Chapter Text
Snow that turned to rain signaled the end of winter and the start of spring. The grass that had been dry and pale brown slowly crept back to green. Fresh leaves began to sprout from branches, the lake began to thaw, and the orders in preparation for the spring crusades began pouring in.
Vi hammers away diligently, crafting each order as though it were her kin. Even though the money trickles in beautifully, and even though her forge is now back to full force and host to a great many new customers, it feels emptier than usual. Hadn’t felt the same since she had returned from Silvermere if she were being honest.
And with this newfound emptiness came an emotional one, too. Vi finds herself thinking about it far more than she dare admit to herself.
For the rest of the days spent on their trudge back home, Caitlyn had remained expressionless and silent. Despite it all, Vi knew there was a far worse kind of hurt that she was drowning in. Her features had remained absently vacant, with not a hint of mindfulness within them.
Vi misses it. Misses the company. Misses the easy conversation. Misses the body pressed against hers in the stream while she ducks her head into a sinewy shoulder, hiding from the cupped handful of water thrown her way. She misses the smirk Caitlyn no longer wears and the tender yet cheeky smiles she no longer receives.
Vi represses each worry and each doubt as best she can. Visualises squashing them beneath every strike of her hammer, envisions them burning away with each tug at the bellows. She tries to imagine this clawing feeling rinsed from her being as she submerges herself beneath the waterline of the stream, praying the icy water snatches more from her than just her breath.
It helps, a little. Only, these thoughts never dissolve for long.
Crude manifestations of navy hair and eyes far too kind appear in the dark corners of the workshop. Equally haunting visions of lips, only centimeters away, playing host to a ghost of a smile and a devilishly decadent allure. Her dreams are plagued by nightmares of snakes and startled horses and near-lifeless eyes.
Vi wishes she could allow herself to cry over them. But what worth is crying now, she finds herself asking. Tears wouldn’t change what happened. Tears wouldn’t bring Caitlyn back to her. Tears do nothing but sting her eyes, puff her face, and scare off potential customers. God forbid her otherwise soured demeanour would prompt questions- if, that is, her patrons didn’t turn heel at the first sight of her. She couldn’t stomach the thought of having to explain it- of having to revisit it when she’s worked so hard to squash each and every reminder. It’s a stretch, she knows. Nobody would dare ask. Nobody truly cared for her here. Nobody but Caitlyn.
But work is work, and Vi had always taken such pride in everything she does within her forge. In fact, her passion for her craft, she’s sure, had saved her life many a time. But now, with Caitlyn absent and unaccounted for, Vi finds it difficult to find any kind of enjoyment in her work at all. And this… this pain. Ruthless and unrelenting. Gnawing and ravenous. It’s something Vi hasn’t felt in years.
Vi wonders if this is heartbreak. Wonders if she could even consider it that. Wonders if she’s allowed such a degree of selfishness. Not when she’s doing just fine, money coming in at a steady pace; something anyone of her stead should count their blessings over.
She shakes it from mind, fiddles with the cross guard in her hands. No, this pain isn’t a new one. She had been able to manage it before, what with a new task at hand and hammer in grasp. But oh, for those blissful months spent alongside blue hair and the sweet scent of sandalwood, it had almost left her entirely. It made her hopeful. But she tells herself it’s but a fleeting, wanting thing. Needy and dangerous if left unchecked. But all that warms her heart has frozen over, and all that had once promised hope now kindle despair. Now not even the joy her forge had once brought forth could quell it.
She wants nothing more than to hold out hope once more.
“By when do you need it?” Vi wipes her brow as she sorts through the scrap steel bundled within one of the crates seated next to the forge.
The man shrugs, “Within a fortnight? I’m in no rush.” He seems as unenthused about being here as what Vi is about making his damned sword.
Vi nods and plucks up a suitable piece of steel and weighs it in her palm.
“Fifteen gold pieces upon completion,” she mutters, “come back in about a week, I’ll have it done by then.”
The man barely graces her with a nod, barely an acknowledgment. He picks at his tunic.
“I’ll send someone.”
But of course. Judging by the crinkling of his nose and the furrowing of his brows, it was no secret that he wasn’t comfortable here. In the thick of the fumes and heat of her forge. No doubt disgusted and uncomfortable in her presence; hair a greasy mess, matted and sweaty. Her apron was little better than rags at this point, loose stitches barely kept the garment together and the hem had long unraveled. Smudges of coal and soot pepper her face and blacken her hands. And this man, no doubt a noble, wasn’t in the least pleased to be keeping nothing more than a poor, dirty smith as company.
Vi suppresses a scoff. She sets the piece of recycled steel down on the table- she’d get to work on this as soon as she’d completed the replacement wagon bearings for her previous patron.
Before she can bid the man farewell he’s already out the door, the creak of the hinges betray his sudden exit and the workshop door slams shut behind him. She grits her teeth, shuffles over to the entrance, and readjusts the wooden block she uses as a doorstop.
First rule of business, and she can practically hear Vander’s voice in her ears now, is that the door always stays open. But even though a rule is a rule for a reason, the weather has other plans. A sudden flash storm has kicked up. Water pelts the thatch roof and drips from the eaves. And even though her old mentor's voice screams at her now that it’s not the best to keep the door closed at any time of the workday, the rainwater pools through the precipice.
She huffs and reluctantly pulls the wooden door shut. It’s not like anyone would brave the storm, anyway.
Vi didn’t get much work done for the rest of the day. Long after the storm had subsided, the aftermath of the weather weighed heavy on the water-logged thatch above her. The distant rumble of thunder was punctuated by the occasional hiss of the forge whenever a drop of rainwater would leak onto the hot coals. And almost as soon as they came, the heavier clouds had vanished and light now peaks its way through the windows. With the sun came a humid heat, rendering her workshop now almost unbearable. After a chunky drop lands on the bridge of her nose for the umpteenth time in the past hour, she hangs up her tools with a huff and douses the forge for the evening. The workshop would remain closed.
But now, without any work to keep her thoughts from running rampant, Vi finds it difficult to breathe. Outside isn’t much better than her workshop, and the overwhelming stickiness of humidity beads on her forehead and trickles down her neck. The only place she might find any kind of respite, from both the heat and creeping memories, was the stream.
So she wades into the murky waters mid-workday. She nearly wants to scold herself for it. She shouldn’t be taking a breather. Not now, not when her work schedule was so fully-booked.
But, oh, the cool, muddy waters are just far too inviting and much too soothing.
Vi doesn’t notice the rustling of the thicket from behind her. She doesn’t notice the clearing of a throat. She doesn’t recognize the gentle padding of footfalls through ankle-high grass. Instead, she clutches her arms to her breast, soothing away the hen flesh on her forearms with the padding of her thumb. No, Vi nearly doesn’t notice the syllables cast in her direction.
“Hello.”
It’s soft. Little more than a mumble. And if it weren’t from the source of a voice she’d damn near burned into memory, she’d think she’d imagined it.
But, as Vi’s eyes snap open and her head jerks to the source of the sound, there she stands. The left side of her pants streaked with mud all the way up to her thighs. Navy hair tousled. A cane in her grasp. There’s a smile there. A meagre little thing. Thin and fragile. Forced.
Caitlyn.
Vi would be lying if she said Caitlyn hadn’t changed a bit over the course of the few months past. And, to Vi, nobody was more beautiful than she was, honest to God.
But this woman, this shell, this fragment of a being that stands in her workshop now appears nothing like that knight she once knew.
