Prisoner.
That's what they'd called her when the news finally reached Katarina.
Not Riven.
Not Captain.
Nothing at all to indicate the status from which the soldier had apparently fallen from grace.
Just... prisoner.
When they'd brought the soldier back—however chained and bloodied—Katarina was, of all things, relieved. Relieved that Riven was home. Relieved that, after months of being told otherwise, she was alive. Deserter or not, she would take a battered Riven over a dead one any day.
So for twenty days Riven had been imprisoned, awaiting judgement from High Command , and for twenty days Katarina had waited with her. Noxus did not treat cowardice lightly—did it ever treat anything lightly?—and as an acting captain of a company, Riven was facing, at the very least, execution.
The common cell they'd thrown Riven in, the blatant disregard of the captain's status—and at times even her own when she'd tried to intervene—those were all things she could forgive.
What she couldn't forgive, though, was being roused awake at two in the morning by an urgent message from the very last man she wanted to owe a courtesy to.
Without waiting for her siblings to make themselves presentable, she barked orders for them to meet her at the Arena before rushing there herself. It wasn't until she was out the door that she realized there was nothing Talon and Cassiopeia could really do for her—for Riven—there. Heck, there was likely nothing she could do herself.
Katarina took a shortcut through the Ivory Ward to reach the Fleshing Arena. The scattered midnight crowd made for good time but in her adrenalized state it was unlikely that a usual bustling crowd could've done anything to slow her.
Her heart was beating frantically in her chest by the time she arrived and the mad sprint had nothing to do with it. She paused for a moment under the main archway that funneled spectators in and out of the stadium and attempted to slow her breathing.
They had brought Riven to the Fleshing Arena.
That was bad.
It was very rare for anyone who didn't enter the arena as a spectator to leave recognizably intact, let alone alive. Katarina shook at the very real possibility that Riven would be executed before sunrise.
But it was 2 AM, and Noxians were nothing if not suckers for spectacle. The fact that she was the only one there was a good sign. Without a crowd, it was fairly safe to assume that there would be no execution.
Not yet, anyway.
But what else could it be? She was beginning to panic again.
Before her mind could derail and entertain other possible scenarios—torture? Dismemberment?—Talon and Cassiopeia arrived, the latter panting softly but otherwise wordless. Like her adoptive brother, she looked pensive.
Katarina looked at Cassiopeia almost pleadingly as if, for once, the younger sister could provide her with an answer. The younger Du Couteau bit her lip nervously and Katarina shivered. Nervous was not a look Cassiopeia wore often, nor did it look good on her.
She felt something warm wrap around her shoulders and realized Talon had thought to bring her a cloak. "Let's go in," Talon said quietly.
Inhaling a cold deep breath, Katarina shifted her posture so that her back was straight and raised her chin. She forced one leg in front of the other until the concrete underneath her feet turned to sand and she made it to the center of the arena.
There she was met by a handful of High Command—some seven or so elites—and, of course, the executioner Draven.
He greeted her with amicable words but his eager tone didn't match the sentiment. "Glad you could make it. I sent word as soon as I could."
Katarina ignored him, too distracted by Riven’s absence to be utterly disgusted by the sadistic smile he wore. "Where is she?!" she shouted.
Her question was met with silence.
Under normal circumstances she would've been reprimanded for her disrespect but the looks her superiors gave her were not of anger but rather indifference or pity.
She hated pity.
One of the generals—she recognized him as Darius, Riven's commanding officer—looked almost sympathetic as he moved his large frame aside to reveal Riven.
Riven's back was to her but by the movement of her head she appeared to be conscious. She was kneeling before a wooden post nearly a person’s size in height and girth. Her arms were wrapped around its circumference, shackled and hung on a hook protruding from the post's rear at such a height that was meant to eliminate any possible comfort.
Once more Riven struggled to turn. Katarina wanted to tell her 'I'm here' but no sound escaped her moving lips.
