Archive of Our Own

“Again.”

The early-autumn sun in a cloudless sky did naught for the unrelenting cold that nipped at Katarina’s exposed extremities. She drew herself to stand, fighting the nausea that threatened to rock her off her feet. The armoured mage surveying her watched her expectantly, his stone expression contained no compassion. Katarina’s nails dug shallow crescents into her palms, the pain grounded her sense of reality, and once again she focussed her attention to the painted circles laid out on the frosted earth before her.

One. Two. Three. Four. 

Katarina reached for the pull of magic, and vanished, reappearing in each circle, one after the other in puffs of smoke. 

Five. Six—shit!

She lost her battle with vertigo and miscalculated the execution of the last teleport. The dizziness gripped her once again, her disoriented sense of placement made her no longer sure where she had ended up. Bile, bitter in her throat, rushed to expel itself, but she fought to keep it down, vaguely aware of cold dirt against her face and palms.

“Again.”

She staggered upright again, and seethed when she realised she had missed her mark by a good two metres. She tried to ignore her mentor’s disapproving gaze as she hobbled her way back to the starting point to attempt again.

Around her, the hustle and bustle of the Noxian encampment continued on; Everyone else was preoccupied with their own training and tasks. It was the same scene she saw for the last four months since she had arrived. Frankly, it was all far more boring than she had ever anticipated. 

Back when father told her she was getting deployed for the first time, she thought it would be more exciting than… well… this; Stuck in the middle of nowhere just inside Freljordian territory, only left with odd jobs, training regimens, and lessons in shadow magicks. 

It made her boil with anger when she was not even considered for warbands to scout out the territory. Never mind the fact that she had already killed a high ranking Demacian commander, she was ordered to stay put for her posting. The still healing skin around her eye throbbed dully, almost as if in reminder for the consequences of not following orders.

Plagued with bitter thoughts and swimming vision, her next few attempts proved to be as fruitful as the last. She wanted to hack the look of disapproval from her teacher’s face as he dismissed her for the day.

She extracted herself from the ground for the umpteenth time and continued to practise. Knife skills, and hand-to-hand combat were things that came naturally to her. The arcane, however, was not something she was well versed in, but she was nothing if not persistent. Ever since her disgrace in her father’s eyes, she was determined to master every aspect of her craft. Even if it meant practicing to the point where she was no longer seeing straight. 

Katarina let loose another colourful string of curses when she missed another jump, a loud ruckus having broken through her concentration. She turned her attention to the gates, in time to see the returning warband, trailing behind them a mass of blonde hair and blue eyed figures.

Prisoners.

She did a quick headcount, perhaps around fifty in total. Mostly old, sickly, and children.

She could respect the Freljordian ideal of leaving the weak behind while the strong survived, but she never understood their lack of unity as a nation. Even the Demacians were more organised. Noxus would never have been able to settle into their territory like they were doing now in the north. The Freljordian savages were too busy fighting each other to defend themselves.

Weak.

No matter, their losses would find their uses in Noxus.

She picked a new perch up in the trees, barely noting the way the cold wood felt like it was cutting into her hands. She watched as they were herded away into the prisoner shelter, easily the least insulated structure in the fort, almost more like a cage than a building.

One of the young ones tripped on the ground, tears brimming in his eyes as a Noxian soldier loomed over him—Private Boucher, if she remembered correctly. The private picked the boy up aggressively by the back of his coat, barking roughly in his face.

Katarina watched in mild amusement as another prisoner, a lithe young woman, head butted Boucher in the face.

“Megi tröllin taka þig, hrafnasueltir.” She spat, the poison that dripped from her words made her intent clear even with the language barrier.

Boucher snarled and gave the girl a disciplinary punch across the jaw whilst clutching his bleeding nose, before he shoved the rest of them into their makeshift prison and locking it.

However spirited they were now, they would break in time. They always did.

“I don’t understand why it’s so hard to find one woman!”

Katarina barely looked up from polishing her blade at the Major’s outburst. She was only required to attend the meeting out of the formality as one of the assassins stationed at the outpost, but she knew her services were never going to be asked upon. General’s daughter or not, she was still technically a trainee.

Major Dubois stared across the war table, locking eyes with his lieutenants, as if daring them to come up with an answer. 

“No one? Not a single suggestion?” His battle-scarred fist struck the table, sending maps flying off its surface. “Gods grant me patience, use your brains! Five between the lot of you, and not one of you thought to question the prisoners for Grena’s possible hiding places?”

As far as Katarina understood, Grena was the leader of the largest nomadic clan occupying the southern region of Freljord. Her tribe was the only one that posed any real threat of resistance against the experimental Noxian campaign. 

If you asked Katarina, it didn’t really sound like that big of a deal. A tribe disrupting scouting parties with a cowardly leader that was always on the run was no match for the full might of Noxus. The only real problem was how fucking cold it was.

“I want to hear some good news before our next rotation of supplies. Boucher and Du Couteau, you two can take evening rotations with guarding the prisoners.”

“Sir.”

Guard duty was quite possibly the most boring job that Katarina had been assigned thus far. Since she had opted for the pre-dawn shift, it had only taken until her second day for her to become bored of guarding a pen of sleeping bodies. Passing time came in the form of splitting dry twigs with a pocket knife, watching them crackle in the brazier when she tossed them in.

She shivered in her furs, allowing the heat of the embers warm her face. The nights were growing colder still, and she hated it. At the very least, she could still enjoy the quiet solitude the night brought. The moon was high in the sky, accompanied by more stars than she had ever seen in her life. Back home, smog from zaunite technology painted the skies over with a veil that she would have never known was there until she saw the evening expanse as she did now.

At this time of night, no one save for herself and the night watch stirred. She felt a slight pang of jealousy as they were actual able to patrol while she was stuck seated at a stump. Her eyes wandered, glancing through the slatted wood at the sleeping prisoners. Most of the few warriors that they had managed to capture were injured, and bloodied. She had heard from those who had actually been a part of the war party, that they had found Grena’s camp, but the leader herself had managed to slip away, leaving these unlucky few behind. Katarina couldn’t blame her, she would have done the same.

Katarina’s instincts flared up, tracking movement faster than the rest of her senses. Her teeth found the inside of her cheek, they kept her reflexes from showing her surprise when her eyes caught up and found another pair of pale blues staring back at her.

Her vision adjusted past the dimness intensified by the fire flickering softly in her peripheral. The rest of the figure then melted into view—a girl. Unlike the others, she was not asleep. Katarina broke the strange eye contact, her eyes darted lower, watching the girl’s slender fingers comb through the hair of the child asleep in her lap. She looked back up to see the girl hadn’t adjusted her gaze, still staring directly at her. Katarina’s eyes found a bruised jaw, and a split lip, and then did Katarina recognise the girl as the same one that had brazenly charged headfirst into Boucher’s face. From the looks of it, she seemed like one of the few able bodied people they had managed to capture. She looked young, she couldn’t have been any more than sixteen years.

The girl continued to hold her gaze. Unlike the fear that danced in the eyes of the other prisoners, there seemed to be something else, something she could not quite read. Defiance, perhaps. Katarina didn’t like it.

