. If you lose, you will work for me as a soldier. Simple as that,” he plainly stated, looming over you as you gasped in shock. Wasn’t this man usually horribly stoic, rarely seen partaking in violence outside of the battlefield?

“What!? No – no Sir - I said no, I will return and work as a medic on my own. It's my right as a Noxian citizen!” you scoffed, glaring at him.

“I do not care,” he simply grunted, slowly getting in position, angling his upper body downward as you jumped back. You? Fight that mountain of a man? You felt yourself an innocent lamb cornered by a starving wolf, grey eyes trailing your heaving body as it sought to relieve you of your life. You, pure and unharmed, only able to cry, all while the wolf approached with barred fangs and sharpened claws.

“I said no! I-I am a Noxian woman, and by law I have a right to-”

You shrieked when he charged at you, your body forcing itself to the side as you jumped away from him, the might of Noxus chasing you like a shot sheep as you dodged those large arms of his. All of your lawfulness was simply disregarded by him, simply because he could. Darius was not above the law, was not above the right of freedom, but he simply could do as he pleased. No law or ideology protected you here, no, this was nothing else than ‘strength above all’, be it moral or law. This was a lesson, one that those within the military academy had not taught you.

“You're not allowed to! You're breaking the law, it's unfair-” you barked, dodging his arm as he came for you, your quick movements allowing you to remain unharmed as you felt his large body come for you once more. Deeply ingrained training kicked in, your shaken limbs allowing you to slip from his grasp as you followed protocol. And right there lay your problem – you followed protocol, followed what you had been taught. Naïve little teacher’s pet you were; Darius could tell from the moment he had met you. Too eager, too reliant on protocol and training. Besting you was easy, all he had to do was what had not been taught to such blindly loyal sheep such as yourself. As you moved back a large hand managed to grab onto your wrist, the Hand of Noxus holding you in place as he pulled you closer. To your shock your move had not worked, the man having seen through your pattern as he managed to grab you firmly within his well-trained grasp. Sweat ran down your body, your heart daring to burst as you sharply inhaled, still panicked over the situation.

It dawned on you that he did not care one bit about your law-ly prattle, did not care about what you had learned or what was socially or morally acceptable. Noxus lived off the strength of the bold and brass, survived by strength and never-ending merit alone. Of course, Darius did not care about laws, morally correct brabble or senseless studied opinions. Strength mattered, conquering mattered, shameless brutality mattered. The only reason he was doing this was because he could. There was no other reason than that, he was able to, so he did. Right, who was going to stop him? The damn law? Did he look like that stuck up, holier-than-thou nobleman Swain? Pah! Why would the strong care about fairness towards the weak? Might was taught in diseased back alleys such as these, the refined arts of vision and guile left to the other two pillars of strength. War and battle knew of no rules, no codex, you had to learn that before your pretty head was taken from your shoulders.

He pulled you closer, your back hitting his chest as your muddied boots slid across the cobbled stone. He was so much larger, way stronger than you too, you simply stood no chance. You felt another hand up against your waist, a large palm cupping your stomach as he pinned you against his front. Insultingly warm breath scorched your ear from behind, a deep rumble leaving his chest as he held you there, your body frozen in place.

“Weak”

Weak!? Were you weak, because you had been caught off guard? Weak because he was just so much better than you? Weak because...you were an unworthy Noxian? This had been a fight, one you had lost even before it had been initiated. Mocking raindrops soaked the top of your head, a second hand running upward from your wrist to your neck and chin. Darius wrapped his large fingers around your jaw, holding your head in place as he allowed you to drown in your own misery. He let out a disappointed sigh, visibly upset over your horrible performance. You stood no chance with him or his warband, you were made by and for the scholars and the studied higher-ups.

“Forget it. You'd be dead in no time under my command, return to the capital and die a medic then. Die somewhere far, far away from me,” he grumbled, his voice spitting venom into your ear as you felt your heart sink to the pit of your chest. Vision, might and guile, strength above all. Simple principles you had sworn to represent and honour, yet could not live up to your own promise when it actually came to it. Pathetic. Weak. Useless.

You felt his groin press against your backside, his arms encasing you as cool air mocked you further. Callused palms turned your face to the side, Darius face pressing up against yours as he turned your lowly head towards his. Hard stubble scratched your tender skin, warmth burning up against your tainted visage. There was nothing sexual about this, nothing romantic or erotic within the way he held you. No, not to him at least.

Having a massive man wrap his arms around you, hold you firmly in place while he spat insults at you - it was new to you, but not unpleasant. The way his breath warmed your skin, the way he held you like a piece of cheap meat, it flustered you just as it degraded you. A horribly confusing mix of emotions burdened your aching mind, your eyes filling with pathetically nonsensical tears as you hissed through gritted teeth, your own defeat souring your mind and soul as the man proclaimed victory over you. Your performance had been so damn horrible, he did not even claim you as his prize. No, he didn’t even want you as a mere soldier anymore, he'd rather rid himself of your sight completely. What a massive joke, and what an unfair asshole he was.

“General Commander...,” you muttered, feeling his fingers prod your quivering lips. Darius just sighed at you, ready to let the matter go as he waited for you to talk. Yet instead of talk, the man was caught off guard when you opened your mouth, violently biting down into his hand as you felt skin snap beneath your teeth. He snarled in pain, momentarily letting go of you as you released his hand from your mouth, spinning around as you found your target. With a brutal, violent movement did your leg snap upward, your iron-tipped boot ramming itself in-between his legs as you kicked his sex full-force. The kick was so harsh as to hear something snap, your boot remaining lodged in-between his legs as you two just stood there, cold eyes staring back down at you.

Uh-oh.

Darius looked completely unphased, the man just glaring at you as your boot remained in-between his thighs. Hah....he did not even flinch or whine, whatever had snapped seemingly not bothering him in the slightest. Fuck. You were done for, royally done for. Blood ran from his wounded hand, red crimson mixing in with subtle drizzle as the cobble below was stained in soft red.

“Hm,” he only said, flexing his thighs as to properly capture your foot in-between his legs. You felt your balance shift and shake, your footing growing uneasy as you struggled to stand upright. Feeling his hand reach downwards towards your ankle, you silently cursed yourself, right before he grabbed your leg, toppling you over as you fell to the ground. Your back hit the wet cobble of the street, your attempt at harming him unsuccessful as you felt yourself be thrown against the cold below. What sort of man simply did not react to getting his nuts kicked!? What on earth was wrong with him!? Darius pounced on you, the man wrestling you down until his large frame engulfed you, the Hand of Noxus having you pinned to the street as you huffed and grunted in defiance.

“Curse you! Let go of me you brute!” you snapped, the black-haired man finally gifting you an amused grin as he held you down by the shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist as you struggled against his grasp.

“There we go. Show some might, little soldier, no-one likes stuck-up moralizers. There are no laws or rights in battle, forget what the academy taught you, there is only victory or defeat. Your enemy does not care about such trivial things like rules or protocol - and neither should you,” he hummed, large hands forcing you into submission as he towered above you. Fairness, morality and honour? Oh no, you were too idealistic, too rule conforming.

Kicking your superiors’ balls however, that was quite the reach, and Darius could not help but find it most enticing. He had simply not expected such a blunt reaction, the man finding your little attempt rather charming in a most twisted way. Your chest heaved under him, hot breath warming the space in-between you as you lay there panting, slightly concerned over the nature of your superior. Who the fuck just took a full-force kick to the nuts without feeling any sort of pain? What the fuck?

“Come on, I know you're angry, tell me you are. Let me hear it,” he teased, leaning further into you as he lowered himself onto your body, his groin now pressing into yours as your legs fully wrapped around his waist, the man laying on top of you. Right he was, you were terrified yet equally enraged, hot wrath boiling just beneath the surface as you felt your anger spill up into your mouth.

“Fuck you, damned brute! Get off me!” you barked, finally snapping as he kept on taunting you, obviously taking the piss at you. How nice it was that you amused him, good for him. Good for him!

“Curse more, stop being so tame. Enough capital-esque politeness, I grow tired of it,” he ordered, his breath reeking of alcohol, each word brimming with excitement over your sudden shift in character. How dare he insult and disregard your training! Proud, you were proud of yourself and your achievements, proud of your own being and your manners. Yet he, he just brushed all of it aside, crushing your ambition and talent with ease. A fiery blush covered your cheeks, your heart mercilessly throbbing within you as you hissed, furrowing your brows before you yelled at him once more.

“All my life have I trained to be a medic! I'm good at it, I can prove myself, I am good at what I do! I will not have some old, ugly bastard deny me of my destiny!” you barked, instant regret filling you as you feared for your life over your insulting words. Darius just scoffed at your insults, grey eyes trailing your heaving body. Flushed cheeks, eyes brimming with life and potency, your nicely shaped chest heaving with each pained breath. Curse you, you were oddly intriguing as you were. You could swear you felt a certain warmth creep onto you from his crotch, the Hand of Noxus feeling some sort of attraction towards you, whatever that may be. So he leaned into you even further, his face hovering above yours as droplets of rain ran down his soaked hair all the way down towards you.

“Congratulations on your new job, little soldier. Starting from today, you march under my banner, under my command,” he then said, a shocked and flabbergasted gasp running from your mouth.

“Since you're so into laws and constitutional rules, this is an official order by the Hand of Noxus, hence you are obliged to follow it,” he mocked, before releasing you. Quickly scrambling back onto your feet, you tried catching your breath, shaky, dilated pupils on the man as you stepped back in an effort to protect yourself. Had he just ordered you to work under him? Just like that? You knew he could do that, you knew he was just in line with the law and with the Noxian dogma. The strong ruled the weak, everyone was equal but still forced to follow those who spoke from above. So...you had nothing else to say, nothing to add to the situation. It was an order, simple as that. Obedience, you were obedient, you were loyal, you were good, no?

You just stood there, rain soaking your hair and clothing, the distant sound of triumphant celebration mocking your pitiful existence. Right. What had they always said? Good soldiers followed orders.

“Yes...Commander General,” you just huffed, lowering your head in defeat. Unfair, it was so unfair. The entire fight had been unfair! Darius just grunted at your pathetic sulking, reaching out to gently brush across your jaw, his fingertips trailing your jawline up until he softly pinched your cheek. Ugh.

“Next time you aim for my crotch, aim a bit higher and more central. All you did was rip my underwear and pinch my hair, little soldier,” he said, playfully pulling at your cheek as you just grumbled in response. Ass.

“Chin up, head high, you'll get it right next time. You will learn fast under my guidance," he mused, leaving you to your own, pitiful devices as the great above drenched you in mockingly cool water. Silently watching him leave, you sighed, looking up to the sky as you felt your mind grow heavy with irritation and dissatisfaction.

So, you'd have to aim higher, more central? Fine.

Fine!

You'd make sure your boot would hit its target soon enough.

Chapter Text

The next morning broke, and the Hand of Noxus was left without a word to speak. Not only had he not been allowed his first coffee, but his poor, abused patience was being tested first thing in the morning of all times.

“I am sincerely sorry, sir!”

Oh.

“I slept very well and very deeply last night and I really thought about my own shortcomings and what I said to you. I should have shown more respect and appreciation towards your kind offer!”

Great.

“I am incredibly glad and honoured to be named as a soldier in your own personal warband! Thank you, sir!”

Darius just stared at you, not a word of your nonsense reaching his sleep deprived brain as tired eyes trailed your lips. Yeah...head filled with hot air, but a pretty sight, nonetheless.

“I should have never spoken up or tried refusing your generous offer, sir! General Commander Sir!”