Caitlyn stands near the doorway, awkwardly leaning on the cane clasped between whitened knuckles.
Vi nearly needs to shake the images of before from mind. Of Caitlyn shamelessly inspecting every inch of her workspace. Of Caitlyn propped up on the sacks of coal tucked away in the corner. Of how Caitlyn would peacock about, showing off her skills as she twirled a freshly-crafted blade in her hands, or how she bedazzled Vi with an impressive flourish of five-finger-filet with a newly-sharpened dagger. The contrast would almost be impressive if it weren’t so heartbreaking to witness; how at home she had seemed then, versus how uncomfortable she appears now.
“Not doing much work today, it seems?” Caitlyn mumbles, a poor attempt at a playful jab that comes across about as unenthusiastic as she appears. Sounds exhausted, almost.
Vi cracks a grin nonetheless.
“Too hot to work. No incentive to. No pretty knights to watch me slave away all day.”
Vi’s words prompt forth but the slightest upward twitch of her lips, and that’s victory enough, for now.
“A shame, really.” Caitlyn husks as she takes a few tentative steps towards the coal sacks where she’d usually lounge and get comfortable. Now, instead, she eyes the wooden crates near the entrance. They’d make a sturdier, more supportive perch, Vi notes. She also notices how the action seems to take a lot out of her, how she winces ever so slightly as she lowers herself into the seat.
“I would have been back sooner if sneaking out weren’t just a little more difficult with this thing.” Caitlyn waves the wooden cane in her direction, can’t seem to look her in the eye, much. And it’s yet another unfair comparison Vi finds herself making, another recall to the ‘before’ Vi knows she shouldn’t dwell on. It was foolish of her to think such an experience hadn’t, in some way, altered her.
“So how’d you manage to get here now?”
“I snuck out.” Caitlyn shrugs. Vi may have expected one of those signature smirks of hers, the creasing of the corners of her eyes. Might have expected the raising of one eyebrow as though to challenge, to say ‘you doubt my capabilities?’ But none come. And the absence of, well, anything- any hint or evidence of emotion across her features- strikes Vi with a certain iciness.
“I wasn’t aware that sneaking out was a requirement for our visits before.” Vi chimes, another attempt at softening the tension between them.
“I find the fact that you think I’m afforded any sense of my own agency endearing.”
“And I find it endearing that you’d waste your precious moments of stolen freedom on me.”
“Hardly a waste,” Caitlyn whispers, and she wants to say more, Vi can tell. But no other words leave her lips. Instead, she props the cane up against the side of the crates and fidgets with the tassels on her trousers.
“I would have been back sooner, but…” Caitlyn pauses, licks her lips and shifts in her seat. “Well… it’s not that easy anymore. I only just started walking again a few weeks ago. Which is going swimmingly, as I’m sure you can tell,” she gestures to the mud streaks across her pants, plastered on thick over her knees.
Vi isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, not sure how to broach the topic of Caitlyn’s injury. Isn’t sure if it’s something she has any grounding to speak on. Instead, all she offers is a pathetic;
“I’m sorry.”
The moment the words leave Vi’s lips, Caitlyn’s features seem to harden.
“Please… no 'sorrys'. I cannot bear any more empty 'sorrys.'”
Vi’s tongue catches at the roof of her mouth, catching the word before she can offer up another in response. Instead, she nods and fidgets with her fingers. “Mine wouldn’t be empty, though,” she wants to retort. Knows that nothing she would ever tell Caitlyn would be. Knows that everything she could ever entrust her with would be nothing short of well-intentioned and swollen with meaning. But all these sentiments are lost on nerves, culled by cowardice. So Vi says nothing at all, turns back to the task she had abandoned this afternoon and tries to muster up the motivation to continue with it.
Caitlyn sits in silence from her place on the crates. Each time Vi affords a glance in her direction, her heart breaks a little. Caitlyn’s eyes had never left her before, sparkling with keen interest at everything she did. Now? Now they remain cold and lifeless, not leaving their spot on the floor. Nothing like the comfortable manner in which Vi would bask in her stillness before. Now it’s a painful sort.
There isn’t much more to say, really. Or, at least, Vi can’t seem to think of anything. An uncomfortable quiet settles between the two while Vi works. A silence that begs to be broken by questions Vi is sure Caitlyn must have, mixed in with a fair bit of her own, too.
Questions like “Why didn’t you come back to me sooner?” Or “How long did it take for you get back on your feet?”
“Why can’t I seem to tell you how much I’ve missed you? Do you resent me for wasting the one chance I had with you? Do you blame me? Do you have any idea what a fool I was for not kissing you?”
Precious seconds lost to emptiness elude them. It scares Vi more than anything else. Scares her to no end. She worries if this is all they are doomed to be now. Worries that her and Caitlyn would never be the same again.
When Caitlyn eventually rises from her seat, a soft groan makes it past her lips as she stands, Vi inwardly begins to spiral into a silent panic. She doesn’t offer much beyond a curt “I should be heading back” before she turns to the doorway. And Vi nearly disintegrates into nothingness, consumed by the horror that she would let her slip through her fingers yet again.
“Wait!” Vi calls after her, palm outstretched in her direction.
“Will you…” Vi swallows, hand awkwardly wavering in the air between them. Of all the questions she had for her, one takes centre stage now. One she isn’t sure she has the courage to ask. But it’s a question she must ask, no matter how daunting a sentence it may seem to let fall from her lips.
“Will you be returning? To… To the forge? To me?”
Caitlyn hesitates. A finger traces the wood grooves, infested with splinters that dare nestle into calloused fingers.
And Vi imagines that the smile Caitlyn sends back at her isn’t the meagre little thing that tugs at the corners of her lips now. Vi imagines it replaced by the ones that would crease the corners of her eyes and churn up her insides the way they had before.
Instead of an answer, Caitlyn nods, no more than a gentle bow of her head. And in her eyes, Vi finds a quiet promise. A promise that she would.
Return Caitlyn does.
There’s progress, albeit minor. Caitlyn perks up a bit more now. Every so often Vi notices soft glimmers of the knightly manner shine through, of her gentle sense of humour and occasional cockiness- but it always disappears almost as quickly as it comes.
Still, it’s something. And on the days Caitlyn does appear in her doorway, Vi finds she’s plagued by butterflies swarming around in her gut, and wracked with worry that she needs to say something of importance lest it be the last visit.
And as Vi tries to coax her back into their previous routine, Caitlyn doesn’t resist for the most part. Except, now, Vi swims alone while Caitlyn settles down on the outer banks of the stream.
Most days, Caitlyn still doesn’t offer up much about how she’s feeling. And, at first, Vi doesn’t let it bother her. She tells herself that Caitlyn would speak on it in her own time. Tells herself that eventually she’d stop trying to hide the way she clutches her back, or tries to suppress the winces that escape her or the way her knuckles whiten around the top of the cane if she turns a certain way or jerks to stand too fast. But, of course, knightly pride is not something that is ever lost once the competition is over. Vi finds it infuriates her to no end.
But now it feels like an obstacle. It feels as though Caitlyn keeps her at arm’s length. Doesn’t want Vi to see her pain, doesn’t want Vi to share her burdens.
She’s about halfway through truing up a blade, turning it over in her tongs before slipping back beneath the coals, when “ it” slips out.
“How does your back feel?” And Vi nearly wants to kick herself when “ it ” does.