Her temper flared, how dare this girl—this captive, attempt to stare her down. Before she knew it, the sharpened branch she had been whittling left her grasp, whistling through the air, sinking its sharpened end in the wood by the girl’s ear. Even as her blonde hair fluttered and settled back down into place, she didn’t even do much as blink; Her impassive expression left unchanged.

And then suddenly, just like that, before Katarina was to steel herself into a contest of wills, the moment was lost—blues drowned in the darkness. At first, Katarina’s pride surged, only to crash disappointingly when she realised she hadn’t really won this so called battle.

The child that rested in the girl’s lap had stirred, his faint cries disturbing the peace. The older girl stroked his hair and dried his tears, cooing softly in an attempt to quiet him. Katarina glared daggers, furious and indignant that this girl had dared to take her for a fool. But the girl’s hair, a veil of moon-kissed gold, obscured her face from view. 

Whatever this girl was playing at, it stoked the fires of fury in Katarina’s belly—they continued to rage on when she realised she continued to glare until morning and yet the girl seemed to never look up again. She wasn’t sure if she was mad at the girl for a micro-aggressive act of rebellion, or herself for wasting her energy and anger in a futile challenge that wasn’t met.

Interrogation turned out to be less fruitful than Major Dubois had hoped. Only a handful of the prisoners spoke common, and the last soldier that could speak a lick of Frelmál died of frostbite last month. As the Major’s foul mood trickled down to affect lower ranks, Katarina started to wonder if perhaps Dubois was banking a promotion on his success.

The guards dragged between them a person, bloodied and beaten, back to the holding pen. She was the one Katarina had semi-fondly nicknamed Scarface—a lattice of jagged claw-mark scars decorated her jaw.

Katarina had nicknames for all of them, the children were aptly named brats one through sixteen (No, she didn’t actually distinguish them between one another). There was Pignose, Barkskin, and Pegleg along the more colourful end of the names spectrum. The insolent girl from the other night, she had nicknamed Goldilocks, after a character from an old Noxian nursery rhyme that warned children of putting their noses into other people’s business. If she remembered correctly, the protagonist was mauled by bears at the end.

Her fellow soldiers said it was strange that she spent so much time observing their quarries, but she would argue it made for a good exercise. While she was not as good as her sister, Cassiopeia made gleaning information from people look as easy as if she was reading the most basic of books, Katarina did particularly excel at identifying weaknesses in emotions she saw all too often—fear and anger. 

Extraordinarily, the prisoners hid it well. They looked impassively stone-faced as Scarface was thrown limply back into the pen, barely conscious. Even the children, still cowering, looked dutifully away. These were a people tempered by harsh climates and no guarantee of survival. It made them strong of will, but weak in nation. And weaknesses she would find—there. Goldilocks. It was oh so very subtle, but to Katarina it was as clear as refined Piltovan crystal. The tension in her locked jaw, a squeezed fist, and Katarina didn’t miss that the girl made to move, only to be stopped by the woman immediately to her side. She was angry.

It was almost comical how the near imperceptible emotions contrasted the otherwise peaceful quiet that succeeded the event, framed perfectly by delicate flakes, sparsely drifting through the air.

“My father used to say an army marches on its stomach.” 

From by her side, Major Dubois broke his stare at the prisoners and threw Katarina a curious glance. He patiently waited a follow up, knowing she wouldn’t have made the comment without context.

“This is no army, but hunger is a much slower, and sometimes more painful poison. No matter the beast.” Although she sounded nonchalant, she knew she had to pick her words carefully and find the perfect balance to make a veiled suggestion without crossing the line into insubordination. Getting into the Major’s good books was key to regaining her father’s favour.

Katarina smartly gave her customary acknowledgements as the Major took his leave, his brows furrowed deep in thought.

Changes were put in motion nearly immediately. Prisoner meals were immediately heavily rationed to portions just shy of sufficient. It only took two days before someone finally broke.

Katarina took her post with more excitement than usual, noting the slumped figure bound to the post outside the prisoner pen, hands bound above their head.

Goldilocks had been caught sharing her food on multiple occasions, and was thereby appropriately punished. Katarina would have been lying if she hadn’t secretly hoped—no, calculated, that the other girl would have been the first to react. She wouldn’t go as far to say that she was feuding with the other girl, it was more of a show of power in a demonstration that their situation was essentially hopeless.

The girl, now out of the pen, looked far smaller up close. Her eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she stirred, blinking large snowflakes from their resting places. She took a second to glance around, her gaze hardened as she caught Katarina’s shit-eating grin.

“Morning.” Katarina couldn’t help being cheeky sometimes, all her training be damned.

A whispered string of what Katarina could only imagine were the worst Freljordian curses left the other girl’s mouth. Katarina’s grin only widened. As feisty as Goldilocks was, she showed all the telltale signs of a cornered animal—guarding herself threateningly despite being left with little options and opportunities. Katarina would not be the foolish hunter to drop her defenses, but oh did it feel so good to gloat.

“Tsk, this wouldn’t be so bad for you if you just cooperated.”

All she received as a response was a prolonged glare, and the slightest tilt of the head in poorly masked confusion. It seemed the savage didn’t understand any Common at all. Katarina strode a few steps, not closer to her quarry, but instead to the pen of prisoners. A few of them now huddled together to guard from the encroaching cold. Katarina drew one of her daggers, gleefully watched as Goldilocks pulled futilely against her restraints, and twirled the blade expertly in her hand.

Goldilocks hissed in Frelmál, as Katarina gently ran the tip of the weapon across the cheek of a sleeping babe, a hair's breadth away from skin. The sleeping child scrunched her face up, barely feeling the disturbance in her slumber. Katarina’s grin widened, not breaking her stare, while still pulling the girl’s hair from her face. The strange gentleness of the action in the night calm juxtaposed by the wicked curve of her polished dagger.

Katarina diverted her gaze, and nodded in the direction of Scarface’s unconscious form.

“Nothing bad will happen if you cooperate… or convince her to.”

Katarina didn’t give Goldilocks enough time to react or process, only sheathing her dagger to seat herself once more at the brazier. She kept eye contact, watching as understanding slowly dawned in Goldilocks’ eyes. A reel of emotions followed suit, one after another, eventually cadencing in pure, unabashed rage.

Then finally—finally, there was defeat, so plainly written in Freljordian features that one didn’t even need to be Katarina to read them. The girl looked away quickly, as if trying to hide the shame. Katarina tilted her chin up in response, offering no recompense. Her eyes echoed the bite of the arctic winds that picked up around them.

“Perhaps a change in scenery is what you’ll need.”

The Major’s interruption to Katarina’s training was out of the ordinary–Normally she and her trainer were left to their own devices most of the day. She tried to hide her heavy breathing as she dizzily snapped to attention.

“Sir?”

“The next supply rotation is due in two days. We’ll use the increased troop numbers to seize Grena’s current encampment.”

Katarina kept silent, but her raised eyebrow asked her question for her. 

“It seems they really did know where she would fall back to. Unbelievable that these folk would bother putting others ahead of themselves when they can barely survive on their own.”

