Chapter Text
Panic seizes her chest. Katarina swallows nervously, forcing herself to meet the blue-eyed gaze of the sword-captain despite how desperately she wants to look away.
“Garen, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lies, pressing the palm of her hand against his armored chest. Gingerly, her shaky fingertips stroke his cheek as she had done the night before, tracing the silver scars on his skin. “Are you alright?”
He pulls away from her touch, glowering down at her with wrath in his eyes. The Noxian assassin is accustomed to returning angry glares, but she hates him looking at her with such malice. The adoration he once had in his gaze is now gone, and her heart sinks at the thought. “Cease your lies this instant.”
Katarina raises an eyebrow at him. As deep as her affection is for the sword-captain, she would cut out his tongue before she allowed him to speak to her with such disrespect. It irritates her to no end that instead of nervously refusing to meet her emerald eyes, his own expression mirrors her wrath. She glares at him pointedly. “Why would you accuse me of something like that?”
“The royal painter hails from Cloudfield, and he so happens to be a very close friend of the Lord Alden. He seems to bear no recollection of the late Lord Lionheart ever having a daughter that resembles you at all.”
Katarina purses her lips. “How… convenient.”
“Do not act as if you would not have been recognized. You are terrible at playacting,” seethes Garen. “You drew too much attention to yourself with your disregard for tradition, your tendency to speak ill of the ladies at court, and your exceedingly inappropriate attire.”
“And here I thought those were the things you liked best about me,” she deadpans.
The sword-captain stills for a beat too long, evidently stunned, before regaining his composure.
“Garen,” she begins with an exasperated sigh, “Look, I can explain—”
“I have no wish to listen to your explanation. You are a threat to the crown. That is all I know, and all I need to know. I will inform the citadel of who you truly are,” he announces, his voice devoid of the warmth it usually held when he spoke to her. The prospect of him losing all feelings for her shatters her heart into smithereens. “The royal guard deserves to know the truth, and the military officers you have murdered will finally be brought to justice.”
The sword-captain turns on his heel, refusing to face her. A careful step towards the door is all Garen can take before Katarina unleashes a flurry of daggers, sending them flying. They impale themselves to the hilt on the oaken wood of the doors to her chambers, mere inches away over his shining brightsteel pauldrons.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Katarina raises an eyebrow.
He blinks in surprise at her act of defiance as she vaults in his path, preventing him from exiting. “Step away from the door, Noxian,” grunts the sword-captain.
“You know I can’t let you do that.” Katarina pries her daggers from the oak and slashes them threateningly, the edges of the blades gleaming under the firelight of the braziers that decorate her chambers. “You’re going to have to go through me first.”
The sword-captain huffs. An unsettling anger burns in his brilliant blue eyes, the square of his jaw tight with rage. “You have toyed plenty with my emotions, assassin. I demand that you waste no more of my time.”
“I never messed with your emotions,” she defends. “I always thought you were interesting. The fact you were who you were made it easier for me to be undetected at court. But I meant every word I ever said.”
And every time I pressed my lips against yours , Katarina wants to add.
“How can I possibly believe you when you have done nothing but lie?” the sword-captain demands. “If you think you can kill good Demacian men and women and that I will allow you to escape this kingdom alive, then you think wrong. Justice always triumphs, assassin .”
He calls her that as if it is a bad thing. Entirely on instinct, she strikes. He stares at her in disbelief, wrath in his brilliant blue eyes as a sharp dagger is poised at his throat.
“Then fight me,” Katarina exhales. “You leave that door, and I’ll kill everyone who gets in my way. Bring me to justice yourself.”
His jaw clenches. “Do you truly believe you can decimate the entirety of the Demacian royal guard? You must be forgetting that my own soldiers in the Dauntless Vanguard patrol these very halls. You will never make it out of the citadel alive.”
“And you must be forgetting that you’re speaking to the imperial assassin of the grand general of Noxus. I took down the best of your men. I can take your worst.”
The sword-captain unsheathes his broadsword from its scabbard, his face reddening in rage. Her heart stills at the sight of the glimmering blade and for a fleeting moment, she wonders if this sword would be her undoing. Katarina berates herself at the thought. She would slay him where he stands.
She fights for the empire, and Garen is only a man. She has killed many like him before.
Today will be no different.
Without another word, he strikes, his silver sword gleaming. Katarina swiftly sidesteps the blow, whirling her wrist. The dagger flies and thuds into his armored chest. He staggers backwards from the force, his brightsteel breastplate dented from the attack. She finds her dagger, crossing the blades she wields in both hands, her fingers tight around their smooth hilts.
He meets her gaze, his expression grim and somber. “You Noxians have no honor.”
“Your death will honor me,” Katarina snarls, advancing at him with both blades raised.
Garen anticipates the attack perfectly and swings his broadsword in a scything arc, a ring of silver and steel. She sways away from the edge of his blade, narrowly avoiding being sliced in half. In her momentary defenselessness, he finds the opportunity to strike, only for Katarina to parry the blow with her serrated daggers, the steel singing when their blades meet.
The fury in his gaze is unmistakable. “When were you planning to cease your treachery and your deceit?”
