Braided Iron

by BlueStarshine6

Summary:

Katarina and Garen don't like each other, plain and simple. A contract killer and a snooty knight don't have much in common. But when their nations need a marriage alliance, they decide to arrange it between themselves. Unfortunately, more forces than they think are trying to stop the engagement from becoming official.

Or: Katarina and Garen end up in an arranged marriage, except they arranged it and are trying to get everyone else to agree.

Note: while part of a series, you can read it standalone.

Updates weekly on Sundays currently.

Notes:

NOTE: While this is part of a series, it should mostly stand on its own. There's going to be references here and there to previous works, but the key thing to know is that the Black Rose got its claws into Demacia and they're considering allying with the Noxian government to get them out. The rest is I'd say fairly understandable through context. I'd recommend reading Roses Gone Wild first, but it ain't required.

Chapter 1: A Curious Correspondence

One of the classic stories one can find in every era of Noxian storytelling is that of the horrified nobles trying to get out of an arranged marriage. You know how it goes-they’re somehow caught off guard despite it being normal for their class and family, throw a number of embarrassing tantrums, and either run away or end up shackled to this boorish fool. As a noblewoman who was in their position, let me tell you, not one bit of that’s how it actually goes.

Well, yes, I was surprised, but that was more because Noxian noble status as a concept and thus my prospects had totally imploded. Also, frankly, I was a social pariah amongst my class and neither of my parents wanted me married. I had reasons, not like those fictional ninnies. Lay off.

Surprise or not, the announcement that Demacia would demand a political marriage and I would be the Noxian half wasn’t something I’d take lying down. First thing, I checked with our ambassadors that’d actually be a demand. Yep. Turned out there is-maybe was, the prime minister might’ve changed this-anyways, there was a law saying no foreign nobles could operate long-term in Demacia without being married to one of their own. I don’t remember the specifics and never knew the history. Maybe I’ll get one of those legal scholars to stick in a footnote. It was not the answer I wanted, so I laid in my bed and wailed about the cruelty of the universe.

Joking.

Instead, I got out a notebook and considered things. I was going to end up with a Demacian spouse. There was no way around it, unless I overthrew the government which seemed an overreaction. Not even Hazel was calling for that yet. So, what did I want out of that spouse? My list went like this:

- Wouldn’t let other Demacians kill me for no reason
- Wouldn’t use that the Demacian legal system would only protect them against me
- Useful to Noxus
- Good-looking (optional)

Handily, I knew someone who fit perfectly. Not so handily, I’d lied to him repeatedly and he almost certainly had figured out I murdered the king he’d sworn to protect. I drummed my fingers on my desk. With the way the laws were written, the suitors would come to Noxus. That’d be a six-week trip by boat with good weather. But first Demacia would have to openly make this demand, and Noxus would have to send back word they accepted, and then they’d have to negotiate terms… I probably had a year till my potential husbands arrived. That was plenty of time to massage Garen into agreeing to this or find someone else tolerable and get them on the ship to the Immortal Bastion.

I may not have chosen to get married, but I’d be choosing my husband.

I briefly considered asking Talon or Aunt Tammy for help. Both were cloistered in the manor with me, anxiously monitoring a recovering Briar. Best not, I thought. Talon had no training with massaging noble egos, and Aunt Tammy would have a heart attack if she heard I was getting married for the reasons I was. Etiquette would have to carry me through. He had asked me to write to him. It was only polite.

I couldn’t ask him straightaway. He’d see that as mercenary, uncouth, and say no. I had to be subtle. Hint that I’d like to keep this burgeoning alliance together. Appeal to his ego and sense of duty. The mage rebellion had proved Demacian knights would stoop to anything to serve their government; I could twist that. Over several days, I scratched out the following letter:

To Captain Crownguard,

I hope the rest of winter has been gentle to you. It certainly hasn’t in Noxus. Our storms have been as bad as ever. Alas, I’m afraid I’m not writing to complain about the weather.

Forgive me for writing so soon. I’ve just arrived back in Noxus. However, I am quite anxious to ensure our alliance holds. Every second those children remain missing is another one the Black Rose has available to use and break them. The threat they pose to Demacian and Noxian sovereignty cannot be overstated. Would you be willing to work alongside me to stomp them out?

Sincerely,
Duchess du Couteau

I sat back and assessed it. It wasn’t nearly as elegant as my mother’s would’ve been, but despite its clumsiness it seemed effective enough. A bootlicker like Garen would probably care more about the appearance of Demacia’s nobility than the missing kids. Why would you want to marry a guy like that, Katarina? You may be asking. Remember, this was the best of the bad options. Maybe we both thought the other was a horrible person, but he wouldn’t kill me and we’d make pretty kids.

With that charming thought, I sealed the envelope with blue wax and my house sigil and mailed it with express postage.

. . .

On the other side of the continent, I was stationed in a Demacian woodlands fort with a tenth of the Dauntless Vanguard. The last of winter had melted away, leaving the forest floor blanketed in petals and new growth. I was in a mood to appreciate none of it. While the younger soldiers and squires enjoyed their patrols in the fresh air, I spent my days after training behind a desk in a cramped, bare bedroom doing paperwork all day. Slow going to begin with, the bothersome task was drawn out further by the long periods of time I spent muttering oaths to strangle my superiors or praying for someone to interrupt me. The incompetence of the nobility following the mage rebellion-I had no words.