Katarina’s gaze flicked to the side, duly noting that Scarface was no longer anywhere to be seen. Unfortunate. Scarface was starting to grow on her.

“I want you here to watch the prisoners and make sure they don’t get out of hand while a majority of our fortress siege Grena’s camp.”

Katarina felt her stomach drop.

“With all due respect, sir, I have been dutifully guarding them for weeks now.”

“Then who better for the job? You’ve done well so I’ll reward you with a ticket out of this shit hole with the troop rotations.”

He was getting rid of her. It began to dawn on her that Dubois was playing his pieces very safely. The lack of scouting missions, only assigned to safe tasks, and training assignments—He was scared to use her to her full potential. In his eyes, she was just General Du Couteau’s whelp that he had to keep out of trouble. To be frank, a true Noxian used everything available to them to get ahead. He, however, should have known better to assume the type of expectations the General had in regards to his eldest.

She gritted her teeth and choked down her retort when she looked into his eyes. She knew his mind was set, his ambitions were too lofty for a change in plans.

“Thank you… sir.”

Major Dubois nodded, turning heel to walk away. 

Katarina tightened her grip on her daggers and returned to training. Her pent up anger took over her senses as she teleported haphazardly, over and over again, around the training dummy. Her slices gutted the dummy, spilling its sand guts every which way. There was no finesse to her movements; she missed nearly every single one of her ringed targets.

Her trainer wisely kept his mouth shut. He shook his head disappointingly and left, signalling the end of today’s session. Katarina hardly noticed his departure.

She pictured Dubois’ face on the dummy, her knives slashing off that smug grin of his. Her rage fueled her onslaught. Every moment she was denied the opportunity to prove herself, every instance people looked down on her for being General Du Couteau’s daughter in his shadow, a slash in the burlap for every one of those memories.

After some time, she finally stopped when there was nothing left on the post to attack. The outburst had not even given her a modicum of consolation. Her breaths came out in heavy pants, as the exhaustion and nausea caught up with her. Hand across her mouth, she forced herself to swallow the bile tickling the back of her throat. The circles on the ground spun in her vision, taunting her inability to get this one thing right; The only thing she was assigned to do besides being a glorified babysitter.

“FUUUCK!” 

The futility of her position coalesced in the scream that tore from her throat. All her hard work and nothing to show for it.

A sound, not unlike a soft chortle, caused her to whirl around. Her eyes narrowed as she saw Goldilocks staring right at her, mirth dancing in her eyes. The fires of rage in her gut stoked again, and before she knew it, she had marched right up to Goldilocks. She grasped handfuls of gray tunic, yanking the prisoner up to stand and look her in the eyes. The short lead binding the captive’s hands to the post strained in effort as Katarina pulled it taut, knowing it tightened the knots and bit the rope tighter against Goldilocks’ wrists.

“What the fuck do you think is so funny?”

Goldilocks’ smirk didn’t fade, on the contrary it grew, the mockery blatant. Before Katarina knew what she was doing, her fingers curled into a fist and she delivered a sound right hook to the prisoner’s cheek. The smaller girl staggered backwards, fresh snow crunching below foot, but didn’t fall. Her head snapped up, bright blue eyes smouldering. 

“Hrafnarnir munu hafa þik..”

Katarina drew one of her daggers, once again feeling her cold anger taking control of her actions. 

“OI! What in blazes are you doing?” Both women turned their attention to Boucher as he approached. “That one’s one of the only able bodied ones we got. The Major would flip if you killed any of the useful ones.”

Katarina clicked her tongue in annoyance and slid her dagger back into its sheath.

“Go get some sleep and cool off before your shift.”

With no retort readily available, Katarina marched away, still seething underneath her skin. Still angry when her head hit the pillow, but exhausted enough for sleep to take her almost immediately.

Something was wrong.

Katarina shot up in her cot, her eyes scanning the room, taking note the time on the room’s Zaunite time-piece. Earlier than usual for her internal clock. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, trying to pinpoint what exactly was out of place.

The wind outside howled, rattling the door in its frame like a beggar at Demacian church steps. Katarina stumbled over to the door, leaning against it to cease the incessant rattling, her cabin-mates’ snores drifted through the renewed quiet. 

Something was still wrong.

Now close enough to feel the cold air seeping through the cracks, Katarina caught the strong whiff of smoke laced in it. 

Her furs were on in seconds, and she rushed out, the door blasted open with a flurry of snow, shocking awake the rest of the cabin’s inhabitants. Katarina barely noticed, her eyes were on the nearest cabin—Major Dubois’. 

It was on fire, at least the beginnings of one. Smoke tendrils curled out from cracks in the door, and embers were catching onto the outer portions of the building. She rushed to the door, kicking it open in two attempts. Heat surged outward to greet her, hardly rebuffed by her arm shielding her face.

Even at a distance with all the smoke, Katarina could easily make out Major Dubois’ large frame looking as if he was resting peacefully in bed. The blood seeping from the wounds peppering his front told a different story. Katarina dashed backwards to her cabin, shouting at the confused soldiers that were just beginning to rouse from the commotion. 

“THE MAJOR’S DEAD. THERE’S BEEN A MURDER. EVERYBODY UP.”

The camp immediately erupted into a flurry of activity. Soldiers began to emerge from their cabins, some got to work to put out the flames on Dubois’ cabin. More shouts of fire filled the air.

Katarina swore. 

Where the hell was the night watch?

In the few hours she had been sleeping, the snowfall had turned into a full blown blizzard, limiting her vision. She ran to where she heard the shouting, nearly tripping on a body along her way. The man had been killed from a distance by bow. The fletching indicated Noxian make. Katarina flipped the still warm body over, it was one of the night watch. Well. That explained things.

She kept moving, following the flickering flames winking through the flurries. As she approached, the culprits behind the events became apparent. The entire prisoner pen was on fire, quickly spreading despite the storm. In fact, the wind seemed to carry the flames to neighbouring buildings. Boucher lay face down in the snow, a knife wound in his back and through his neck. They had escaped.

“Spread out!” Someone nearby commanded. “They can’t have gone far.”

A horn sounded in the distance, its mellow timbre somehow still audible while in contention with the wind. A soldier nearby paled, and Katarina’s hackles raised, on high alert. He obviously recognised it as something she didn’t.

“Take cover! Arrow barrage!”

Katarina dove towards the nearest shelter, her cloak pulled up to shield herself as much as possible. The falling white in the sky was suddenly joined by hundreds of arrows. Those too slow to seek cover fell in the deadly rainfall. Then as quickly as it started, it was over. Katarina couldn’t help but feel anger about her lack of experience in combat against Freljordians. Her being cooped up at camp nearly had her killed.

The horn sounded a second time, signalling another volley. Like the first time, the sky became dark with arrows. Katarina’s eyes darted around, and made some quick calculations. As soon as the barrage ended, she made a break for it, skirting past a fallen soldier to grab his shield. She ran hard, snow and wind burning her face, towards what she knew would be the nearby forests.