Darius sighed, the man waiting for you to move so that he could get to his morning coffee. Morning camp was quiet; it was typically like this after a day of drinking and partying. People were hungover, fleeing nightly affairs or busy cleaning equipment. A local general was to be reinstated, Darius meant to move on to another campaign not far from here. The Hand of Noxus stood in only his uniform, green and reddish canvas strapped to his body as deep eyebags ran from his aged face. Say, why was he standing here, having to listen to the idealistic bleating of a nestling? You stood before him and squabbled nonsense, the light in your eyes nearly blinding him as he just nodded towards your words. Sure thing, honour this, gratitude here, discipline there. Sounded just fine.

“...and I still have some loose iron on my boot, I think. I wonder if someone can help me, my uniform also got burnt a bit on the right bottom side-”

Your prattle was interrupted when the man reached out, a large and calloused hand being placed on your head as he absentmindedly patted that thick skull of yours. That mouth you carried that knew only to talk went silent, and you let him pet you in front of entire legions of fellow soldiers as you dared not to move. Others watched, brows raised at the strange sight as the Hand of Noxus ruffled your hair while his eyes dared to fall shut while doing so. Say, had he not wrestled with you in the back alleys of this town just yesterday? Did you jump back from your little lesson, had returned to your original, horribly idealistic self?

“Coffee,” he merely muttered, your eyes lighting up as your first official order was given to you.

“Yes sir!”

And off you went, eager feet carrying you across the camp as you shot past others in order to get to the supply tent. An order, something you could do, something to make him happy. To serve directly under the Hand of Noxus, it was a privilege and a pleasure. How stupid you had been to at first try and refuse his generous offer! How insultingly stupid of you!

Amusing was the sight of the well-respected hand of Noxus sitting down to dine with a freshly baked, painfully naïve soldier, your youthful ambition printed across your face as you silently stood beside him, waiting to see if you had done good. One singular cup of black coffee for him, a spoon and some sugar, and see there, you had even brought over a small jug of milk. Darius stared at the small assemble, his thick brow twitching slightly at your overly eager attempt to please him.

“Are you a soldier or a servant?”

You blinked, not quite understanding what he was getting at.

“A soldier, sir”

“Good. Then get yourself something to eat and sit down. Stop standing around”

A quick nod escaped you, and you ran to get yourself some breakfast, quickly returning with pastry and coffee for yourself. You almost felt ashamed for sitting down with your own food and drink, guilt and uncertainty clinging to you as you silently placed yourself before him. You two sat at a wooden table, the surface filled with scratches and engravings from bored soldiers and impatient generals before you. Darius cared little for your courtesy and obedience, your eager and blind wish to serve almost insulting to him. Speaking of it, the man glared at you, before he sighed, shaking his head at your inaction.

“By the wolf - Do not wait for me to allow you to eat. Have some backbone for empires sake!” he snapped, causing you to almost jump from your seat. For what exactly had he thrown you to the ground then, hm? Your little sparring session yesterday, water soaking both of you, had it meant nothing? He was angry, no, disappointed. Disappointed that you had just tossed aside what you had learnt yesterday, only to fall back into that horribly subservient mindset many young soldiers carried. Darius wanted grit, he wanted bite, he did not want mindless obedience.

“Sorry sir - I mean of course sir!”

So you reached for your food, lifting it upward towards yourself, fingers digging into the pastry while the large man watched you. Annoyance had spilt across his aching mind, the Hand of Noxus almost insulted over your idealistic and far too obedient nature. Where had your bite gone? He had managed for you to break out from your little shell made of tender politeness and subservience, only for you to bathe in blind idealism once more? He could not believe it. He hated this sort of soldier, could not stand this goody-two-shoes act you had thought yourself. He despised this sort of blind submission, hated the fact that you had seemingly not learnt as much as he had hoped you had.

Before you could take a bite, the man reached out, snatching your foot from you as he took it for himself.

“No food for boot-lickers”

You huffed, watching the Pillar of Might rob you in plain daylight for all to see. He took your food, eating it with a single bite as you were left to starve. Only one portion was allowed for soldiers of your rank, the portion meant for you and only you, your food now essentially having been cut until evening.

“But sir ...!”

“Now go and get me my breakfast. Don't eat it. That’s an order”

You let out a frustrated sigh, barely even loud enough to hear it, but only so that the other man would not notice it. But he did- and he watched.

He watched as you stood up, went and got his food for him, and returned all while you starved. Like a fucking dog.

You sat down, placed it onto the table, arranged it nicely, and pushed it over towards him.

Darius watched you, watched you offer your own rights and sense of purpose for him to gore and consume. He gave an order, and you followed. Good soldiers followed orders.

The man let out a defeated sigh, eating at his food as you watched with a pained stomach, having obediently offered up your own needs for the praise you hoped to receive. You served under him, so you ought to listen, right? It was what was expected from you, after all. You were a soldier. A happy one, a good one, a loyal one. Even if your superiors stood above you, even if they spoke down upon your sore body and lowly tongue, you happily offered yourself for their comfort and grandeur. It was all you ever wanted; it was what you were born and made for. To serve Noxus, to follow the preachers of those greater than you, to listen to their commands and orders, for they knew best.

“Little soldier”

An insulting title, but one you were glad to accept.

“Yes sir?”

“The one thing I cannot stand in this world are mindless yes-sayers and cowardly obedient dogs such as yourself. This attitude will only get you killed if you work for me, this weak and subservient mentality of the city-trained soldiers doesn't fare well in my warband. Did you learn nothing yesterday?”

You frowned, watching the man feast on food you would have gladly taken for yourself. You had been left with nothing, your desire to serve leaving you hungry and unfulfilled, even your superior left unsatisfied with your performance.

“A...good soldier follows orders. I work under you now, so I should see that I serve you accordingly. That is not weakness!”

“All I see is a pushover who lets others deny her her own breakfast. How is a hungry, malnourished pup supposed to fight for me? I want my soldiers well fed and properly energised”

Asshole. What a fucking prick, ordering you around, and then punishing you for following his damn orders! You only wanted to do good, only wanted to...!

“Gah! Fine! Gimme that!”

So you reached for his plate, stealing from him as he had from you. Darius let you, the Hand of Noxus finding amusement over your quickly broken facade as you did what he had done just moments before. Such a sweet girl you were, awfully ambitious and far too loyal to rank and name. The Hand of Noxus watched you, your agitated face truly a sight for sore eyes. He let you, pleased that you were learning under him as he watched you steal from him. Good.

“You're under my command now. Stand up for yourself, and behave like someone working under the Pillar of Might”

“Yes sir!”

Well, here's to hope you'd stick to your words and learn from his lesson. The black-haired man quietly tended to his cup, allowing you to take from his larger portion as he willingly chose to go hungry. He was fine being left with only the portion of a young soldier, if it meant said soldier were to live another day - especially under his command. He grew tired of seeing bodies, he wanted to savour the company of the living. Besides, you were wounded, your body still healing while stiches held your shapely form together.

The rest of the breakfast went by rather uneventful, hungover Noxians silently brooding over their own headaches and nausea as the scent of warm ash and hay filled the stale air of the town. Townsfolk returned to their posts, people slowly allowed to live under the Noxian boot as the future general was waited on. Darius had received notice of another campaign for him to attend, the man allowing himself some rest before he would seek to his own tent and equipment.

“This evening, we march for a bandit camp deep in the mountains. Prepare for a long, tiresome hike,” the black-haired man said, watching you finish off his breakfast.

“Yes sir”

Hmpf. Darius remained quiet, not feeling the need to fill the air with his own voice, up until you were the one to comment on the situation.

“The last thing I want right now is to hike,” you muttered, the older man grumbling in agreement over your prattle.

“Then that makes us two. Prepare yourself, we leave at sundown”

The rest of the day was reasonably uneventful; traitors being hung in the townsquare while the last Noxian bodies were hauled off towards the capital. The bodies took long until they arrived back at Noxus Prime, slow-moving carriages forming a grim caravan of grief as the warhosts split up into individual warbands. The Noxian crest was found everywhere, wooden doors stamped with the respective Noxian symbol after inspection, local inhabitants being thoroughly questioned while officers ransacked whatever they deemed suspicious. Sore feet took you towards the well, your bucket needing to be filled as water escaped you quickly. A hike into the mountains? How terrible, and how unfortunate for you. But oh - you were thankful for it, or so you told yourself at least. Such a high position at such a young age? Your ancestors would be proud; you were sure of it. While you basked in the glow of your own achievements, you placed the bucket under a tap, slowly watching water fill the wooden bucket you carried while distant cries let your eyes wander upward.

A young woman was being restrained by a Noxian soldier, her small child clinging to her dress as she mourned her hung husband. The man had been one of the leaders of the rebellion, his battered and butchered body painting the gallows for all to see. Darkened blood had dried across his body, sigils and crests of foreign enemies ripped from his body as the Noxian crest had been stamped onto his back in signature red, marking him as imperial property. He was one of many, just another dead traitor you could not care less about. Your eyes trailed the mother, her whining annoying you beyond belief as you silently watched the scene unfold. She cursed at the soldier, insulted and spat at him, barely anyone paying attention as life passed them by.

Not an uncommon sight in war, nothing anyone here had not seen before. The woman insulted Noxus, words from her lips directly denouncing the empire, and see there, she was shot. Shot while her small child clung to her, the infant silently clinging to all it knew as you quietly tended to your bucket. There, a few litres, enough for your own supply and enough for you to clean your equipment. While blood soaked into the ground below, the lost cry of a child bouncing off from steel and iron, all you cared about was your own little mission. The horror of a siege played out all around you, blindly loyal eyes never daring to see the true nature of imperialistic cruelty that laid bare for all to see.

When evening broke, you had your equipment strapped to your back, your warband assembled as Darius officially allowed the arriving general to take control of the city. All here was to be up to Noxian standard, no exceptions, no leniency, no mercy. The general would reinstate law and order, would place a regional leader, and all would be well. The banner of red was raised higher than ever before, war-drums wishing you a pleasant departure as you joined one of the leaving warbands. Generals and officers took their soldiers back to Noxus Prime, or lead them on to the next mission, the perfectly structured act of conquest in full bloom as Noxians did what they knew best. Survive and conquer.

Your march began, and your sore feet slowly grew numb from the hard terrain below. As the sun was chased from the sky, stars brighter than any you had seen before began to settle, the smoke from the Noxian mission having grown distant as the grand canvas above shone beautifully. Your little group were only twenty people, Noxians handpicked by the Pillar of Might himself. Your camp was set up against stony rubble and debris, the tents hidden behind the shapes of mellow hills. A low fire gave heat, and people kept to themselves while the Hand of Noxus spoke not a single word. He had gone quiet again, you had noticed as much. Darius had gone silent, the man seemingly in deep thought as he only tended to himself. He had taken his armour from his shoulders, had retreated to the corner of the camp while he cleaned his axe. It was easy, simple so far, the soldiers still exhausted from the campaign as energy was not to be wasted on spoken words.

Night already welcomed the land below, most soldiers sleeping or calmly sitting on their own, men and women keeping the camp quiet as a gentle wind brushed across the landscape. It was so lovingly peaceful, the calm and cool atmosphere of the mountains a welcome treat as the silence brought soothing caress upon your aching minds. You calmly sat within your tent, one singular oil lamp allowing you to see as you began to undress. You peeled the uniform from your body, iron and canvas placed aside as you tended to your own wounds. That backpack of yours had been opened, the contents distributed amongst the men while Darius had ordered you to keep that which you needed. Shaky fingers took the tincture to your wounds, stiches groaning under your movement as you let out pained grunts. You were still blue and green under all of your red, your poor body aching under the continuous assault and hardship you put it through. In all honesty, you were exhausted, your sore mind tired as your heart still mourned your dream of being named a medic. A footsoldier…that was all you were, hm?