Nearly two years on from the old king’s death, a staggering number of nobles previously occupied immaculately carrying out the orders of the mageseekers found themselves unable to complete the simplest of tasks. Ungrateful pricks. We’d all been accomplices to murder. According to our principles, we ought to have all been executed, only spared for our wealth, bloodlines, and that the king had the same blood-soaked hands. We should’ve been begging for forgiveness and mercy. Instead, they pitched fits over the tiniest of reparations. When we deal with common murderers and assassins, we would purge the corruption by our blades. But when the butchers held office, when they claimed they were only following orders-

You can grasp why I spent my days in seclusion. It would’ve frightened civilians to watch a captain grind his teeth into stumps.

Every couple of days, one of our white-clad messengers would deliver letters-often from Jarvan. Friends we might’ve been, but his were my least favorite. I had to think so long to respond, to suggest the preferred course of action without showing my motives. Lux, Shyvana, and the mages were still in far too vulnerable a position, easily destroyed by a simple change of Jarvan’s mood and edict. Especially since I was half-sure Jarvan had only changed the law to lure back Shyvana. What a cruel thing to do-trapping one’s lover by his side by promising to annihilate their people if ever they dared leave. I had no idea if Shyvana recognized that and had no way to ask-as the presumed future queen, she was monitored constantly-but it still spoke poorly of my friend’s temper and character.

Early one morning when the messenger knocked, I sighed deeply in anticipation of another hour spent angrily whispering to myself. “Come in.”

The messenger, a harried-looking man by the name of Heinrich, opened the door and stuck out his arm, three letters clutched in his hand. I took them. He darted off before I could thank him. I inspected the seals. Two were the Crownguard eagle, but the third was totally unfamiliar-a dagger shoved through a skull. My mouth went dry. Noxians.

After calling in to our poisons expert to check the letter was safe, I had a long list of questions and assumptions. It had to be about the proposed alliance to purge the Black Rose from Demacia. But why would it be sent to me? That was work for Jarvan and his ambassadors-though I’d heard rumors it’d slowed to a crawl. Accepting dangerous, hostile foreigners from a brutal empire into Demacia would never be unpopular, necessary though it might’ve been. Fifty children, at least, had been stolen on our watch. They’d put that over national pride, right?

And if purging the Black Rose would eliminate the bedrock of Demacian corruption in the nobility, who was I to reject the help?

My blood chilled. Had they somehow found out and come to me for a more cooperative liaison? No, impossible. I hadn’t said a word of my plans aloud even to myself.
I read it, flipping over every word for ulterior motive and meaning. I needn’t have bothered. The meaning was plain to anyone of courtly upbringing. I buried my head in my hands and laughed bitterly. A professional murderer was scouting me, a protector of innocents and enforcer of the law, as a husband.

Would life never grow less absurd?

I already knew there’d have to be a marriage, of course. It was a standard procedure with foreign alliances. Having someone here allowed for speedier communication and translation of cultural quirks, and of course our falser allies thought things through more when their kin were within our grasp. But for Katarina to reach out so brazenly-she must’ve volunteered to carry out the Noxian half. My jaw began to ache. I forced it to relax. This was nothing to be concerned over, more an insult than anything to hope to marry a Crownguard as a mere-

How powerful was House du Couteau again?

After finishing my work, I asked Quinn, who’d studied Noxian nobility as part of her work to identify assassins. Bless her, she asked for no context. “Very powerful,” she said flatly. “They’re the strongest noble house left in Noxus. I think even Swain might be one of them, through his wife.”

Unchivalrous oaths filled my mind.

I thanked her and retreated to my room. The sun hadn’t yet set but was heading that way. I would need to write quickly to avoid wasting candles.

Dear Duchess du Couteau,

I’m pleasantly surprised to hear from you. I of course share your dedication to stamp out this evil in both our nations for the sake of our peoples. The mage children must be recovered, and their kidnapper punished. The winter was indeed gentle, and we’ve been blessed with a warm spring. Has such luck occurred in Noxus as well? I am honored and much obliged by your kind gesture of friendship and hope to continue our correspondence.

However, I simply must ask. Are you aware of the marriage required for us to bring Noxians into our nation? This perhaps more than anything risks the alliance. We must address this swiftly.

Sincerely,
Cpt. Garen Crownguard

Repugnant as the option was, better the force of an alliance so powerful went to the Crownguards, than to one of the vultures already scheming to take the throne. Better too those knives put in the back of those seeking to harm our people than her husband’s political rivals. Far from ideal, but it was best.

. . .

Garen’s response letter arrived shockingly quickly. I found it in the kitchen mail pile marked with the Crownguard sigil upon returning from guild work with Talon. I thought quickly. Aunt Tammy and Briar were off at the hospital again, so they hadn’t seen it. Was this something I could bring Talon in on? I wanted his advice almost as badly as Mother’s-but he’d only been back a few months. Despite our childhood, it was apparently considered poor judgement to trust someone who’d tried to kill you with all your secrets. After a moment’s hesitation, I slipped the envelope into my jacket. Talon’s gaze tracked it, but he said nothing.

After dinner that night, I retired to my room and tore that sucker open, more than a little cross. My stomach had tossed with nerves throughout the evening. It’d spoiled my appetite and earned me a glare from Aunt Tammy, who was trying to train Briar into eating regularly rather than subsisting off cats’ blood and being confused when she fainted. How dare he do that to me with a mere letter! I was the Sinister Blade! Letters weren’t supposed to send me into an anxious tizzy.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids. Don’t be as sarcastic as Auntie Kat or even your internal monologue will start sassing you.