The Noxian encampment was a semi-permanent base they had set up in a tactically ideal location. It was set up on higher ground, allowing them to spot anyone approaching; A stretch of forest to the west providing the only cover available. However, the form of attack told her one thing—They were not firing from the trees. The high arc needed far more clearance, and the year-long foliage of Freljordian trees stopped the trajectory short. If anything, the greenery would provide excellent cover as a means of escape. There were too many arrows coming down to have been the work of the prisoners, many of them likely unable to wield a bow in their conditions. A rescue was under way. If it wasn’t for the blizzard, the attacking archers would have been in plain sight. 

Katarina picked up the pace when the horn sounded a third time, a different tone. She raised the shield over her head instinctively, barely making it under the base wall’s upper platforms when the third volley began. This time, the sky turned brilliant orange.

Burning arrows tipped in spirit soaked cloth caught buildings and people, spreading fire on the wooden structures. Shouts came up in the din as orders were barked. The entire camp had been taken off guard, and soldiers were split between taking cover and trying to put out the flames.

Katarina started to run again as soon as she was able, pushing past the soldiers rushing back through the gate. They clearly had the same assumption as she did about the prisoners, but they were prioritising the defence of the base.

There were a few additional key facts that stuck out to her. In her four months stationed in this base, they had captured a fair share of prisoners, and never once had a rescue been attempted. The location of the base was never a secret, they had been here for just about six months now, and it still stood standing due to its placement and difficulty to attack. The unexpected snowstorm certainly aided their siege but the sheer number in ammo led Katarina to believe this was too large of a force to be just a rescue party. The whole tribe must be on the attack, which only meant that Grena must be here to lead the forces. This was a chance, and who better than the deployed assassin to take it?

Now clear of the arrow rain, she could slow down her full sprint to a light jog, keeping her eyes peeled for telltale signs that would point her way. Broken twigs, and stomped up foliage led her deeper through the woods, the din of the camp now but a low muffle. Her tracking skills were a tad bit rusty, but they proved good enough as she heard leaves crunching up ahead. She picked up the pace, not bothering to be stealthy. The prisoners spotted her at the same time she did them. Ahead, they were pushing their way through a thicket of bushes. The one bringing up the rear guard shouted and pointed, ushering those ahead to move faster. Katarina kept moving, weaving from side to side to avoid arrows fired from stolen Noxian bows. As Katarina approached, the warrior, whom Katarina now recognised as Pegleg stood her ground, bow leveled in the assassin’s direction. Katarina dodged confidently, the prisoners were too exhausted and hungry to be a threat.

There was a sudden movement on her peripheral, causing her to jump backwards, halting her advance. A blade had been thrown from her left side, the technique was nowhere near polished, but it would still have struck her had she not dodged.

A voice rang out from the same direction, “FLÝJA.”

Pegleg’s eyes darted, clearly torn. The voice repeated itself, with more force and authority. “FLÝJA, FÍFL!”

Pegleg’s lips tightened, but she seemed to heed the command nevertheless, given a half wave in response to the mysterious knife thrower before hobbling away.

Katarina, for her own part, stood rooted in her spot, staring down at the weapon by her feet. The decoration was unmistakable, embossed metal proudly displayed stylised Noxian patterns. The blade was one of her own.

Her head turned, gaze scouring the trees, but she really didn’t have to look very hard. Naught fifty paces away, Goldilocks stood, gray furs stained a macabre red with blood.

The knife was a small one, kept among many others on her belt. Her fingers toyed around the spot it was meant to be. She hadn’t noticed it’s absence. When did she—

And then it hit her.

The mockery, it was meant to incite her anger. It was to provoke her into getting closer to Goldilocks. Close enough, and out of control enough, to get away with pilfering the small blade. It had aided in their escape.

This very same gore spattered blade has likely been used to kill Private Boucher and Major Dubois. In her carelessness, Katarina could very well have plunged the knife in herself.

Katarina ground her teeth, a growl forming in her belly, rising up into a low bellow. Dual daggers poised to strike, she ran toward Goldilocks, bloodlust boiling in her veins.

Goldilocks’ calm gaze didn’t waver, instead she brought up the stolen bow she carried and fired. 

The shot was deadly accurate, and would most definitely have killed Katarina if she hadn’t teleported off to the side. She staggered, taking a few stumbling steps to prevent herself from falling, the suddenness of the teleport had thrown off her sense of space. Her eyes darted around, looking for Goldilocks, body tensed at the ready. No sign. She had run away.

Katarina took off once again, following the path of freshly trampled snow. She recognised the direction they were heading in, beyond the next copse of trees should lead directly to a clearing, at the end of which hung a cliff. Sure enough, Katarina broke into the clearing just in time to see Goldilocks slide to a halt, arms pinwheeling to stop herself from teetering over the edge. She whirled around, eyes wild.

Katarina always knew better than to underestimate a cornered animal, but even so, Goldilocks’ draw speed with the bow was incredibly quick. Undeterred by the howling winds, the arrow hit its mark, solidly burying itself deep into the flesh of the assassin’s thigh. Katarina had prepared to teleport, but the pain caught her off guard. She had fully intended to appear at Goldilocks’ flank to disarm her, instead she reappeared in a puff of smoke, briefly catching a glimpse of Goldilocks’ eyes widening in shock before they collided, the momentum tipping the both of them right over the edge of the cliff in a tangled mass of limbs.

Katarina forced down the panic rising in her heart, refusing for it to cloud her judgement. She glanced back up to the cliff’s top edge shrinking above her, focusing her magic. 

She squinted at her target, the familiar tug of arcane energy started up and— WHAM

For a split second, her vision was filled with bright splashes of colour. Her brain caught up, parsing through what had just happened; Goldilocks had grabbed her by her cloak’s collar and socked her right in the face. The blonde’s teeth were bared in a snarl as she forcefully yanked Katarina, still in a slight daze, below her in mid air. Katarina barely had time to recover before pain exploded on her back and everything went dark.

Katarina came to, hurting in at least thirty different places. She groaned, tasting bitter metal in her mouth, her cheek felt frigid against the stone floor it was pressed against, and her wrists burned against the ropes looped tightly around them.

Wait. What?

She was bound hand and foot. Every fibre of her being wanted to settle back into the embrace of darkness, but she fought the urge, forcing her eyes open. She found her vision adjusting to dim cave walls, the light of a fire flickering from just off the edge of her vision. The first thing she noticed that her knife belt was missing, its ever present weight at her side, gone. She could still hear the wind howling like a madman, echoing around the cave walls. Katarina glanced downwards, sure enough her hands were lashed together tightly. Her right arm, however, was put in some sort of makeshift splint—the source, she now started to notice, of an excruciating amount of pain.

In fact, now that she was conscious, the dull pains she had felt upon coming to practically began to compete with one another for severity. Her head hurt, her thigh hurt, her back hurt, her arm hurt, even her fucking face hurt.

“Honestly, I was hoping you would miss and teleport yourself right over the edge on your own, but I did not think that you would end up taking me with you.”

Katarina look around for the source of the voice, her head throbbed in response. She strained her neck to look upwards. Goldilocks looked right back at her, stoking a small fire pit lined with stones. Katarina felt her jaw involuntarily drop.