No! It was a great honour to serve under General Commander Darius, a rare opportunity you should truly be thankful for. As a good, faithful and loyal Noxian, this should be all you ever could ask for. As you wrapped the last wounds in gauze, you slowly lay back down on your bed, a shaky huff leaving your parted lips as you closed your tent up from the inside. Even from here you felt the cooling breeze of the surrounding land, your simple bed allowing fantastic comfort as you allowed yourself to rest.

This, this was fine. This was an honour, it was a gift. Despite Darius’ attitude and brutishness, you were still thankful for him. How could you not be? He was the Hand of Noxus, an esteemed and celebrated hero of war. He could just be a bit…rude from time to time. No matter, you’d prove yourself soon enough, no need to worry. Besides, he was a nice sight, his image not bad as you let your inner eye remind you of his exquisite physique. Such a handsome, well-built Noxian, you were lucky to be able to serve under him.

The night allowed you and your fellow Noxians rest, the cool and calm atmosphere of the mountain soothing aching bodies as life passed you by. Rest was a rare gift – you better savour it.

Chapter Text

In the middle of the night something stirred within you - yet what that was remained even a mystery to you as you suddenly woke. You felt strange, your eyes snapping open as your body urged you to rise. Something was off, something within you let you react to something still unseen. You had wrapped yourself back in your uniform, your hands hastily reaching for your armour as you kept to the cold ground. Shaky fingers attached your chest-piece to your body, sore fingertips snapping leather straps in place as you reached for your weapon. You had been handed a sword, a simple and light blade that was made for more...delicate builds such as your own. Well - anything here was delicate in comparison to your General Commander, your sword a mere dagger in comparison to his axe.

You crawled across the floor of your tent, laboured breath pouring from your parted lips as you reached for your backpack. Crawling across the floor on all fours, you pushed your head out from beneath your tent, allowing cool mountain air to sting your lungs. You could not even describe what you felt, nor could you pinpoint just what exactly had caused you to suddenly jump into action. Something, something you could not quite grasp stirred within, your soul burning up with the command to act upon your instinct. Taking your blade, you carefully cut into the tent, creating a small opening for you to slowly wiggle yourself out of. A damp ground met your hands, your still aching body groaning under your own movement as you squeezed out of the tent, frantic eyes going in search of that unknown danger you had felt from within. The camp was quiet, horribly quiet, the stars illuminating a seemingly calm and eventless night. You lay there, questioning your instincts as you decided to stand, your own confusion chasing your instincts as you let the scenery settle before your eyes. Nothing.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. No attackers, no danger, no enemy you had to defeat. A few moments passed before your hands found your face, tired eyes falling shut as you tried to calm yourself. What on earth had that been about? Here you stood with a damn hole in your tent, mud clinging to your chest and knees while you shook like a leaf. It was horribly humbling as you were forced to crawl back into the confinements of your ruined tent, guilt and shame clinging to you as you were forced to crawl back under an unwelcoming layer of dead canvas. Weird, you had never suffered from night terrors or restless sleep, so what on earth was this about?

You lay there within your tent, unmoving, unchanging, breathing. Seriously, you had to relax.

Never had the thrill of battle ever gotten to you, your own behaviour alien to you as you questioned your own sanity. Reaching for your face, you brushed across your skin, sore fingertips traveling across the oiled surface of your youthful visage. The Hand of Noxus was at fault, surely, he was the root of your anxiety!

That man was the cause of all your headaches, his strange and arrogant ways at fault for your irritability. Resting within your warm sheets, you allowed yourself to grow calm once more, trying to push aside the images and words of your Commander General. For such a respected General, he surely took amusement in the anguish of others. Did he like teasing you, hm? Did he enjoy playing you, teasing and mocking you - be it only because you were young and naive? Ass!

And now, now you lay here, your own senses sore with each sound startling you, your tent now allowing cold air to pour in as you yourself had cut into it. His fault, it was his fault!

“Curse him,” you muttered under your breath, frustrated over the entire situation. Like a pouty child you wiggled and wobbled around within your confinements, anger boiling up within you as you found yourself still unhappy under the warrior’s boot. That man had made you a mess, your own eagerness to serve put into question as he played you like a pawn, your own ideals and wishes directly in opposition to what a soldier like you ought to think. Of course, this entire thing should be an honour, news of your promotion surely well received by your family, no doubt. The entire world, Noxus, your own militaristic identity, all should be ecstatic about serving under Darius. Yet there was this...something.

Something remained, something sat just below the surface, your own wish to be a medic still deeply engrained within your ambitious and idealistic mind. All of this training, all of your talent - wasted. You ought to be happy and thankful, but quiet moments such as these where you had the chance to dwell and grief still stung, still hurt.

Allowing yourself a loud exhale, you remained laying down, eyes closed and breathing halted for just a moment. Everything around you was completely quiet, not a sound heard as you lay there in complete nothingness.

There - there you caught it. An inhale, one that did not belong to you.

A heightened, sharp breath that was painfully loud, despite the owner trying to supress it. Whoever had caused it had aligned their breathing with your own - your halted breath now betraying them. With a harsh, sudden movement did you take hold of your blade, a sharp hiss piercing the night as you rammed your blade upward, iron meeting unseen flesh.

“Intruders!” you yelled, your voice breaking through the silence of the mountain as you saw previously hidden flesh turn visible.

“Assassins, ones using invisibility spells!” you barked, the camp around you suddenly snapping back awake as you watched a body manifest before you. Blood trickled down your blade, warm crimson staining your hand as you watched a magical disguise slowly shatter before you. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but your assailant was wearing black leather and canvas, Noxian clothing to be exact. It all went by so incredibly fast, your voice tearing the warband from their sleep as they too took to arms. Your own heart thundered against your chest, blood pooling in your ears as you freed yourself from your would-be-killer. Before you could even ask for the reason of the attack, your tent was suddenly torn just above you, the entire camp breaking out into battle as you heard your General Commander's voice shatter the false serenity of the night.

Tents were ripped and cut down, sudden violence erupting from all around as you pushed the dying enemy from you, cold night air washing across your potent form as you fought for your own survival. A surprise attack like this was highly dangerous and risky for both sides, attackers daring to interrupt skilled Noxians while they rested, while said Noxians found themselves amidst that which they knew best: battle.

You quickly pulled your stained sword from the collapsed assassin, cool fingertips digging into the hilt of your blade as crazed eyes went in search of your General Commander. Direction, you needed direction. Darius, luckily for you, was massive, the Hand of Noxus shouting at the top of his lungs to wake every single resting soldier. A night guard had been stationed, his failure to alert explained by his lifeless body. The poor man had been attacked from behind, a swift and soundless blade cutting his throat before he could alert the rest of the camp. You watched a fellow soldier fall before you, the magic used by the enemy slowly lifting as to expose the dozen attackers now present within your midst. It was pitch-black-dark, your eyes dancing from one attacker to the next.

Iron hit iron while men screamed out, lives lost all around. This battlefield was cold, flame and heat simply not present as battle was held under the cold, freezing light of the moon. It was so awfully cold and lifeless your fingertips felt almost numb, frozen breath dancing from your bloodied lips as you parried an attacking sword, the sharp scratching of the blades meeting unbearably loud as you stepped back. You were a soldier, yes, but young and had not yet experienced something as confusing as the current battle at hand. You found yourself in a warband only hosting seasoned fighters and experienced warriors, your inexperience blatantly obvious as the difficulty of the situation left you overwhelmed.

You felt almost naked within the confusing mess that was battle, enemies and allies all around as you felt your backside completely open towards any approaching blade that may come. In the heat of the conflict, you began to realize just how vulnerable you were, just how easily you could be killed by unseen blades or shrouded enemies. Hissing out through gritted teeth, you turned your head, your eyes only picking up hazy details as you crawled backwards. Fuck - this entire thing was so diffuse and confusing, fear slowly settling within your form as you struggled to fully grasp the situation.

Fear.

Fear was a soldiers worst enemy, doubt lingering just beyond the ugly maw of fear, failure to follow if one allowed the other two to claim one's own being. You were a soldier; you had trained for this! Where, oh where was your bravery, your naive and delusional ambition? Where, just where did this damn fear come from? You ought not to fear the unknown, but now, now you were faced with a battle so complex you struggled to even identify where you ought to start. How should you defend yourself from the approaching enemy, if your backside and sides were exposed, open to attack? If you turned to defend your back, your front was open - and not to forget your damn sides, your flanks! What about your head, say, what if an enemy came from above? If they used magic to disguise themselves, who said they did not own other kinds of witchcraft? You stumbled backwards, your sword pointed forward as you caught an enemy approach you from the side. The side, your side, the opened flank you could not cover. Because what if someone came from the front, what if someone attacked from-

You failed to parry the attack, a sharp hiss breaking the safety of your stance as your eyes watched the weapon approach. You felt your own breath, heard your own heartbeat, saw your own life flash by before your inner eye. Was this how you were to end? Was this your demise, was this how you ought to die?

The sword however never hit its mark, the clashing of iron snapping through the air as you felt a thick, hard hand reach for your head.

“Wake up!”

Ah, your General Commander had saved you once more, Darius catching the enemies swing as the assassin failed to reach you. The Hand of Noxus forced himself in-between you and the enemy, the large man having reached for your head as you were pressed up against his chest. He was not wearing his armour, the large man only wrapped in canvas and leather, his axe painting the ground in crimson as he struck down the enemy.

“Stop stalling! Pull yourself together and fight!” he roared, battle as furious as he was as you gazed at him, fear having turned your lips blue, eyes shaky while he held you.

“I-I – my – I need cover!” you gasped, fingertips digging into the handle of the weapon as you stood face to face. He held your head within his palm, then lent forward to press his forehead against yours. The coolness of the night was interrupted as the sweaty, warm surface of his skin lent against yours, the man pressing up against you. His warm breath clashed against your lips, the Hand of Noxus trying to calm and reassure you as his hand moved down from your head, thick fingers resting on the back of your neck.

“I will cover you, so do not hold back. Show me the might you owe our nation”

Might you owed your nation?

He stepped back, the warmth of his forehead and hand leaving you, Darius leaving you cold as you stood there, blade still in your shaking hand. He asked for might, wanted to see battle and fervour. He asked you to fight, because it was expected of you. He did not want to see weakness, he wanted to see that heat you carried ignited, wanted to see potential. He raised his axe, cool moonlight illuminating the weapon as splatters of blood promised glory and victory – if only you overcame your own fear.

Digging your numbing fingers into the hilt of the blade, you huffed, furrowing your brows while you banished this accursed fear from your youthful heart. You felt the Kindred linger nearby, the wolf just beyond reach as you cursed the enemy, then charging forward. Your own heart thundered against your chest, your footsteps slamming against the moist soil as you attacked one of the assassins. You had trained for this, and now you stood confident, knowing your Commander General covered you. The enemy tried to cut you, a thin blade daring to harm you as you roared out, slamming your sword against cold iron. With a skilled move did you slide your blade downward, the sharp edge ending up severing the others fingers as you pressed the tip past the others hilt. The man screamed out in agony, his own blade dropping to the ground before you managed to slit his throat, blood splattering against your muddied face as you let the other drop to the ground. Noxus stood victorious, it always did, Empire above all.

One of them tried to catch you from behind, the enemy being swiftly cut down by Darius, the older man standing true to his promise as he forbid the enemy from closing in on you. You were an easy target, young and obviously new to war, your ambition betraying your naivete. Fighting within an open field with the odds against you was a challenge, the warband around you acting as a shield as you kept to your superior. Darius knew how to fight, knew how to navigate such difficult and complex situations. He would not allow you to fall victim so early, but he did want to see you try, wanted to see you strive and fight for survival.

When an enemy dared to catch you he took the initiative, the man fighting off whoever tried to get too close. He did not want to see a young and promising thing such as yourself be cut down before him, young lives lost always paining him the most. He fought around you, circling you, the man acting like a rabid dog that protected a lone sheep from other wolves, the Noxian man eager on seeing you survive.

