Risen

Strength and power. They meant everything and more to the people of Noxus. Those who had it held titles to match, and those who didn't... Well, they weren't worth remembering.

The empire boasted many adept warriors, but among the handful of generals and other elite agents of High Command, only one title held power above all.

The Grand General.

A title bestowed only to the worthiest Noxian, the grand general was a leader of leaders and a warrior among men. An exalted champion who possessed the most cunning of minds.

Countless lifetimes ago, Grand General Boram Darkwill ascended the throne with unrivalled strength. For as long as he reigned, Noxus had never seen more glorious days. As popular and as cautious as he was, though, it was a cowardly assassination that brought a sour end to his long rule.

His son, Keiran Darkwill, with strength to match his late father's, had an ability -- a talent, even -- to lead. Support for his succession amassed among the people just shortly after Boram's death. The man was as proficient in tongue as he was in battle. Keiran's ascension was as sure as the sunset.

That is, until Jericho Swain.

Jericho Swain was a man of all trades. His strength was thought to exceed Boram's by far, and with only a speech or two here and there, the people accepted him with equal, if not more, content as they did Keiran. But words and muscle weren't all it took for him to secure the throne. There was his cunning... Damn his cunning.

He could count the number of people who knew of his plot to seize power on one hand and still have fingers left over. It wasn't a secret -- well, not anymore -- but rather, such meticulous plans would've been wasted on the peoples' simple minds. His victory and Keiran's death, what was believed to have secured his reign, was just another chore to cross off his 'to-do' list.

With the Darkwills deep in the dirt, very few believed Jericho Swain's reign would end during their lifetime, or even the next... They were the very same people who believed Fury Company to be a thing of the long forgotten past.

The 'Dark Horse' is what they called her. To the old, she was a remnant of the Conquering. To the young, she was a hero out of legend, returned from the grave to lead Noxus back into its glory days. To those who once loved her, she was still just a memory.

Clad in plain, black leathers underneath a thick, heavy robe to match, Riven sat atop her throne, taking in the empty room around her. Just steps from the dais was the very spot where she'd knelt, nearly ten years ago, and received the orders to march into certain death. Of course, Darkwill's intentions with Zaun were unknown to her then.

Gifted with a divine weapon, an enchanted blade forged of rare obsidian from the age of dragons, she was quite literally Noxus' knight in shining armour. So young, naive, and eager to serve.

Right then, though, as the new ruler of Noxus, she didn't feel a damn thing.

"Grand General Riven," she murmured to herself, getting a feel for it on her tongue. "It's going to take some getting used to."

The last thing she expected was an answer, but it was what she got anyway. Her time alone came to an end when a voice echoed from the silence and nearly made her flinch.

"Well," it said.

Riven didn't turn, didn't move, even when a cold hand materialized on her shoulder and snaked across her collar bone to cup her cheek. Whether it was surprise or fear that paralyzed her this time, she couldn't say.

"Then you'd better do it fast, darling."

And just as quickly as it had manifested, the hand was gone.

Riven waited patiently for her guest to reappear, but called out moments later when they didn't.

"LeBlanc."

It was hardly a shout, but it might as well have been one. Her voice, bending through the colonnades and bouncing off of walls, could be heard all around the room. Then, once again, she felt a cold, weighted presence. This time on her thigh. Riven sighed and swept her appreciation of fine Noxian architecture to the background of her thoughts.

"Come now, darling, no need to be unfamiliar. Emilie will do."

When Emilie dispelled her cloaking magic, Riven was all but being straddled. Even with the woman dressed more appropriately than usual, thank the weather, it was difficult to banish the need that the mage so effortlessly made her feel. Still, she didn't move a muscle, save the ones that worked her mouth.

"And to what do I owe this displeasure?" she asked. Out the corner of her eye she could see LeBlanc feign hurt.

When the mage spoke, it was in her playful tone, but Riven could sense the warning behind her words.

"Careful now," she sang, tracing two fingers along Riven's jaw line before forcing her eyes to meet with a sharp twist of her chin. "Don't forget who it was that put you here."

It took all Riven had not to avert her gaze, to look at anything but the eyes that mirrored the fires of hell itself. In the end, even her will didn't amount to much. Riven swallowed and nodded the smallest of nods. Fortunately, it was enough for the smile to return to LeBlanc's face.