That BITCH. 

This entire time, she had been able to speak common—ever so slightly stilted by a faint accent but it was fluent nevertheless—and she continued to play the fool. Katarina rolled herself onto her front, ignoring the pain coursing up her arm. She tried to push herself upright, but her vision swam before she could push herself to a crouch. She felt humiliated—trussed up and vulnerable, really a situation she never thought to find herself in.

“I would not move too much if I were you. You bumped your head rather hard, and one of your forearm bones is fractured.”

Katarina couldn’t help the dry retort that followed. “Way to state the obvious, Goldilocks.” 

Goldilocks gave her a wry smile in response. “Cute nickname, but I vastly prefer Ashe, thank you.”

“I don’t give a shit what you prefer.”

“Suit yourself.” Ashe shrugged, and busied herself to something out of view. It sounded as if she was rubbing stones together. Katarina felt her eyelids drooping to the rhythmic pattern. She shook her head, staying conscious from sheer willpower alone.

Ashe made her way over to Katarina, hand out-stretched. Katarina snapped her teeth, whipping her head around to avoid the Freljordian’s touch. Ashe easily subdued Katarina with gentle pressure to her shoulder, limiting her movements. The blonde pressed a warm hand to Katarina’s forehead, slightly pushing aside the makeshift cloth bandage there. She held it for a moment, then held up a thin stone with a shallow naturally-shaped divot. A strange green sludge mixed with water introduced a strange musky pungency to Katarina’s nostrils.

“Drink.”

Katarina clamped her lips shut and eyed the concoction suspiciously.

“I had many more opportunities to kill you before. Now drink. It will help prevent infection.”

Katarina weighed her options. There weren’t many, it wasn’t looking too good for her. And as much as she hated to admit it, Ashe was right. A large part of her knew that she could ignore the dry itch tingling in her throat and continue to be her usual stubborn self. The logical part of her reasoned that she had nothing to lose anyway. She would either die or she would recover her strength and afterwards, only one of them would leave the cave to see the light of day again. So she allowed Ashe to tip the strangely liquid into her mouth. It didn’t really taste like much, but the slimy texture slid down her throat in an extremely unpleasant way.

“Where are we?”

Ashe regarded her for a moment. Not about to be outdone, Katarina did the same. She noted not without some satisfaction that her punch had opened up the split in Ashe’s lip again, and her cheek had a new bruise blooming on it. 

Katarina raised an eyebrow in mock impatience, slightly miffed by the fact she could not glean anything from Ashe’s impassive poker face. It made her all the more disappointed with herself now, knowing that the emotions she had read before were likely exactly what Ashe had wanted her to see. If she had to guess, though, she surmised that Ashe was likely calculating how much of a danger she felt Katarina to be with the information on their location.

“The cliff face has a cave hidden on a lower rock shelf.” Ashe said at last, clearly considering Katarina as less of a threat. “There is a path that leads up to the forest. I had felt to at least give you a chance if I had really succeeded in my gamble.”

“Fuck you.”

At least, that’s what Katarina has wanted to say. Instead, she slurred out a “Fuggyew”. Her eyelids felt like they had weights pulling them closed. She felt like she should panic, but she was far… far too tired for it. She glared at the smudge in her vision she assumed was Ashe.

“Iffa dieyal gill you...” Her tongue felt like a foreign object in her mouth, not obeying any of her commands.

“Mmhmm.” Replied the smudge as darkness swallowed it whole.

The next time Katarina awoke was just as unpleasant as the first. She instinctively kicked out at the hands at her thigh, but having forgotten her feet were bound, she succeeded in twitching awkwardly. Ashe put a firm grip on her leg and pressed down, trying to hold Katarina still.

Katarina looked down with bleary eyes, and saw Ashe had been examining the wound on her thigh. It looked rather comical as it seemed she had cut sections of the garment out around the wound.

“I felt it would be far more harmful to have removed the entire pant leg considering the weather.”

Katarina said nothing in response, only silently watching Ashe while she worked. She wiped away dried blood with a scrap cloth with a surprising gentleness, before pressing what looked to be moss against the arrow wound. Though her fingers looked delicate, they had a calloused roughness to it likely honed by years of bowmanship. Ashe reached up and cut a strip of cloth from the edge of her tunic before methodically using it to rebind Katarina’s injury.

Katarina flinched as Ashe drew closer, reaching up towards her face.

“I need to check your head wound.” Ashe held her position, poised mid reach.

Katarina licked her lips, despising every minute of the situation. She held her stare for a few more moments, but slowly dropped the tension in her shoulders. Ashe took the reluctant invitation and set to work, checking and treating the wound in the same way she did the other. Katarina watched her intently while she busied herself. 

She had spent nearly a fortnight watching this prisoner. Her features were practically etched in her memory at this point. The girl had a sharp face, small and petite features, and eyes in the brightest blue Katarina had ever seen. Even by Freljordian standards. Her blonde hair had a few small braids woven throughout them, though they looked a little worse for wear considering recent events. Even with her familiarity with it all, Ashe was incredibly difficult to read. Still, Katarina was as stubborn as they come.

“What’s your game?”

Ashe looked over from her fussing at the dressings for just a moment to glance at Katarina’s face.

“I know not of what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, you know well enough I won’t underestimate you a second time. There has to be a reason you haven’t killed me yet. You were smart enough to eliminate the biggest threats at the camp. Logic says you would have killed me too. So why?”

Ashe finished tightening the dressings before settling down, taking her time to answer. He eyes never left Katarina’s.

“You are correct. To be honest, I did consider you one of the larger threats to my plans. You, that mage, your leader…” She counted each one on her fingers as she spoke. “But to your fortune, it would seem that your rank made you too much of a risk to eliminate. I did not fancy the idea of breaking into a cabin full of Noxians. The others held their downfalls in their solitude. Now that it seems you have foiled my plans of escape, so when the storm lets up, I think I will at least need some form of bargaining chip against your approaching troops should I run into them. I felt perhaps a famed general’s daughter might work.”

“Given that this storm won’t kill us first.” Katarina intentionally didn’t mention that Noxians don’t function that way. Her life hardly held much weight to it, but Ashe didn’t need to know that.

Ashe cocked her head slightly, listening to the wind still singing its frantic choral. “It is at its worst today, but it should let up soon.”

“You speak as if you know this storm well. Did your people conjure it with some sort of barbarian magic?”

Ashe laughed, not mockingly, but it still set Katarina’s nerves on edge, “ My people would be furious that you dared to compare them the likes of Hearthbound Barbarians, but no. Our frost priests do not have that sort of power available to them. The Mother of Storms does as she wishes and no mortal has the power to influence her. We can only watch and predict when her wrath may be incited.”

“Bullshit. This storm is unnatural, there was barely a cloud in the sky up until yesterday, something of this strength would have been seen coming leagues away. That timing was too impeccable.”

“Then your people were far too ill-prepared for these lands. Freljord’s winter is nothing like you have ever seen, and it will only get worse than this. The timing, however, could have been better, it cut quite close to your supply rotation. I only wished that it arrived sooner. Perhaps then, I may have been able to convince the clan to strike before we were attacked.”