I lit a candle and scanned the letter. My shoulders quickly slumped in relief. Thank fuck Garen was as naturally subtle as I was. That saved us a lot of dancing around and a tree from being letter paper. He’d freed me to go for the throat.

Dear Cpt. Crownguard,

Yes, I’ve heard of the requirement. In fact, I am the Noxian offering on this matter. Would you consent to be my husband? You would have my family and I’s full support and resources in protecting Demacia and your house. As my husband you would also, naturally, have access to my wealth and Noxian contacts. I’d only ask you assist me in completing this treaty and punishing the Black Rose. Feel no pressure to answer swiftly. Treaty negotiations are a long thing. I endeavor to answer any of your questions to the fullest extent possible.

Sincerely,
Duchess du Couteau

I read it over once the next morning, to check my spelling. Then I chucked the thing into the mailbox and tried not to think about it. And I didn’t. I didn’t. Don’t listen to Talon about my overworking relapse, which was totally unrelated. Look, sometimes things get busy-

. . .

Thank the Protector, Katarina didn’t attempt to keep our communications formal. When her letters found me next, I’d switched fortresses twice and had fought off a raid from the Winter’s Claw. On top of that, Jarvan had threatened the local baron into completing their paperwork, which meant I had to resolve the backlog. Had Katarina continued with delicacy, I fear I would’ve been too weary to comprehend it. I slept on it before crafting my response. Clearly, Katarina had selected me because she thought me a wealthy fool, easily manipulated to her own ends. Fine, I decided. Let her delusions serve me. If her guard was low, then it’d be easier to manage her for Demacia. And what would a fool do? Agree without conditions and seek no counsel.

So that’s what I told her.

Dear Duchess du Couteau,

I am writing to accept your kind offer. Conditions can be negotiated at a later date. I warn you, though, I am unsure my king would take this decision favorably. My elders certainly won’t. For now I will keep my silence, so they cannot interfere, but do not anticipate a warm welcome.

Sincerely,
Cpt. Crownguard

It wasn’t untrue, strictly speaking. I wasn’t going to tell my family, not even Lux. But that was more because with Lux’s brief foray into rebellion and Aunt Tianna’s historical support of the mageseekers, Jarvan wasn’t the fondest of them at the moment. I wouldn’t risk his wrath upon their heads by getting them involved with this.

. . .

Does he think I’m stupid? I wondered, stowing away Garen’s latest letter. He clearly wasn’t dumb. I’d taught him. Why would I fall for this? Politics did not look good on him. And how tired was he when he wrote that thing? His handwriting was wobbly as hell. I didn’t reciprocate his condescension in my response.

From there on, things got quite boring. We exchanged coded messages through the Joseph system, cleverly carried by Plainsfolk methods. If you’re ever curious about that, go ask a military historian about Joseph Farron. Interesting stuff. We worked to keep our sides of the alliance from disintegrating. Garen didn’t disgrace me with any more of that playing dumb bullshit. I’d worn him if some problem was heading down the pike, and he’d warn me. Not much of that was necessary. By the end, I decided he was an asshole. Competent and patriotic, sure, but still a hypocritical, bootlicking asshole.

At least he was hot. In the words of one wise woman, can’t fault those biceps.

Chapter 2: Prepping for the Apocalypse

Notes:

Inspired by various concerning-ass advice sessions from older women when they hear I'm in a relationship.

Tammy is an OC, basically one of Soreana's older cousins that Kat and Tal consider sort of an auntie.

Aunt Tammy’s sitting room had started to change in the past year. Emptier, for one. All the Plainsfolk vases, knickknacks, and plants had vanished from her shelves. With her mother’s passing last spring, she’d started moving her possessions back to the plains. The overstuffed gray couches and pink blankets and rugs meant it was still cozy. Dust had started gathering on the windowsills. The cookies displayed on the ottoman were a few days old, not fresh like they would’ve been if Aunt Tammy hadn’t moved from Swain Manor to ours.

The woman herself sat primly across me, dressed in a firmly formal dress. It was almost funny. She couldn’t be bothered to dress up for a ball of all her peers, but when the time came to see her estranged husband, she put on the ritz like it was armor.

That husband, Jericho Swain, was meeting with their sort-of daughter Briar and my brother Talon only a few rooms away, discussing…something. A mission, most likely. Whatever it was, they needed to hurry up. They’d been in there for half an hour, and there was only so much longer I could keep Tamar from insulting Jericho in his own home.

“Have you thought about what you’ll be looking for when the suitors arrive?” Tamar asked.

“Whichever choice is best for the empire,” I said. Did you hear that, Jericho? I’m not being frivolous. When I ask you to approve Garen and I, do it. His demon ravens weren’t visible, but I had no doubt he and his demon were listening somehow.

“And if they’re equal?”

“Personality and character.”

“Personality.”

“There’s no point if we marry only to end up murdering each other out of irritation.”

“Oh, that’s easy enough to deal with. Pick one with a job that makes him travel a lot, one with no mind for heirs. Then you’ll only have to see each other at state dinners. Not even the most grating man in the world can drive you to homicide at that low level of exposure,” Aunt Tammy said, winking.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to marry someone not annoying?”

“They’re nobles, sweetie. They’re all irritating. It’s like they’re raw onions in human form.”