Finally, the mage vacated her lap and she breathed a bit easier for it. She rubbed her chin, feeling the sting of where nails had dug into her skin.

Riven didn't forget. How could she possibly? Whatever ploy the matron of the Black Rose had concocted to secure Swain's tenure, it was nowhere near as elaborate as the one she used to dethrone him. LeBlanc could pull one scheme after another out of her sleeves, each one more elaborate than the last.

It could just as easily be LeBlanc's lithe form on the throne. Luckily, the mage was content with being just a myth, a name whispered from daring lips to inquisitive ears in the empire's shadier corners.

Riven didn't think about how LeBlanc would dethrone her should she feel the need to.

"Did you need something?" Riven rephrased.

LeBlanc stood before her, as still as stone, but Riven could swear she saw something flash in the mage's eyes. It was never a good sign.

"Actually, yes," LeBlanc answered, lips curved into a beautiful, yet unsettling, smile.

"What could the matron of the Black Rose possibly need that she can't just take for herself?" Though she was quite aware of her loose tongue, Riven hadn't the energy to restrain words.

"My dear, some things can only be given," LeBlanc said, easing herself onto the wide stone slab that served as an arm rest.

Displaced, Riven automatically let her hand rest against the curve of the mage's back. One again LeBlanc forced their eyes to meet. With two fingers tucked under her chin, she tilted, gently this time, until their lips hovered just a breath away.

Like a puppet on strings, Riven was compelled to close the gap between them. Tingles surged through her body underneath where LeBlanc was tracing her skin. Even her heart thumped so hard she feared it would break out of her chest. Unclear motives or not, the woman was magnetic.

How good it was to finally feel again.

Riven had no will in her to fight the advance this time, and instead, surged forward to kiss the mage. LeBlanc playfully resisted at first, but eventually gave Riven and her commanding desire free reign.

The feel of LeBlanc's grin as she kissed her did not go unnoticed, and neither did the mocking laughter that rumbled deep in her throat. Even when she'd won, Riven knew she'd lost.

With neither even close to being satisfied, LeBlanc pulled away, laughing freely as she untangled her fingers from Riven's silver locks.

"Thirsty, aren't we?" she tutted.

Riven ignored the question, straightening herself and frowning as she crudely wiped the taste of the deceiver from her lips with her sleeve.

"Why did you help me?" she asked. It was a question she'd been demanding an answer to since the moment they'd met. And like any other day, she expected and received another cryptic answer.

"Your dreams for Noxus intrigue me."

"And Swain?" she pressed. "You stood behind him did you not?"

LeBlanc smiled. "I did," she said proudly. "It's true I didn't need you," she admitted. "Your dreams could've easily been realized by his actions. All I had to do was say the word."

The use of past tense was a huge relief to Riven's ears, but she didn't breathe any easier for it. "So then what changed?"

LeBlanc licked her still-moist lips. "He bored me," she replied, simply, complimenting the answer with a shrug.

"Because he listened?" Riven growled.

"Precisely! Look," she continued before Riven's face could stiffen into a permanent glare, "Someone who's lived as long as I have is entitled to a little fun. And what's the fun in keeping a dog on a short leash?"

Riven shoved herself to her feet, stepping off the dais before whirling around to face the throne that was now solely occupied by LeBlanc.

"I am not a dog," she roared. "And I am certainly not yours."

Everything she did and said had LeBlanc looking like the pieces she'd laid out were falling meticulously into place. Riven was just another pawn in one of her games, and she didn't know any of the rules. What she wouldn't give to wipe that smirk off LeBlanc's face.

"Swain wanted power, but he lacked ambition," the mage explained. "Of course, having such lackluster goals makes one easy to predict. But you," she paused, eyeing Riven from top to bottom, "what you want isn't so easily attainable. I never know what to expect next from you."

Before Riven could think of a reply, LeBlanc stood, letting out a little yawn as if she'd had a long and exhausting day.

"Someone's here to see you. Now if you'll excuse me, Grand General," she said with a wink, "you've got some work to do."

"Don't wait up."

LeBlanc excused herself with a mocking little bow, then dissipated into a thin cloud of smoke.

Riven yearned for the day the mage would learn to use a door, but for now she'd have to endure the smoke and mirrors. Groaning internally, she resumed her throne, looking more regal than she felt, before the herald reached the hall.