Katarina narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

“I have already told you, I am Ashe of the Frørbogmóðir clan.”

“No. There is more you aren’t saying.” Katarina ran through all the information in her brain, a picture was beginning to form. “You act and speak with an air of authority over the rest of the barbarians. And this attack.. to bring upon the full force of your clan on our base for just a few prisoners… this can’t just be a coincidence. They were here for you, weren’t they?”

Ashe’s easy smile grew, if Katarina didn’t know any better, she even seemed a little impressed. “I should have been more careful. You really are as clever as I pegged you to be.” 

“Don’t play coy with me.”

“I suppose there is no harm in you knowing at this point if you have already deduced I am of some level of standing.” Ashe left a pregnant pause, gauging Katarina for an impatient reaction that she refused to give. “Grena, the woman you seek, Warmother of the Southern Freljord clan, is my mother.”

Katarina nodded in understanding, at this point, she wasn’t surprised. No wonder Grena had launched a full force attack.

“I can’t imagine why she would leave you behind to be captured in the first place.”

There was the slightest flicker of emotion, a tight lipped grimace before Ashe skilfully hid it. “She did not. I chose to stay against her wishes.”

Katarina leaned forward, curiosity written plainly on her face.

Ashe let out a short huff, “You would not understand. Your people think like my mother. What does it matter if the few unfortunate ones get left behind for the greater whole of the clan?”

She was right. Katarina didn’t understand. The strong climb, and the weak were put to work where they could be useful until they weren’t anymore. That was the way things should be. So it seemed Katarina had correctly identified Ashe’s anger at the suffering of others. She had only intelligently weaponised Katarina’s skills against her.

“Ahh, so you forced your mother’s hand.”

A soft smile returned to Ashe’s face. “That I did.”

“I don’t know if that’s being clever or just plain idiotic but I’m leaning far more towards the latter.”

“I have nothing to justify to you.”

“The only thing I don’t really get is how your mother would have known that the arrow assault wouldn’t have slain you all.”

“Come now, I can not go around revealing all our secrets to you, can I?” Ashe winked.

Katarina stiffened a moment, irked by Ashe’s cockiness, before sitting back as comfortably as she was able, satisfied with what she had learned. She watched Ashe stand, bow slung over her shoulder.

“Where are you going?”

“Well, I did not have the opportunity to pilfer any rations, so unless we plan to starve out here, I need to find something to fill our bellies.”

“You’re going to die out there.”

“Unlikely.”

And just like that, the walls were up again. Katarina mulled over the new information. Grena had a daughter that she obviously staked enough importance on to go through any lengths to get her back. Ashe also had a bleeding heart for the people Grena viewed as a liability. In that, Ashe was essentially a chip in Grena’s ever so elusive armour.

Her main priority was to escape and rendezvous with the supply troops. Ideally, she would want to take Ashe back as a prisoner, but now was a time to be realistic.

She counted slowly, watching Ashe round a bend toward what Katarina assumed was the exit. When around ten minutes went by, she shuffled towards the cave wall, using it as support to prop herself up. She hopped over to the nearest cluster of limestone stalagmites, trying to find any jagged edge to saw apart her restraints. The mineral’s rounded shapes found no purchase on the thickly wound ropes. The one time Katarina had to curse Noxian workmanship. 

She looked around, the cave didn’t go much deeper, instead it dropped off into a naturally formed pit that was too dark to see where and how far it went. She shimmied forward along the wall and around the cave bend until the entrance of the cave was in sight. She narrowed her eyes to the brilliant white that swirled around outside, the wind now louder than it had ever been.

Perhaps it was only bad around the entrance of the cave, Katarina reasoned to herself. All she needed to do was to gain some distance and find anything outside that could free her limbs. Ashe had ventured out alone wearing fewer layers than the Noxian was wearing now. Even though the Freljordian was acclimated to the cold temperatures, Katarina was willing to stake on the chance that perhaps her thick cloak would be just enough.

Slowly, she half hopped, half slid towards the entrance. The cold intensified, numbing her face, but she still continued on. Her thigh protested with every hop but eventually, right up against the cave mouth, it got too cold to even feel that. 

Katarina felt her heart drop now that she could see the storm whipped up snow in every direction with no end in sight. She could now see to her left that there was a path that extended at a slight incline along the side of the cliff face, exactly as Ashe had described. The surface above that they had fallen from looked to be about almost 20 metres overhead. She steeled her nerves, it was now or never. 

It was worse than she could have imagined. The high speed winds buffeted her, nearly knocking her off her feet, made worse by the fact her bound legs meant she could only shuffle small steps at a time. And the cold! Oh the cold. Every inch of exposed skin burned with frigid fire. It took her far longer than she had anticipated, but she eventually reached the beginning of the incline, her teeth chattering violently.

Therein posed the next problem of starting up the path with her limited movement. Katarina brushed around in the snow, her fingers groping around, trying to find anything with an edge to free herself with. Everywhere she looked, an unrelenting blanket of white sat over top the landscape.

Katarina looked back at the cave mouth, and ahead towards what would likely spell her doom. Screw it, she would have to make do. Leaning forward to fight the winds, she started on her way up. As every step became more of a struggle with the growing steepness, she began to realise that perhaps she may really have gotten in over her head. As if on cue, a particularly strong gust sent her veering. She crashed into the cliff face wall, and onto her back. Her persistence could only get her so far, and now it would get her killed. 

She scrambled, trying to right herself, but every attempt to stand was rebuffed. She curled up in towards herself, the cold was beginning to seep through her fur layers. Her mind screamed at her. She needed to get up and get moving or she was going to die here. And yet her body was slow to obey, her strength sapped by cold sodden layers.

She really was going to die here.

Minutes ticked by, and the fatigue built up like the snow piling up on her prone form. She wasn’t sure how long she lay there as her consciousness drifted in and out.

“Fæn!” The gasped proclamation shook her from her stupor. She was too cold to turn her head to look up, but she recognised Ashe’s voice. 

Katarina felt a pair of hands lifting her, carrying her back to the cave. She could feel the other girl struggle with her weight, made all the worse by the wet furs. 

Ashe eventually carried her back to the fire, fussing about frantically. Katarina lay on her side shivering, desperate to get closer to the fire, she inched herself forward. Ashe added fresh wood to the fire. The part of Katarina’s brain that wasn’t frozen wondered where she found dry wood.

Ashe strode over, and to Katarina’s surprise, undid the ropes around her wrist. In an instant, Katarina twisted Ashe’s hand into a hand locking grip, twisting slender fingers upwards on the brink of breakage. At least, that was her intention, but Ashe easily shook her hand free from cold-numbed fingers, batting Katarina’s hands out of the way. Ashe’s hands were so warm that Katarina nearly felt disappointed from the loss of heat.

“Stupid fool.” Ashe muttered under her breath, pulling at the ties in Katarina’s fur cloak. “Stay still! You will freeze to death if I do not help you.”