“We’re nobles.”

“But we’re related. That cancels it out.”

“Well, then. I’ll go for someone I can at least respect.”

“From Demacia?”

The tricky thing with keeping Aunt Tammy from casually talking shit was she wasn’t wrong. While Garen was unlikely to kill me, it would be hard to be married to someone who had the moral backbone of a jellyfish. The man couldn’t disobey his king even for the lives of innocents.

Frankly, she had a point with all of it. Jericho was a fun guy. I’d feel bad whenever I had to go slit his throat. Charming he may have been, but he was a neglectful husband at best who’d cheated constantly and rarely spoke with his wife unless it was to give orders and demand money. He’d paid so little attention the Black Rose had managed to kidnap her multiple times and half-drain her of blood to run their experiments with no one the wiser. His singular good points in Auntie’s eyes were that he’d never been violent and had let her decorate their space as she pleased. Otherwise, she’d spent their marriage isolated, terrified, and drugged as he imprisoned her friends and his enemies came for her head. If I were in her position and saw another young woman about to risk a similar fate, I’d warn her too.

Unfortunately, the man who’d inadvertently made the last forty years of her life the second circle of hell could do the same to me and was literally right down the hall.

I shrugged. “Maybe they’ll send a rebel. Seems like the sort of person they’d punish with a Noxian wife.”

“Meh. You’re not that lucky. What I’d go for if I were you is one that isn’t attracted to you. Then he’ll leave you alone after the wedding night.” I choked on my cookie. Aunt Tammy frowned thoughtfully. “Difficult as that might be for you.”

There were so many implications to that. So very many implications. I didn’t want my brain processing any of them, especially when I’d already picked the guy and he wasn’t that bad. I scrambled for a milder topic. “Did you hear about that riot the other day?”

“Kat, I’m serious. You don’t want them too fond of you.” She narrowed her eyes. “You do know what a wedding night entails, right?”

“Well, did you lie to me when you gave me the birth control spiel when I was fourteen?”

That conversation from hell was blessedly cut off when a squeaky-hinged door creaked open. Man, Jericho had really let the manor fall apart since she moved out. Two soft voices approached.

“I’m just saying, I swear I’ve seen their faces before”-

“Shh.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

I twisted in my chair to face the doorway. Briar and Talon appeared. Briar, currently in her collar, moseyed over to the cookies. Talon leaned against the door frame. I silently thanked the gods. “How was the meeting? Anything interesting?” I asked.

“Nothing we’re to discuss,” Talon said.

“It’s super boring anyway,” Briar said between bites. Talon tracked each nibble. He was always noting that stuff with her, even now that her ribs were hidden under a healthy layer of fat. “Its only work. Work’s never interesting.”

“Leave it to you to find killing people boring,” I said. “What, is sneaking too easy for you?”

Briar plunked down next to Aunt Tammy on the couch, sitting crisscross. “Well, I guess it’s not always boring. Sometimes it’s frustrating. But it’s never, like, fun. I’m always wishing I was doing something else.”

“Try paperwork. It’ll make you long for stakeouts.”

“Sounds like you’re bad of it, Kat,” Talon said.

“Excuse me, I’m fantastic at bureaucracy. I’m a paperwork prodigy.”

“Oh? So you don’t need me to come with you this afternoon to come help at the guild?”

“Didn’t say that,” I said. Briar laughed. I slapped my knees and stood. “Are you two okay getting home on your own? Talon and I are heading to the guild.”

“Sure. I brought my pillory. You guys do your silly roof thing,” Briar said.

“it’s not a silly roof thing. It’s practical.”

“Sure, Miss I’m-Too-Good-for-Roads.”

I gave up. We left through the window.

. . .

My letters with Garen weren’t the only mailed secret I was monitoring in those days.

Six weeks later, Talon and I stood in my office in the du Couteau assassin’s guild hall. It was still largely plain, but Talon now fought back the avalanche of paperwork alongside me. Briar, meanwhile, had gifted me with an array of carefully selected house spiders to wipe out pests. My desk thus remained clean but for my signet ring, pen and ink, and the latest letter from Mother and Cassiopeia.

Talon read the letter for the third time. “Cassie wrote this,” he declared.

“It’s in Mother’s hand,” I said.

“She didn’t pick the words. Too blunt, too arrogant. Mother’s subtler.”

“Do you think it means anything?”

“Either Mother’s letting Cassie practice, or Mother’s still not…together again.”

After Tal’s dramatic break from the Black Rose, Mother and Cassiopeia had dwelled secretly in Mother’s cousin Aunt Tammy’s childhood home. Officially, they were missing, presumed dead. Unofficially, they were convalescing: Mother from her grief, and Cassie from a flare-up of her serpentine curse. They waited for Tammy’s orders. They’d gotten Noxus into this mess, Aunt Tammy had said. They’d help get it out. But while she may have been making use of them, she clearly didn’t trust them with news. Only now, nearly a year after it’d been announced I was the Noxian on auction, did they send me a letter anxiously instructing me on what to do. Cassiopeia may have dictated the wording, but Mother’s regret at not drilling me more harshly seeped from every word.

Seek a noble connection. For you, find a man no lower than an earl. Demacians prefer soft, weak women-hide your scar and arms. Remember your etiquette!