And you, you felt it too. You two danced, your movements complimenting each other as you moved with and around the other. While he was heavy and slow, you were quick and fast, your blade like silver as his axe thundered like metal, a deadly song of force crushing all that dared to approach. At times your back met his, at times you slid just past his body, arms and legs daring to brush up against another as you formed a most gruesome duet. Darius had just swung his axe, the man hunched over while he felt your back meet his, you using his form to climb across him in order to cover him.

“Hah! Good!” he mused, finding you a delight to fight with. You stuck to him, and see there, you survived. You moved around and with him, being as free as to even jump onto his back, defending what he had to leave open. Within your formation of two not one angle remained open, four eyes, two weapons and four hands like strength incarnate mowing down whoever dared to approach. One man chased you, and you took the opportunity to fall to your knees, using the moist and muddied ground to slide across the soil, slipping right through Darius’ legs as that tank of a man then finished the chasing enemy. Fun.

This was fun, this was effective, and it worked.

You spun around him, bodies in lovely unison, until not one enemy was left standing. At the end you two stood back to back, two heaving bodies having found use in the other. From twenty Noxians now only thirteen remained, the enemy having been from the bandit camp you still had to reach. While others counted the casualties, you remained in your form, blade in hand, back against back with the General Commander.

“General-”

“You fight well,” was what he said, finally letting his axe drop to the ground. His voice was light, eager, positively surprised even as he turned to you, greyish eyes glistening under the coolness of the moon. Both of you were muddied and dirty, blood clinging to your skin and uniforms, feelings of victory and success warming you from the inside. Darius wanted to let the matter rest, the man wanting to return to his duties, but not before you reached out to him, a shaky hand meeting his wrist.

“Thank you! Thank you for covering me,” you forced out, voice shaky as determination filled your youthful bleating. He had saved you, had believed in you, had trusted and fought alongside you. Thanks to him did you still stand, because of him were you still alive. How dare you question him and his motives? You had to get a fucking grip, just look at how well he treated you.

“And for believing in me. I should be more thankful,” you grumbled, lowering your gaze in shame. The Hand of Noxus raised a thick brow, the cool night air calming your ignited nerves as the older man gazed at you from above.

“Yes, you should,” he simply mused, causing you to sigh in annoyance. Wow, so much for him being humble.

“Nevermind, I take it back,” you grunted, pulling your hand back as it was Darius who let out an amused grunt. The camp around you slowly restructured, Noxians waiting for their Commanding General to take the lead.  

“Hm. As long as you keep covering my flanks and my back, be as angry as you like, little soldier,” the black-haired warrior hummed, grey eyes on you as you passed him by, strapping your sword to your hip. Neither of you had time to bicker and fight, you both knew you had to act, for the next enemy could be anywhere. Darius and you nodded in agreement over the situation, the larger man following you as the surviving soldiers debated on what to do next.

“Only if you do the same, Commander”

“Deal”

Chapter Text

Nighttime carried darkness, the mountain difficult to traverse as only moonlight illuminated the surrounding emptiness of the earthy soil below. Your group travelled in silence, not a word spoken as you pushed onward. Darius was armoured up again, the man carrying his axe across his shoulders as he ordered you to march across the land. You stood behind him, sword attached to your hip as you eagerly followed, your poor body still aching and groaning under your countless injuries. You had never asked for this. Never had you asked to drag yourself across this cold and dead land, yet here you stood, joints and bones sore from the restlessness of the situation. Sure, you loved to serve, loved to follow orders and obey your superiors, but a slight dissatisfaction still remained, the entire situation weighing heavy on your youthful being.

When you let out a groan the man turned his head, grey eyes dancing across your body before you raised your own eyes, a concerned glance meeting a rather fiery one.

“What is the matter, little soldier?”

“Nothing, General Commander. We march for the enemy, and that is something I look forward to. Under your command, we sure will be victorious,” you huffed, the older man observing you from above. He almost let a sigh slip from his lips, the Hand of Noxus once more pained by naïve wording.

Your blind idealism only went so far, the desire to serve Noxus above all else of course, yet your own personal dilemma still remained. It was such a shame, such wasted potential, at least you felt that way about your new occupation. So you followed, sour like a grape, a frown on your youthful face as the man led you through the cold and harsh landscape of the northern mountains.

“The road turns sharply upward, prepare for a steep road. Do not slip and watch your step,” the Hand of Noxus ordered, then signalling for your group to begin your march upwards. The soil below you grew looser, each soldier digging their feet into the ground as you forced yourself upwards. Each step was heavy, your poor body still groaning and aching under your painful injuries and sores. You were not well, no, you needed rest - but such mercy was not gifted to the Noxian soldier, it never was. Small beads of sweat ran down your cold skin, shaky eyes on the road as you pushed out hot air from your bruised lungs. When you allowed yourself a harsh cough you felt a hand at your back, a fellow soldier offering you comfort as you allowed yourself to gaze at her. She was a seasoned fighter, a battle-worn woman plastered in scars from wars long passed.

“Hey, take it easy,” she said, a calloused hand patting you on the back as you let out another groan.

“Sorry for the noise, nothing's quite healed yet,” you huffed, licking across your quivering lips as the older woman comforted you.

“Come girl, give me that. No use in you dying on us so early,” she ordered, plucking your backpack from your sore body, her muscular build easily accommodating the weight as you let out a pleased huff of relief.

“Thank you-”

“Finning. Call me Finning,” she purred, offering you another pat on the back as you trailed behind Darius.

“Used to be like you. All young and naive, cost me an eye and a few fingers it did,” she mused, an amused hum leaving her as you crawled upwards, weapons now being used to find stability within the soil. This little warband was already laughably small, loyal, trusted soldiers and warriors confident as they followed their Commander General. He had been here before, had fought here before, knew the land and the surrounding landscape all too well. Darius had fought here prior to Swain's rule, had battled within the mountain and even further north, the Freljord sour over his crimes even to this day.  He had even fought an ice troll and had won, so the people said, your own curiosity over the fight lingering within your mind as you told yourself to ask him about said fight later. When this would be over, you'd sit at some warm campfire together, drink bitter ale and laugh, your innocent questions surely appropriate for such evenings.

You had liked drinking with him, the atmosphere amongst victorious Noxians always something you cherished and enjoyed. No matter what, such evenings were priceless, the longing for them deeply rooted within your Noxian pride.

“You got a boyfriend?”

“Finning! Stop pestering her. She's already short on breath, don't further her exhaustion,” Darius grumbled, the black-haired man stubbornly leading you upwards as you let out a playful huff.

“Thank you for your concern, Commander General, but I am quite fine. As for the question - no I have not. My love is for Noxus and its military,” you huffed, earning yourself a groan from the older woman beside you.

“Almost made me spit out my breakfast with that sap. If you're old enough to fuck, you should fuck. Besides, little cute thing like you surely is popular,” she mused, nudging your side as you let out an angered grunt.

“I'm not. I don't care about anything other than the approval of my superiors, and the betterment of the nation. The Grand General once praised me himself, that alone was far better than anything anyone else could ever offer me. I’d rather spend my evenings training than wasting precious time on someone,” you preached, the seasoned warrior rolling her remaining eye at you.

“I take it back. No wonder you're unpopular, prudish girl”

“I'm not a prude”

“Sure you are”

While you and Finning bickered, Darius tried to ignore your little fight, the Hand of Noxus tired from the senseless nature of your conversation. Seriously, what had he done to deserve this? He had to remain vigilant, had to keep an eye open for anything that might harm your group. The march went on for hours, sore muscles growing numb from the constant pull upwards, not one soldier falling behind as all pushed through. Whenever you'd lift your gaze, you'd be met with the back of your Commander General, the red cape before you reminding you of what you fought for.

Noxus, you fought only for your nation, for nothing more and nothing less. The moon had aligned itself with your group, moonlight illuminating the man before you as you stood to be blessed by his image.  Whenever you'd feel fatigue claw at you, you'd look up, see the glorious and imperious image of might before your eyes, see just who you followed. For all of his faults and his vexing attitude, he did remain one of your idols, one of your icons. To you he was someone who spoke truth, who wanted only the best for his nation. He was just as glorious as Swain, the Pillar of Might someone to be respected and honoured. His personal sacrifices towards this nation were unparalleled, his drive and ambition truly remarkable. Reminding yourself that you ought to be humble and appreciative, you swallowed down thoughts of doubt and disgruntlement, choosing to trust in the black-haired warrior. His orders and words spoke true; you had to remind yourself of that.

“Ugh!”

Darius had stopped, and you had accidentally bumped into him, your forehead hitting his back as you dared to nearly stumble and fall backwards. You were on a steep slope upwards, leathered boots straining as you stood at a rather uncomfortable angle, the moist soil below dirtying your uniforms. You did not understand, unable to see as you stood right behind the older man. You dared to slip, so you reached out, grabbing some of the red fabric he carried, fingers digging into his cape. Shit – the position was difficult to maintain, halting proving quite difficult as you struggled to keep yourself from tumbling down the slope. Your breath was heavy and rigid, shaky eyes in search of the reason as to why you had halted. Managing to look past your Commander General, your eyes were able to decipher a woman, lavish blonde hair illuminated by the moonlight. She stood at the top of the slope you currently bested, her greyish-green eyes on your warband as she gazed downward. She was pretty, fair skin and lovely features, such a pretty thing, but obviously not one of you. The enemy, you were sure of it. She held a crossbow, her weapon aimed at your group, eyes on what she sought to kill. Darius was close enough, surely he could-

She fired, the bolt hitting Finning straight through the throat, the tip of the weapon slicing through delicate meat and muscle as her mouth filled with blood. She let out a pained gurgle, the woman staggering backwards before he fell to the ground, her body sliding downward as blood splattered across the soldier who had stood beside her. How could she-

Darius had not reacted.

He did not even react now. He just stared at the woman, grey eyes on her as others appeared behind and around her. Your angle made you vulnerable, the bandits aiming weapons down at you as you were caught in the worst position possible. Fenning’s corpse had already begun to slide down the sloped surface of the terrain, the soil below loose enough as to allow her to be carried downward.

“General Commander! Orders!” one screamed, Darius still unmoving as he seemed almost dazed, the man motionlessly fixated on the woman. She had such lovely blonde hair, silky strands of gold flowing down her body, her form slender yet athletic. Another of your comrades died, and you grabbed your sword, one hand still clinging to Darius’ cape as you let out a rushed cuss, eyes moving towards crossbows that were only moments away from firing. You simply did not have the opportunity to take the few steps upward and fight, no, the enemy was faster. They’d kill you before you’d have the chance to reach them, your group would have to survive one round of bolts. Darius still did not react, the entire warband understanding that they could not rely on their trusted Commander. So the Noxian will to survive and fight took hold, soldiers using their weapons to parry the assault as the first round of bolts came. One died, the other eleven stood strong.

“Charge!” another Noxian cried, your warband forcing themselves upwards as you left Darius behind. You grabbed him by the shoulder, forcing yourself past him as you managed to catch a glimpse at his face. The older man was absentmindedly staring at the enemy, an almost ghostly expression on the Pillar of Might. You wanted to bark at him, wanted to yell at him to finally react, but you found not enough time to do even that. You used him as an anchor, used him to push yourself forward as he remained in this frozen, strange state.

Fighting yourself up the slope, you saw one of your fellow Noxians fall and die beside you, the body rolling off the slope to crash down the mountain you currently failed to best. You had found the bandits, not in their camp, but out in the wild, the enemy clearly at an advantage as they forced the fight to be held on unfair terms. You dragged your sword upward, catching a stray blade as you carried yourself into battle. A cut hit you in the side, a painful ache spreading through your body as you had to take a few steps back, another battle as vicious as the last one taking place within the silent coolness of the mountain. You struggled, you fought, tried to keep yourself afloat as you defended your own life and those who bravely battled beside you. It was still dark, the sun bordering the horizon as you tried to defend what little life you had left in you.