She notices Caitlyn stiffens in her peripherals from her new place atop the crates. She spies the way she twirls the cane beside her, a new habit she’d noticed Caitlyn has picked up. Vi turns to face her and leans against the wall while she waits for the steel to heat up. Caitlyn clears her throat, a few lingering beats of hesitation between them before she answers.
“It hurts sometimes.” But Vi knows it’s a lie. She doesn’t say it, manages to hold her tongue, but a knowing look takes over her features before she can pull them taut. And Caitlyn sees it before she can answer, turning her head and opting instead to redirect her attention to the tools Vi has mounted on her wall.
“Don’t look at me like that, Vi.”
Vi bristles. There’s an unfair edge of anger in her words, and Vi feels her frustration begin to mount. Had it not been coming for weeks now, Vi would have ignored it. She would have simply returned to her work and accepted the answer for what it was. But now… now she’s angry, too. And for some reason, she can never quite pinpoint why. Perhaps it’s because for nearly a year now she had convinced herself that she and Caitlyn had shared a connection unlike any other. That Caitlyn trusted her. That Caitlyn saw something within her that she hadn’t within anyone else. Why else would she have continued to return? But, instead of accepting it and acting upon it, she iced Vi out. And that prompted forth the straw that finally broke the camel’s back.
“Of all the people you would feel the need to lie to, I shouldn’t be one of them.”
Her words are harsher than she means them to be. Rougher. More assertive. And Caitlyn’s head quickly jerks around, taken a bit by surprise by the tone of her voice. But she shuts her jaw quickly, pulls her features taut once more, and lifts herself from her seat. She quickly turns her back to Vi, inconspicuously leaning a little heavier on her cane now- a façade that’s meant to sway her. That’s meant to say “look? See? I’m fine.” But it does nothing of the sort. And whereas Caitlyn may have everyone else fooled, Vi knows Caitlyn far too well to let it fool her.
Vi scoffs, crosses her arms, and flicks the stray hairs out of her face with a quick jerk of her head.
“Lie to me again and tell me you aren’t in pain right now, Caitlyn.”
Caitlyn reaches up with her free hand, running her fingers over the tools on Vi’s rack.
“I wouldn’t be lying.” And despite it sounding calm , Vi hears the way her teeth wrap around the words and the way her jaw sets as she speaks.
A bitter laugh leaves Vi’s lungs.
“Why, Caitlyn? Why are you so stubborn?”
Caitlyn doesn’t respond beyond plucking a hammer from its place on the wall.
“Why can’t you just… just tell me? Be honest about it?”
She’s silent still, now weighing the tool in her palm.
“Don’t you trust me? Do you not… Do you not care that seeing you suffer in silence like this… it hurts me.”
Knuckles whiten around the hammer.
“Please… Please just… say something. Ask me for help, or… or just let me in. I want to help you, Caitlyn. I want to know that you’re okay or that you’re not okay, I just…”
Caitlyn’s shoulders tense and her stance becomes rigid, and Vi feels a bitter anger rise like bile within her. Finally, after weeks of agony biting her tongue and minding her words, Vi feels a sudden snap.
“Why bother coming back, then? Why bother with me? If you think I’d treat you the same way everyone else does? You complain about your parents, you complain about your house staff, you complain about the people who pass you in the street, and yet you won’t realise that maybe it’s because you are allowed some sympathy! What you went through… what happened… It was not your fault. You don’t need to feel ashamed about it. Why won’t you let me be there for you? Damn your pride, Caitlyn! For once, please, damn your pride and accept that you’re only human, that this doesn’t make you any less of the woman I care so deeply for!” Vi’s chest heaves when she’s finished, a whole dam wells up within her throat that dares to escape through her eyes.
For a moment she worries she’s said too much, pushed too hard, taken it too far. But before she can crumple in on herself, she inwardly reminds herself that everything she’s said - none of it was of ill-intent, and she’s already committed the mistake of not saying enough before.
There are a few moments before Caitlyn reacts. A few beats of uncertainty before Vi sees her posture falter and her grip around the cane loosen.
“It hurts all the time, Vi. Is that what you want to hear?” It’s nearly a whisper. But Vi hears the way she clings to composure, the way each word is said carefully, and clearly.
“It hurts to stand, hurts to sit, hurts to sleep, hurts to fucking piss,” she continues, the words suddenly each sounding shakier than the last. “I can’t do anything by myself. I had to fight my way out of that bed, fight my way out of my parent’s watch, fight to prove that I am able.” And suddenly the words are brittle and hoarse.
“I don’t… I don’t mean to keep it from you… but… when I’m here, when I’m with you… it’s the only time I feel…” But Caitlyn can’t seem to finish her sentence, and instead, she is suddenly consumed by tears, the hammer in her grasp is hurled across the room, and it clatters against a wooden barrel before skittering across the floor.
Vi barely makes it to her in time before she slumps to the floor. The cane in her grasp is dropped. But Vi pulls Caitlyn in before her knees give out, and doleful sobs bubble up in her throat and leave her lips. Vi wraps her in an embrace, and suddenly she can’t seem to keep the tears at bay, either.
Caitlyn’s sobs wrack her entire body, lungs ceasing beneath each violent quake. And Vi can’t do much but hold her through it, tightening her grasp and fighting back sobs of her own. Minutes creep by, and tears now streak down Caitlyn’s face. Vi feels the frustration and the anger leave her body bit by bit. Vi knows that she needs this.
Eventually, they calm, but they don’t entirely cease. Her balled fists slowly loosen. Until Caitlyn’s lip quivers and she finally affords Vi the eye contact she so sorely missed.
And now Vi sees it all. All of her suppressed pain. All that she’d been hiding. All the emotions she had kept beneath lock and key. Now Vi understands why eye contact had been such a rare commodity between them. Vi sees the sheer magnitude of all that she’d been hiding. This ‘guise’ of strength had finally given way, and now Vi holds the byproduct in her arms.
“I can’t stand it, Vi. This pain is… it's fucking relentless. But…b- but that’s not why I’m angry, Vi. That’s not the most frustrating part of all of this. Competing, it’s… it’s all I have. It’s the only thing I have outside of this life of forced perfection. It’s the only time I feel…” she shakes her head and sucks in a sharp breath.
“Without it…” she whimpers, lip caught between her teeth, seemingly stuck between pulling away and sinking deeper into the hold Vi has her in. She takes a shaky breath, “I have nothing.”
And that sentence alone breaks Vi’s heart over tenfold. Caitlyn, the knight, the noble, the woman who had commanded her thoughts every moment of every waking day- had never sounded so vulnerable before.
“You’re wrong, Caitlyn,” Vi says finally. “You have me.”
The weight of her words settles over them, and Vi feels the way Caitlyn stiffens. Uncertain of what it means. Yet, Vi doesn’t want to try and hide it anymore. She wouldn’t let herself turn heel again.
“We’ve all… we’ve all had our lots in life. Our struggles and our hardships are nothing new. This world is a cruel one. But the difference is choosing not to sour alongside it.” Vi bites her lip, and pulls Caitlyn tighter against her chest. She’s not met with much resistance.
“Trust me,” she continues after a few moments, “you are not as alone as you think.”
Caitlyn sniffles, buries her head into the crook of Vi’s neck now, the last of her resolve seemingly buckling each moment longer she spends wrapped up in Vi’s arms. Vi feels her calm, feels her begin to lean into her with more purpose, more surely.