I didn’t blame her for not teaching me, though. Cassie had been the only one of us I’d ever thought would marry. She was our politician, our beauty, the one powerful parents would foolishly trust their children to. I was the great failure, the terror in the night who’d rule the guild, the heathen who played with slaves and drank with serfs. And then Talon would be beside us both, fierce but safe at last from Father and the public. I hadn’t minded the idea. I’d only had one relationship, and it’d been a fiasco. Having someone in my space, moving my stuff, critiquing me-cold, flighty, closed off-it’d lost its appeal fast. If I never had to be whined at for putting national security over a birthday again, it would be too soon.

That was one point in Garen’s favor. I couldn’t imagine him wanting me around enough to complain when I wasn’t.

And hey, he met my mother’s standards too.

“What do you think of it?” Talon asked.

“Of what?”

“The marriage.”

I hesitated on how much to say. Talon was more trustworthy than our mother and sister. He had chosen to leave the Black Rose, and nearly died trying to get me information. He and Briar had enthusiastically defended me from multiple assassinations. Even Aunt Tammy, recently unveiled as High Queen of Paranoia, trusted him.

He’d still called me sister then stabbed me in the back.

“It’s my responsibility,” I said, shrugging. “Not the shittiest thing I’ve been forced to do to fix a fuckup. It’s only a contract.”

“You didn’t fuck up.”

I laughed awkwardly. He shoved his hands into his pockets. It made him look so young. “Let’s not have this argument again,” I said. “On to new business. Do you have anything you’re doing in the next few days?”

“Working with Briar. Why?”

“We need a new lawyer for the prenuptials draft.”

“We can’t use our old one?”

I flopped into my chair, examining a report. “Oh, he died.”

“How?”

“Fell out of a tree birdwatching?”

“Wow. What bird?”

“Pigeons.”

“Pigeons?”

“Turns out they nest on cliffs. He fell three hundred feet and broke his neck on the water.”

“Gods.”

“His husband told everyone it was a murder.”

“I would too. Good grief. Two new lawyers, got it.”

I looked up. “Two?”

“One for your stupid husband, and one to make sure the birdwatcher was better with his work than his situational awareness.”

“Thanks. You’re the best.”

He nodded and left. I sighed and returned to my paperwork. There was no time to rest-Garen was coming, and I refused to be caught off guard.

Chapter 3: Travel

Securing a spot on the Demacian mission to Noxus proved more difficult than I had first thought.

Not long into my correspondence with Katarina, Jarvan recalled me to the capital. I thought he was going to announce I was being sent and thanked the Protector for my good fortune. It wasn’t so. When I arrived, he greeted me with a request for advice. He was struggling to select which nobles to send. Inexplicably, he’d chosen me for advice. Why? Not even Shyvana knew. The mage rebellion proved my political acumen deeply flawed. Naturally, I put myself forth as a candidate. I was loyal, strong, and wouldn’t be reliant on Katarina for anything. Jarvan laughed. He thanked me for volunteering as a sacrifice, but said I was too valuable to lose to such an arrangement.

In the end, three candidates were selected: Lux and two nobles I’d never met. I bit down a comment about how I was too valuable to lose, but my little sister who was the main person preventing civil war was apparently perfectly expendable. It was absurd. Jarvan did send me, but to handle security. Jarvan further gave me the power to approve of the match for him in absentia. I thanked him sincerely. He may not have sent me the way I wanted, but he gave me the tool to correct that.

Lux stormed into our home the day before we were due to leave. We were alone in the house. Neither our parents nor Aunt Tianna had come to see us. Either they had faith I’d keep Lux out of danger and unmarried, or they couldn’t be bothered to care. From the light flickering from her fists, Lux had taken the second interpretation. She vanished into her room and did not speak to me. An irrational guilt twisted in my chest. I didn’t control our parents. This wasn’t my fault. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that if they’d known I was the one going to my wedding, they’d be there.

At dusk, I finished the last of my forms and set about packing. My trunks’ contents were unremarkable-formalwear, armor, weaponry, all in Demacian colors. Between them I hid petricite and poison antidotes. Better to be prepared. I stepped back from the trunk and frowned. Should I bring it? I thought.

When I reached the vault door in the basement, it laid ajar. Lux stood inside, arms crossed, staring at an open lockbox. The very same lockbox I’d come for. I approached. Her red eyes didn’t budge to acknowledge me. I laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Do you think I should take it?” Lux rasped.

One of our family's engagement rings laid before us. It was a thin band of gold, studded with haüyne and petricite. It wasn't a particularly unique ring, one of nine, and not a stylish one either. But it was a Crownguard's ring.

“No,” I said firmly. “You won’t be getting married.”

“How can you know that?”

“Trust-believe me. You won’t.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then you still don’t need it. It shouldn’t be sullied by her hand.” Which was why I was leaving it behind, I decided.

Lux sighed. “Why is Jarvan sending me on this mission?”

“In case Katarina prefers women.”

Her head whipped around. “Seriously?”

“Indeed.”

“Why me, then?”

“That, I could not determine.”

“Gods, this is stupid.”

“Inarguably. But sometimes we must deal with nonsense. It’ll only be a few months, and then you can go back to running Terbisia as a maiden.”

“I better.”

“I promise.”

She didn’t buy it. I could see it in her eyes. But to fully assuage her fears would be to expose Katarina and I’s secret. Too risky. Jarvan couldn’t find out before the engagement was sealed, preferably not till after the marriage. Lux wouldn’t raise the alarm herself, but even her minor slips of tongue could ruin us. I kept my silence and escorted her back upstairs, locking the vault behind us.

