Chapter Text
It's been three years since I've seen her, but I'll be slow to forget those scars. One down her lip, cutting over the curve of her stupid chin. Check. One on her cheek -- the one that always pressed like a kiss into my palm when I'd hold her face. Check. All my opponent is missing now is one over his eyebrow. Then he'll match her. Then I can kill her. Kill him.
If only the arena goers would stop shouting his name. It makes it hard to daydream. To imagine it's someone else throwing axes into my shield. Someone else spinning a blade across my calf. Someone else gloating. Egging on the crowd. The chant gets worse when he joins in. Reckoners. Always so haughty. At least he has that in common with her.
“Draven! Draven! Draven!”
By the gods, shut up!
I swing out my shield on its chain. It just misses, and in his step back he throws another spinning boomerang axe my way. He catches it. Steps. Another throw. Catch. Step. Like a little dance routine I can only half block.
Just one more cut. One more false scar. One more and I can smash his face in.
This is taking forever.
Fine. Kite me. I can tank it.
I march towards him, shield up like a legionnaire. A blade cuts across my bicep before bouncing back. He catches it. Another comes towards my face. I pull my shield down and catch it with my hands.
“This is where Draven shines!” The man with the shoelace moustache says.
He pulls out another axe to replace the one I've taken, showing it off to the crowd before cupping his ear like he can't hear their incessant screeching. A woman (or blue jay, from the sound of it) close to the edge of the Arena falls unconscious from hyperventilation of her own making. I roll my eyes all the way back to my opponent. I throw his axe at him. Not my main weapon. He dodges it with an, “oh! Too slow!”
He chuckles and sends two more axes my way. They both bounce off of my shield and he catches them.
“Looks like Draven’s at it again,” he says. “He just can't stop winning! Oh but look at this folks, The Rabbit is scowling. Can she make a move to get his shutdown?”
I rush forward, shoving my shield. It knocks him to the ground but before I can raise it to get a hit he's back on his feet, leaving the point of my bottom edge only scarring the dirt of Fleshing.
“Oh-ho!” He cackles. “Guess not. Now, Draven, you're a a Draven expert. Indeed I am, Draven.” Gods, is this guy an arena announcer in his off time? Give it up or get a better gimmick. “Do you think that with Draven’s shining optimism and inspiring attitude, he'll be able to kill a little old lady? That's a great question, Draven. Let's see what the fans think.”
He turns to the crowd but I've no more patience for his theatrics. Each move I make is aided with a flash of a face. Her face.
I move back my arm. I see her smile. No. Smirk. Full of fangs.
I click the button to release my shield. She's furious. Looking down on me. Down at me. Her lip bleeds with a cut I've caused.
I toss my chain forward. She's dead. Pale gold in dull eyes. Lax lips. Sunken cheeks. She's gone! And so is my shield.
It wraps around Draven, teaching the young man why he shouldn't turn his back to his enemy. I yank on it, hopping off my position to leap towards him. He unwraps with a dizzying spin and the bladed edge of my shield comes once across his browline. Twice across his neck. And on the third hit, I just shove the pretty boy to the ground entirely.
There she is. Finally reflected. His eyes widen just slightly and then he's gone. I can see her now. Fucking Ambessa.
This! Is for going to Piltover!
This! Is for starting a vain war!
This! -- Draven won't stop talking so I knock in his teeth with my shield to shut him up -- this! Is for everything you've put me through!
You liar!
You asshole!
I miss the first gong. I catch the second but ignore it. Gong three is louder. Harsher. I finally stop. His face is left an abstract portrait of Ambessa Medarda's corpse, painted in pulpy reds. Huffing and puffing, I tear my eyes up to the officiator box. How dare they interrupt me. Swain is there.
Swain is there.
He raises his thumb up. No. Raum does. The demon that owns his left arm. The man is left only daring me with his eyes to continue. Daring me to test his patience even more. Why does he always have to get involved?
With a growl, I shove myself off of the groaning man and storm from the Arena grounds. Somehow, I don't feel better at all.
***
I find myself seated across from the last person I want a lecture from right now. We're at a latrones board, but we're not playing. Not this time. I sit with my arms knotted tighter than the laces of my boots. Swain stands, his fingers on the grey stone table and his eyes (and the eyes of about thirteen ravens around the room -- what a lucky number) on me. It's been about six minutes since my summons here. Six minutes and neither of us has said a word. A new record.
Finally, Swain pulls words from his mouth like a spider pulls silk -- that is to say, directly out of his ass. “I've spoken with Darius. Suffice to say he isn't happy with the state you've left his brother in.”
“I'm allowed to sign up for fights. Draven is too. The man’s a free fighter -- he chose to be in that arena same as I did. Darius has no right to hold a grievance with me.”
“Draven stopped fighting when he heard the gong.”
I shrug. “It was loud. His fans were chanting. I must have missed the first one.”
“And the second?”
I don't grace that with an answer.
“Why did you sign up to fight? You haven't been a Reckoner for decades.”
“I was hoping they'd pit me against a woman. I need to hit one.”
How feminist, Rabbit. Whatever. Who cares how it sounds? It's the truth.
“I can trust that you seek a stand in for a specific woman,” Swain says knowingly.
I snap, slamming my fists on the table and leaning forward in my chair, “She’s fucking dead, Jerry! She's not coming back. She promised me she wouldn't die and then she killed herself in Piltover. She's a liar!”