“How could you understand? This… I can’t… It’s just…” but Vi hushes her, and threads her fingers through navy blue locks. Caitlyn’s tears wet her neck now, and every so often the flutter of her eyelashes tickles the sensitive skin there.
“I understand more than you realise, Caitlyn.” She sucks in a sharp breath of air, blinking away tears of her own through clouded vision. Seeing Caitlyn like this, hearing the heartbreak in her voice… it crippled her with sadness. As she continues to rub soothing circles into Caitlyn’s scalp, and as she feels her breathing begin to even out, Vi surprises herself by turning her head and pressing the lightest of kisses into Caitlyn’s hairline. The moment of tenderness, the sheer vulnerability between them prompts a certain courage within Vi that she finds can’t be explained if she tried.
“I’m not from Piltover,” Vi says eventually, “my village was… I had a family once. But people started getting sick. It destroyed everything. I lost so much in just a few short weeks. My home, my family…” Another shaky breath is drawn between her teeth. She prays she doesn’t lose her nerve now, feels her voice begin to quiver as the memories start to flood back in crashing waves.
But Caitlyn, seemingly sensing her spiral, places a light hand on her chest. It’s enough to steady her.
“My sister, my mother, my friends. One day they were there, and the next they were gone. It’s a miracle I survived. I’ve spent so many hours wishing it had been me instead. But cheating death had never felt so…” Vi scratches around for the words, turning each over in her mind, testing them out on her figurative tongue. None that truly fit come to mind. The hand moves from her chest, finding her fingers instead. Caitlyn interlaces them and brushes a thumb over her knuckles.
“I left,” she breathes out finally. “I learned smithing from a man, Vander, who took me in. Said I was like the child he never had. But he was old, could barely get the forge started without pulling something in his back. When he died, he left it to me. All of it. And now all I have left is my forge, my hovel and…” she hesitates, contemplating. But she inwardly tells herself that she’d made the mistake of repressing her sentiments once before, and she wouldn’t do it again. She sucks in a sharp breath of air and musters up the courage. When she speaks again she’s certain and assertive.
“And now I have you.”
As the words are uttered, tidal waves of sentimentality crash at her shores. She allows herself a smile and places yet another kiss on Caitlyn’s temple as fresh tears wet her cheeks. And now it’s Caitlyn’s turn to hold her.
Caitlyn gives her hand a squeeze, face still buried in the crook of her neck.
“I… I didn’t know.”
But Vi brushes it off with a sad chuckle. “It’s okay, Caitlyn. How could you have?” She takes a great deal of pride in her newfound courage. The words finally leave her tongue after years of torment. She supposes it’s only fair she does the same since Caitlyn had opened up to her.
“I know how it feels to lose everything. But… sometimes people come into our lives for a reason. I haven't felt whole again since…” She swallows, and shivers are sent through her being as she feels Caitlyn’s lips move against her neck, gentle kisses that serve only to embolden her more.
“Since you , Caitlyn. Thank the Gods for you.”
Vi isn’t sure how long they sit there in silence before Caitlyn finally moves away. Only, she doesn’t stray far. It’s more of a repositioning than anything else. Her hands find new purchase, one buried within Vi’s hair, the other gripping a gentle fistful of Vi’s shirt. And as Caitlyn begins to lean in, Vi’s hands find purchase of their own. An anchor. A lifeline.
Even though this monumental divide still settles between them, and even though Vi is sure she’d never be given even a moment’s respite from the voice of reason— Vi can’t seem to pull away this time.
Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Won’t.
Not now, not ever. Never again.
Now Vi draws her in, a hand moves from its place on Caitlyn’s hip, and instead her fingers trace the curve of her cheeks and chin.
And then her lips are on Caitlyn’s. She tastes every bit as sweet as she’d imagined she would. Caitlyn’s grasp on her shirt and hair is tightened, tugging, begging. It’s so easy . It feels so right. Almost as though they had been made for each other, almost as though denying such a thing for so long was a sin of the highest degree.
The ‘before’ comes barreling back. The first time she’d laid eyes on Caitlyn. The cocky smile, the cheeky grins, the way she could soothe Vi’s pain with nothing more than a look. The first time they’d swam together, the first time anyone in Piltover had looked at her as though she weren’t just a poor blacksmith. The way Caitlyn had made her feel. The way she still makes her feel.
It’s only heightened to a new degree now.
Before long they’re laid out on the floor amidst shed clothing and entangled limbs. And Vi is fighting back tears once again. Good tears. Happy tears. Tears she can’t explain and tears she can’t seem to hold back. Vi’s hands chart a course across every inch of the wonderous plains of skin laid out before her. And Caitlyn, every so often, mumbles her name against her lips.
Lord, but to taste your own name on someone else’s tongue.
Suddenly, she’s whole. Whole in a way she can’t seem to understand. But it’s beautiful, and it’s filling, and it’s all because of her. It’s something that’ll tie her to Caitlyn for the rest of her years, and it’s something she will never forget.
The day she fell in love.
The moment had left her giddy for weeks after. The sweet taste of Caitlyn. The softness of her lips. The gentle touches and the more desperate ones.
The way Caitlyn could seem to do nothing but smile afterwards, head rested on Vi’s bicep, taking each and every opportunity to lean forward and kiss her once more.
And it wasn’t the last time, either. No. Caitlyn returned often, sometimes looking as though she’d run there - muddied and a bit bruised beneath her trousers. Each time was better than the last.
It’s almost as though that had been the turning point. Things had returned to the way they were. Caitlyn no longer a silent bystander. Only, things were better now. Infinitely better. Now neither of them had anything to hide, anything to suppress.
But, oh, the face she made when Vi did something she liked. The knitted brows, the creased forehead, the lip caught between her teeth. Or the adorable squeak that had escaped her when Vi had bit her neck for the first time. Or the way she’d laugh into her mouth sometimes, often over something silly Vi had said. Now it’s a continuous mission to taste her laughter every day since.
She’s pulled from her daydream when a patron clears their throat and knocks on the wooden doorframe.
Vi dips her chin sheepishly, her face instantly painted red down into her neck.
“Ah, s-sorry. Didn’t see you there.”
The patron, a young farmhand, simply shrugs and pushes past the precipice. Heat pools in after him, not a draught in any which direction offers up a cool respite to the sticky humidity she’d had to grow accustomed to over the last few days. Not that Caitlyn seemed to mind it, she thinks, and another wave of giddiness crashes over her.
“No matter. You seemed deep in thought.”
Vi nods, bringing herself back to the present. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from grinning at the memory.
“Shit.” She mumbles as she tugs the piece of steel out beneath the coals. Overheated. Pretty much useless now.
“Are you, err- is this a bad time?” The lad chirps, a bead of sweat strolls down his eyebrow which he doesn’t bother wiping away. He knows just as well as she does that there’s no escaping the heat in here.
Vi shakes her head. “Not at all. What might you be needing?”
He cocks an eyebrow. “The bracketing? For the fences? I came in here about a week ago, and said you were able to help and I could collect it today?”
Fuck. Of course.
Vi turns to look at the unfinished product lying between a mess of incomplete projects on the table in the corner. She grits her teeth.
“Right. My apologies… I’ve been… busy as of late.” She explains, rolling her shoulders to battle off the needling pain that settles in the base of her neck. A byproduct, funnily enough, of too much play and not enough work.