. . .

The next morning, we rose before dawn and hauled our luggage down to the docks. We didn’t bother adorning ourselves beyond the usual. Lux insisted on hauling her bags herself. The half hour walk to the marina was silent except for her labored breathing. When we arrived at the empty docks, she dropped her bag and collapsed on top of it. I set my trunk down and scanned the docks, hand on the pommel of my sword. The docks were so clean they shone in the moonlight, lit occasionally by hand-lit lamps. No threat as visible. My vigilance remained undimmed. We’d be departing in two hours-two hours for last minute interference. Now was no time for ease.

The clouds began to lighten. Soon, others began to arrive. The crew first, then the other suitors. The first suitor appeared in a white, elaborately embroidered tunic, his ash blond hair intricately braided back. He introduced himself as Lord Theobald Castell, offering a hand. I shook it. His palm was soft and free of calluses. He didn’t wear nearly as much gold as most Castells I had met. The second was a short brunette in modest clothes, leaning on a crutch. In a guilty way, I was glad of the crutch. Without it his staunchly ordinary face and manner would have had him lost amongst the crew. His name was Dieter Schulze.

Finally, as the crew began to load provisions, Jarvan and his accompanying guards arrived. I hid my frown. What was he doing here? Would he be making last-minute changes? I prodded Lux with my foot. She looked up, then launched to her feet. As one, we bowed. The man on a crutch bowed so deeply he nearly fell off the dock. Jarvan, clad in one of his simpler suits of armor, spoke briefly to the group. He thanked us for our service and reminded us of the importance of the mission. Nothing of note. The mystery of why he was there instead of an underling remained unresolved.

The crew called for us to begin boarding. With a parting bow, the other suitors made haste up the ramp. Lux yawned and followed. I lingered. “Is all well, Jarvan?”

“Can’t a man see off his friend before a long journey?”

“A king can’t.”

“At ease. I scheduled this ahead of time. I assure you, I’m neglecting nothing.”

“I should hope not. Shyvana would fry you if you left her to manage another audience alone.”

“Would you mourn me if she did?”

“After helping her, yes.” I’d been trained to do those audiences, and they still corroded my patience and spirit like acid. Inflicting them on Shyvana was simply cruel.
Jarvan smiled tiredly. “Be careful, Garen. I can’t mourn you too.”

“I shall.”

We embraced briefly, our breastplates clanging against each other. My stomach twisted. Jarvan might not be so pleased to see me the next time we meet. But he’d understand, eventually. It was for the good of Demacia.

We parted. I joined Lux by the railing. Soon, the ship pulled away from the dock. Lux and I waved at Jarvan, then sat and stared at the white sails fluttering above us. It was the last we saw of him for nearly nine months.

. . .

The Fair Traveler was a strange space. From the docks it seemed large. Once on the ship it seemed almost small. Much of the decks below were reserved for storage, and the ceiling were so low I had to hunch over. However, the moment I wished to speak to the men allegedly vying for Katarina’s hand, the ship somehow because more spacious and labyrinthine than the thickest woods.

My first attempt was at the mess hall. The crew and passengers ate below deck together, crammed tightly onto creaking benches and cramming cheese and meat down their throats. Lux ate slowly and discreetly shoveled her leftovers onto my plate. I stayed to help clean up the dishes. Neither nobleman made an appearance. I hid my displeasure and stacked plates. As I carried them to the kitchen, I asked a sailor about them. Theobald had taken his breakfast in his room. Dieter’s whereabouts were unknown.

The pattern repeated the next two days.

On the third day, I took to patrolling the ship corridors. Surely they’d take a walk eventually. Not so. If they deigned to emerge, they didn’t do so before Lux snapped at me to go above deck and quit "that infernal pacing.” Wary of upsetting my roommate, I went up and trained.

In the end, it was an unexpected ally that saved me. Boredom. There was nothing interesting to do. Evidently nothing more interesting than watching me train. I didn’t notice at first, but sometime between push-ups and stances, they materialized onto the deck. Theobald had traded his embroidered tunic for a more sensible blue shirt and pants and watched from a perch atop a box. Meanwhile, Dieter stole only occasional glances between heaving over the railing. I finished my routine and turned to speak. They’d already vanished below deck.
They appeared the next day. And the day after that. The fourth day, Theobald asked, “May I join you?”

I paused my preparations. He didn’t seem the type to exercise for fun. Too slender and soft. Likely untrained, easy to accidentally injure. “What do you usually do?”

“Oh, only to fence and shoot an arrow,” he said lightly. “Can’t be shaming my kin at the tournaments, can I?”

“Indeed, I take it you can make your own adjustments?”

“Naturally.”

He kept up decently well. His breathing was harsher than mine, and his shirt soon stuck to him with sweat, but never once did he complain. At the end, he even asked to spar. We landed on rapiers. Not my favorite weapon, and not weighted correctly for me, but I made do. We circled each other, idly making conversation.

“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with you,” I said.

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Theobald said. “Captain Crownguard, elder brother of Governor Luxanna Crownguard and hero of many charming tales.”

“And you?”

“Oh, nothing special. Eldest brother to a mess of siblings, at the age where my dear mother wants me to hunt down a wife.” He lunged forward. I dodged and parried.

