Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There was a dead man in the house, but he didn’t seem to know it.

Hidden away in her alcove, Rell watched him. He stared out the nearest window, tears slowly streaming down his cheeks. From a distance, he almost looked alive. She knew better though. Up close, his skin was sallow, drained of any lingering vestiges of health. His eyes were sunken holes that contained demons. If she were to reveal herself to him, he would either flee or try and talk to them. Neither option appealed.

Instead, she peered at him, examining this ghost of a man. She watched as he lost himself in his private sorrows. Why can’t you move on? She thought. There’s nothing for you here.

You’re no one anymore, Father.

There was a dead man in the house. And Rell was forever haunted by him.

Looking back, Rell didn’t have a childhood. Where others had memories of play, she learned only violence. The feel of a spear became familiar to her, as did the smell of blood. “You will know death.” Mother said, over and over. “You will spit in Wolf’s eye and laugh at his growls.”

But even so, she knew intimately the demarcation line between her old life and the new. There was the time before and the time after.

In the before times, Rell felt like a sponge and a stalker. She absorbed everything from her parents, all of their hatred and doubts. It warped her, turned her ugly. Her mind retained that resentment and saw everything through it.

Every year, the three of them stood in front of her brother’s picture. Father had never met Kino, and neither had she, but Mother forced them into her rituals anyway. She would hold onto Rell’s wrist, tight enough to bruise, and scream at the portrait of her eldest child. She’d berate him for being stupid enough to die, eyes bulging, vocal cords straining to release all of her anger. 

Rell hated him, though not for dying. Kino’s demise felt impersonal to her. He looked like a stranger. She never wore her hair in locs, unlike her older siblings. She did not have his dark skin or gentle eyes. They only shared a nose. But she did not loathe him for being beautiful either. Her mother’s grief for him was the primary cause. 

Mother would never allow her to be like her siblings, not so long as the woman drew breath. 

Even so, Mother allowed Mel to write to her sister. Mel, the living one, the one that got away. Rell hated her too. Curiously, it was Mel’s penmanship that set her off. Every letter was written in careful cursive, elegantly swirling across paper. All of her letters reminded her that Mel lived a useless, toothless life where even her writing could be pretty.

At times, when the hate grew too much, she’d refuse to open them. Rell would let them pile up by her bedside, two or three at a time. But they’d taunt her. What photos has your sister sent? What experiences is she trying to share with you? At least take a peek. Slake your thirst. 

Sometimes, when her muscles were so weighed down from a rough day and she couldn’t keep her eyes open a second longer, Rell would dream of Piltover. Mel made promises to her often about how she could come over for a quick vacation. In her dreams, they were the best of friends. When the time would come for Rell to leave, she’d be allowed to stay with her sister, and they’d be happy together forever. Then she’d wake up to stone walls, the taste of imaginary confections suffocating her tongue, and she’d resist the urge to scream.

But those were the before times. 

Magic could be born from countless different emotions: joy, sorrow, fear. Hers, much like the divider between her past and present, was shaped like a blade and rife with violent anger. Every time she used it, iron filled her mouth and arcane shrapnel sunk deeper into her nerves.

She was only seven, back then. Nearly eight, but what did a few months matter?

“Finish your food. If you’re going to make a big fuss about what you eat, you’ll sit here until you finish eating it. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with your ingratitude.” Mother glared at her from across the table. As per usual, the dead man said nothing. As per usual, Rell glared back.

Just once, she didn’t want to finish the food. It tasted terrible, and it filled her up far too quickly to justify the portion size. Just once, she didn’t want to feel the weight of disdain as she ate. There was always something wrong with her. Her posture, her table etiquette, whatever Mother saw fit to judge her for. Didn’t Mother grow tired of it? Or was that the final remnant of her warlord days?

The taste of copper flooded her mouth, overpowering the staleness left behind from the meal. For a moment, Rell thought she bit her tongue again, but there was no pain. There was only the flavor of it and a stinging behind her eyes.

She barely had time to even begin to process this development before Father leapt over to her. His ghostly pale fingers dug into her skin, nails attacking her arm. He looked drugged. “Get off me!” She howled, but try as she might, she could not dislodge him. There was an urgent wildness in his expression, a terrible light that she had never seen him in possession of.

“Magic.” He hissed, half in wonder, half in what she’d later know as greed. “You possess magic!” As he shook her arm, the glint of what was now unrecognizable as cutlery caught her eye. Had… she done that? Helplessly, she looked towards her mother. But there was no mercy to be found there. For once, both of her parents were in agreement.

At a dining table, because of a petulant act, Rell’s childhood died.

(Secretly though, there was one final line before the before times and what came after. It was written in ink. It read:

I wish you could have found this out on your own. Magic is the heaviest burden of them all. The arcane does not care if you are a child. It only cares about how well you can bear the cost of your gift. I’m sorry, Rell.

She never received a letter from Mel again.)

Chapter Text

It took two reads for the letter to make sense in her mind. Even with the provided photos, it was a misshapen puzzle piece attempting to wedge itself in the wrong place. The words were unreal. 

We regret to inform you- 

“Elora.” 

“Yes?” Though her assistant’s tone remained level, her expression was full of pity.

“Leave me.” Mel said. She fought tooth and nail to project an aura of strength, and she’d be damned if she let that falter now. The difference between a confidant and a comforter spanned a larger distance than a few letters. 

She waited until Elora exited and closed the door behind her to allow herself one singular sob. Perhaps this was a fitting end for a woman who would have drowned the world in blood if she could manage it. Perhaps. Even so, it didn’t feel that way. 