“I never lied to you,” Katarina snaps, her lips curling in irritation. “Everything I said was real!”
Everything I felt was real , she wants to say, but she bites back the words as harshly as she bites back her tears.
“Do you have me taken for a fool?” he demands, lifting his broadsword and striking her where she stands. Fortunately for her, she whirls away from the blow. Her breathing is heavy from exertion, and she regrets having forgone her armor before allowing the sword-captain into her chambers. He is clad in gleaming silver, yet his armor seems to slow him down not at all.
“I did at first. I thought you were the most obnoxious man to ever walk Runeterra.”
“I assume your opinion will never change. How desperate you must have been to cement your station as a Demacian noblewoman at the royal court to enter a courtship with me. A pity that you wasted your time on all our gatherings.”
“I liked them,” Katarina insists fiercely, evading an attack. “They were never a waste of time. Not when they were with you.”
He predicts her movements with precision, eluding her slashes and slices. “Does it please you to know that I was bewitched by you, Lady Octavia?” he croaks weakly, his breathing uneven. Katarina can hear the pain in his voice, and her heart wrenches at the sound. “Is that even your real name?”
“Of course it isn’t. It’s—” Katarina stops herself in time, biting her tongue.
The expression on his face is that of a man defeated. “I should have known. You do not trust me enough to tell me.”
“I did what I needed to do! You of all people know what that feels like.”
The sword-captain is momentarily stunned by her words, as if the realization finally dawns on him. She has sworn her life to service to the empire as its most fearsome assassin, her ruthlessness deadly and unforgiving. He has pledged himself to the defense of the kingdom as its most loyal soldier, his devotion steadfast and unwavering. They are alike in more ways than they could have ever imagined…
But they are still worlds apart.
With a heavy sigh, the sword-captain tightens his hold on the hilt of his broadsword. The blade gleamed in the firelight, the flicker of the flames mirrored in the swirls etched in the steel. “My heart belongs to the kingdom.”
“And mine the empire.” Katarina draws her daggers, the beat of her heart pounding against her ribcage in equal parts fear and rage. “I could’ve slit your throat as easily as I killed your fellow officers in the citadel.”
“Then why have you not done so?” challenges the sword-captain.
Katarina does not reply, furiously slashing at him with her serrated daggers.
“Why wait until I uncover your identity before killing me?” asks Garen, parrying her strikes with his broadsword.
Katarina whirls her wrist, sending a dagger flying. He evades the blade ever so slightly, and it ricochets off a cobblestone wall, skidding to the stone floor of her chambers. He stares at her as the tears well from the corners of her emerald eyes.
“Because I didn’t want to! I never did,” she sobs.
Garen stares at her, his expression a mask of shock.
“Why would I, when love was a mystery I had never known until I met you?” The words escape her ruby lips before she realizes they do. She stills at the confession, her heartbeat ceasing for a fleeting moment before raging against her ribcage in wild abandon. She must be a sight, with the erratic way her heart pounds against her chest and the fierce embers of her hair marred by battle and blood. Her vision blurs as the tears stream down her cheeks, and Katarina closes her eyes in her refusal to meet his gaze.
“Garen Crownguard, I can’t stop myself from loving you,” she confesses, and her world comes crashing down.
She loves him.
He lowers his broadsword, the shock etched over his chiseled face. “What?”
“I love you,” she professes fiercely. “I didn’t want to fall in love with you, but I did. I tried not to, but I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, even though I knew in my heart it was impossible. All my heart wants is a future for you and I.”
His jaw tightens. “There is no future for you and I,” the sword-captain grunts, though it sounds like it pains him to say so.
“Do you mean that?” she demands. “I want the truth, Garen! I want you!”
The silence between them is so deafening that Katarina can hear nothing but the slowing of her heartbeat and the crackle of the fires alight on the braziers. As swift as the strike of a viper, she unsheathes the dagger scabbarded on her thigh, wielding her dual daggers as her anger simmers inside her.
“My lady—” he begins, only to be swiftly interrupted as the edge of her blade slices his cheek open, drawing blood. Upon her rage, the sword-captain steps backwards cautiously, and readies his blade to defend himself. The embers of her hair whip wildly as she assaults him with strike after strike, forcing him to evade her brutal attacks by blocking them with his sword. Her rage is murderous, her ferocity deadly. Her vision blurs as tears of rage sting like pinpricks.
“It appears that I have my answer,” she seethes, mustering all her strength to forbid her voice from quavering. She would rather die than allow him to see her vulnerability, the breaking of her heart.
She would rather die than allow him to see her cry again .
Her rage invigorates the blood rushing in her veins, empowering her as she spins towards him for another frenzied assault. The sword-captain heaves his broadsword with effort, swinging the sword in a slicing arc. Her blades deflect off the steel, sparks flying endlessly as the lovers dance a waltz of swords and daggers.
Katarina evades the silver blade, vaulting over the sword as it sweeps across the floor. Mid-air, the assassin raises her daggers, the pommels of the jagged blades facing skywards. Propelling herself from the wall, she gains momentum and leaps the moment his greatsword is no longer in motion. Before she can thrust her blades downward in an overhead strike, his calloused fingers encircle her wrist, and the sword-captain forces his weight against her lithe frame, pressing her against the stone wall.