Now I remembered him. This was the suitor whose house was deep in debt, looking for a wealthy heiress to bail them out. Jarvan had sent him because his desperation made him one of the only candidates willing to lower himself to marrying an assassin and motivated to see it through. I wouldn’t have allowed the match even if Katarina wasn’t my intended. That desperation was a weakness. He’d be dependent on her and Noxus, unable to hold them in check. Particularly since he didn’t have the sense to slow his extravagance despite his near empty coffers.

We continued to trade blows back and forth, parrying quickly and dancing back and forth.

“How many younger siblings?”

“Two younger brothers. Little troublemakers, both of them.”

“I wouldn’t know. I have the one.”

“You must be very proud.”

“Of course,” I said neutrally. Something loaded dwelled in that statement.
“I shan’t insult your intelligence by dancing around this. your sister would be wasted on that Noxian.”

“What are you implying?”

Unexpectedly, Theobald dashed forward. I parried sloppily. He leaned forward and said in a low voice, “You’re a good man, Garen, a good brother. You know your sister doesn’t deserve this. Help me catch the assassin, and she will be safe.”

It was a well-tailored plea. Had I been younger or actually concerned Lux and Kat would marry, I would’ve been convinced. Unluckily for Theobald, Lux was not the Crownguard destined to be a du Couteau.

“I’m taking no sides in this. My duty is to procure the treaty best for Demacia, not to my own end.” With a harsh parry, I disarmed him. For a moment, Theobald seemed to teeter on the edge of his temper. Then he took a deep breath, and his crossness vanished. He bid a short goodbye and stalked down the stars. Trouble if ever I saw it.

I glanced at Dieter. At some point, Lux had joined him. They chattered along amiably, pointing occasionally to some spot on the horizon. I searched my memory for information on him. He was the youngest child of six, nothing remarkable to do. He was by all accounts loyal, competent, and content to blob away into the background. Jarvan had chosen him because he was unlikely to be twisted against us with ambition. I couldn’t imagine a less threatening competitor. Maybe he and Lux could keep each other entertained while I handled things.

With that contemplation, I went to clean myself.

. . .

The rest of the trip passed without incident. Theobald didn’t attempt to choose my mind. Dieter and Lux became closer friends, whiling away the hours playing card games on deck. We were lucky enough to avoid storms. Two days before expected, the gray towers of the Immortal Bastion rose before us.

Chapter 4: My Least Favorite Kind of People

Notes:

Sorry for getting this one out late! Got busy and things sorta got away from me. Next week's should be out on time.

Spring grew hot and sticky. The guild hall was even warmer. We couldn’t open the windows without exposing ourselves to attack, so our winter amor quickly vanished. Some replaced it with light chainmail. I adopted loose shorts and a sleeveless top and close the curtains to every window blighting my sight. Even Talon changed into something more revealing-three quarter sleeves instead of full length ones. Briar was so dogged by the mosquitos she hid in the cellar.

The morning, at least, were cooler. Then I’d sprawl out on the courtyard chaises with Ivan and our sour old accountant and fiddle with the taxes. My blood was wholly unappetizing, so we were free from the mosquitoes. Ivan was glad of the fresh air. The Wolfgang household was only a couple blocks away, but it was stuffed into the apartments above his wife’s bakery and thus sweltering at all times of the day. We worked to the soundtrack of sparring assassin and messenger pigeons cooing sweetly in their rooftop coop.

One such morning, one of my assassins came running out of the hall, note clutched in her hand. “Guild Master! A message!”

I sat up sharply. “What’s wrong?” Was the ship struck? Another revolt? Have we been discovered?

She handed me the note. “The grand general sent word-the Demacian ship has been spotted.”

Shit. Two days early. I thought I’d have more time to clear the last of my work before this ridiculous circus descended upon me. Not for the first time, I wished that useless new king would’ve let Garen marry me outright and save us this farce. It would’ve been so easy. But, y’know, why make things simple and consensual when you could scare the hell out of some poor twentysomethings and make them waste months of their life competing for a marriage no one wants? Truly, the pinnacle of monarchical wisdom.

I set aside my papers and eased to my feet. “Did he say how long before they get here?” I asked. “Actually, don’t answer that. I can read the note. Thank you.”

The assassin nodded and retreated back inside. I glanced at the note and sighed. In three hours, the suitors would meet me at the Hemlock House. Was that enough time for everything?

“Allow me to handle this, your grace,” Ivan said.

“No, no, I can finish these up,” I said.

“Not if you want time to run home and bathe.”

“But I don’t need to”-

Ivan sniffed. Point taken.

I caught a carriage home. Briar and Aunt Tammy were waiting at the manor door. Jericho must’ve alerted them too. They ushered me into an ice-cold bath, my brigandine shirt and du Couteau blue dress hanging on the wall. Briar fetched me the capsule, paper, and a pencil. By the time I was dressed and lacing up my boots, Aunt Tammy had already hailed a carriage. I arrived twenty minutes early to Hemlock House.

Hemlock House was a curious beast. It was one of three houses in the capital owned by the Medarda family, one of the few noble houses smart enough to pay their debts and thus not lose everything to Tammy. They’d volunteered this old, oversized townhouse to shelter our Demacian visitors. It seemed strange the Trifarix would trust such a responsibility to them. Maybe they preferred it over housing them in one of Tammy’s buildings. Could be a conflict of interest.