"Grand General," the plainly clad messenger greeted, bowing low, once he reached the dais. "The Privy Council is fully assembled and awaiting your presence in the Great Hall, sir."

"My thanks," she responded curtly. "You may go," she added when the soldier hesitated at the implied dismissal. She was aware his job description entailed more than just simply delivering messages, and she'd been meaning to change that, but as the sovereign of Noxus, having to be escorted everywhere was not only aggravating, but also beyond shameful.

Sadly, the Kingsguard that Boram had implemented to appease his paranoia carried through the ages, and his assassination only caused High Command to ensure it remained.

But there was only one assassin capable of bringing her demise, and Riven was sure she was safe for the time being.

The guard bowed deeply again and returned to whatever other duties he was responsible for.

Alone and without the unwanted company of soldiers, who would more likely get in her way than save her from anything, Riven made her way to the Great Hall. There, she was greeted with a full table of Noxian elites engaged in idle chatter that immediately subsided upon her entrance.

"My apologies," she said, taking her seat at the far end of the table. She was answered with polite nods from a few. "I understand there's a lot to talk about, so where shall we begin?"

The man on her left cleared his throat, seizing her attention. He wasn't the oldest member of the Council, but he was beyond merely greying. Judging by the loose fit of his robes, she reckoned it'd been a while since he'd had need to stretch his muscles.

"Yes, my Lord Chancellor?" she acknowledged him, trying her best to wrestle her brows out of their permanent frown.

"It's come to my attention that you intend to end our diplomatic ties with Zaun," he accused.

Murmurs erupted around the room,  and Riven silenced them with a raised hand, all without breaking eye contact with the man who sparked the outrage.

"Chemical warfare is not the Noxian way. It is cowardly, and a disgrace," she said loudly, putting her lungs behind every word. Her audience was taken slightly aback by the outburst, but she continued before the old man could find room to argue. "You served as grandmaster during Boram's time, did you not?" she asked. "Surely you of all people could see how true my words ring."

Riven's lips twitched and she fought to keep from smirking victoriously when the chancellor nodded without any accompanying words. She never had a knack for diplomacy, and never had any reason to be until now. She led with might of will and strength to equal, action to show for what her lack of words cannot. She didn't need bribes or faked politeness to appease greedy old men who wouldn't live long enough to see the future she was fighting for.

"Anything else, Chancellor?" she asked, annoyed. Much to Riven's chagrin, affairs with Zaun wasn't all the man had to feed her ears.

"In addition to cutting ties with Zaun, you wish to, instead, to ally us with the eastern pacifists?" he stated, voice laced with disgust.

"Those pacifists," Riven retorted, rounding on him and, once again, calming the disapproving murmurs of the others present, "caused Noxus to lose more numbers in a single campaign than you've seen  fall in your whole life time. Before you begged Zaun's intervention against them, if I may add."

"We didn't--"

"You haven't seen what I have, Chancellor," Riven spat. "The world is so much more than what exists inside our city walls. If we seek to conquer this world, we'd become rulers of nothing, because there will be nothing left to rule."

She paused, meeting the eyes of everyone at the table, one by one, demanding undivided attention. "This empire is on the verge of collapse. It is not Ionia's doing. It is not Demacia's doing. It is our own doing. The senseless fighting ends today."

"What you speak of is weakness!" boomed a voice from the other end of the lengthy table.

She recognized the speaker as the grandmaster. "Is it, now?" Riven challenged.

"To play nice with our neighbours; that is what you're asking of us. You bid us cut ties with our allies to drink tea with our enemies!"

"I bid you stop needlessly wasting lives fighting a war we cannot win!" she corrected him. "How strong will Noxus be when our numbers fall to that which cannot even fight off the smallest of threats?" she asked loud enough to make his complaint seem like a mere whisper.

"It won't," the general growled.

"Oh, but it has!" Riven barked back. She imagined LeBlanc listening in every shadow and dark corner of the room and steeled her resolve to show her council its place.

Not easily attainable, indeed.

"They're either with us or they're against us. When our country becomes kindling for the fires of war, they will be the ones to aid us. To fight in our empire's name. Is that not strength?"

The grandmaster rolled his eyes. "Such foolhardy ideas, girl."

Riven could've heard a pin drop in the deadly silence that followed if it weren't for the ringing in her ears.