“None of the reports I've received have had any mention of suicide.”
“She picked a fight with the Black Rose. Of course it's suicide. She was too stubborn to let go of her stupid fucking vendetta and too arrogant to admit that in her state, fighting a war in that city was foolish -- useless! -- for simple vanity!”
I have to say it was suicide out loud. I have to blame her. It has to be her fault. But deep down I know the truth. It rattles along my bones, the hammer on piano strings, plinking and plucking away at the most painful and shrill bits of my soul. The truth that it's my fault. That I killed her. That my forgiveness led to this. My hatred kept her safe. My loathing -- my desire to kill her…then she made me give it up. She forced me to. So it is her fault! But it's also mine. Because I believed her. I believed her and all of her promises and I lived this whole time only to be left alone regardless. Alone. And vulnerable.
Lamb embraces those who embrace their own death. Wolf hunts down those who run from the end. Never one without the other. Lately, I've been left with only runners. I can't do the chasing. Not with tired legs such as mine. Not with this aching weary heart I lug around nor with the spear that pierces it.
Swain doesn't take my side. He doesn't give me empathy. Not with his words. Not with his inflection nor his expression. Nothing. I'm left with just the ravens to talk to. Cold, dead, three-eyed birds that I dare say are growing fat and lazy up here at Trifarix level.
“Darius has requested you be removed from the Teos campaign,” Swain says calmly.
I laugh. “I planned that campaign. He can't take me off of it.”
“As Hand of Noxus, he can. And I plan to give him my support on the matter.” He rises to his full imposing height and moves casually to a bird. He holds out his mortal hand and a sleek dark bundle of feathers hops onto his finger. “The Faceless came to speak with Darius and I today. Seems she too is troubled with your actions since word of Ambessa Medarda’s death has reached us.” As his arm moves towards his chest, the little bird twitches its inquisitive head left, then right. It leans down to nuzzle at the crook of his thumb. “Her fears stem from the belief that you were more loyal to a woman than you were to a nation. I told her that as a general yourself, you had no loyalties to those of high rank such as General Medarda. Only to Noxus.” A glint finds his eye as his pale face turns over a black cloaked shoulder to me. “I do hope I was correct.”
I furrow my brows and bring a fist to my heart. I bow, not in that halfways way nobles and generals often bow to each other, but with my head fully down, my eyes closed. Trusting. Loyal.
I say, “Ambessa Medarda may have dragged me into this nation, but I am here for it now. Not for her.” I rise, my gaze on the beak of his raven -- it's eyes are, after all, his own, and his face is now fully turned away from me again. “If anything, The Faceless and The Hand are simply sensing my loyalty to you. Noxus is my home. It is my blood. I have bled for it and thus it has bled for me -- corrupted my veins and born in me someone stronger. Though within this Noxian heart of mine, there still pumps a bit of blood I save for the day it is needed by you.”
The bird seems pleased. The man doesn't stir an inch.
“Noxian blood,” he says. “Yet The Hand and The Faceless raise concerns. Certainly, you understand the position this puts me in, as I have always been a supporter of your conquests. It reflects poorly on both of us when you fall out of line, Rabbit. So step back in.” He turns to me, the bird flying off past my head in a way that, yes, admittedly, makes me flinch. It exits out a window and the man is magically a meter closer to me than he was before. “You are not to fight in the Fleshing Arena, not any arena, again. In fact, do not fight at all unless the Trifarix instructs you to do so.”
“I--!”
“This is your Grand General speaking. Not your friend.”
I sugar his shit before I eat it, pretending it's a big bowl of ice cream he's offered up. Got cherries and whipped cream and everything. How kind of him.
“Yes sir,” I crunch through grinding teeth.
“When Mel Medarda arrives with her mother's corpse, you are not to engage with her in any way. She does not exist within your realm.”
“On that, you and her mother agree.”
Swain smiles. He takes a seat, adjusting his chair and motioning to the game board.
“Latrones?” He offers.
I smile too. Even if I only mean it for the friend, not the Grand General. “Only if you let me win.”
***
The ‘do not engage with Mel Medarda’ order lasts for three days after her arrival. On the fourth, she makes a foolish call to host an event she was warned against on the third.
Noxians don't hold funerals. Not in the way Piltovians do. Especially not for those we know were executed by someone in our chain of command. The Black Rose wanted Ambessa Medarda dead. Hosting an open public funeral, an entire wake afterwards, eulogies, that is too much honour for a woman stripped of warrior status. Too much honour, even, for a warrior. Though, if nothing else other than a slap to the face, the funeral -- the insolent demonstration, silent protest towards the Medarda matriarch’s murder -- did offer one golden opportunity. My chance to prove my loyalty to the Trifarix. Specifically, to The Faceless who, until recent events, I didn't even realize knew of me. I should have known. She knows all, well, most, of what happens in Noxus. She knows about this.
I've been told to shut it down. One more fight with Ambessa -- our final scuffle. Maybe this one will end like the others. End with me in her arms. Dead too, but for good this time. No. Unfortunately my weapons are words and words don't tend to get you killed so flagrantly. As flagrant as this display.