Noxians were Noxians, the warriors bravely fighting even without their General Commander. But here, here they faced a disadvantage, the battle daring to slip from red fingertips as proud Noxians bled into the cold soil below. Your poor body was still healing, adrenaline only able to do so much while your boots grew heavy with mud, your cries growing more desperate by the minute. You turned to the left, iron lacing your mouth as you went in search of help.

To your left, the soldier lay dead. To your right, the other one had his throat cut. Before you one fell, a severed arm bluntly thumping against the floor as another died behind you. You staggered around, once more sensing just how open you were, just how defenceless your innocent flesh was.

Darius.

You had to find him, you needed him.

Forcing yourself backwards, you searched for the man, the first slivers of sunlight chasing the night from the sky as you turned. Your turn cost you, a stray blade cutting through your arm as you cried out in pain. A sharp blade that had shot from one of the weapons had sliced into your upper arm, agonizing pain shooting down your limb as you felt warm fluid drip from your side. Grinding your teeth together as you continued, you then finally found him. There he stood and fought, axe in hand, might on full display as he gored his enemy. To you there was nothing more beautiful, the Hand of Noxus showing you just why he fought. Forcing your strength down into your legs, you called for him, then sprinting to his imperious image as death circled you all around. All would be well. All would be fine.

You ran, your eyes only then picking up a small detail off to the side. Beside you something chased, something rushed. It was a blurry, hazy image, the Wolf spirit hunting alongside you. Wolf, the Kindred spirit, the beast Noxians worshipped. It came for those who refused to die, refused to accept death, its image only visible to you. To you it was only a thin sliver, a blue and grey smudge across the battlefield, a hungry maw going in search of fodder. It circled this battle, eagerly and hungrily chasing down what deserved its teeth.

Finally, you managed to arrive, your dirtied hand meeting the older man by the shoulder.

“General Commander!” you yelled, your voice filled with naïve optimism as you found yourself back at his side. He was here, you were back against back again, all would be fine. You were glad he was back to normal, the black-haired warrior towering above you as you gazed up at him. You took your position at his side, sword pointed forward, eyes filled with Noxian fervour as you felt your own ambition and will return. Together you’d manage, together you’d win, you’d-

“Flee”

Your eyes wandered up towards the man, your shoulder at his, a confused gaze trailing his face. Grey eyes moved towards you, the older warrior speaking to you directly.

“Flee you idiot”

“What!? I’m not running! We can win! We can win! Together we can-”

A sharp whistle ran through the night, before a thick thud beside you shattered your hopes and dreams.  A crossbow bolt had hit your General Commander, the projectile having hit him right in-between his chestplate, blood beginning to trickle from his wound.

Darius let out only a chesty wheeze, the man raising his eyes at the enemy. He was hurting, he was seriously injured, the Hand of Noxus watching his men be butchered.

“I-I can fix that! Don’t worry, we can-”

“I told you to run!”

Nervousness sat within you like a pest, your resolve slowly dwindling as you stared at him in horror. He was barking at you, standing his ground, the large warrior understanding that this battle was lost. His previous mistake had cost him his own warband, year-long friends butchered because of his failure. Again.

This was not the first time he was at fault for the loss of precious lives, and it would not be the last. He thought himself numb by now, believed himself stable enough to see past such casualties. Swain was like that, the white-haired Grand General confidently standing upon countless of corpses, his own fault like a badge he wore. The few for the many, so he always said, and Darius hated that like nothing else. How could he say that, while those he had sworn to fight alongside now lay dead, guts cut from their stomachs as history would be forced to forget them?

“No! You’re the Pillar of Might, you’re the Hand of Noxus! I would never abandon you, you’re going to win this, and I’ll help!” you cried out, blind idealism still coating your every word as you spoke. All your life you had fought for this nation, all your life had you followed the three principles of strength, had trusted in what the leaders of your empire had told you. You knew that you’d be safe next to him, knew that he was going to win this fight for you, for Noxus.

Lifting your hand, you slowly moved it upwards towards his face, your sore fingers able to brush across his jaw. You wanted to help, wanted to reinstate the glorious might he embodied, wanted to remind him of just who he was. Hard was his skin, seasoned, your fingertips tenderly nudging his stubbled jaw as the man finally looked at you properly, grey eyes on you. He was the best of them all, a hero of this nation, the man you looked up to. And he, he saw that, saw just how hopelessly in love you were with him. Not with him as a person, but as a concept, a warrior, as the hand of Noxus. He knew that look, he had seen it so, so many times before. He hated looking into innocent, naïve eyes of loyal idealists, hated the look of love and adoration they carried.

Why? Because they saw him as only that, all while he himself was so much more.

“Please - listen. I can take them, but I cannot protect you at the same time. I want you to run and not look back, I will find you once this is over,” Darius ordered, finally snapping out of it before he pushed you back, the feeling of your hand against his jaw pleasant- almost bitter as he had to push away the friendly gesture of warmth. He had ordered it, so you complied. You quickly turned on your heel, sword in hand, your feet taking you back down the slope as you trusted in your Commanding General. The battle was quick paced, moments precious as you allowed yourself no time to question his orders further. You went in search of your backpack, leaving Darius to fend for himself.

The Hand of Noxus exhaled, his large hand reaching for his chest as he tugged at the projectile, tearing it from his aching body as he approached the remaining enemy. Ten of them still stood, the bandits previous Noxians who had abandoned the empire and had then plundered the northern streets of the empire. The Hand of Noxus, for all of his tenderness, was still a man known for brutality and savagery, his axe finding nothing but soft meat and flesh as he attacked the survivors. He was alone, his swings harsher and bloodier, the feeling of stepping across his beloved kin only fuelling his rage. He was angry.

Darius was angry.

Angry, and sad, guilt eating at him as he, once more, failed those who worked with and around him. Why, why was it that those around him died such horrid, brutal deaths? He knew how it was to feel friendly bodies crack under leathered boots, knew how it was to fight only for himself. He had you left to protect, he knew that, the man wanting to return both of you back to Noxus. Curse Swain and his moronic mindset, for Darius refused it. Surely the Grand General mourned each life lost just as much, every single dead Noxian a travesty for the nation they both cared for so dearly. But while Swain was able to look forward, to overcome and prevail, Darius festered. Darius knew too many names of those passed, remembered details, birthdays and favourite foods, mourned in sadness. While Swain saw opportunity and reason in death, Darius struggled to do so, the Hand of Noxus never knowing just where to find that purpose. Where, in-between crushed ribs, shattered jaws and lost dreams, just where was that reason to be found?

He fought off the remaining bandits, lives lost one by one, right before he struck down the last one standing. The last enemy fell, a sea of gore left behind, the quiet of victory only lasting a few precious moments before your own scream broke the illusion he had so dearly wished for.

“One more step and I’m cutting her throat!”

That blonde woman, the one who painfully looked like his late wife Quiletta, had captured you, a blade to your throat as you were being held against her chest. The ghostly Wolf only you saw turned its attention to you, fangs readied as it approached, the beast itching closer by the moment.

Darius moved his gaze towards you two, the Hand of Noxus standing in a sea of his own fault and sin. He no longer cared for the cries, had not listened to pleas and the begging. No, he was done, the Pillar of Might allowing his heart to harden as he glared at you. You pathetic thing, knife to your throat, your hands wrapped around her wrist, shaky breath pouring from slightly parted lips. Darius took a step towards you, the woman hissing out as she pressed the sharp edge against your skin, a sliver of blood running down your throat as you let out a panicked, nervous gasp. It had not been your fault, no, she had simply been out of sight.

“Let me run, and I’ll give her back to you unharmed. Come closer, and I’ll-”

“And what? I don’t leave survivors, you’re dying either way,” Darius spat at the woman, the Pillar of Might disregarding your life as he raised his axe, his footsteps thundering against the ground. You had hoped Daris would save you, would at least try and negotiate, but he did not. No, he immediately approached, knowing full well that you’d find your end. He did not care – and neither should you. Because if you died, a dangerous enemy of Noxus would be eliminated, your insignificance traded in for the greater good of the empire. The few, for the many, so the Grand General always said. The morning sun kissed the bloody scene awake, the blade at your throat catching the warmth of the large star above as you bid the world farewell.

“Her blood is on your hands, Hand of Noxus! Not mine!”

It all went by so fast, the feeling of something sharp pulling across your neck, the sensation of something warm trickling down your youthful skin, a tender sensation of liquid that ran from your neck to your chest. She had cut your throat, her knife having pulled across your neck as she released you. She was to die by Darius, and so she would. She let you go, let you fall to your knees, your body toppling over as she moved her teary eyes towards her assailant.

She looked just like her. Those sweet, sad eyes, a defeated, scared expression on her face as she died. Darius raised his axe, making sure to properly watch what he was about to do. She was not her, but the act was as symbolic as it was gruesome. He saw his previous love before him, saw how she cowered under his massive form, watched as she cried as the blade struck her. He cut her down, made sure to end her with one, massive swing, her corpse collapsing onto the ground below. Darius wasted no time, the man lifting his boot before he pushed her over the ledge of the slope, sending her body rolling downward. Away, he wanted to see no more.

“You damn…bastard…”

Well, seemed like he was not alone after all. Darius, battered and bruised, cut and shot, moved his steel eyes towards you, your hand at your throat as you glared up at him. So the cut had not penetrated the trachea, your little self still very much alive. You held a piece of cloth you had ripped from your uniform against your neck, angry eyes on the older man as you knelt and cowered like the lowlife you were. Surely you understood why Darius had acted as he had, the man having willingly allowed you to die before he even entertained the thought of bargaining with an enemy. You knelt there, pressing the cloth against your neck, adrenaline still within each pore as the warm sun allowed you to feel some sort of life return to your abused body.

“Remember this. Remember today, and grow strong from it,” the Hand of Noxus spoke, the sun slowly rising just behind him, his silhouette almost godly from your kneeling, cowering perspective. You clutched your neck, only the skin having been cut, your trembling fingers trying to stop the bleeding as you sat within a mixture of blood and mud. You two stood amongst countless dead, lives lost to a meaningless battle as might stood victorious once more. As nice as he tried to word it, he also clearly spoke out a threat, warned you of what was to come. Serving with and below him meant death, it meant bloody battle, it meant stubborn perseverance and the refusal to die. Falling in battle was an honour for the Noxian soldier, but surviving it, that was the true goal of any common warrior. You wanted to live; you wanted to succeed and grow stronger. Might may be a harsh teacher, but oh, perhaps you needed it.

Because just now, Noxus had not been there for you.

No, Noxus itself, the Pillar of Might, the Hand of Noxus, all your ideals and loyalties, none had aided you as you had been nearly killed. The only reason you still lived, was because that woman had been too weak to cut your throat, nothing more. No grand moment of glory, no rush of pride, no saving grace. Your death would have been sad, wasted, and tragic, and nobody would have cared. Clutching your neck, you slowly stood up, allowing air to run down your throat as you watched the Pillar of Might from below. Darius stood beside you, grey eyes on the sunrise as a warm hue coated the scenery. Iron glistened under the friendly tone of the sun, lifeless eyes able to gaze upon the waking sun. It was so peaceful, so quiet, so lovely.

“I want to live,” you just forced out, using your other hand to sheath your bloodied sword. You were weak, your legs shaky, mud covering your entire body while you struggled to collect your belongings. Darius watched the sunrise, the man allowing himself a moment of silence before he turned to you, finally allowing emotion to spill back into that stone heart of his.