Katarina reluctantly stilled her thrashing, and let Ashe peel away the sodden layers, until she was left in the under layers of waxed cotton. Ashe removed her own cloak, draping it over the redhead’s shoulders. It was still a little snow damp, but not soaked like Katarina’s was.

Katarina shivered involuntarily and pulled the furs tighter around herself, watching as Ashe lay all her soaked clothes around the fire. She didn’t even try to struggle when Ashe returned to rebind the restraints, all her energy gone.

“I do not trust you any farther than I can throw you.”

“I w-w-wouldn’t either.” Curse her chattering teeth.

Ashe groaned as she sat down near the fire, busying herself to skinning a snow hare. Despite the fact that she no longer wore her cloak, she didn’t look at all fazed by the cold. Katarina knew Freljordians must be more resilient to the cold, but she didn’t think the difference would be that stark.

Unbidden, Katarina’s stomach gurgled from the smell of cooking meat. She couldn’t recall when the last time she ate was. Especially having been knocked out several times. Thankfully, Ashe didn’t bother to humiliate her any further on the situation and they sat in silence as Ashe roasted her kills in the open flame.

Hours after they had partaken, Katarina having done so with much difficulty and far too much pride to accept any assistance, Katarina was still cold. Ashe had rebound her dressings, and her inner layers had thankfully dried. The fire allowed some amount of reprieve, but the open cave mouth wasn’t exactly the best deterrent to the cold outside air. Her extremities were numb, and she found herself still shivering as the temperatures grew colder. Even Ashe seemed to draw closer to the flames as she made herself comfortable for the evening. If you could call lying down on a cave floor comfortable.

Katarina studied the Freljordian’s face as blue eyes fluttered to a close. For the first time, she noticed how haggard the other girl was, seemingly smaller now that she had come to a rest, losing all her prior swagger. Dark heavy bags sat under her eyes, and she looked far more sunken than she had when she originally arrived at the Noxian camp. Her lip had now scabbed over, and her bruised cheek had reached the ugly yellow healing phase. Still, she was a pretty little thing, long lashes, full lips, and a high nose. It was unfortunate that she was insufferably cocky, and now Katarina’s number one personal enemy. It was a shame that she would likely have to die to further Noxus’ cause.

As if she could sense Katarina’s gaze, Ashe cracked open an eye, calmly looking over to the shivering Noxian.

“Cold?”

“No. P-p-perfect-tly p-peachy.” Katarina rolled over, slightly embarrassed to having been caught staring. She could hear Ashe getting up and approaching. Still she didn’t move. A sudden warmth pressed against her back, causing her to stiffen.

“What are you d-doing?”

“Warming up under my cloak.”

“...Suit yourself.”

If you asked Katarina whether or she was grateful for the warmth, she would swear on her life that she would have been able to survive that night without. In that moment, however, she knew it was time to swallow her pride and survive.

Katarina closed her eyes as her shivering gradually ceased, trying to calm down enough to get some semblance of sleep. Though the warmth was welcome, the anxiety was not. She couldn’t calm down her racing heart, not able to shake the sense of danger with sharing such close proximity to an enemy.

Katarina stole a peek over her shoulder, and started to see Ashe’s face in close proximity, looking right at Katarina.

“Fuck! What is wrong with you?!”

“I mean, I did say I trust you just about as far as I could throw you.”

“You’re an archer, you can figure something out.”

Ashe continued to stare. Katarina resisted the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.

“If you have something to say, just say it. You’ve been looking at me weird for weeks.”

Ashe hesitated a moment. “Just a personal curiosity really.”

“Funny. It seemed nothing’s really stopped anything you’ve wanted to do the past few days.”

“I was wondering where your scar came from. It is just that it looks rather fresh.”

Katarina instinctively wanted to bring her hand up to touch it.

“It’s a reminder of dumb mistakes. I’m sure little miss perfect wouldn’t understand.”

“That is where you are wrong. A perfect plan would not have endangered so many people, and would not have caused Eydis’ suffering and death.” She must have been talking about Scarface. 

“I truly don’t understand you. You care too much about what doesn’t affect you.”

“I can argue you care too little.” Katarina knew Ashe’s eyes were focused on her scar, but she couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable by the up-close scrutiny. At this distance, she could feel Ashe’s warm breath clouding up in the night air.

Katarina rolled over, breaking the eye contact. It was strange how Ashe’s eyes seem to bore directly through her guard. A shuffling behind her told her perhaps Ashe had turned away as well.

“Perhaps it is hubris. We make silly mistakes, and think we are able to change things most people do not attempt to change. Maybe you and I are not so different in the end.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Fuck you.”

“You may attempt so in the morrow if we survive.” Ashe’s playful tone taunted, it was a wonder that Katarina managed to fall asleep.

When morning came, Katarina woke up sore and aching from sleeping on a stone floor. The first thing that hit her was how quiet it had become. The winds raging over the past few days had gone silent, and even the fire pit was but a few crackling embers left behind. Ashe was also gone.

Katarina shot up, looking for a sign of the blonde, instead, she found her dried clothes by her side, neatly folded with her knife belt laid out on top. Katarina yanked a knife out of its sheath, flipping it in the air, and catching it by the handle with her teeth. The ropes were no match for her blade.

Katarina shrugged on Ashe’s cloak, the fur smelling of smoke and dried blood. It seems the Freljordian had taken Katarina’s cloak in lieu of her own to keep from Katarina from stirring. Smart move.

Outside looked completely different than it had the day before. After the storm had settled, Katarina now noticed the cliff face had a perfect view of the expanse below them. Stretches of white snow and ice broken up by large swaths of deep green forestry muted with snow. It was still snowing, but with much more of the delicacy she had seen a few weeks ago. Now, however, was not the time to admire the scenery. 

She looked upwards towards the incline she had failed to scale once before, fresh prints decorating the path. Ashe must have been through recently, the snowfall had yet to completely fill the prints in. 

So much for using her as a bargaining chip. Katarina wondered internally if Ashe probably knew that Katarina wasn’t worth as much as she might have seemed. If so, then why bother keeping her alive? 

Katarina dug her toes in, and started to spring up the path, relieved to finally be on the move again. The sedentary life was not one for her. For a deep wound, her leg felt better than she expected it to as she hopped up the path.

The tracks became nearly impossible to follow as she traversed back through the forest she had originally chased the prisoners through. At this point, her best bet would be to return to camp and hope that it was still standing. Better yet, to rendezvous with the rotation troops if they had managed to arrive. Katarina switched directions and headed towards base.

She heard the sounds of battle before she could see it. A clamour of clanging metal and angry war cries met her ears. Katarina picked up the pace, weaving through the trees using their trunks as vaulting posts. Running through snow would only slow her down. 

Soon, the fortress came into view, or at least what was left of it. Most of the structure had fallen to the winds, reclaimed to nature by the storm’s exorbitant snowfall. The wooden walls that were still standing were charred black with soot. At first glance, the whole place seemed to only be populated by the bodies of the fallen. A slight shift in movement caught her eye up in one of the guard towers. Perhaps it wasn’t as deserted as it looked.