Mel only cried once, but once was enough. The fox automaton on her desk hummed to life with a creak of its little joints. Glowing gemstone eyes swiveled towards her, piercing in their judgment. She looked into them. Somewhere, miles away, a man looked back. “What distresses you, Mel?” So said the mechanical voice of Viktor.

A frown settled on her face. “You’re not supposed to contact me today.” She chided him. 

“But I have.” There was no remorse in his tone. If his claims were true, he no longer had the capacity to feel any. “Go on. Tell me what has troubled you and we will work out a solution.” That was Viktor, always concerned about efficacy. It was difficult to resent that side of him when she knew it too well.

“I’ve received news about my sister.” Rell. Poor Rell. She could still remember holding her as a baby. The fat babe had stopped squealing once she locked eyes on Mel’s armor. On that day, pure fascination radiated from every pore. Did that curiosity, that wonder, still exist within the girl now?

Her vulpine companion yawned. “Elaborate. Has she been killed?”

“No, but death has happened nonetheless. She has killed our mother.” Mel paused, searching for the right words to use. “There are pictures included.”

“Hm.” Blue crystals winked at her. “I assume you are going to Noxus. I do not have much to spare, but I’ll send you a golem to take along.” 

Mel began shaking her head before he could finish his sentence. “No, that won’t be helpful. She’s a ferromancer. She’ll either weaponize your creations against me or destroy them completely.” 

“Something smaller then. If it escapes her notice long enough, you can execute her effortlessly.” 

A spike of whitehot anger shot down her spine. She could feel her armor glowing, building up to a moment of destruction she wouldn’t be able to take down. It wasn’t worth it. It would only serve the fleeting purpose of renewing Viktor’s ideological fire.

“I think you misunderstand me.” Mel replied quietly. “Rell is my sister. I’m not going to Noxus to kill her. I’m going to stop her bloodshed.” 

From within the fox on her desk, a laugh was reproduced. “That is what makes you so intriguing, Mel Medarda. You are incredibly close to forces mortals can’t begin to comprehend, and yet you cling to useless emotion. Do you think diplomacy will save you? Save her? You will go to your sister with hope in your heart. You will ask her to stop her crusade. And she will kill you for it. You know I only speak in facts. Let me help you.”

Her eyes fell back to the pictures. You will be proud, Councilor Medarda! All of the wounds entered through the front. To the end, she was a Noxian.

“This is my burden, Viktor. Goodbye.” 

“You’re being a fool. There is metal embedded within you-”

With a sigh, she shut off his gift for the first - and possibly the last - time.

Less than a day later, she had arrived in Noxus. Even though her sponsorship was essential to the creation of the Hexgates, Mel never found the need to use them herself. Piltover was her palace. Her sphere of influence extended throughout its streets and courts, but only through them. 

Out here, dressed in the simplest blouse and breeches she had, plain-faced and adorned with nothing, she could become no one. Mel hardly recognized herself in the reflection the stands full of blades provided. The sight of throwing knives tempted her, but she didn’t waste her money. Others had tried them against her sister, only for them to be returned in kind. Instead, she purchased a coat, clearly second-hand but lined with fur. It was always cold in this part of Noxus. Wind tore at the skin like fangs ripped through meat. Her eyes looked to the horizon. Was another wolf waiting for her out there in the hinterlands? Or would it be the arrow of the lamb?

That night, Mel looked at the pictures again. She was no stranger to gore. When she was about Rell’s age, she had rode into battle on top of her mother’s finest drake-hound. In truth, it was a small skirmish, but she didn’t know that then. A man tugged her off the beast and down into the muck. He didn’t get to live long enough to appreciate the victory. She remembered laying there in the filth, frozen as her temporary steed bit the man in half. 

But that was the work of an animal. And it wasn’t just any beast; it was one she had spent months feeding chunks of meat with no barrier between them. Of course it would kill for her without a second thought. The photos depicted the work of a teenage girl, but despite the subject in them, despite the circumstances, despite the perpetrator, she could find no difference. There was only carnage fueled by rage.

Still, she refused to believe that Viktor was right. Even a drake-hound could listen to someone begging it to stop, please, just stop, it’s over now. Rell was human. No matter what had happened to her, she was only a girl. Mel had no desire to give up on her. 

If she found the right words, she knew she could reach her still.

At dawn, she donned her coat again. “Golden Sister,” Mel begged, “watch over me. Watch over us both.”

In hindsight, it was a foolish trek. No guarantees existed that said Rell would stay in one place. Still, she walked. As the ground gave way to metal shards that threatened to tear through her shoes, she walked on. As she saw hints of bone and smelled rotting flesh, she walked on. Her chest ached. Nothing seemed to thrive out here, not even a lowly worm. But Mel pressed forward. Only the sound of hoofbeats, both familiar and odd, slowed her progress. It’s coming from the south. Old training kicked in as she swiveled to face the noise. When faced with a rider, make their horse buck them off. So said a voice that wasn’t her own. But she did not move to arm herself. She merely waited.

“Huh. I didn’t think you’d show your stupid face around here. I was going to go to your stupid city and slaughter you there, but you just came to me instead. Guess you’re dumber than you look, huh, sis?”

Rell didn’t look capable of matricide. She smelled of death and ruin, but her scowl looked childish. It didn’t suit her face. Neither did the battlefield. She had been forced here by magic. Again, Viktor’s words occurred to her. Again, Mel paid them no heed. 

“Maybe so,” she replied softly, “but that doesn’t matter. Rell, I’m here to take you home.”