"Do not belittle me, you old fool!" she growled through her teeth. "It was under your leadership that we marched into more ambushes than you can count, lost more soldiers than you can fathom. Tell me, Grandmaster, just how glorious your days have been since."

"There is truth to her words," joined another voice. Riven turned and found herself face to face the last man she'd expected to make her job any less difficult.

"General Darius," she acknowledged with a nod. He didn't extend her the same courtesy, but to his merit, lions weren't tamed in one day.

"Demacia will never stop knocking at our gates, and we will always answer with blood and arms," he said.

Riven hummed in agreement, unsure of where Darius was going.

"But it is a war we are slowly losing, a war we should've won long ago if not for our scattered army. Noxus will have blood, but it will no longer be our own. I will hold you to your promise, Grand General. Should this empire show any sign of further crumbling, we will be seeking a new Grand General," he finished.

Riven acknowledged the threat wordlessly. Her shoulders were squared, her chin held high, but between Darius' words and his towering presence, she just felt so damn small.

"You are considering the impossible, General," she reassured him, hoping to sound more confident than she was.

The idea of Darius on the throne was oddly fitting and shot chills down her spine. No doubt he could fill her seat, literally as well as figuratively. Perhaps he could even do a better job, but for once Riven was glad the matron of the Black Rose had taken a liking to her. The thought of losing her greatest ally to a man who already had the ears of High Command was unsettling.

"Now," she said before anyone else could interject, "with foreign matters out of the way..."

"Ah, yes," said another new voice, this time belonging to a woman. Riven recognized the speaker as the justiciar. The elderly woman had the more friendlier face of those who resided on her council. The lines that time carved in her face were almost maternal.

Riven had to remind herself that this very same woman had never once condemned a person to death without a grin on her face.

"What do you have for us, my Lady Justiciar?" Riven asked.

Sure enough, her teeth-showing smile was there when she announced that the Crimson Elite, High Command's public task force, had rounded up Swain's loyal supporters who refused to acknowledge her as their new sovereign.

She could see Darius' face twist in rage, a reminder that he was Swain's former right hand.

"What are their sentences?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"The loyalists are to be put to the axe for treason," the justiciar almost sang.

Riven had to stifle a laugh. She'd learned long ago that loyalty was just as fleeting as the weather. True loyalty was difficult to find and a sight for sore eyes when she did find it. If she sought to execute all those without unwavering loyalty, she wouldn't have a kingdom left to rule, let alone an empire.

"Absolve them of all charges, my lady," she ordered before Darius could put the elderly woman to his personal axe. "If they do come for me and succeed in taking my life, I wouldn't be worthy of my title."

The justiciar frowned, perhaps for the first time in her life judging by how unnatural -- and slightly terrifying -- the expression looked, but didn't press the need for execution any further.

Still, Riven should've known better than to think the issue was put to rest.

"They cannot go unpunished, Grand General," the justiciar argued. "There are gentry and nobles among them. An example needs to be made."

"What do you propose, then?" Riven continued to humour the old woman, but her patience was wearing thin. Had she the misfortune to appear before this woman just months ago, it would be her head on the chopping block.

"Strip them of their wealth and titles, at the very least."

She noticed her treasurer's eyes light up at the mention of adding to the royal coffer -- and undoubtedly his own as well -- and made a mental note to make some changes to her council members as soon as it was convenient to do so.

"Very well," she agreed. It wasn't the worst punishment one could get in Noxus.

She thought the matter over when she felt a chilling presence at her backside between the small space that separated her and the chair. She could've guessed, if the teasing touches beneath her robe were any indication, but was saved the trouble when LeBlanc whispered to her, and only her.

She could only make out every other word through the chatter, but it was enough.

"House Du Couteau was among them?!" she asked the justiciar with more concern than she should've made known.

"Ah, yes, but how did you--"

Riven stood, nearly toppling her chair in the process, and slammed her fist against the polished wooden tabletop.

"You're telling me to believe that House Du Couteau is loyal to Swain?!" she scoffed. "The very man who took Marcus Du Couteau's -- their father's -- whereabouts to his grave?"

"No," the justiciar replied, impressively calm. "Not loyal to Swain, but not loyal to you, either."

"This is tyranny! I will not have people stripped or executed on a whim," she shouted, throat sore from having done so all day.