The house itself showed little of this. It was clean and closed off, stone stained dark with years of candle smoke. Canals encircled it and an old tower shaded it, lending it a coolness the rest of the city lacked. Two members of the Trifarian Legion guarded its door, and an unkindness of six-eyed ravens stalked the roof. Unusual, but not surprising. The Trifarian Legion handled many high priority tasks, not just conquest. They let me through with a quick test of my identity. What was surprising who was already standing inside the tiered stone courtyard.

General Darius waited in his usual gray armor and red cloak by a column, acknowledging me with a simple nod. I nodded back. Lurking in the shadows behind him, easy to miss in his plain gray gear was Talon. I marched over to my brother. “What are you doing here?” I whispered.

“Work,” he said stonily.

“Really? You’re getting paid to stalk your future brother-in-law?”

“Eh. Sort of.”

“What work would you even be doing with?”

“Can’t say.” The corners of his mouth kept twitching into a smile.

“Assassin-client privilege?”

“Yep.”

“Damn.” About what I’d expected, but still annoying. Ah well. I’d get my answer in a month or two, probably. In the meantime, there were other mysteries to investigate. Keeping my voice low, I asked, “What is he doing here?”

I didn’t have to clarify who I meant. Perhaps the only person in Noxus more conspicuous than Darius was his daughter.

“It’s national business, not private,” Talon said even more quietly. “It makes sense the Trifarix would watch this closely. They don’t want you starting a war they didn’t choose.”

Fair enough.

Our guests arrived an hour later, whisked upstairs to freshen up. Darius sighed with annoyance. He must’ve had somewhere else he wanted to be. I’d have to make this quick. Our plan relied on his approval, best not to piss him off.

At last, the four Demacian nobles wobbled down the stairs like luxury pigeons dressed in shining white shirts and blue cloaks. Only Lux and Garen were familiar. They wore sensible everyday armor protecting their torso and neck above their clothes. If it weren’t for the colors, they could’ve been Noxian. Lux’s face was fixed into polite curiosity, which I wholeheartedly returned because what the fresh hell was she doing here? Didn’t she have a territory to govern? Garen’s expression matched Darius’s for bland stoicism. Not a bad choice for hiding his investment in things. I secretly checked the capsule still hidden in my sleeve.

The other two men were easy enough to read. One had long dark blond hair and a courtier’s smile. His clothes were long, embroidered, and completely impractical for Noxus. No armor above or under his clothes, which were unfortunately tight enough I could tell. Moron. While I’d mistaken him for one of Cassie’s breed at the top of the stairs, imperious and clever, my opinion of him descended as he did the stairs. Another spoiled noble. Thrilling. I wouldn’t have married him anyway.

I hated dealing with nobles even in the best of times. Some people were suited for their labyrinthine rules and expectations, like Mother and Cassie. I’m not either of those people. I spent my time at balls contorting myself to appear the proper noblewoman, coming across as a dithering idiot too stupid to run a guild. When I gave up and went to my usual personality, they thought I was a stupid goon. There’s no winning with nobles. If you’re not exactly like them, you’re an animal. I could tolerate that from my enemies. From my husband? Absolutely not. In no universe was that guy even in the race.

The disgusted twitch at my scar didn’t help.

The final noble had the worst wobble, beyond a case of sea legs. His limp was pronounced, his court clothes draped awkwardly over him like a kid wearing hand-me-downs they hadn’t grown into yet. He had a tired, pleasant sort of face, brown-eyed with a slightly crooked nose. He might’ve been the one I would’ve chosen. Quiet, wouldn’t have wasted my money even as a kept man, never someone to love or treasure but easy to work with.

No matter.

As they lined up, one thing became very clear. Every last one of them needed a nap. Lux and the fop hid it well, but Garen and the limping one regarded me with a silent plea to get this over with.

“Welcome to Noxus,” I said with a grin. “I’m Katarina du Couteau, the…” Bride on auction was probably too blunt. “…Noxian ambassador to Demacia. Shall we make our introductions?”

Garen stepped forward. I offered my hand. He took it like it’d explode. Rude, but the handshake lasted long enough for me to slip him the message capsule. My smile brightened spitefully. “Captain Crownguard,” he said tightly.

“Charmed.”

“Governor Crownguard,” his sister said. Her handshake was genuinely friendly. “But you can call me Lux, if you like.”

Next was the fop. While the others still smelled faintly of fish and sweat, he reeked of perfume. Had he bathed in the stuff? I stamped down the urge to wrinkle my nose. “Lord Theobald Castell, your grace,” he said. Ugh. Only Ivan called me that. I pulled away before he could kiss my hand.

The final suitor stared up at me resignedly. “Dieter Schulze.” His hands were nearly as calloused as Garen’s.

I retreated, wondering what else to say. Were they normal people, I would’ve cracked a joke about hoping they’d get their land legs back before they tried the stairs again. Alas, manners. I spotted some cookie-cutter nonsense about the lovely visit I hope they’d have. I drew it out a tad to set Garen’s teeth grinding, then departed with a flourish. Darius followed. Talon and the ravens had already vanished.

Notes:

Hi y'all! I'm back, eight months after I thought I was going to put this sucker up. For at least the next nine weeks, I'm going to be updating weekly. After that, it might be a bit slower because my thesis is sucking up a lot of my writing time, but this baby will be completed, hopefully by next summer. There's no beta reader this time, so that might speed things up.

This fic is very much my own overly elaborate tastes in romance fic. I can't believe there hasn't been any Katarina/Garen arranged marriage fic before this point (at least not that I saw when I started writing this). Hope y'all enjoy!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Noxian Destiny