Stripped of her armour, Riven wore nothing but breeches and a loose beige undershirt that was pulled up and over her head to reveal her bare back which was, Katarina noticed, not without new scars.
Katarina fought the urge to run to her, to wrap her warm cloak around Riven, to tell her everything was going to be okay and do anything and everything in her power to make it so. But instead she stayed her ground and turned to Darius, perhaps not the one in charge but certainly the most imposing man there, and asked him "what is the meaning of this?"
He was silent for a moment and when Katarina began to repeat the question, it was Draven who answered her. Mentally, she spat the word cowards at the feet of High Command.
"Riven Marth—"
"Captain Riven Marth," Katarina hissed. Riven had yet to be stripped of that title and Katarina would be damned before letting her be insulted any further.
Draven barked a laugh. "Very well. Captain Riven Marth has been judged guilty of desertion and is sentenced to whipping, and I am charged with carrying out that sentence."
For the second time that month Katarina found herself relieved at something that under normal circumstances would never be considered good news, but it appeared that High Command was willing to spare Riven’s life.
Then Talon spoke beside her for the first time and even her heart stopped to listen. "How many?" he asked.
Draven looked pleased as ever. "The captain deserted her company and left eighty men behind to die.”
Eighty lashes.
“That’s absurd!” Talon growled, breaking through his signature calm.
“Isn’t it?” Draven chuckled. “Only one lash for one life lost isn’t fair at all.”
Katarina would've leapt at the executioner were it not for Talon's iron grip on her arms, though for a second her brother looked as if he was about to do so in her stead.
"That's a death sentence!" she roared.
"Hardly," Draven grunted. He feigned being lost in thought. "Though I do admit this is the first time I'm meant to let someone leave my stadium alive. That, and I am a bit heavy handed. Oh, well. Practice makes perfect."
Katarina struggled against Talon's restraint and opened her mouth to say... She didn't quite know what she was going to say. Would screaming help?
Fortunately, Darius thought it an appropriate time to step in. "Enough!" he addressed his younger brother. Draven didn’t look the least bit intimidated by the general but ceased his laughter.
And to Katarina he said, "believe it or not, Du Couteau, we are doing you a favour. Or would you rather the captain face certain death before a much larger audience when the sun rises?"
She stilled then, and slowly resigned herself to Riven's fate, hardly noticing or even caring that her own sister had moved to Draven's side and was speaking to him.
Wordlessly, the elites present positioned themselves loosely on either side of Riven. Darius moved to join them. Draven finished his conversation with Cassiopeia and took up his position roughly three paces behind the captain.
It was then that Katarina finally noticed the leather scourge in the sand. Draven picked up the instrument by its wooden handle and she was placated to note that the quartet of leather thongs hanging from it were unadorned with any of the usual knots or chips of metal and bone.
She looked to Darius for confirmation that this was another one of his favours but the general would not meet her eyes. Instead, he stared at the figure bound to the wooden post, wearing an expression she couldn't quite decipher. She had forgotten that Riven once meant something to him as well.
Cassiopeia suddenly appeared at her side, tugging on one arm while Talon pushed at her other to get her to move aside but she shoved them off and turned to face away.
"I'm not watching this," she snapped. She felt their hands return and allowed herself to take some comfort in their awkward half embrace. She even let herself entertain the possibility that Draven had already begun the lashing and that any second now it would all be over and Riven would be back in her arms, safe and alive.
But only mere seconds had passed and before she could make anything out of Talon's murmured, "they're beginning," a distinctive wet crack sounded through the air followed by a brief cry that Riven immediately stifled.
Katarina pressed her palms against her ears, caring not at all about her blatant display of gutlessness, but couldn't muffle the sounds of leather hitting flesh.
Weak.
She felt so weak. So helpless.
When the call for war came it had been Riven who donned her armour and left to fight while Katarina stayed behind to complete her initiation into High Command.
And now? Now Riven was to be flogged like some common criminal and Katarina was powerless to save her from the very organization she’d successfully become a part of.