She braces herself for the scowl she’s sure to receive, grits her teeth in preparation. Not like she could care much what anyone thought of her, but one makes good business off of word of tongue. But before any come, another figure appears in the doorway.
And there she was now. The reason this poor soul’s bracketing finds itself still incomplete.
Caitlyn lights up the moment their eyes meet, opens her mouth as though to say something, but promptly shuts it once she sees that Vi has company.
The farmhand turns upon noticing Vi looking past him over his shoulder, spies the subtle upward quirk of her lips, and the moment he sees Caitlyn behind him he dips into a low bow.
“Oh. Good day, M’lady.”
Caitlyn responds with a curt nod, before seeing herself to the corner of the workshop where she usually makes her perch.
“Continue,” she gestures between them, “don’t let me disturb you.”
The boy shakes his head, “no no, quite alright. I was just making to leave, anyway… uh- smith, when might I come to collect?”
Vi offers him as apologetic a smile as she can possibly muster. “Sorry. Give me another two days or so.”
If he says anything more after that, Vi doesn’t quite catch it. Instead, she’s already entranced by the way the firelight from her forge flits over Caitlyn’s features, lips curled into a smirk she wants nothing more to kiss clean off of them. She sits there in her usual, cool and detached manner. A guise that’s supposed to paint her as noble and poised, one that may have everyone else fooled- but not Vi.
Her hair is done up in a loose braid today, her shirt hangs off her shoulders, providing a rather delectable teaser of the pointed cut of collarbones. Vi’s mouth dries at the sight, nearly dropping the now-scrap steel she still holds in her tongs.
Caitlyn’s eyes flicker to the side before promptly meeting hers once again. She says something, but Vi is far too gone to have heard what it was.
“Vi? That was rude.”
She shakes her head.
“What?”
Caitlyn scoffs. “He said goodbye. You didn’t even give him a second glance.”
Vi feels yet another blush creep its way to her cheeks.
“My mistake. It’s not my fault I’ve such a horrid distraction keeping me from my work.” She sets the tongs down, leaving the horribly burnt metal in the forge to its fate.
She walks over to Caitlyn who rolls her eyes as she nudges her way between her legs. Caitlyn accommodates, albeit with a bemused sigh. She wraps her arms around Vi’s neck and gives her a chaste kiss.
Of course, it doesn’t take Vi long to attempt to deepen it.
“Mmm,” Caitlyn mumbles, the vibration tickling Vi’s lips, “I cannot stay long, sadly. I just popped in to say hello.”
Vi pouts, leaning her forehead against Caitlyn’s. She was already attempting to undo the tassels of Caitlyn’s shirt, but a set of bony fingers stop her attempts in their tracks.
“Why?” Vi sighs, not bothering to hide the disappointment in her voice.
Caitlyn throws her head back with a chuckle. “Oh, my love, you act as though you haven’t seen me for months.”
Now, with Caitlyn’s neck exposed, Vi ducks down to pepper a few kisses along the length. “Feels like it.” She mutters against the skin.
Caitlyn rolls her eyes, places a hand on her chest.
“I won’t be able to see you for the next few days. My parents have some business that I, sadly, will need to tag along for.”
Vi’s eyes widen, and if it’s even remotely possible, she pouts even more than before. “What?”
She receives a giggle in response before nimble fingers find their way into Vi’s hair and a kiss is placed on her forehead.
“It’s just a few days. I’ll be back before you know it. Gives you the opportunity to miss me.”
“I miss you anyway.” Vi groans.
Even though she’s not in the least happy about the entire ordeal, Caitlyn leaves her with plenty of kisses and the warmest of smiles as she departs.
As Caitlyn had stood from her place, a familiar wince escaped her, and Vi is left alone in her workshop once more. Alone, hot, and Caitlyn-less.
She supposes it’s perhaps as good a time as any to finish that goddamn bracketing. But as she works, Vi is suddenly struck by an idea.
Caitlyn seemed to be in much more pain as of late. Not exactly hard to guess why. Her visits with Vi often ended with them on the floor, or in Vi’s straw heap… or against the wall, or the table, or the coal sacks…
Vi looks over the bracketing and wonders if perhaps there wasn’t something of a similar sort she could make for Caitlyn. Even though Caitlyn is walking much better now, and had even reported that she’d made it back in the saddle a few weeks ago. Yet Vi still worries that the pain she experiences while doing some of these things might be unnecessary if she could figure out a way to combat it.
And so a newly-hatched plan engrains itself into Vi’s brain.
Suddenly invigorated by the desire to help, to keep Caitlyn for as long as she may allow- Vi works tirelessly. It comes with its fair share of trial and error, of course. As does any new project she takes on. But the beauty lies in the learning process. Even though her hands are raw and the skin around her nails bloodied, she finds that this new task has posed a challenge unlike any she has faced before. Designing something this niche, this unique, was proving to be quite a head-sore. It most certainly shows in the scrapped bits of metal strewn about the workshop, some thrown in anger and some helplessly warped before her frustration could exact its ill will on them. Not to mention designing something entirely from memory. The number of times Vi would have to stick her arms out for reference, pretending to have them around Caitlyn’s waist, was nearly comical. But if the measurements were off- the entire thing may have been better off scrapped.
Thank the gods Vi had been learning how to write. The endless hours spent with Caitlyn at her side, teaching her the alphabet and numbers really came in handy now as she maps out the design on a piece of parchment, noting each measurement and labeling each part.
To hell with the other projects she’d abandoned, now pushed to one side. The table in the corner of her workshop is a mess of clutter and forgotten steel she is yet to turn into complete pieces. Now she’s entirely consumed by the task at hand.
But the bags under her eyes, the dark rings calling her face home, the broken skin around her fingers; it’s all worth it when she helps attach the crude metal apparatus to Caitlyn’s midsection after her return five days later.
Given, it’s not much to look at, and Vi wants to feel any semblance of shame in producing something this… well… subpar in design, but she reminds herself that this serves a higher purpose than complimenting Caitlyn’s attire. And, gods, the toothy smile Vi receives once it’s in place is enough to help her forget all about her insecurities regarding the matter of its appearance.
“You made this for me?” Caitlyn whispers, trying out a few practice steps without her cane in hand.
Vi nods, a sheepish little gesture, hands fumbling over each other. A blush creeps to her cheeks when Caitlyn’s first real steps are taken in her direction and a set of lips finds hers.
“Thank you.” It’s mumbled against her lips, her eyes slide shut when a pair of arms wrap themselves around her neck and foreheads meet.
“Of course, Caitlyn. Anything…” she takes a breath, steadying herself. She isn’t sure she’d ever get used to the feeling of kissing her. The days of starvation finally coming to pass. “Absolutely anything for you.”
The sun beats down, reflecting off the water's edge. It burns an afterimage into Vi’s vision behind closed eyelids. The stream is calm today despite the harsh rainfall over the past few weeks. Its waters lap at new heights, drowning a few bunches of wildflowers and claiming the new land as its own.
It’s deep now. Vi isn’t even too far in, and yet she still needs to stand on her tippy-toes to keep her chin above water.
There’s a sweetness in the air today. A sweetness that, she’s sure, has a lot to do with Caitlyn bundled in a princess carry in her arms. Her cheek flush with cheek.
Caitlyn’s return was a sorely anticipated one. Spending these quiet moments with her was something Vi yearns for each day. It was a much-needed pause in the never-ending toil of the coals. A coolness that countered the sizzle of metal. A breath of fresh air when the fumes clogged her nostrils and seized her lungs.