“I know. Come here little soldier, let me wrap that wound for you. We have a long journey ahead of us,” he ordered, the large warrior retrieving your previously lost backpack. While he bandaged you up, you stood there, slightly pouty over his refusal to save you earlier. Yet there was something within this strange moment that felt almost comforting, thick and calloused fingers struggling to properly wrap the gauze around your neck, his breath clashing against your face as you let him. He was trying to be nice, his attempt not unwelcome as you let him.

“Thank you,” you just quietly muttered, trying to look for his gaze, yet the man refused to look at you.

“Thank you for winning this battle, and for exterminating the enemy”

“Please,” Darius muttered, the man concentrating as he used your bandages you had taken with you to wrap your wound.

“Please do not thank me. I’d rather hear you talk of other things, little soldier,” he sighed, that statement alone leaving you flustered. Oh? Say, did he enjoy your company? He used his fingers to brush across your jaw, his touch leaving you before he turned, the man ready to continue your journey together. You stood there, your entire body aching and screaming for rest, cheeks slightly rosy as you reached for your own face. His touch still lingered, the feeling of his fingertips against your skin letting your heart flutter. It was almost like a silent apology, an acknowledgement, a gesture especially for you. Ah, it felt nice. You rubbed across your jaw, allowing the feeling to linger across the intense pain of the cut. Weird, you felt light, somewhat comforted by his actions, a warmth cradling your heavy heart from within.

“Soldier!”

“Coming Commander General!”

Chapter Text

“Ah...”

The feeling of having thin thread be dragged through your skin was unpleasant, each pull causing you to hiss out in pain. First, a suture was dragged through your skin, a knot placed at the end while you used your fingers to align the leading thread with the knotted beginning. Three spins on one finger, then two on the opposing one, then one leading up from the first direction, and then you pulled, creating a surgical knot. Unable to see your wound, you were doing all of this blindly, suturing up your own neck while your eyes were squeezed shut. Kneeling on the dirty, cold floor of a cave while you tried to stitch yourself back up was rather unpleasant, but doable. You cut the thread, moving slightly to repeat the steps necessary for another, singular suture. You allowed yourself the luxury of suturing in singular knots, each one forcing the skin on your neck back together.

Dragging at the skin of your own neck was strange and nauseating, your fingers skilfully threading and knitting away at your own throat. When it was finally done, you let out a loud, exhausted grunt, sweat dripping from your temples as you tried to calm yourself.

“Impressive”

Darius sat a few metres away from you, grey eyes watching you stitch yourself back together. Both of you had marched through the night, the General Commander having decided that it would be wiser to retreat and hide for a day or two before continuing. You had succeeded in your task, the bandits dead, their blood soaking the lifeless soil below. Darius and you had honoured the dead of your warband with a quick few prayers, the General Commander mourning that they were to receive no proper funeral. Leaving faithful soldiers to rot under the cool sun of the mountain felt almost cruel, their flesh left for vermin and other beasts to nurture from.

You two had found a small cave for the day, a low fire allowing for subtle heat to aid your sore bodies. You had peeled your armour off, Darius only having removed his large shoulder pads and leg braces as he allowed his chest and arms to remain armoured. The older man was awfully quiet, grey eyes continuously drifting to the subtle flames of the fire. He seemed to be lost in thought, his face difficult to read as he quietly sat within his own pool of misery. You had first assumed that the loss of his warband had hit him hard, several skilled soldiers and warriors having been cut down like cattle in front of him, the only survivor being a barely capable soldier that was more of a burden than anything else. Anyone, anyone else of that warband would have had far more use than you staying alive, your survival a cruel joke to all involved. You were glad to have survived of course, but well aware that it should not have been you. Besides, Darius himself had sold you off to the bandit, the Hand of Noxus not willing to bargain with the enemy.

No, Might, in all of its straightforward brutality refused the finer arts of war.

To hell was he going to allow an enemy to escape, just to save one singular, useless soldier. Let the enemy escape, and more would return to haunt Noxus itself in the future. Every root of opposition had to be dealt with, no matter the cost. Darius would not be bargained with, he would not be blackmailed or threatened, he simply did not allow it. And despite the sourness you felt over this fact, your own life having been easily disregarded by him, you could not blame him. No, someone like him had not built his infamy on careful strategy and fancy words, but on straightforward and merciless ambition, all that opposed him cut down without question.

He had without question accepted your death as a natural consequence of the battle, the opportunity to save you not interesting to him in the slightest. Yet now he sat here with one he had forced to work with him, your life almost lost a mere two days after your unethical employment. To Darius this victory was bitter, not a hint of sweetness found as he dwelled on the pain he felt within. Empty, depressing pain, the Commander General forced to endure another loss of life. He thought his cause was just, believed it to be righteous and necessary, but situations like these still caused him to hurt just below the surface of hardened discipline. And now, now he sat here with an innocent life he had almost ruined all on his own, watching as flesh was sown back to flesh. You were only a soldier, a young and stupidly naive one too, but your survival left a bitter taste across his tongue, heart heavy as he alone dragged you through this hell of conquest. Darius watched as you wiped down your throat again, your skilled hands having cleaned and freshened up your wound beforehand, your medical expertise glaringly obvious to all who watched you work. After wrapping your throat in white gauze, you huffed, then reached for your uniform. You were battered and bruised, other wounds calling for your attention as you slowly peeled dirty canvas from your form. A low grunt left you, the General Commander moving his tired eyes to your abused body.

“Come here,” he merely grumbled, tired of seeing you struggle to undress yourself.

“It hurts,” you just mumbled, moving over towards him as the man nodded at your words. Darius spread his legs, allowing room for you to fit in-between his thighs as you sat down, back facing him as to give him access to your healing wounds. The warrior reached up, thick fingers slowly undoing buttons and straps, up until he lifted your coat from you. You sat there in only your bra, a black, practical one made specifically for support, not an inch of it appealing or sightly. You felt him reach for your backpack, the low cackling of the fire offering you company as you hung your head low, arms wrapped around your knees while the man searched for the appropriate supplies to your ailments. Thick fingers coated in tincture trailed your back, the medication stinging as he carefully treated your abused, tired body. Usually you would have felt ecstatic, sharing such an intimate moment with one of your idols. To you this man was someone you ought to look up at, the Pillar of Might himself now tending to you. Yet strangely you felt…nothing. It was a strange emptiness, a numb, heavy feeling within your chest you did not recognise.

“I don't blame you,” you muttered, your eyes on the fire as the man silently sat behind you.

“For, you know, presumably letting her kill me. I luckily survived, but still...I don't blame you,” you quietly said, Darius massaging some ointment into one of the old arrow wounds.

“Good. And even if you did, I would not care,” he bluntly replied, a cold harshness to his words. He wasn't being mean per se, just brass, brutally honest in his words. He had no guilt over forsaking you, had no heavy heart over willingly letting you die. You understood that perfectly well, yet still wondered just what pained him. He was awfully quiet, even for his standards, the man brooding in silence as his eyes carried a deep, heavy guilt to them.

“So, then what are you so upset over? Somone like you must be used to death, right? I heard that when you campaigned within the Freljord, that you were the only one to return alive. You’ve surely seen enough of this before,” you asked, allowing the other to run his hands across your body. He did not react at first, silently driving his hands into your sore muscle, the Hand of Noxus unamused by your questions.

“I am not upset,” he just replied, not allowing you an answer as he refused to speak on the matter.

“Liar,” you hummed, allowing yourself a sigh when he drove his thumb into your spine, the pressure soothing to your aching body. It felt good, the large man now massaging your tense muscles, fingers loosening your aches. He then ran one of his calloused hands towards your nape, fingers tapping against it while you remained seated. For a short moment you remained quiet, your mind going in search of what he could be upset over.

“You froze in combat, and it cost Finning her life,” you said, the movement suddenly stopping at your back. Bullseye.

“Careful,” was all he said, his tone devoid of any emotion.

“I’m not wrong. Why did you freeze?” you asked, turning your head to glance at him from over your shoulder. Darius stared daggers at you, the older man looming over you from behind, the warmth from his large body soothing to you in spite of its threatening nature. He had warned you, and you dared to ask once more, trying to press the matter further. You two sat here, a low fire keeping you company, the tension building as you allowed yourself to provoke him. You were pushing it with your questions, you were well aware, but he had been the one to ask for more authenticity, to ask for more bite behind your bark. He wanted you to act according to your new position, expected you to show merit and backbone. If you had an issue, if you had something to say, you ought to say it. Spineless sheep could march under Swain for all he cared, Darius wanted warriors, wanted grit. And now, now your mouth dared to speak what your mind thought, dared to voice concern and doubt.

You were not wrong, you knew as much, his reaction betraying him. For all of your blind idealisation of him, you still dared to push the boundaries of your hierarchy, your words cause for tension between you two. He, it was him who had told you to stand up and think for yourself, to challenge your obedient and horribly loyal mindset. It was because of him that your throat had been slit, your neck forever disfigured by a nasty, ugly scar. It was your damn right to ask, and your damn right to know what was going on.

“If you had not frozen, Finning would still be alive, and perhaps others would have survived too,” you bluntly stated, Darius’ eyes narrowing on you as you sat there, your nude back still at his hands. He allowed himself a deep, heavy inhale, anger seeping into each pore of his being as his lips twitched from the sheer disrespect shown to him.

“You're overstepping big time, soldier. Not another word, that's an order,” he warned, both of his hands moving to grab onto your torso. One hand at each side of your ribs, a subtle pressure clearly warning you that there would be physical repercussions, should you dare to push him further. Despite Darius telling you to put aside your idealistic goody-two-shoes attitude, you now bit off more than you could chew, your attempt at might foolish, not brave. Your tongue already carried the next words you wanted to speak, your eyes meeting his as you carefully considered your next move. Were you really picking a fight with the Hand of Noxus, one of your idols, one of the men you idealized and glorified?

“Ugh. Well, we won, and that's all that matters,” you sighed, turning your head from him. Darius let your words uncommented, his eyes moving from your face to your nape. Bruises blossomed across your youthful skin, beautiful marks of combat and struggle, ones you ought to be proud of. Just because he had told you to be more individualistic and brass, didn't mean you ought to overstep boundaries or become unruly, your place still very much beneath him. You ought to know your place, disrespect would not be tolerated. Darius sighed, the seasoned warrior trying to swallow down his anger while he tried to remind himself of your innocent naiveté. It was not your fault. It was not your fault. It was not-

“The few, for the many”

Suddenly a hand reached around you, Darius roughly wrapping his muscular arm around your barely clothed front, the older man pressing you against his armoured torso. A sharp grunt escaped you as your nude skin met the cold iron of his armour, your aching back bending and arching as the back of your head met cool, lifeless iron. His hand snapped upward, thick fingers grabbing your jaw, the man pinning you in place.

“I hate that saying,” he grumbled, watching as you reached for his wrist, your nails digging into his skin as you tried prying him off.

“Hhhah...but it's true, right? Some must die, so that others may prosper. They died, and we won, so where's the problem?” you forced from your lips, sweat beginning to build at your temples.

“The problem, is that it disregards and devalues brave Noxians as necessary sacrifices, which they are not. Those were people, not pawns,” The Hand of Noxus sneered, anger coating his words as he pressured your jaw. Bruises began to form across your neck and face, the man almost daring to crush you against the iron of his chest plate.

“Well, then you shouldn't have frozen up like that! Don't mourn deaths that are your fault entirely!” you wheezed, the pressure at your jaw growing more painful with each passing moment. In all honesty, you were angry, your anger bordering on disappointment.