Mel Medarda sure knows how to throw a party. And what is a funeral but a party? We're in a graveyard but you could tell me it was a pop up flower shop and I'd believe you. Did Ambessa even like flowers? I suppose I'll never know now. I suppose there's lots of things I'll never know about her. So many things she'll never know about me either.
It's strange to grieve for someone like her when you're someone like me. Am I even allowed? When I find myself calling her name in the night, who am I calling for? If it was a lover, I can grieve. I know how to grieve a lover. You move on, as they'd want you to, and you tell them goodbye and with the flowers by their tombstone you leave a small piece of your heart too. A friend? I've grieved many. You shove them behind a thick curtain of red in your mind and spend the rest of your life convincing yourself that they didn't really matter as much as they did. You keep their advice in your soul by where their handprint once held you. Mothers are apparently grieved with bouquets and large gatherings. I wouldn't know but I know a Demacian who might. Her mother died when she was young. Too young to remember, even if she was alive within me today.
Ambessa.
I don't know what we had -- what we were. I always told her I hated her, but I don't know what was more true -- that, or the kisses we'd share after battle.
As I look around the crowd, all I can think about is how much she'd hate us for grieving and being all sappy. Good. I'm going to grieve longer then, just to spite her.
General Rabbit shows up to stop this antagonistic -- this foolish -- display. But once I'm here, someone else comes too. Someone meant to keep a promise. Even if Ambessa was lying, I meant every word of what I told her. The wolf has returned. The dead Demacian, left waiting for her. I give her the glacial time as I enter the crowd. I give her the time for a eulogy uttered only to me and a growing pile of lifeless rotting rabbits.
Looks like I finally hopped too far. I keep waiting for you to take a breath. To shoot awake, dig out of that grave, and start barking orders. This is all a trap you've laid for me. One I've sprung. So go on, attack me, Wolf.
I was Noxian because of you. I was everything because of you. Whether that be a good or a bad thing, I'm not sure.
Why didn't you call for me?
We always called for each other when we needed it, didn't we? Or was that just me, calling for you? I hoped you listened. I hope you're listening now. You've manipulated me. Again. By the cruelty of your compassion.
You were death. So how can you die?
May there never be a single word I’ve missed hearing you say, nor a single inch of your skin I've never kissed. No. There's at least one word for certain I know I'll never hear. One word I've never given you. Well, I'm here to give it now. Only for you, my wolf. For, even with all your broken promises, I still believe quite naively that you'll keep the last one you made. The one to not break me. To ask me for my name. Alice. My name was Alice once. And then you named me Rabbit and I was born into a world of color for the very first time. I mattered. I was strong. I am strong. Strong enough to walk away from you now.
Farewell, but not goodbye. For with you goes a part of my soul. Rabbit or Alice? I'm not sure who's buried here. So perhaps a third name then. Lamb. For, with Kindred, there can never be one without the other, now can there?
I've turned eyes. As I should. A Noxian General in my long black wool coat. A beautiful woman with a rabbit foot dangling off one ear and red lips painted in a frown. My own eyes don't turn at all away from the pile of stones, a mountain with twin drakehounds flying as flags at its peak. Not until I breathe, and I finally let go. Dead again, after all these years of waiting. I'll thank her, at least, for returning. Even in a box.
I move my attention to the crowd. Haven't seen her in years but the reflection of that little girl and her wire wrapped curls beams in the eyes of the gold wrapped woman in the front row. She has the same fire -- the same bite -- in her expression that her mother always had. She's even dressed Noxian, in red and steel. And black of course. Always black when in mourning.
Hands in my jacket pockets, I make my way to her, splitting the guests like a parting river around a stubborn rock. Paths of life move much the same.
“I've been sent on orders of the Trifarix to shut this down,” I say. “It's disrespectful.”
Mel Medarda stands toe to toe with me, her bark matching the bite I saw before, “you can inform the Trifarix that grieving is not illegal. Not even in Noxus. I've already lost my mother to them. I refuse to lose my patience as well.”
“Shut it down.”
Clockwork gears churn in her dark eyes. She studies me, searching. Her lips press to a subtle pout as her face softens. She pushes further. I'm not sure what she finds. Where she's looking. But she finds something and it mellows her just slightly.
She thinks again while she answers me, tongue half on her words and half on the back of her teeth. “If you were her friend, you should join us. Share a few words.”
“I wasn't her friend,” I lie. “This is Noxus, pup. If you don't want me putting an end to this,” I take a step closer. Too close. Our noses nearly brush. “Stop me.”
She searches again. Then she punches. I can’t say I expected her to, but I did suggest it. It's a weak hit from a soft manicured hand and it reminds me all too much of her brother for comfort. I shove her back. So far back, in fact, that she trips over a loose stone at the base of the grave, nearly knocking the entire formation over.
“Try again,” I growl.
Her jaw clenches. Feet plant. The training I know her mother insisted on kicks in and she turns her hips into a hit I let her land right against my cheekbone.
“We're staying,” she says. She states. It's a fact.
My hand comes up to rub the mark and shield the bit of satisfaction bruising my lips. Feels good. I've missed the sting of a wolf bite.
I reach past the wolf pup to pick up an extra stone. Weaving to her other side, I place it first to my lips and then on the grave’s pile. I nod. I wish I could salute.
“About time,” are the only words I can find to actually say.
Then I walk away and leave them all to grieve.