She was... angry. It was a familiar feeling, one she hadn't felt in a long, long time. Of course, the circumstances were far from ideal, but regardless, it was a feeling nonetheless.

It was good to feel again.

"That is not the Noxian way, Grand General," the treasurer interjected.

"Neither is greed, treasurer," Riven barked back. "War lurks beyond our borders and yet here you are, calling for our own blood to be shed. If tyranny is what you want, Lady Justiciar," she said returning her attention to the old woman, "then it is what you will have. I am the Grand General, your sovereign emperor, and you are my advisors. You will do as I say when I say it or the next axe to fall will fall upon your neck. Are we understood?" she asked her seething councillors.

They bowed their heads.

"Good."

Ignoring LeBlanc's ethereal chuckles, Riven stood and dusted off her robe, calling an early end to their session before she could make good on her promise. "I believe it best we continue this meeting another time. If that is all that requires our urgent attention, my lords and ladies, I bid you all a good night."

She didn't have to wait long for the hall to empty. Watching the lot of them scurry out of her sight was... satisfying. Some couldn't wait to get out of her line of fire, while others, like Darius, had much better things to do than play politics with old fools. She was beginning to understand LeBlanc's taste for games.

Finally alone, Riven slipped into the private passageway hidden inconspicuously behind one of several statues that lined the hall. There, she followed the markings she'd carved to keep herself from getting lost in the underground maze.

She cursed the fact that the passages were confined to the palace and didn't extend to the rest of the city.  However, the sections she'd already mapped out were able to take her as far as the stables, which was good enough for all her intents and purposes.

The stable boy nearly jumped out of his skin when Riven squeezed herself out of a trap door inside an empty stable. She didn't give him time to collect his wits before ordering him to ready a horse. He fumbled at first, likely out of nervousness in her presence, so she stepped outside to survey the moonlit evening sky and left him to his task.

Within a few short breaths, he appeared with her saddled black-as-night companion, and handed her the reins. Riven didn't miss the relieved grin he gave her when she thanked him and mounted her horse.

She wished all of Noxus could smile at her like that.

Drawing her hood over her face, she raced through an unmarked trail under cover of the forest's shadows, rather than taking the paved road that wound down the low hill on which the palace sat. Though it'd been nearly ten years since she'd last ridden a horse, she was able to make her way to her destination almost effortlessly. There was nothing her practiced sea legs couldn't handle.

Riven dismounted at the gates, straightening her wind-ruffled cloak. The soles of her boots nearly disappeared into muddied, overgrown grass the instant her feet hit the ground, but she didn't have time to notice, as she was greeted with the husk of the closest thing she'd had to a home.

The Du Couteau mansion looked like something out of a nightmare. Vines held the house in a messy chokehold and the once-pearly white stone foundation was caked an ashen gray.

The place was colourless.

She lost her footing on a charred stump while searching for a place to secure her horse. The trees that once stood on the property looked like they'd had more than their fare share of lightning strikes and practice swords, and the only things to greet her in the garden were bottom halves of statues that should've stood many heads taller than her.

With careful steps and a heavy heart, she made her way down the uneven path. Each footfall counted her sleepless nights, plagued by dreams of war, since she'd last been home. They counted the scars on her back, the friends she'd lost, and the lives she'd taken along the way. She could circle the earth and it wouldn't be enough.

She let sorrow take hold, let herself feel for a little while longer, not realizing she'd lowered her guard until, just feet away from the entrance, someone called out from behind.

Riven knew there was a blade aimed at her throat before she even turned.

Hands raised in surrender, she regretted leaving her chambers this morning unarmed.

"Hello, Kat," she greeted calmly, gambling with the fact that if the assassin wanted her dead, she would've killed her already.

Katarina Du Couteau answered with a twitch of her blade that immediately caused blood to trickle from the underside of her chin.

At first glance, Katarina didn't look a day older than she did the day Riven left. But when the clouds parted and the moon could cast enough light for Riven to make out the details on her face, all she could read was hate, fury, and pain.

There was so much pain.

"I asked you a question," Katarina repeated.

Riven gasped her answer, feeling a sharp sting under her chin with every syllable. "I'm here to see you."

Slowly, she wrapped her fingers around the sharp dagger and guided it away enough to look Katarina in the eyes. This time, all she saw was hurt.

Something wet slid down her cheek, then.

How awful it was to feel again.