She finds she loves these moments the most. The simple ones. The ones that didn’t require words. Moments where she’s free from the weight that befalls her. The fears that plague her. The horror in the realisation that Caitlyn may not be hers forever.
Instead of titles, instead of convoluted perceptions, it was just them. Caitlyn and Vi. Vi and Caitlyn. Vi only wishes it was as simple as that.
Caitlyn rouses slightly, her arms tighten around Vi’s shoulders. Squirms a bit in her grasp.
“Something the matter?”
Caitlyn shakes her head, nuzzles deeper into her neck.
“S’nothing,” she mumbles, “don’t worry about it.”
But Vi knows Caitlyn’s tells by now. Despite the season, the lake is no warm bath. She’s cold. And the cold probably didn’t bode well for her back.
Wordlessly, Vi carries her out. Helps her dress. Escorts her with their fingers intertwined up the bank where they could find a place to sit beneath the shade of the tree. It’s there that they waste the rest of their afternoon, and a comfortable silence settles between them.
Careful fingers find her forearm. They graze over the expanse of skin, and goosebumps prickle in their wake.
Yes, Vi thinks, it’s most certainly these moments she loves most.
Truthfully, what was not to love?
She loves how each action of Caitlyn’s served a higher purpose. Something more than words could. Vi has begun to learn that Caitlyn much preferred action over words when it came to their relationship. Why say “I’ve missed you” when a long hug would do? It’s the little things Caitlyn does that speak in their place. The bundles of food she brings her. The coin pouches she leaves hidden around the workshop that Vi would otherwise straight up refuse. The patrons who came to her with referrals from a certain lady of house Kiramman. Other things, too. Seemingly smaller things in comparison. Sometimes even more intimate things.
She loves how, even though Caitlyn doesn’t seem particularly fond of words herself, she understands that Vi is. Vi loves that she listens. And when she does ask questions- whether they be about the tool she’s currently making or Vi’s past she’d only recently felt comfortable enough sharing— they aren’t asked just for just. They are asked with genuine curiosity. An eagerness within each that leaves her lips. Something so simple but so beautiful all at once.
Vi loves that she cares.
Vi loves that she always tries to understand, even when something may be beyond her comprehension given her stead.
And, overall, Vi loves… well…
She sneaks a peek over at the woman sitting next to her. The words heavy on her tongue.
Vi wears a soft smile as Caitlyn moves even closer. Seems determined to sit skin flush with skin even beneath the salt-soaked humidity of the quiet promise of summer. It beads on her skin now. Leaves her hair damp and causes her clothes to stick to her skin. But it could never be enough to get her to move away.
“Caitlyn?” Vi whispers, as she continues her ministrations. Her fingers have found her thigh now, continuing to work their glorious magic.
“Mmm?” Caitlyn’s head turns, and her chin rests on Vi’s shoulder.
“I think… well… I…”
An eyebrow is cocked, and a brief flicker of worry settles on chiseled features.
“What’s the matter?”
Vi shakes her head. “Nothing is the matter. Quite the opposite.”
Caitlyn gives her leg a squeeze, a silent gesture that asks for her to continue.
If this had been the same Vi from a year ago, she’d probably have bitten her tongue and hung her head. She would have retreated back behind the high walls she’d spent so long erecting. Now Vi couldn’t mind herself if she tried. Although something she fears would one day get her into trouble, Caitlyn had planted a newfound confidence within Vi. One that demands she speaks when before she would have otherwise left it unsaid.
Vi sucks in a breath. Tugs Caitlyn in closer. Her lips find Caitlyn’s ear.
“I love you.” She whispers.
Vi feels the way Caitlyn stiffens. Feels the way that, after a few moments, Caitlyn’s smile reaches her eyes. Feels how Caitlyn’s hand, her fingers now frozen, begins to tremble.
After what feels to be an eternity, Caitlyn turns to her. She’s met with glossy eyes and a quivering lower lip caught between teeth.
And then Caitlyn is kissing her.
A kiss so soft, it snatches the air from Vi’s lungs. A kiss that tells her everything she needs to know. Caitlyn crawls into her lap, straddling Vi’s thighs. Those same godlike fingers thread themselves through pink hair.
The rest of the world falls away as the weight leaves Vi’s chest. She’d never uttered those words before, never to someone in a romantic sense, and not since she’d lost her family. Now they hang in the air between them as Caitlyn kisses them from her lips. It feels all kinds of perfect.
It could have been minutes, could have been hours, but the kisses persist and all Vi feels is peace. Just them. Only them.
A gentle breeze brings the pair a slight relief from the nagging heat. Feels wonderful on her sweaty skin that begins to grow taut as it dries.
But nothing is ever perfect for Vi. Not for long, anyway.
It isn’t long before Vi tastes the salty familiarity of tears. Suddenly, Caitlyn has fallen limp in her arms, her kisses becoming less mindful. Less sincere. Now there’s a sadness to them, and no longer does she sigh in contentment. It had taken a moment for Vi to register that now she heaves soft sobs.
Vi is quick to pull away, notices that the soft look she’d worn before is replaced by furrowed brows and red cheeks.
She takes Caitlyn’s face in her palms instantly, doing her best to wipe away the tears that escape the corners of her eyes.
“Caitlyn? What… What's wrong? I’m sorry. Was I not supposed to say-“
“ No.” Caitlyn whimpers, voice suddenly hoarse. “Don’t you dare apologise for that. Don’t you dare.”
Vi nods slowly, tries to fight off the urge to quirk an eyebrow.
Caitlyn lifts herself up and off of Vi’s lap, groans in pain as she does so. Despite how badly Vi wants to hold her there, keep her sat in her lap, she doesn’t. Caitlyn curls into herself next to Vi, knees pulled up to her chest. She rests her head on her legs and furiously wipes away her tears.
“I’m sorry, Vi.” She says after a few minutes have passed. “It’s not you.”
“What’s the matter?” Vi presses, genuinely concerned in the sudden change of pace. She wracks her brain over it as she waits for a response.
Could it have been that she wasn’t ready for such a word to be thrown so carelessly into the mix? Was she perhaps not as enamored with Vi as Vi was with her? Did the weight of what their relationship could mean finally dawn on her?
Caitlyn appears to be beside herself. She jerks out a few clumps of wildflowers in a fist before scattering the remnants in the dirt. Every so often Caitlyn seems to perk up with a lungful of air, ready to speak, only to deflate and hunch over once more.
Vi isn’t sure what to do. Isn’t sure if there’s anything she should say. Instead of offering up any more stupid words, she reaches forward to place her hand over Caitlyn’s. The gesture seems to steady her a little, and seems to ground her.
She can almost see the cogs turning. The way Caitlyn’s jaw ripples and eyes squint off into the distance whenever she raises her chin.
When Caitlyn does speak, it feels as though she’s been punched in the gut. The air is knocked clean from Vi’s lungs and coils of dread begin to intertwine themselves in her stomach. She almost wishes Caitlyn hadn’t spoken at all.
“There is the matter of my suitors.” Caitlyn breathes. The words sound hollow. Thin. “My parents have decided that it’s time.”
But of course. Since Caitlyn’s return from whatever her parents had required her to leave for, Vi had noticed that every so often she was plagued by sudden sadness. Fleeting and rare, given, but still present nonetheless. At first Vi had ignored it- perhaps too happy, too innocently, blissfully caught up in just how overjoyed she was. Perhaps she’d just chalked it up to missing her sport, missing competing. Now Vi begins to understand. Oh, how foolish she had been.