When I return to the Trifarix it's to a furious illusion sent by The Faceless and a demon-armed general ready to wash his hands of me. I can feel the disappointment from the doorway.
“What was that?” The Faceless hisses. “We gave you a simple assignment, General Rabbit. Now give us a reason your failure should not result in punishment.”
Look at where Ambessa’s pride got her. Let your grievance lie in her grave alongside her body.
I take a knee, saluting low. Respectful. To both of my commanders.
“I was following another order,” I say. “One not to fight. Mel Medarda is a wolf. Wolves lash out and bite when they're hurting. I didn't see a way to continue shutting down the ceremony without getting into a physical altercation.” My voice turns from sterile to genuine when my eyes find their forms. Darius will still be angry with me, but I'll take two out of the three on my side. Because I need them now. More than ever before I need my nation. My country. My purpose. Noxus is the only piece of Ambessa I have left and it's the only thing Rabbit has ever lived for other than her. I can't throw it away from one doltish fight in Fleshing. “I apologize formally for my actions these past few weeks. Namely, for my disgraceful missteps here in Noxus Prime. Beyond that, I apologize further for causing you to question my loyalty to our home. To you. General Medarda’s death struck a chord with me that I handled poorly. I will not repeat my mistakes. I need Noxus. It's…it's all I have left to fight for. I need Noxus, but I want you. I want to fight for you again. I believe in you. I always have and until my final breath I always shall. So, please,” I bow again, my forehead cool against the marble floor, “allow me to fight. Make me your trusted weapon once more.”
They weigh my words but the truth in them is as open as my soul now. With the Faceless, I won't be her favourite toy but I'll be back in the chest beside the balls and the teddy bears. With Swain, good ol’ Jerry, little will change at all except his guilt over playing latrones with me will ease. He'll never thank me for swallowing my pride like this -- for making his life easier with Ms Black Rose and mystique. He doesn't have to. I'll know what he means when he starts letting me win.
***
“How is it that you got both my place in the Teos campaign and the choice of our activity for today?” I quirk a brow at Samira from behind the liquor she specifically advised me against drinking post-tattoo.
“I rubbed your lucky rabbit's foot,” she says, lurching forward to paw at my earring. She laughs as I swat her away. “That looks stupid, by the way.”
“Have you looked in a mirror recently? At least I don't do battle in a miniskirt and high heels.”
“Maybe you should! Gives the enemy something beautiful to look at before they die.” She takes my alcohol and offers herself a sip. “Speaking of admirers, it seems you have one.” She nods past my shoulder.
I angle my glass of water (the only other beverage we've got between the two of us that has by default become mine) and play I spy in the reflection. I spy something…lupine.
“More like a stalker,” I say. I drink from the glass, letting her slip back into where she can't be seen and I can't be bothered. “You know her brother stalked me too once. I have this effect on wolves. They get attached to me. Can't help themselves.”
“It's that blood trail you leave,” Samira jokes. Then she wiggles her eyebrows, her lips pressed together all smug, and adds, “Or she smells that new tattoo on your hip.”
The tattoo is of a wolf chasing a rabbit. It curves down the curve of my hip bone. An endless chase. A part of me finds solace knowing that little rabbit is forever safe from its jaws. Another part of me sorrows for it. It will never know how warm and cozy a wolf’s mouth can be. A lovely place to nap. Like a hug with teeth.
“Shut up.”
She just laughs then stands. “I'm going to the bathroom. Try not to miss me while I'm gone.”
I won't miss her at all so long as she leaves that drink. She doesn't. Reading my thoughts, she chugs it down with a wink. She makes a big show of sighing all satisfied. As she walks away she calls back at me, “drink that water. It's good for your ink.”
I decide fresh air might be better. I've never been a smoker, but I'm all for smoke breaks. There's something about the silence of a place just outside of chaos. Alleys behind bars. Outside stairs to the door of a packed theatre. These are the places I've always breathed the best.
After the funeral, I decided to cut my hair. Something needed to change and a part of it just felt too covered in her memory. Like they'd all leaked out of my head and greased up the ends. There were kisses tangled in those bunny buns. Wolf blood weaving through every lock. I could still feel her pulling it when I thought about her hands. I still can now, even with it all gone -- replaced by this white streaked bob and bangs (it's always bangs when you have a mental break, isn’t it?). I guess it's like phantom pain. Is it like phantom pain? I should ask Swain.
All of my pondering gets interrupted when a little wolf pup slinks into view beside me. She isn't covert. Doesn't know that she needs to be.
“General Rabbit,” she says.
“Mel Medarda,” I say. I don't look at her. I keep my eyes on a scan for birds. “If you're angry about the funeral, I suggest you drop the matter. Grudges against the Trifarix didn't end well for your mother.”
“How did you know my mother?”
“It's complicated. She wouldn't want you talking to me.”
“Good thing she isn't here then.”
“Grand General Swain doesn't want me talking to you.”
“Good thing he isn't here then.”
Half a laugh escapes me. I finally turn to her. “He's everywhere.”
She steps closer to me, those eyes so like her mother on my own, and says, “I have this power I have yet to fully understand but what little I do know about it is that it helps me to feel things. Feel what others feel. When you approached me at my mother’s funeral I felt that I had seen you before somewhere. Then I connected to your emotions and I remembered where. I didn't know your name then. I still know very little about you. But I know how you felt about my mother. I know you trusted her. And I know that if she let you into our home that night in my memories, then she trusted you too.” Something sharp and flat is pressed into my palm covertly. “If you're free to speak further, I believe I have something you might like to discuss. Meet me there.”