Her emerald eyes wide with shock, Katarina attempts to wrench her wrist away from his grasp, to no avail. Her hold on the blade weakens from his strength, and it skids away to somewhere on the marble floor. The tip of his broadsword points at the edge of her throat, close enough to puncture her skin. The Noxian assassin dares not swallow nervously.
This is where it ends. The gash on his cheek bleeds. Rivulets of blood stain the steel of his armor.
His blue eyes gaze into hers, devoid of feeling.
“It’s Katarina,” she exhales.
Garen blinks. “What?”
“Katarina du Couteau. I feel like you should at least know my name before you kill me. I always wanted you to know my name.”
To love me for who I am, and not the woman I was pretending to be .
Katarina does not react when the tip of his sword sinks deeper into her skin, tainting the steel with crimson droplets of her blood. A Noxian assassin falling in love with a Demacian sword-captain. What a story for the ages. Katarina almost chuckles bitterly at the thought. What a cruel fate, to have fallen in love with the man who would kill her.
Perhaps in her final moments, she can dream of another lifetime where they can fall in love again. If she is fortunate enough to be blessed with another chance to be with him, she would do everything right. This, she swears.
Katarina always knew that she would die brimming with rage and anger. She had always thought that she would be angered by the one who would kill her, but all the rage she feels is for the empire.
Her devotion to Noxus has thrust her into the belly of the beast, forcing her to explore unknown territories with the nobility of the Demacian court. The grand general had little regard for her welfare, uncaring whether she lived or died in the petricite kingdom. This is the nature of the empire she had sworn to bleed and die for, though she cannot help but wonder if she deserved more kindness in her lifetime. She lived with a sense of duty and a desire to bring glory to the empire and to House du Couteau, yet when she asks herself why, she finds that she does not know.
She chased after glory and honor, and the notion of happiness had been unthinkable to Katarina since the early years of her childhood. She never knew what happiness could possibly mean, and all she had ever known was drinking poisons and scaling the crenelated turrets of Mortoraa. Murdering imperial traitors and protecting herself from the henchmen of her own father.
But drinking poisons and scaling the crenelated turrets of Mortoraa never made her happy. Murdering imperial traitors and protecting herself from the henchmen of her own father never made her happy.
Watching lanterns float against the starlit night sky with Garen Crownguard had made her happy.
Eating strawberry tarts and watching the skies darken as the moon rose over the peaks of Mount Silvermere with Garen Crownguard had made her happy.
Kissing Garen Crownguard had made her happy.
Even if her happiness may have been short-lived, she thanks the gods for every second of it. She thinks of the glittering moments she shared with him. The warmth his gaze once held. His rare, boisterous laughs. His charming smile.
The blush on his cheeks when he asked for her hand in courtship.
The Noxian assassin maintains her composure, her emerald eyes fixated on the sharpened edge of his broadsword, waiting for the blade to slit her throat.
It never does.
The sword-captain sheathes the runesteel sword in his scabbard. His brilliant blue eyes gaze into hers, and her heart stills at the sight. He looked at her that way last night. His chest heaves with exertion from combat, and his fingers tremble as he caresses the scar over her eye, the callouses of his fingertips rough against her skin. The words escape his lips before she can ask him what he is doing.
“I love you, Katarina,” he insists with a ferocity that the ember-haired woman has never seen in her life.
Her heart soars. “You do?”
Garen nods solemnly. “I have never felt the way that I do when I am with you. Though our loyalties may be divided and as different as we may be, you brighten my life with your existence, and I meant every word I ever said. I will forever cherish the time that we spent together, and I do not wish to live in a world where you are missing from me.”
She stills for a fleeting moment. It is all he needs to say.
She releases the hold she has on her dagger, and it falls to the marble floor with a satisfying clang . Her heart pounding wildly against her chest, Katarina collapses on top of him, entangling her nimble fingers in his messy brown hair. She presses her lips against his, closing her eyes as she kisses him with fervor and desperation and urgency, as if she is drowning and he is the air she breathes.
He loves her.
And she loves him, too.
“Katarina,” the sword-captain exhales softly, pulling her deeper in his embrace. Her name sounds so melodious on the tip of his tongue, she thinks as she finds herself staring at his lips. What she would give to hear him say it again. Tears well in the corners of his brilliant blue eyes as he strokes the base of her throat with his calloused thumb, a sharp contrast to the smoothness of her skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispers softly, his voice quavering at the sight of his fingers stained with the blood of his lover. “Katarina, I hurt you. I’m so— I’m sorry—”
“Garen,” she laughs quietly, kissing him again as if to convince him that everything will be alright. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise.”
The sword-captain sighs in relief. “I love you, Katarina. I swear I will never hurt you again.”
“I love you,” Katarina echoes, unable to resist the smile that finds the edge of her lips. Her fingertips trace the silver scars on the edge of his jawline, and before she can dwell on the misery of their fate, she feels the softness of his kiss against her lips once more.
All the hurt ceases, and all that matters to her is that he is by her side.