Caitlyn’s throat bobs as she shakes her head and her knuckles whiten. Vi hears the emotion curb her voice.
“I am to be married.”
Spring reaches its peak, and summer is nearing its bloom.
Caitlyn hadn’t been back since their last conversation. They’d returned to her workshop shortly after, and Caitlyn had done her best to assure her that she vowed to do all she could to prevent it.
At first, Vi had believed it, taken it in stride. If anyone could bend the rules to her will, it was Caitlyn. A more hard-headed and stubborn person could not exist. So Vi had let the dread leave her, instead placed her trust in Caitlyn. But it slowly crept back to her bit by bit when Caitlyn had failed to return. Going on near three weeks of silence. And now? Now Vi finds herself a mess of anger, self-doubt, and insecurity. Plagued by what-ifs and riddled with manufactured ideas of where she could be and what she could be doing, and with whom she was doing it with.
She might not intermingle with the crowds much, but even she wasn’t ignorant of the rumours. The whispers of the banquets held in hopes of finding the young Lady Kiramman a suitable betrothed. The hushed voices seem to find her every time she leaves the comfort of her forge. At the market, between the stalls, as she browses through bruised fruit and sun-stale bread. Whisperings of a prospective wedding, of visitors from far and wide who slowly make their way into town. Of the dress only the finest seamstresses of Demacia were commissioned to make- a beautiful thing, it sounded to be, too. If only it didn’t leave a sour taste in her mouth.
Vi always tries her best to ignore it. Tries to mute out the gossip and wagging tongues around her. But how could she? She can’t keep telling herself that Caitlyn would make a plan when literally the entire world, seemingly, believed something different.
Almost as quickly as Caitlyn’s affection had come, it leaves just as quick. Now she’s reminded all too soon that their love was one that was always doomed to fail.
Vi wants to feel guilty for giving up on her so easily. Yet, part of her can’t seem to let it go. Above all else, she was hurting.
Her absence was felt in every corner of Vi’s workshop. Against the workbench where Caitlyn had wrapped her legs around Vi’s midsection, her shirt hiked up past her breasts and her pants pooled around her ankles. In the straw heap in her hovel, where Caitlyn couldn’t seem bothered lying even an arm's length from rat droppings and guano. The back of the door, the walls, the floor, where Vi so vividly remembers the feeling of her. Every bit of precious affection Vi had received in every conceivable manner. The careful kisses and the mindful touches. The heated moments and the tender ones. The memories that stalk about her workshop were both bothersome and painful. It had become so unbearable now that Vi finds any excuse to leave the safety of her forge, not even her old comfort could provide the sweet relief of gradually-worsening heartbreak anymore.
Today she finds herself aimlessly wandering the streets of Piltover. Browsing items she didn’t care for and purchasing things she didn’t need. A mindless task. One that she’d hoped would, at least for the meantime, calm the rough seas Caitlyn had abandoned her in.
Eventually the vendors close up shop and people retreat to their homes.
The evening creeps in with a gentle breeze. Soft flames from torches light the footpath home as Vi carries the bundles of provisions in her arms. She should be heading home at this hour. Should be returning to her hovel for an overdue dinner. Knows that now that she’ll aimlessly stumble around in the darkness until she manages to light each wick and get the fire started beneath her cooking pot.
And yet, she finds herself glued to the spot.
There, atop the hill in the near distance, is Kiramman manor. It stands proudly in its place, lit by countless torches and braziers. The light reflects off of stone walls and stained glass windows. Seems almost out of place. Too beautiful to be real. Puts the other noble houses to shame.
Vi wonders what she’s doing right now. Wonders if she’s being bedded by her betrothed. Wonders if she’s perhaps forgotten her, fallen in love with her unlikely suitor. She knows that anyone would be lucky to have Caitlyn. And, oh, how she hates that it’s not her that gets to be in their stead.
As she stares up at the manor she feels a gnawing beneath her ribcage.
There are those doubts again. From before. Those that viciously mock her of her foolishness. To think that a noble would ever take such an interest in someone like her. To think that anyone could have loved her as furiously as she loved them. To think that Caitlyn could have loved her.
But above the sadness, there’s jealousy. Oozing and vile, it clings to each thought and taints each memory. Thickens her tears until they burn her eyes and sting her cheeks.
With Caitlyn’s freshly-instilled confidence waning alongside her absence- Vi wouldn't just simply return to the way she was. No. Vi knows now that she’d never be the same. Of that much she’s certain.
Months had passed. Months that had become all of her life, putting back in place the habits of before. Instead of blue eyes and warm embraces and stomach-flipping kisses to keep her going another day, Vi once again finds comfort in her work. It had taken a while, of course, to even bear to be back in her workshop for hours upon hours each day. Slowly but surely, she’d whittled away at that restrictive pain until it became doable. A numbing journey, really.
The orders had slowed as spring came to pass. Now Vi only really deals with odd jobs and tasks, more filler duties than anything else. So to bide her time and busy her mind, she makes various small trinkets and kitchenware that would perhaps bring her a profit at the market. Because extra income never hurts. Or, at least that’s the lie Vi tells herself anyway. Truthfully, she couldn’t bear to idle. Too much to think about and Vi tries to make it so there’s too little time to cry over it. One day, hopefully soon, she’d begin to believe it.
I’m Vi’s mind, this was all she has left. And it’s all she would have until the day she dies, she’s sure. Never would she be foolish enough again to trick herself into believing she could ever have more. A couple months ago, before Cai- she who shall not be named - came into her life, she would have been perfectly happy with such a life. And yet now, after being swollen with affection and showered in kindness, she’d grown greedy. Fattened with complacency under the guise of love she thought she could keep. Now it’s something she needs to get used to again.
Vi shakes her head and chuckles to herself.
Pathetic, isn’t it?
After so long, telling herself that she’d not grow attached again- she’d known far too much loss to ever be so stupid as to let it happen a second time— and yet she finds herself in a similar predicament.
She’s midway through making a new carving knife when she hears the wooden beams near the entrance creak, and a figure appears in her peripherals.
Vi simply nods, halfheartedly acknowledging their existence.
“Be with you in a moment, please. Nearly done here.”
She continues to squint down at the tang of the knife, can’t quite seem to find what it is that seems off about it.
“Take your time, love.”
The second the words leave the person’s lips, Vi nearly drops the piece and instantly her blood freezes over. She wonders for a moment if she’d imagined it. If it’s not some cruel trick her mind is playing on her. Surely, it couldn’t be-
Caitlyn.
Caitlyn Kira…- her .
She stands in the doorway, a gentle smile on her face. The moment their eyes meet Vi feels contradictory feelings arise.
There’s one part that wants to cry, out of both shock and horror, and a tiny bit of relief. One that wants to throw her arms around her and kiss her until her lips are bruised and swollen. And one, the bigger part, that seethes at the sight of the noble she’d sworn off all memory of.
She had been so sure she’d never return. So unprepared for such an occurrence despite the small part of her that still held out hope.
But here she stands regardless. A loose-fitting shirt with a knitted drawstring collar, ever so slightly yellowed by the sun. She’s wearing those boots again. The ones she’d worn whenever she went riding. Hair windswept and only slightly tousled. And tucked beneath them is the black leather pants Vi remembers pulling from her body many times before, silver buckle glinting in the gentle light that filters through the windows. And nowhere in her grasp is a cane, nowhere in sight is the apparatus Vi had spent so long crafting. And a bitter voice in her head chimes in that perhaps her betrothed had fashioned her a better one.