She turns to walk away, leaving me with a note -- a note! -- in my hand.
“Hey!” I call.
She pauses and turns to me, the gold on her skin dancing beneath the lamplight of the night. I hold up the little square of paper, not bothering to read it.
“I literally saw the Faceless just today,” I say. “Leader of the Black Rose? Whatever you're doing? Do it better.” I march up to her and force the paper back into her hand. “Don't write anything down that can be traced. Don't speak with leads you don't understand based on emotion alone. Noxus one oh one: operate in secret because everybody knows somebody that you don't want to know.”
“I am well versed in covert politics from my time in Piltover.”
“This isn't Piltover.”
“My mother treated it like Noxus, and look where that got her.”
I punch her then. I instantly regret it as the fangs of Ambessa’s ghost and the beak of one of Swain's spirit birds both gouge my arm. I can't help it. She just looks too much like her mother and she was pissing me off.
Shit.
My eyes catch on a trio of red ones between an oil slick of onyx feathers. There's only two reasons people would be standing as close as the wolf pup and I are now and I'm not supposed to be fighting. That leaves me with one option. I grab her by her reeling shoulders and pin her to the bar’s outer wall. My lips lean in towards her ear, my knee flush with the mortared stone between her legs.
“The birds have eyes,” I whisper quickly, “and ears.”
She clocks the raven and so her hands come to my low back. She hushes to me, “Swain?”
I hum in confirmation. Ambessa’s ghost nearly breaks her tooth on my bones at this point. That image makes me smile just a bit. “Look, I'm banned from your home. You can't be seen coming to mine. Just this show enough is going to get me in trouble but I can play it off as being drunk and really missing your mother. There's a noble, Lord Vladimir, he's having a party tomorrow night and the ravens won't be able to get in. The Black Rose is sure to be crawling the place but his Crimson Circle of allies isn't too keen on them so they'll be minimal and there with an objective other than you. Vladimir will like what you did for your mother -- showing them up like that -- but he won't be able to tell you that directly. Make his acquaintance and get yourself an invite. We can talk there.”
“Won't there be a spy?”
I chuckle, “honey, I am the spy.”
I can feel the wariness in her hands. See it in her breathing.
I pull out of her neck to drag my fingers beneath her chin. I tilt her eyes into mine and ask a silent question. She's an empath, right? Does it feel like I'm lying? Does it feel like I'm on your side?
She finds in me the resolve she needs. A confirmation told through only glances. I'll see her tomorrow. For now? Well I'm drunk, remember? I can't be the one to stop this. She shoves me back with a knee to my diaphragm. A damn powerful knee! Gods, I can't breathe. Can't cough either. She really is her mother’s daughter.
The wolf pup storms off, leaving me to hold my stomach as my lungs spasm back into a rhythm I can tolerate.
“So,” Samira gloats behind me in the apparently open door, “I'm guessing you didn't take my advice on the booze?”
I gag on fake vomit and give her the middle finger. She laughs.
***
How to describe a gathering at Lord Vladamir's mansion? Start with your usual Noxian architecture. Now date the inside back a millennia and add truly tacky curtains. Fill it to the brim with people under the age of twenty using blood magic and people over that age who look very uncomfortable and all bear family sigils of some kind. Now add Corvelle Noradi in the corner by the (punch?) bowl with her niece, Ophelia, who I believe I've met a total of once and who creeped me out. She has snow white hair and the expression of a teenage mean girl that you never quite stop getting unnerved by, no matter how old you get.
I'm just about to brave the younger Noradi for the chance to speak with my old friend, but the host of the party catches me first. He's a man older than time with white hair and red eyes who definitely does not drink blood. He also knows who I am. He tries to press me on Swain in a casual indirect sort of way and I, with a bat of my eyelashes, give the answer I was instructed to: Swain is angry with me because I refused to apologize for my fight with Draven and I've been ignoring his orders to stay away from the Medarda family. The nobleman doesn't seem to fully buy my excuses, but he lets me free nonetheless as a familiar face catches his eye in the crowd.
“The two of you must have a lot to talk about,” Corvelle says. “The loss of memories to a red curtain.”
I didn't notice her approach but I'm glad she did and even gladder Ophelia is way over by the (punch?) bowl.
“Corvus!” I pull her into a tight hug that she tightens even more with her one arm. Laughing, she lifts me off the ground. Show off. “Put me down you goliath!”
She does but not without a question, “How’d you sneak past the snipers, little raven?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I’m that one’s escort. Told her mother these things get rowdy.”
It's funny. Years ago Corvelle would be the last person to go to for gossip. But after losing her arm in that cave, it's the way she's kept in Swain’s circle. Though at the fringes now, for the security of her position as a spy, she's still about as loyal to him as I am. Still, we never get to speak because up until recently I've been his golden child and she's been someone he ‘stopped associating with’. On paper anyways. If one good thing has come from Ambessa’s death, it's our reunion.
“Now that we're both perma-banned by Swain, we should catch a drink sometime.”
“As long as you don't try to kiss me outside of the bar.”
I cock my head for a moment, nose twitching in bemusement.