Katarina quietly vaulted up the ladder, taking care to stay on the blind spot of the lookout. As she approached the top, she relaxed a bit when she recognised the figure in Noxian uniform.

“Lemieux.” 

The soldier jumped, spun around while fumbling at a crossbow. Katarina quickly unstrung the crossbow in his hands before he could shoot her point blank.

“Du Couteau! Spirits, I thought you were dead!”

“Not yet. What news? Are you the only survivor?”

Lemieux shook his head, scratching at his mousy whiskers. “There’s around thirty of us hiding out here.” He pointed southwards where he had been looking out towards. Katarina’s gaze followed the direction of his gesture. At the bottom of the swell of the hill, figures dressed in Noxian colours clashed with the recognisable Freljord Barbarians. 

“The supply rotations just arrived, and they were suddenly ambushed.” 

The Noxian soldiers were definitely more organised and better trained, but they lost out in sheer numbers. The Freljordians also traversed the deep snow with greater practise and ease.

“How many able bodied are hiding out?” Katarina asked, still watching the battle unfold.

“Maybe about five or so seriously injured, but most everyone else can wield a weapon.”

“Good. Take half of them to provide cover fire from the edge of the hill there.” Katarina pointed at a spot near a fallen portion of the wall. “And the other half can set up a defensive shield formation for the archers to prevent approaching attack if anyone is foolish enough to climb up the hill.”

“Good thinking. Hopefully we’ll be able to drive them away at least. I just want to leave this hellscape.” Lemieux began his descent down the ladder, before pausing, looking at Katarina quizzically. “And what about you?”

Katarina eyed a small figure traversing through the lowlands between the sheer hills to the south east, directly towards the Freljordian side of the battle. 

“I have unfinished business to take care of.”

Ashe had quite a bit of a head start on Katarina, but she seemed to be trying to stay as out of view as possible. The stolen Noxian cloak was a much darker gray than her own, and starkly contrasted the snow, making it easier for Katarina to keep an eye on her.

Katarina crept a distance behind Ashe, following in Ashe’s footprints, trying to close the gap. She froze for a moment when she watched as Ashe brought her hand to her lips and let out a high pitched trilled whistle. If she hadn’t seen it happen, Katarina would have chalked up the sound to a bird song. She had to act now, before whatever Ashe signaled answered her call.

She plotted her teleportation targets, looking for the most optimal route—protruding rocks, denser patches of snow, anything that would keep her from being impeded too heavily by the snow. One deep breath, and then she went, a blur of purple and red, flashed perfectly from one spot to another, barely disturbing the landscape in her wake. One final teleportation and she was on top of Ashe, dropping down from above and pinning the smaller girl in one smooth motion. 

Ashe struggled violently, taking a few swipes with her free hand. Katarina blocked her with her arm, preventing Ashe from getting a good angle to hit with much force. Her fingers found Ashe’s windpipe, thumbs pressing down. Ashe’s eyes blazed, meeting Katarina’s shining green, her teeth clenched in mixed pain and anger. 

Suddenly Katarina found a vision obscured by a spattering of snow, the freezing crystals burning in her eyes. Ashe had stopped resorting to brute force, and instead smashed a handful of ice in her face. Katarina blinked hard, shaking her head, but not relenting her grip. She couldn’t see, but she felt Ashe futilely thrashing beneath her. She still held out as her fractured arm burned with a sharp pain.

CRACK

Katarina was beginning to get extremely tired of getting knocked around in the head. This time, not any better than the last. She saw stars in her momentary blindness, loosening her grip. She felt Ashe push her off, but she refused to lose her balance, staggering to her feet. She shook her head, wiping the snow from her face. A few steps away, she saw Ashe scrambling away, holding her stolen bow, splintered far beyond usefulness, defensively in front of her. Ashe’s other hand rubbed gently at her throat as she coughed.

The pair faced off, waiting for the other to act. Ashe was cautiously taking steps backwards, and Katarina prowled forward like a cat closing in on its prey. Ashe’s eyes darted to the side, and in that instant, Katarina knew she had her opening. She made to take a step and teleport, path to her quarry clear as ever.

And suddenly, it wasn’t. In the blink of an eye, a massive wall of jagged ice lanced from the ground, halting Katarina’s advance. A single thrown hand axe, glowing blue with mysterious power, seemed to be the source of the strange magic. Katarina squinted eastward, the sun shone in her eyes, silhouetting an advancing group of mounted figures. As they drew closer, she could see a party of Freljordian warriors, each astride strange goat-like creatures. They were not the same archers and foot soldiers she had spied from the guard tower, these warriors were armed to the teeth along with their mounts. Leading the charge was a powerfully built woman, white braids splayed out from the wind not unlike a lion’s mane. She wielded a spear that seemed to glow with the same blue energy that the axe had. A war cry tore from her throat, sending shivers down Katarina’s spine. There was no way to know for certain, but even then, she knew that this woman must be Grena.

Katarina looked back towards Ashe, but she knew she missed her opportunity. She was flanked on either side, the other half of the Freljordian army lay just over the hill the west. If she went for it now, she would not leave alive, and for what? To capture the whelp of the barbarian leader? What a waste. The blonde recognised it as well, and began to sprint full pelt towards the party of warriors.

Katarina let loose a yell of frustration, and hurled two blades at Ashe’s back. Ashe, expecting the attack, side-stepped with a half turn. She grinned cheekily, then winked and blew Katarina a kiss.

“Five years ago, when you were stationed in Freljord’s south during the expansion campaign, you were able to get closer to Grena than anyone else was able. And though the campaign was a failure, you gave orders that aided in preventing greater losses of soldiers.”

Katarina stopped playing with her knife. She had been sprawled out in an armchair in Swain’s office, tossing and catching the blade lazily. He had never brought up what had happened in Freljord before. She tilted her head to look at the Grand General, he looked back at her, unimpressed with her usual lack of ability to acknowledge his authority. 

“Yes, and?”

“Concerning intel has come in regarding our Northern neighbours. Despite our losses in their territory, they continued to not pose much of a threat to us otherwise. Their tribes lacked any form of unity. However, when Grena died several years ago, she had a daughter that took power with different ideals in mind. Ashe, it seems, has been working to unite the warring tribes and create a unified Freljord.”

Katarina sat up, making sure not to betray any emotion other than interest in what Swain was telling her.

“I am hoping to cull any sort of those nonsense before it can actually amount to any sort of threat. I was thinking you’d be a good candidate to spearhead this particular pacification campaign. Perhaps we can nip things in the bud before anything can grow out of it.”

Swain pointed to the map on his desk.

“A large roving group of barbarians has apparently made this portion of land their home. I’m sure you can recognise that region well. If we can wipe them out before Ashe can assimilate them into her growing supporters, we will be getting rid of a large potential enemy.”

Katarina studied the map. It was the exact region she had been posted to five years ago. She buried her dagger on the spot, matching other similar pockmarks across Swain's desk.

“Consider it done.”

“Good. I will have your briefings prepared and we will discuss deployment then.”

Katarina felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she turned to leave the room. She ran her thumb on the handle of her enchanted dagger as it reappeared in its holster.

So the game of cat and mouse resumes.