Vi can’t seem to find the words. Sure of how stupid she must look now. Face contorted in a mix of all kinds of horror and anger and delight all at once. But Caitlyn doesn’t seem in the least phased. In fact, it appears, as far as she’s concerned this is the most casual meeting happening in all of the world, never mind Piltover.
And when Vi doesn’t say anything further, doesn’t offer anything more up, Caitlyn is the one to break the silence.
“I’m here to request a ring”
Oh. Of course.
And Caitlyn smiles despite the weight in those words. It makes Vi want to vomit. The nonchalance in the relaxed jaw and the creases in the corner of her eyes makes Vi’s stomach churn with rage.
“A ring…” she repeats, more to herself than to Caitlyn. She nearly wants to bite her tongue at how heartbroken she sounds.
“Yes.” Caitlyn answers, spoken like someone with all the confidence in the world. The words prideful, gleeful, nearly. She, with all the happiness it seems the world could have offered her, and Vi the mule who bears the weight of such a trade-off.
Vi nods stonily, turns away before Caitlyn can see the tears that prickle her eyes and the lump that wells up in her throat.
“So… you… you’re getting married then?” When did words become so laborious?
“I am, indeed.” And Vi can hear the way she smiles as she speaks. Yet another nail in Vi’s coffin. Another tear at her seams.
Vi pretends to busy herself once more with the knife in hand, running her fingers over the tang and unsharpened blade.
“So you’re getting married… you’re actually getting married and you… you’re asking me to make your lovers’ ring?”
Caitlyn chuckles, an easy thing it sounds to be. It’s the sound that prompts the blink that shoves the first tear from her eye. It’s fat and wet, and clings to her chin.
“No. The ring is for me.” She chimes. Vi hears her boots on the beams, hears her draw near.
“I would not have you make a ring for them.” She pauses, picking at the hem of her shirt. “Luckily, I’m not. I’m only asking that you make mine. Could you do that for me, Vi?”
Oh, but the way her traitorous stomach flips at the way Caitlyn says her name. With that stupid accent and that stupidly beautiful voice. As though she weren’t asking Vi to make a goddamn ring for someone else. For person who’d get to keep her by their side forever.
Vi shrugs, a deep-seeded anger rearing it’s head and new, hot, sticky tears cloud her vision.
“I’m sorry, M’lady. I’m afraid I’m too busy to be making wedding rings at present. Perhaps you could find what you’re looking for elsewhere. Because here it most certainly is not.”
“You… you still persist? I… I thought we were… I thought you had figured out that I’m…” she huffs. Evident disbelief in her voice. Like it’s that hard to believe Vi wouldn’t want to make a ring for her wedding. “Violet, my love, I have been absent not because I have lost interest in you or found an interest in anyone else. These… preparations I’ve been busy with... They are not what you think.”
“They aren’t wedding preparations, then?”
“Well, they are.”
“So? What? You’ve come to formally invite you to your wedding? I’m sorry, M’lady, I must refuse. I don’t think a peasant like me would be allowed to an event to formal.” She spits, an ire in her voice that can only be contributed to by these long weeks of nothingness. She finally turns to look at Caitlyn, and despite the fact that she’s full-on crying now, a ghost of a somewhat bemused- somewhat gentle smirk tugs at the corners of Caitlyn’s lips.
“I think you would be.”
“And you say this in full confidence?” Vi chuckles bitterly, busying herself with rubbing away these tears. These stupid, idiotic tears she can’t believe she’s letting Caitlyn see. “And you’re entirely sure I’d even want to be there?”
Caitlyn sighs, and moves even closer now. Less than an arms length away. A stupid move, Vi thinks, considering she’s holding a knife, and, well, if her heart wasn’t entirely broken before - Caitlyn had done a smashing job of breaking it completely now.
But a warm palm settles on Vi’s forearm. As much as she’d want to have shrugged it off, recoiled out of Caitlyn’s grasp, she can’t. Weakened by sadness and struck with sudden exhaustion.
“I’d hope so.” She whispers, hand tightening around Vi’s arm. “There can’t possibly be a wedding without both brides present, now can there?”
Vi freezes.
Caitlyn’s words echo around her. The forge is suddenly deathly silent, and every tendon her body simultaneously slackens and tenses.
And now the knife in her hand is dropped, along with her jaw and every shred of composure she had left.
Words elude her. Unsure if her mind is playing tricks on her. Unsure if Caitlyn had just said what she thought she did.
Perhaps, Vi thinks, perhaps the heat has finally gotten to me. Maybe I’ve finally gone mad. High on chimney fumes and delirious from lack of sleep.
Only, Caitlyn’s hand is still on her, and her arm eventually snakes its way around Vi’s waist, and a gentle kiss is pressed into her hairline. And… and … it’s everything she’d missed in the past few months. It's almost sickening how easily Vi crumbles into her, how quickly the sobs heave up in her lungs, how boneless she is at the slightest touch.
Caitlyn holds her, shushes her, kisses into her hair. Whispers sweet nothings, tells her it’s alright, tells her that everything is okay, tells her to calm down in the most gentle way possible. It takes a moment, but Vi starts to register the words.
“Vi. It’s you. It always had to be you. I thought you trusted me. I told you I’d make a plan, didn’t I?”
And when Caitlyn does eventually step away, she doesn’t go far. No.
She dips to one knee, one of Vi’s hands taken snugly between hers.
“Could you find it in you, Violet, to share the rest of your life with me? The manor is a little chilly in winter and my parents are rather nosy but… well, they can’t wait to meet you.”
But Vi still can’t answer besides sobbing, crashing to her knees before Caitlyn, suddenly invigorated and relieved and healed. And she’s grabbed Caitlyn’s face in her hands, and she’s crashed their lips together, and she’s kissing her with every intention of forgetting the pain of the months she’d spent without her.
Almost as though time comes to a standstill, now. It’s almost like the first time all over again. How endless, how impossible, how infinite her love for this goddamn woman was.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been here.” Caitlyn speaks when they eventually part and stare into each other’s eyes for the first time in what feels to be years. She’s breathless, voice suddenly thick with tears. “Honestly, I haven’t had a moment's rest from travel. I came back as soon as I could. It took… much convincing on my part. Plenty of family to see, plenty of affairs that had to be put in order. But I’m here now, my love. And I’m yours. Forever.”
And all Vi can do is hold her now, and bathe in this sudden happiness.
Never would she have known little over a year ago, that she would have met the knight who would change her life forever. The woman who would mark the end of her silent suffering. The human who would make her whole again.
Vi hadn’t realised that all those years she’d been searching, and for what even she wasn’t sure herself. But now she’s found it. Found her .
And nothing, absolutely nothing, could be more beautiful than that.
In every lifetime I have chosen you.
And, I think, it must be destiny.
There is no part of me that fails to knows every inch of you.
The plains of your soul, the wild tides that lap at your war-torn shores.
No matter how bizarre, how unfathomable, how inconceivable our love may seem,
I will continue to choose you.
And, I think, the fates must be mad.
But the sun has rendered you mine, and the moon claims me yours,
In this life, and in the next.
Destined, always, to be by your side.
- Violet Kiramman, Lady of Piltover. Translated to common tongue from Gaelic,
September Sixth, Year of the Magpie.