“Mel Medarda?” She grins. “Really Rabbit, that's just plain gross. Didn't you know her when she was like ten?”
Unfortunately. Makes my cover story a bit more than awkward. Slightly illegal, actually. No wonder she kneed me so hard.
“I prefer the Corvelle that was bored by gossip,” I tease.
“Just, don't be too stupid, okay? We need you alive if I’m grabbing that drink later.”
“The wolf pup will hardly kill me.”
“Association with her might. That family is cursed, Rabbit. Pricked by a thorn they can't fish out of the wound. Just…be careful.”
She's just bitter about her arm. What Ambessa did in those caves. I get it. I'm bitter too about that day. “Will do. Thanks.”
On that, the warning is thrown immediately away because the pup herself catches my attention across the room. I excuse myself from conversation. Suddenly I have to use the bathroom, you know? That's believable. Not by Corvus, but by someone who doesn't know me well.
“Any chance the raven with you didn't pick up on that?” I ask.
“Rabbit,” there's prudence in her voice.
I take her hand in my own and squeeze it gently. “I didn't see you by the punchbowl. You didn't see me go to the bathroom.”
With a sigh, she nods. Her eyes are still the color of concern, but the rest of her face has returned to stone. I thank her with a shake of the hand I'm holding before letting go and weaving away into the party.
The pup and I meet by -- or rather, in the bathroom, as I’m swept inside before I can protest.
“The hallway would have worked just fine,” I say, arms crossed. “Could have watched for others easier there too.”
“Didn’t want to take a chance at you fake kissing me again,” the pup barks.
Okay, touche.
“This is the part where you tell me your plan to tear down the Trifarix,” I say, “Black Rose and all, to rebuild a peaceful, political Noxus.”
“You say that as though being anti war is something to be ashamed of.”
“Ashamed? Not at all. Afraid of, however? Let’s say you fail. They’ll kill you. All for what, building a respectable legacy a top the iron and blood forged throne your mother has left you? You can knit as many cushions for that thing as you want, but the swords will still poke through. Furthermore, let’s say you succeed.” I sigh and lean against the door, arms still crossed. “I’m a weapon, pup. Most all of your allies will be. What use is a weapon after a war? We’ll only rust. Get bored. You can end our battles, sure. Give us new leadership. But you can’t end Noxus. This is what we’re built on -- it’s who we are.”
“Perhaps in my lifetime those issues can’t be solved. But one day they can be. I’ve spent much of my life fighting to fix problems beyond what I hold in my hands -- in my blood. I’m used to tough odds. Now, I’ve come to Noxus not to fix, or to change it, as you say, but to work on an issue closer to home. My mother’s entire identity was roped up in this nation and all of it’s skeletons. My grandfather’s identity, my brother’s…we may span the globe, but our family’s core is here in this bloody place full of death and carnage and war. I’m all that’s left of my family now. Of this branch of it. The rest of our clan have all been victimised by the same group. My mother died seeking revenge. But my mother ran.”
“Your mother was connected to wolf. Of course she ran. She was chased most of her life by death. But staying here, fighting The Faceless and her cult? They’ve been around much longer than you and I doubt you’ll get rid of them.”
“I don’t aim to be rid of them. I only aim to bring as much good as I can here -- stability. For my family. For the nation they, both in their unique ways, thought they could make a home in. My brother was doing good things here before they killed him. That’s what I’d like to do, after I take them down a peg.”
I laugh. Of course I laugh. It’s stupid. But it’s also exactly what I’d expect from her. She’s not her mother. No. She’s no lamb either.
“Your mother ran. She called herself a wolf but she wasn’t. Wolf was the one doing the chasing. You…you’re chasing. She’d be proud of you. She’d call you an idiot, but she’d be proud.”
It was the pup’s turn to laugh, though subtle and morose.
I gather myself. I gather all she’s told me into a big ball in my head and label it ‘Medarda Master Plan’. She wants to cement her place in Noxus; I wanted to do the very same once. She’s angry and hurting and grieving the way her mother was and she’s about to make all of the same mistakes yet, for some reason, I don’t feel worried like I did when Ambessa started all of this. Maybe it’s because of her eyes. Because of the hunt in them. Ambessa, that final time I saw her, she had almost turned to prey but Mel…My father was a hunter; I recognize a predator when I see one. Maybe I’m the idiot here because whatever allyship she wants to propose, I’m considering it.
“Why will you be different?” I ask. “Your mother lived, breathed, bled, and shat Noxus and she failed. What keeps your vengeance from becoming a leash to your grave?”
“Before I can tell you that, I need to be certain that I can trust you.”
“You can’t. I’m Swain’s golden child. Just yesterday, I pledged my loyalty to him and The Faceless. I’m literally at this party to sniff out traitors like you and gather their information. I may be pulled, semi-permanently, from the battlefield, but I’m still a Noxian general with personal legions under my control the size of your entire Piltovian army. You have a name, Mel Medarda, but I have connections, resources, a history here. So you can’t trust me, but you may well need me regardless.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about loyalties, general.” From her black sleeve she pulls a stack of letters wrapped together with twine. I recognize their broken orange seals and laugh again, shaking my head. She isn’t deterred by my amusement. “I found these in my brother’s home. He kept them all under the floorboards where the agents of the Black Rose wouldn’t find them.”