She wanted to run but her legs buckled. She wanted to scream but couldn't catch a breath. She wanted to open her eyes but could feel the wetness behind them ready to escape.
Unbidden, she glanced over her shoulder to steal a glimpse of the captain and the sight nearly brought her to her knees.
Riven's back was a mass of countless thin linear welts arrayed in no particular direction. Some streaks had started to ooze blood. Riven had been almost soundless—the first strike must’ve come as a surprise—but with every consequent swing of Draven's practiced hand, Riven could no longer stifle her cries and Katarina listened as they crescendoed stroke after stroke.
Katarina ran.
Without thinking, she forced her legs to carry her to Riven causing Draven to pause his deliveries and sidestep out of her way. She knelt behind the post so that she could face Riven whose head was rocking almost limply to one side and ignored Draven's curious look over the captain's shoulder.
Sweat beaded off Riven's pale blonde hair, gluing it to her forehead. Katarina took the captain's face—as best she could with the post and Riven's arms in the way—in both of her hands. Riven was biting on the fabric of her shirt that had been pulled over her head to rest at her chin but spat it out when her eyes focused on Katarina.
"I'm here," Katarina whispered.
Riven opened her mouth to say something but another lash struck her back and all that could escape was another cry.
Katarina noticed the extra time before the next blow landed and briefly wondered if Draven was giving Riven as much for her benefit or if he was just simply lengthening the process for his own sick pleasure.
"I couldn't save them, Kat," Riven whimpered.
Katarina planted a kiss on Riven’s forehead. "There was nothing you could do," she murmured.
Crack.
Riven gasped for breath. "They were already dead."
Another kiss. "It wasn't your fault."
Crack.
"I was scared. I ran."
Katarina shuddered at the admission. "I would've too," she whispered.
Crack.
A pause, but then, "I should've died."
Katarina kissed her again but on the lips this time. She wanted Riven to feel her words as much as hear them. "But you didn't," she said firmly.
Crack.
"I’m going to die." It almost sounded like a question.
Katarina kissed her again. "I won't let you."
Katarina held her for the rest of the blows, for what felt like an eternity and a day, murmuring useless reassurances all the while Riven lamented her horrors between muffled sobs.
She didn’t notice that Draven had stopped until Talon deftly moved to unhook Riven’s shackles from the post and finally release her from them. He helped to unwrap her arms from the post before allowing her to fall into Katarina, mindful of the fresh wounds on her back.
"That was eighty?" Katarina asked her brother.
"Twenty," Talon replied.
Katarina glared at Draven curiously but he simply shrugged and wiped the blood off his whip with his gloves.
"One whip, four thongs," he grinned. "Twenty strokes can feel like eighty. I can be efficient." Then he leaned in so Katarina could feel his breath on her ear when he spoke. "We're square, Du Couteau."
Before she had a chance to ask him what the hell he was talking about, he straightened and Cassiopeia took his place, kneeling down beside her. Her words were meant for Katarina but she was looking at Riven with a sympathy Katarina hadn't seen her sister show in a long time.
"He owed me a favour,” she mumbled, referring to Draven. “I asked him to go easy.” She was still staring at the bleeding wounds on Riven’s back. “I don't know if it helped."
"Cass." Katarina waited for Cassiopeia to finally look up at her before telling her "thank you."
Their small audience quickly dwindled until only Darius remained with them. For some reason, Katarina felt she should thank him too.
"Take care of her, Du Couteau," he ordered. "She has a long recovery ahead of her."
At first Katarina thought he was referring to Riven's fresh wounds and anger surged through her, but she saw his look before he made his exit. He was referring to wounds that had cut much deeper.
Talon knelt down and motioned for his sisters to place Riven on his back but Katarina said, "No, let me," so Talon helped maneuver Riven onto Katarina's back instead. He knew better than to argue with her, moreso whenever Riven was involved.
"Hang on, Riven," she grunted. She felt Riven's arms tighten around her when she stood and heard her groan something that almost sounded like “where?”
She felt a kiss on her shoulder before she could finish saying. "We're going home."