The Hand of Noxus, the Pillar of Might, one of your idols - froze at the sight of a pretty, blonde woman with a crossbow. You had tried to ignore that fact for the last few hours, had tried to reason with his reaction, had tried to paint it as something it was not. You had tried to find purpose or meaning within his reaction, your mind growing sore with poor attempts of fruitless rationalisation. Seeing one of your inspirations fail on the battlefield was disheartening to say the least, the sight deeply disturbing to you. Doubt had nestled within your red, loyal brain, questions of his character and person burning up from within. Was he no longer fit to stand as the Pillar of Might? Were you perhaps seeing the downfall of this man, the beginning of an end to his era? If he was beginning to fade, it would be in the best interest of the empire to discard of him. Noxus survived on the competence of the Pillars, and if one faltered, it should be renewed. Right, you should report this to someone, seeing as you had witnessed his failure yourself.

Surely, this was in the empires best interest, your duty one to the nation of Noxus, not to him.

Darius roughly released you, spinning you around until your nude back hit the cold floor of the cave, dust whirled upwards as he jumped you. The fire beside you burnt up from the sudden wave of oxygen, stray sparks dancing upward as your sweat caught the soft hue of fiery orange. A large hand met your upper chest, calloused fingers rubbing up against bruised skin as he dragged the palm of his hand across your collarbones, Darius firmly pressing your torso into the cold ground below. Each previously treated wound ached and stung, your poor body begging you for rest as your mind sought further conflict. At first he wanted to go for your neck, his hand shooting up against your throat, right before he stopped himself. No, the wound was still fresh, your injury saving you from being choked or strangled. The Hand of Noxus had you flat against the ground, the man looming over you as his knees captured your legs in-between, his large figure engulfing you from above. Instead of going for your throat, he lifted his hand once more, firmly placing it just below your sternum. His fingers then moved upward, pushing under the central piece of your bra, his hand fitting in right between your breasts. For a moment did you not know what to say, a rush of confusion settling within, right before he pushed. When he pushed, he effectively forced all air from your lungs, a warm rush of blood flooding up into your head as you wheezed beneath him.

“I gave you orders, and you chose not to listen. And here I thought you were one of those obedient little yes-sayers, well, I stand corrected,” Darius grumbled, watching as your head turned a lowly shade of red as you were unable to breathe. Your stomach cramped as your legs pulled upwards, your hands helplessly twitching and spasming beside your head.  He was crushing you against the ground, your chest burning up from the pressure as small tears settled within your eyes.

“Know your place, little soldier. I am still your superior, I am still your Commander General, and you will learn to pay me the respect I'm entitled to,” he warned, watching as you gasped for air. So so, this little Noxian was finally beginning to form her own opinions, even going so far as to speak back to her superior? How amusing. 

“Your freedom of speech ends where my authority begins. Be good, and stay in line,” he warned, feeling your heart thunder against the palm of his hand. Short pants escaped your mouth as your lips turned blue, eyes daring to fall shut as tears mixed in with drool, the lack of oxygen making your head go light. A strange, warm fuzziness settled within you, your legs shaking from the pressure that robbed you of much needed air.  He kept lifting his hand, allowing small amounts of air to soak into your chest, right before forcing it right back out of your lungs. You arched your lower back, pushed your hips up, thrashed your head around - all to no avail, your poor form at his mercy.

“I will release you, and you will be good. Are we clear on that?” he asked, his voice strangely calm as grey eyes lay on your red, ruined face. The expression you carried was lovely, the bloodshot eyes combining nicely with the puffiness of your lips, tears, drool and snot marking you as nothing else than the one destined to kneel.

“Ah....hah....,” you panted, your head turning to the side as your eyes dared to roll back, your vision blurring into a muddied mess while the lack of oxygen coated you in a soothing numbness. Your fingers and toes went numb while your body twitched, your ears ringing while your life passed you by.

“I will not tolerate this kind of disobedience,” the man muttered, leaving you at the brink of unconsciousness as he lowered his head slightly, grey eyes meeting yours from above. Say, where was that little, obedient girl from before? So, behind all of your terribly naïve and idealistic ways such a snappy thing had hid all along? How amusing. He had finally managed to push you over the edge, your own ideals coming down to crush you as you drowned in a sea of red.

“Because without me, you'd be dead, just as dead as everyone else in that warband. You're only alive because of me, and you will be grateful for that,” Darius spat, his words ringing in your poor, abused mind. 

“Yahh-hah....,” you wheezed, holding onto dear life as you felt the first capillary within your eye burst from the pressure. The taste of iron began to lace your tongue, your gums letting small slivers of blood trickle down your dry throat as your body dared to snap under his hand.

“Ye...heh....sor-r....Sir!”

And with that he lifted the pressure from you, air stinging your lungs as you desperately sucked in air through your bleeding teeth. It felt like far too much at first, the oxygen burning your poor chest as you choked on each breath. You felt a hand at your cheek, calloused and rough, a thumb brushing away your pathetic tears of weakness. Your eyes shook within your skull, your gaze dizzy and disoriented as you were unable to properly catch what you were looking at, your chest heaving as you were propped up. Those fingers ran across your skin, brushed down your cheek and your jaw, carefully avoiding the delicate wound that sat at your throat before returning to your face. The thumb wiped away a sliver of drool, the pad coming to rest on your bottom lip as it was pulled downward.

“Good soldiers follow orders. And you're a fine, loyal soldier, yes?”

Who was asking that? You saw only stars, your mind foggy and dazed as your eyes remained half closed. He had made a mess out of you, not a coherent thought left in your numbed mind as you barely reacted anymore. The lack of oxygen had made you delirious and dazed, your brain unable to work properly as it scrambled to put itself back together.

“I'm....a good soldier.....,” you mumbled, the hand at your face soothingly cold against your hot, brimming skin. Your entire body was twitchy, a strange, hot heaviness having settled within your loins. You had no clue where it came from, felt only how wet you were below, an odd heat coursing through your lower half. Your heaving chest was coated with a slick layer of sweat and dirt, your bra pushing against the restraints of your own breasts as you dragged in air through bruised, swollen lips. That same thumb from earlier brushed across your bottom lip, a faint taste of iron and mud lacing your tongue as you lay within the cold hands of another. A strangers heartbeat offered comfort, foreign hands lending you much needed support as you slowly slipped into unconsciousness. All you felt was soft and warming cradling, a warm fire beside you as your face sank into a rough, scarred palm. Sparks of red danced across your inner eye as you slipped into darkness, your body losing all tension as your body gave out. Too much, too harsh, too extreme. All around you was coated in darkness, your mind retreating to the utmost centre of your being.

...

..

.

“Just...relax a little about this entire honour thing. You're our daughter first, Noxian second”

What was going on? You could not quite see what was happening, could only make out hazy, shaky images of faceless figures.

“Other way around. First comes the empire, then the family,” you had protested, slamming your fork into the piece of meat you were trying to cut. It was chewy and low in quality, the life of the average military family not allowing for expensive cuts of flesh.

“I...know you're proud of how far you've come, but please, don't forget who you are and where you come from.  You're still our child,” your father had sighed, watching as his daughter grew more radicalized and obedient by the day.

“The Grand General has requested me and my squadron, and I haven't even been officially deployed yet. That's real big, and I'm not squandering it,” you had grumbled, blind patriotism running from your tongue as your father let out an angered sigh.

“He's doing the same thing Darkwill did, okay? Sending off young soldiers to die as fodder, so that the strong and important pawns in his game survive. You're a human shield, nothing more. Like a pig being led to slaughter, with the difference that the pig fights against its own butchering while you run into the butcher’s knife all on your own,” your father had cursed, having slammed down his fist against the wooden surface of your dining table. You wore your uniform even when at home, the Noxian crest never leaving your chest, not even at the damn dining table.

“And that weeds out the weak, so that the only ones who survive are the ones strong enough to continue marching forward. The few, for the many,” you had sneered back, having bitten into the tasteless, rubbery piece of meat.

“The few for the many? That nonsense the Grand General uses to relativise lost lives? Listen - I, your mother, your brother, we're all military. We are all Noxians, we're all here for the same cause, but please. This is too much,” he had huffed, watching as his own daughter drowned within blind loyalty to a regime that would test her against death over and over again. You were too blind, too dangerously patriotic, fancy words and speeches having nestled within your being.

“There can be no empire without conquest. There can be no victory without sacrifice. If I die, it will further this nation, and its glorious leaders. Empire above all, even above personal struggles and opinions. You should know this, sergeant,” you had sharply remarked, your stance hardened and unmoving as you let your own ideology drive you away from your own family. Right. Your family was military, they all were, yet neither of them were as radical as you were. You were so lost within the clutches of your own conviction, you lost sight of family, personality or individuality. Such soldiers were fantastic, but they were fodder, eager to die for a cause that would reward those smart enough to survive. Noxus bred soldiers who longed for death, who embraced and chased it, those left behind prospering on the rotting backs of their deceased kin.

.

..

...

“Mmmm...,” A soft grumble left your lips, your eyes slowly opening as you felt life return to you. A dream, nothing more. Lazily licking your lips, you groaned, your entire body sore as you pushed your upper body up, your head throbbing as pain sat within each corner of your bruised skull. Colours slowly began to form into shapes, a harsh warmth still lingering within your form as you managed to prop yourself up, elbows allowing your upper body to lift off the ground as your head swayed back and forth. You felt dizzy and tired, exhaustion clinging to you as you tried to focus. Suddenly something salty was at your lips, a cold, wet sensation that let your mouth water. You recognised it from your times training in the field, Noxian rehydrated fish. You looked a mess, bruises littering your youthful body, wounds and blemishes painting a rather pitiful picture.

“Eat”

Your eyes lazily moved upwards, your gaze meeting one made of steel, Darius sitting right next to you. He had rid himself off his armour, his uniform below opened to expose his chest and stomach. Oh, hoh, the man was shirtless, the uniform only covering his shoulders and back. He sat right next to you, your head having been resting beside his hips, the older man now holding a piece of salt fish against your bruised lips. A Noxian classic, tinned, pressurized fish that could be rehydrated over an open fire, the perfect meal for each soldier. Slowly opening your mouth, you let it cross your lips, the taste delightfully soothing to you as you felt his fingers brush across your chin.  Say....why was the Hand of Noxus hand feeding you fish? You were old enough to eat this on your own, you did not need some old, grumpy bastard to feed you sloppy, disintegrating flesh.

“I can eat on my own, you know,” you muttered, Darius grumbling back at your words.

“Do not speak with your mouth full, swallow it down first,” he said, his tone almost mocking as he lectured you about manners. Rolling your eyes, you did as he asked, swallowing before you sat up. You had not noticed up until now, but he had draped his red cape across you, your pillow his undershirt, hence the reason why he sat here shirtless.

“For such a brutish man, you can be quite nice, you know,” you sighed, allowing him to feed you another piece of fish. Well, if one was to ignore him nearly crushing you to death just hours prior.

“I said I did not want to see another young life lost, yet I actively harm it when it serves under me. Take this fish as an apology if you may, I wish to see you live long while working for me,” the Hand of Noxus sighed, grey eyes on the fire before you. It was night, the cave you were in completely dark except for the dim light of the fire. Darius had placed you on your own coat and clothing, had wrapped you in with his cape and had made you a pillow from his shirt, seemingly out of guilt or shame over his own actions.

“I do not care about death, I do not care about injuring others or causing harm. If you would die, I would march alone again, as I have done before. You would be one of many, something I am prepared for, something I have endured countless times before,” the older man said, thick brows furrowing as he watched small sparks dance upward, the fire before you soothing to your sore bodies.

“I'd assume so,” you muttered, licking across your lips as your gaze moved towards the fire.

“Don't tell me you're feeling guilty over harming me?” you asked, Darius letting out an amused grunt.

“Hm? No, not in the slightest. I was just fine with letting you die just a few hours earlier, but...,” Darius huffed, the man leaning his head back as he stared at the ceiling of the cave.

“....tell me, soldier. Do you think I am worthy of the title 'Pillar of Might'? 'Hand of Noxus'?”