“What else was kept there?” I tease, making an obvious ‘I’m a spy, please give me all your information’ sort of face.
“Information. And a note. He knew they were coming for him before they came. My mother saw my brother as a weakling -- as someone defenseless but his words,” she gestures to the letters I wrote -- the ones he apparently considered significant, “that was his weapon. He has allies here in Noxus. My mother has even more. You say I need your resources, general, that’s not true. I have my own. Yet, in his note, my brother wrote only one line to me directly -- not to our mother, not to whoever else he expected to find his stash -- to me.” She leaves me with that cliffhanger for a beat. Like she’s trying to convince herself that my sarcasm and threats are more miniscule than her brother’s note. Like it’s the first piece of information she’s given me so far that isn’t obvious to anyone who sees her presence here. She’s right. Everyone already assumes what else she’s told me. She continues, her voice lower, “ If something happens to mom, find Rabbit, he said. Imagine my surprise reading those words after meeting you at the funeral.”
He…he was a foolish child.
“My brother trusted you,” She says, smushing the letters into my chest where they burn a hole straight through to my heart. “My mother trusted you. There were very few things the two of them agreed on so if you were one, then that’s reason enough that I should trust you too.”
“Or it’s a common baleful thread between two people who died prematurely.”
She examines me. Not with her eyes, but her empathy. I can feel it now. It pokes and prods at my ego like Ambessa used to prod at my unbalanced stance when we’d spar. She dips mental fingers into my aura, digging past all of the red and black to where my heart lay -- whatever color that may be. She smiles proudly -- like she’s satisfied with herself -- like she’s just won a game I didn’t know we started playing.
“There’s something you’d like to see,” she says, “that I cannot show you here. I think you’ll find that it’s all you need to swear your loyalties to my cause.”
“Is it a bribe?”
“It’s hope.”
She’s learned her lesson about written messages so instead of a paper I get a hand in my palm. I open my mouth to scold her but then go dizzy for a moment. I rip my hand away and hold my throbbing head, the echoes of magic ringing through it.
“What did you just do, witch?” I snap through a groan I can’t manage to suffocate.
“I put a shield around the part of you that I trust. Now The Faceless won’t be able to see it. In your letters to my brother you speak often of death -- of becoming a new person. I won’t pretend to fully grasp your philosophy, but I will stake a claim in that Rabbit that I’ve just shielded.”
The part of me that belongs to the Medardas? “That’s not a rabbit,” I chuckle, shaking my head.
She doesn’t question me.
“I will cover for you here. You are to leave scorned -- disgruntled at my rejections of you”
“Wait,” I say, putting up a hand. “I don’t like that cover story. It’s weird. Paints me in a bad light.”
“It explains why we disappeared together and why you’ll be leaving the party early alone.”
“Who says I’m leaving the party?”
“It also gives them no reason to believe we’re working together. You’ll accept this final rejection and be done with the Medardas forever, seeing as the only one left doesn’t care for you.”
“Hurtful. Also, we’re not working together, pup.”
“Good. Say that when Swain asks you. For now, on your way home, stop by the east wall. There’s kennels there -- you’ll get a pet to fill this void.”
“There’s no void.”
Something sharp gets handed to me. Point first, of course, to quite literally prove her point. I roll the object in my hand then have to laugh again. A signet ring. A Medarda signet ring. I try to hand it back but Mel won’t take it.
“Kino had an ally that worked the kennels,” she says, “a trustworthy man who wants an end to these battles…if only for the sake of the drake-hounds who get blown up on the front lines all too often. Gaius.”
I think it over. All of it. I think about how stupid she is giving me this. Giving me the name of an ally. The location of some secret that I could easily turn around and hand off to Swain -- to the Black Rose. I want to scold her. I want to mother her -- to teach her a lesson -- to prove my point by turning her in. But when I look at her all I can see is that little girl at the tea party holding trade deals beside counselor Sparkledoggy. That, and I see Ambessa. I see the soft side of her that would do anything -- kill anyone -- for her children. I see the woman I loved and only that. I see none of the slaver that took me nor the warlord I wished death upon for so long.
Damn irritating wolves.
I laugh again, more at myself this time, because I know I’ve made my decision. She knew it minutes ago but I’m just now figuring it out. Smart little pup; She really has trapped a rabbit with that magic of hers.
So I walk to the kennels. I flash the ring at Gaius. I get lead to a basement. What I see there sends me to the dirt floor on my hands and knees. It has me crawling under the earth itself. A wolf. A lamb. A respite. Lamb’s respite.
Before Kindred lays a long flat mat stuffed with cotton and likely taken from a soldier’s kit. It’s covered with blankets and bordered with a glow as blue as wolf’s eyes. But when I look at him, he is not hunting. Nor is lamb readying her bow for a final blow. I haven’t seen death in some time. Now I know it was because they were busy. For, within that shitty makeshift bed, tucked in like an ill child, is Ambessa. She’s no corpse. Not rotted in the slightest. But she isn’t alive either. She does not breathe. She is not warm but neither is she cold. Every beat of her heart is her last. While within this zone, however, this halfway between the lamb and the wolf -- the white nothingness and the hunt of the shadows -- she cannot die.
I kill the rabbit that knows and I send the other away back to the kennels. Alice stays here. Always. And Alice holds her hand, using the other to pointlessly smear tears beneath her sobbing eyes.
