Being the Second in command to a Noxian Warlord was no easy task. You knew that though, it’s not like you had much of a choice in the matter anyway.
You were a soldier, her soldier. Her toy to do with as she pleased or in your case, to weaponize as she pleased.
No one, rank-regardless would dare to deny nor defy the Ambessa Medarda and you weren’t about to be the first.
「• • • ••」
Rictus taught you well. She ensured that. That every strength be enhanced and every weakness demolished. A tactical machine made for war. Perfect in every way possible. You were bound to do well.
To do great.
Why she’d chosen you from the thousands of soldiers she had at her disposal with many who outranked you in both experience and skill. You would never truly understand.
You were newer to the “glorious” army of Noxus but skilled -without question.
You were lethal -deadly and the Medarda quick to realize that.
That…was a decade ago. Now with the unfortunate passing of the Medarda’s right-hand man it was you she’d asked to fill his post. An outsider. “No Noxian could honor him as well as you,” she argued when you initially disputed her offer. After all, he was the closest thing to a father you’d known…
Rictus was a big guy. The physique of a god on the body of a behemoth. He was scary. That was his intention. To intimidate.
After almost 8 years of training together at the request of Lady Medarda. The same behemoth with the body of a Greek God. Who sparked fear in all those he'd met became a source of comfort for you, of peace.
Needed a good ol bear hug? Rictus was your guy!
Had an overwhelming day? There he was willing to talk you down.
Needed to vent about the idiotically stupid high egos of certain newcomers? He’d be there, ready to let you talk his ear off with a smile…
Needed to sit in utter silence? He’d sit in that silence with you. Ensuring you knew that you were never truly alone, not when he was around.
Yep, closest thing you had to a father…
「• • • ••」
You weren’t Noxian by birth but rather by circumstance. The Medarda knew exactly what she was doing when deciding on ‘taking you for herself.’
You were no warlord - no Medarda, no true Noxian but some may dare to argue you were better, you were worse. The Medarda- Noxians in general were quick to their fists. Fight first, negotiate later. But where you were from the principals were flipped entirely on their heads. Violence of any sort would always be the last resort. Be slow to anger, always. You were a tactician, analytical to an extent that intrigued even the General. Quick on your feet without having to lift a finger.
She’d just had to have you.
And you’d just have to adapt.
「• • • ••」
After the third consecutive “meeting” with the nobleman of a minute nation in the middle of who knows where. It was of clear observation that the General was running a tightly lit fuse. The egotistical bastard that sat across from her continued his ramble of legacies and triumphs that seemingly nobody but himself was interested in.
Containing a yawn as your eyes begin to fight their closing, as they find Lady Medarda. In all her glory…
bored out of her mind.
To many, and sometimes even you this was a once-in-a-lifetime sight. The warlord herself, just about ready to pull out a pillow and call it a day. Concealing a yawn of her own as she interrupts to nobleman with a bark of instructions
“Commander…” the honeyed voice snapped you back to your reality as you take a sharp step to the general’s side. By now the nobleman had long stopped his tirade and is staring at the pair of you as though you were despicable.
Utterly offended.
Feeling his eyes boring holes into her side, the general turns to meet his gaze with zero hesitation, her face a scowl that mirrored his own. Sharing his look of distaste and appearing ready to snap his head off his body for his immature behavior and in that moment he says nothing but merely quivers.
How Pathetic.
「• • • ••」
Falling forward to be engulfed in the cloud of a mattress, head falling to the side. Tired. Does not even begin to describe the throbbing pain that travels from the base of your neck, bundling in your shoulders and branching down into your spine. One could’ve sworn your muscles were bound together by metal wiring. Arms, thighs, cheeks. Everything. If you could have a ton of fire-laced bricks lined across your spine, by the stars, the last thing you would do is complain.
Your moping is subsequently brought to a halt by the ear-piercing creak of the door making contact with the wood flooring as it opened and the honey-laced voice of a certain General you’d grow to know all too well.
“There you are…my dear” She sighs. You don’t need to see her face to hear the smirk and sudden relief that has graced her features. Your mind begins to rapid-fire a multitude of instructions.
Get up.
Head down.
At attention.
Rictus taught you well.
“The price you pay for the title.” He’d chuckle.
Still, your body refused to follow suit. Remaining limp face-down.
“Gene-”
“Ambessa.” She interrupted coldly. “My dear do not start with me on this. Not now.” She continues.
My Dear
“Anything but that...”
The room fell silent filled only by the rise and fall of her chest, the occasional breath released from your own as well as the sound of her eventual stalking in your direction.
“Bessa-” she hums in approval.
Calloused fingers grazed against your shoulders applying pressure to your pains. A whimper escapes your lips faster than you could think to stop it.
Rubbing circles with her thumbs over your blades, trailing her four fingers along your sides.
Caressing the anchor of your spine. Her fingers lingered. As she plants a kiss on the space between them.
Only at the loss of contact do you realize the sleep that had begun to lull over your eyes.
But she was gone before you could call for her return.
A concoction of lavender, vanilla, and…cinnamon-scented stream soon after engulfing your nostrils. Every muscle, tendon, and ligament relaxing in response. Loosening at the knots that littered you.
「• • • ••」
She lifted you, with ease, from the now room-temperature water after making her exit -your arms anchored around her neck- as if you weighed absolutely nothing.
As light as a feather.
Grabbing hold of a towel wrapping it around your frame, a smaller towel, to tap-dry your face and the few locks that had made contact with the water.
“I am not a child.” you protested. Aiming to grab at the towel that made its rounds across your face and hair. She did not care, completely unbothered. Her beautifully smug smirk returning to her sleepy features.
“That may be true but-“ she chuckles. “But you are worth more to me than all my weight in gold” she grins at you “It would be an act of great injustice to not treat you as such.” she smiles pecking a trail of kisses from the crown of your forehead down to your collar bone.
“S-top!” You erupt into an exhausted fit of laughter in your poor attempt to prevent her from going any further as she smiles against your collarbone face buried in the crook of your neck.
「• • • ••」
The moon greeted you and your lover on your way to bed.
Now this…was a topic the pair could never truly seem to agree on.
You enjoyed greeting your sheets dressed in the softest of silks and linens. The Noxian however, disagreed completely, opting to sleep bare.
Every night, without fail, the banter would begin as she lay there watching her lover get dressed.
“What is the point of removing your clothing to put them back on?” She started.
“I don’t think sleepwear counts as clothing”
“It ‘cloths’ you does it not? You wear it no?”
“Well yes but-“
“Then it is clothing.” she countered proudly.
This earns an eye roll from yourself.
“Whatever you say, my love.” You eventually respond, defeated.
She smirks in return. She won.
And Ambessa Medarda loves winning. Not as much as she loves you but…
Almost.
The night ends with you joining your warlord in your place of rest. As if a reflex, her arms subconsciously meet your waist pulling you impossibly closer.
Mindless rambling occurred between the pair as sleep finally overcame them.
This was bliss.
And in this moment the price paid for the title was more than worth it.