“No,” you bluntly said, the black-haired man almost jumping from the quickness of your response. By the wolf, you were quick-

“You failed that last mission, you're way too soft and you're not as impressive as I thought you were. Grand General Swain is far cooler than you”

Darius raised a thick brow at you, his own words stuck within his throat. The disrespect. The utter, idealistic, blinded disrespect....!

“You know, I'd been wondering why I'm so reluctant to see you die,” the Hand of Noxus grumbled, turning to you. He raised a hand, a thick finger now pressing against your collarbone as he prodded you.

“You're so fucking dense you actually mean the bullshit you're spewing. I cannot tell if I'm impressed, or shocked by what I'm seeing and hearing. But I know one thing,” the Hand of Noxus huffed, pushing your upper body back slightly. You were still only in your bra, your nude skin glistening under the soft hue of the fire.

“I cannot let you die until I break this stupid delusion of yours. It's annoying, you're annoying,” Darius teased, finally realising just why he was so hellbent on keeping you around.

You annoyed him. You annoyed him to such an extent he was growing obsessed with wanting to change you. Funny, funny that a little, naive thing like you was able to disarm years and years of hardened pragmatism and discipline.

“If I'm annoying, then you're incompetent. You failed something you should not have, the Pillar of Might should have done better,” you provoked back, now allowing your tongue to speak freely. No more sir, no more titles, even Darius picked up on that.

“I, a faithful Noxian, must never be disappointed by one of my idols! I love the Trifarix, and I love the principles of strength because they're just as perfect as our empire. Weakness is unacceptable, and the harbinger of downfall. Every member of the council must be able to uphold their pillar, and from the looks of it you can't do that, not anymore. You should be removed from your post and let someone better take the spot,” you ordered, Darius feeling some sort of strange excitement spark within him. He did not know what it was, but his nerves were burning up, pupils mere dots as he watched a simple foot soldier who was deployed for less than a week lecture him about the empire he had helped establish.

“By the wolf,” he muttered, his lips twitching in amusement.

“You're an insufferable brat”

“And you're a fraud”

The black-haired Noxian was having a blast, as strange as it sounded. You were as annoying as you were amusing, Darius feeling his heart hammer against his chest as he held your gaze. His pulse quickened, sweat sat across his skin, his exposed stomach heaving under his panting. He was weirdly worked up, the tension heating up whatever connection you two shared as you both refused to back down. His eyes remained on yours, an angered yet enticed gaze you dared to hold. You, you nasty little thing, you were so vexingly annoying he could not help himself but want to prove you wrong. He wanted to see this image of yours shatter, wanted to see you break out from the prison of your indoctrinated mind. Besides, hearing a mere foot soldier call him incompetent and demand his resignation left the man irritated, your words like an itch he could not help but scratch. Usually, such words or insults meant nothing to Darius, but hearing them from someone like you vexed him in just the wrong way. The need to prove you wrong was so overwhelming, the man dead-set on wanting to see you change your mind. Not only about your own ideals, but also about him. You, a naive, blind little nothing, had no right to denounce him like that. You, you did not see him as worthy of his titles?

Unacceptable, he could not stand it.

He was brimming with anger, with excitement, pressure within coursing through each vein as he did not know what to do with himself. The look on your face was absolutely maddening, the conviction of your words insanity on their own, your determination and confidence delusional by nature. Say, when was the last time he had felt so alive? His emotions were running wild within, his breath was shaky, his pupils now dilated as he felt his body heat up. His eyes then finally left your face, moved from your puffy lips down to your neck, the wound there still in good shape. His gaze trailed down towards your collarbones, then dropping to your chest. A nice chest, a slick coat of sweat draped across your features. An insufferable brat, yes, but also a woman, a very alluring one at that.

You drew in breath so heavily, your upper body heaving under your panting as sweat danced across glossy, soft skin. Once those wounds would turn into scars you'd look like a proper Noxian, signs of battle you could be proud of. Shaky breath left your lips, the sight of you almost addicting to him. Whatever it was you had on him, it worked, Darius feeling himself drawn to you. You were younger, helplessly arrogant and dense, a little Swain-Enthusiast who just repeated whatever the empire preached. Yet while Darius agreed with your stances and your opinions, seeing as they were perfectly Noxian, the way you went about them irked him, annoyed him. Far too extreme, helplessly blind and tone-deaf. He lent into you, a hand finding your shoulder as he pushed you back a bit, a low huff escaping your lips as you held his gaze, unwilling to back down. His hand was cold against your hot skin, the Pillar of Might itching down towards your face. His hand moved from your shoulder up to your jaw, fingers resting at your skin as he eyed you. Stubborn thing. All you could do was look at him from below, the previously bust capillaries having stained the whites of your eyes red, exhaustion clinging to your pitiful gaze. Your own eyes remained fixated on him, your stubbornness slowly subsiding as you felt an uncomfortable heat creep across you.

“I don't feel well,” you forced out, the older warrior grumbling in response as he too chose to let your little quarrel rest. He raised his hand, slowly letting it slide upward until it rested against your forehead.

“You're burning up,” he muttered, your aching head throbbing as pressure coursed through your skull, a heavy, sinking feeling beginning to set in as Darius wiped sweat from your forehead.

“Lie back down, let me take care of it,” the black-haired Noxian grumbled, letting go of you before he reached for your backpack. Luckily you carried supplies with you, medical equipment and medication still found within. While you moved back down to rest, you closed your eyes, choosing to let the other handle the situation. If you dared to grow too ill, he may leave you behind, may leave you here to die. It was a realistic scenario; the man already having proven to you that he would not allow himself to be slowed down. Darius was the Hand of Noxus, one of the three leaders of this nation, he had no time to waste on some sickly soldier who was nothing more than war-fodder. Each hour spent with you was costing the empire, each resource wasted on your useless being in no comparison to what he ought to be doing. He ought to rule, to lead, to be useful. Your head was spinning, sweat beginning to drip from your body as the makeshift blanket felt too heavy, too warm on your scorching skin. Especially with the low fire beside you, you struggled, the warmth growing unbearable as you tried to turn from it.

Darius returned to you, large hands pressing you onto your back as the man forced medicine down your throat, a cup of water offered shortly after. For someone who had just begun their deployment, you were completely wrecked, your body not used to handling this much stress. Darius on the other hand was just fine, years of battle and hardship hardening his endurance, his body perfectly able to tank several injuries all at once. Yet you, you had been shot, stabbed, cut, pushed and bruised, your own body failing you. A cold, soaked cloth found your skin, the black-haired Noxian returning to care for you. You flinched when he wiped you down, arching your back when he ran the cold cloth across your chest and stomach.

“A true Pillar of Might...would leave me behind...to push onward and return to his duties,” you huffed, eyes closed as you felt him loom over you. Darius leaned down, his other hand moving to your trousers. You let him open the belt that sat at your waist, did not protest when he tugged at your clothing.

“Bullshit. You know nothing of might, do not lecture me,” he grumbled, both hands now pulling the black canvased pants downward. You wore the basic Noxian military underwear, black, practical briefs that hugged your curves tightly. He undressed you, hands running down to pull your socks from your feet, calloused palms trailing across your heaving skin.

“I'm not letting you die until you learn your place,” he merely claimed, prying your clothing from you as he left you in only your underwear.

“I'm slowing you down,” you mumbled, feeling him reach for your chest. A large hand pushed your bra up, the material crossing over your breasts. The act was not sexual, the Hand of Noxus merely checked for further injuries, right before he ran the wet cloth across your chest. Feeling cold wetness run across your scorching torso was positively delightful, the Commander General wiping you down. Your exposed nipples hardened under the sensation of cold, wet fabric, a quiver running through you as you let him treat you.

“Noxus relies on its leaders, and you're wasting your...time, not...honouring our country....,” you wheezed, feeling a cold cloth wipe down your face next.

“Shut it,” he merely said, before he flipped you onto your stomach, strong hands running down your shoulders and lower back.

“I will ensure our survival, return us to Noxus and fulfil my duty, as I always do. If you feel guilty about slowing me down, recover faster then. You will live, and you will learn to respect me again,” the warrior grumbled, brushing the cloth down your spine before he ran it under the seams of your underwear. A soft sigh escaped you, the feeling of cold water against your below not unpleasant. You twitched slightly when he moved the cloth across your inner thighs, body tensing under the sparks that coursed through your heaving flesh.

“I won't let you rob me of the satisfaction of seeing you faulter and crumble, little soldier,” he mused, wet pressure running down your legs as you shivered from the coolness of touch. A soft gasp escaped you as his other hand rested on your upper back, a soft pressure causing you to softly arch your lower back and buttocks. You looked lovely, your pride broken in by fatigue, your words slurred and messy as your body heaved beneath him.

“I will drag you back to Noxus and teach you some respect and manners in the meantime,” he warned, the cold cloth slipping under your underwear, singular droplets soaking your groin as you let out a defeated whimper. Even within this state he found you so insufferably enticing, something within you letting his heart run wild as he had to keep himself from touching you further. Never had he been at the mercy of such an arrogant thing, your opinions just so wrong it hurt. His hands twitched, his eyes did too, brows furrowing as he felt the need to crush you once more. There you lay beneath him in only your underwear, a fever letting you shiver and shake, the softness of your huffs ringing within his skull as he struggled not to go further. He was agitated, annoyed, enticed, aroused - all at the same time, and he simply did not know what to do with himself.

Thoughts of fucking some sense into you began to bloom within his sore mind, the desire to see you ravaged by him starting to grow on him as he felt sparks of want crawl down his spine. How dare you disrespect him like that; how dare you question and insult him? Were you not asking for correction, were you not begging for him to put you back in your rightful place? He'd make you cry out his titles, would have you moan praises, get you begging for his leadership and guidance. He'd have you sprawled out on his cape, the Noxian crest below, respect hammered into your body with each thrust he imagined he'd bless you with. Perhaps a slap to the ass here or there, a hard pounding to make you complacent and obedient, just as any good soldier ought to be. Insolent brats like you needed a good fuck to –

“I'm cold,” you mumbled, and Darius snapped out of it, blinking rapidly to calm himself down. By the wolf, he could not go around wanting to bed sick and vulnerable soldiers. He quickly pulled the cape across your shivering body, the Hand of Noxus pulling himself together before he grabbed his axe, dragging it over towards you. All you felt was Darius coming to rest beside you, the older warrior using your clothing as blankets. He silently lay down against the cold stone floor, the large man pulling you up onto his stomach and chest as he placed your head just below his collarbones. Using his own body warmth to keep you from running cold, he wrapped the cape across your heaving body, large hands resting at your back and hip as he cradled you. You were feverish, obviously fighting fatigue and infection, sweat building up in-between your bodies as Darius kept you warm against his chest.

“You better get well soon. I will not allow you to pass away from something as pathetic as a fever,” he grumbled, your hot breath running across his bare chest. Your face lay within a sea of black, straight chest-hair, the man’s front nice and muscular. You felt his muscles glisten and move beneath you, your stomach pressed against his as you allowed yourself to rest.

“General Commander...,” you mumbled, lifting your head slightly until his chin met your forehead, the soothing song of his heartbeat calming you right down as you leaned into him. He smelt of iron, a natural musk now lingering within your nose as you drank him in. Darius held you close, the man lifting the wet cloth against your forehead as he let you rest against him.

“...you're so lame”

Darius just stared at the ceiling, brow twitching from your insolence as he had to hold himself back. No, no. He stood above this petty banter, would not stoop to your low, childish level.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say. Rest now, and stop talking,” the Hand of Noxus groaned, trying his best to supress his rising urges. No need in getting worked up, he had to hold himself back. So he did just that, the black-haired man allowing you to fall asleep first before he followed suit, both of you finally falling into slumber as the fire beneath you offered comfort.