Through Ambessa, I've learned Might. Through Swain, Vision. Now, it seems the pup will be teaching me Guile. I will be stronger soon. Strong enough, even, that when this respite ends and she is back, the woman left standing in the rabbit’s place will be able to hold up this one lying here.
***
When the zone of neutrality lamb had blessed Ambessa with ends, Mel and I have already been busy for months. I’m lucky enough to be there when she wakes up. There’s magic that buzzes around her skin. Something cool and healing. I at once take back everything bad I’ve ever said about magic.
For a moment, I turn my attention to the figures always just out of view with a warning glare. Then, rather than saying or doing anything at all, they simply disappear. A new heartbeat calls them -- a new mark to usher into the afterlife. But not her. Not yet. Not the one they’ve chosen.
My name isn’t the first noise that leaves her dry lips. No, that’s a groan. But it is the second. “Rabbit?”
I almost hold her. Can’t quite bring myself to give her the satisfaction, however.
“Rabbit died,” I say casually, unable to wrestle away my grin. “Her spirit will haunt alongside Jericho Swain and his ravens and pale faced Black Rose woman. Alice though is property of the Medardas.”
“Alice?” She’s confused on more than just my name. With her voice so hoarse it almost doesn’t sound like her at all. Though, that hardly matters. Simply watching her lips form the word sends me swooning. It makes everything I’ve sacrificed up till now worth it.
“The woman the rabbit left behind when it ran,” I explain. I can’t hold back anymore. I need to touch her. To prove that she’s real. I brush some hair from her face but it’s definitely not enough so I kiss her cheek quickly. It’s getting warmer again already, her skin. I never knew a corpse could get warm again. “It's nice to meet you. I've been told you've promised not to break me.”
Ambessa tries to sit up. I try to keep her lying down. She tries harder than I do and so she sits up. Then presses a palm to her head as she realizes why she should start listening to me more.
“Where is Mel?” She growls. I can’t tell if she’s angry, worried, or both. Likely she’s feeling a mix of every emotion right about now.
“She’s upstairs with Gaius.”
Ambessa moves a move to stand. This time I try harder and keep her down, pinning her in an unforgiving grapple, hands above her head and my weight on her stomach. She glares at me and tries to speak but I don’t let her.
“You cannot leave this room,” I explain with a glare of my own. “They all think you're dead. When I say they all, I mean the crows do too. Congratulations,” My smile infects me once again. “You're a ghost reborn in a warrior’s body. I've got a lot of experience dying. I can help you through this new stage of life. Your daughter has a plan. She's a smart one. You’ll listen to her and you’ll follow her orders from now on.”
She shakes her head, gripping at the straws I’ve hovered but not quite grabbing any. Then, when her face is about as scrunched up as a prune, she finally snatches a single thread of what I’ve said. “We’re in Noxus. Mel is in Noxus?” She tries to shake me off but I know that move. She taught it to me. I counter, keeping her pinned. Her head scolds her for those efforts -- I can see the migraine growing in her golden eyes.
“You’re staying here. Mel’s orders. I’ll go get her and bring her down to see you.”
“Mel cannot order me to do anything that--”
“I suggest you start respecting that little pup. She’s a full grown wolf now and she’s been very busy keeping your sorry ass a secret. I think you might even owe her gratitude. Do you know the words ‘thank you’? Let’s practice together.” I release one of her arms to squish her lips up like a fish ‘forming the words’. I giggle because she looks so harmless like that. She uses it as an opportunity to flip us around. Gods. Even scowling I’ve missed having her pin me. I’ve missed everything about her. I won’t let them kill her again. I’ll make them sorry they ever tried. With the new head of the Medarda’s help, of course.
“Enough, Rabbit,” Ambessa scolds. She lances her headache straight through, disposing of the weakness the way she always disposes of things. How unproductive. “You cannot keep me here like a prisoner. Do not forget the loyalties of my legions. The network of informants I possess. We lie at the epicenter of my power. They may be able to best me in Piltover. But not here.”
“Those legions,” A now familiar regal voice calls from the bottom of the basement stairs. Ambessa and I both turn to Mel with very different looks. Mine is a smile. Hers is caught somewhere between relief and terror. “They are mine now. As is your network. If you’d like to remain under my protection, I suggest you make yourself comfortable here, wolf. And please, get off of my spy.”
“No, no,” My smile turns smirk and I grab Ambessa’s collar, pulling her down as close as I dare with those fangs of hers. “By all means, stay where you are. I’ve missed the view from here.”
Ambessa’s eyes flit between me and Mel warily as the old dog comes to terms with her new reality. She’s no longer at the head of this pack. No longer an alpha. But don’t worry -- a wolf doesn’t just toss away those elder members. No. They keep them near the front of the pack, hidden just out of sight where they’re safe. And she will be safe. Even without my hatred to shield her. Because Mel Medarda has a much better shield than I ever had. Hers is even magic!
Rabbit lives on as someone Ambessa shouldn’t trust. A rival. An enemy. A general and spy loyal to Jericho Swain and the Trifarix. Yet, for the first time in decades, Alice is back. Revived. It turns out that that dead Demacian wasn’t dead at all, but sleeping in lamb’s respite from life. Now that she’s awake again, her heart is settled in Noxus. A spy for the Medardas. A strong lamb with her strong wolf. Never one, without the other.