Garenâs body is covered in scars--Though the oldest of which are ones that lie beneath the others, plastered over his body. Healed, to a degree, at least, stretched and with other scars lying above the now only partially healed skin.
Said scars were scars brought from heat--Not fire, but the most extreme heat of light. Luxanna herself, whilst failing to properly grasp her own magic, scalded his body in her magic. It lead to months of recovery--And never able to truly recover from the damage done to his body.Â
At least now he can manage well enough, even if it is painful, sometimes.Â
Silence was something most unfamiliar, something foriegn, something that simply... Wasnât meant to be, something that was strange.Â
Not the simple sound of feet tapping on the ground, nor the sound of metal buckles clacking against hardened armor, not the sound of the fire of a torch crackling, but the silence, the silence where only you, only you are there.Â
And he took a deep breath--And opened his eyes.Â
It felt like it all came together with those two--Sounds crawling back, the soft whistling of wind running past the grass, each little stalk of grass not wishing to fail, wishing to stand as strong as it could, to not have itâs roots pulled from the ground.Â
Yet he still saw a few blades blow away, right across his face, failing to remain where they needed, their lifeâs goal, as small as it was--destroyed.Â
The clattering came back, too, the sounds of metal hitting on metal. The cold sensation--He could feel it on himself. On his neck, specifically... His armor was padded most places, most to keep him comfortable and mind focused on other things, but his neck was often vulnerable. Did he not have his scarf?
The clattering got louder. And he heard people, too.Â
Only now did he realize he was not standing--Or even sitting. He was on the ground.Â
He couldnât quite make it out, until it was like the words spoken hit a threshold, a shrieking right into his ear.Â
âCrownguard! Please, get up!âÂ
He focused for a moment. He could smell... iron...? A copper-y smell tainted the air. And... Something like a thunderstorm, but with no rain. Only the thunder roaring and booming, only the lightning sometimes breaking through the air to the ground, and splitting through anything else it needed to.Â
A gloved hand moved to his neck--Why was it could? He touched something that felt like it shouldnât have been. His hand pulled back.Â
There was red on his glove.
Blood? It meant he was bleeding. He wasnât too worried about it. Most injuries left scars, but he didnât feel like he was going to die. Heâs probably gone through worse, anyway.
Moving, his hands rested on the grassy ground below, mustering his strength, spotting his blade just a few feet away, reaching over, and then lifting it, digging the tip right into the grass, using it as leverage to push him up.Â
Finally, he looked around--and he listened.Â
Screaming.Â
Screaming.
Screaming.Â
This was war. And he was down too long. Without another concern for the person who shook him back to reality, he already moved to seek his next target.Â
Jarvan looked up at Garen and smiled softly, then rested his hand upon Garenâs, squeezing it gently as if to mirror the sentiment before allowing his hand to fall to his side once more. These were trying times for all who lived within the city walls, and especially for Garen, whose job so often meant he saw more than his fair share of what ailed the city and its people.
âI understand, old friend.â Jarvanâs smile was as sad as it was understanding. âShall we visit the gardens and drink tea together, then? I can read you more poetry and perhaps⌠It will be as if we are children again, in a way.â
Straining his vision, he was able to see the very simplest of the otherâs features changing, the smile... And, of course, Garen smiled back, though it almost seemed strange in nature, a foreign feeling, uncommon for him to smile, as it was simply never the time for it. Within this moment, it felt right, despite perhaps he simply wasnât... Perhaps he was due to be more professional, but he couldnât care.Â
Not with Jarvan. Jarvan, and Luxanna, two he held dear without a question in his mind, nor in his heart.Â
âThank you.â Old friend. He stifled a chuckle at that, so professional, proper... Then he frowned, if only for a short moment, thinking about that, how it was a learned behavior, how even in the most private of times, when Jarvan was to rest by his lonesome, even then he did not allow for himself to truly let go of those values.Â
He ignored the irking feeling, shoving it aside. This was not the time to think about that--To consider, to ponder about the future and about how the mind twists and contorts. It was something he feared, and despised, well enough. But even with that, it felt so familiar in the most agonizing of ways, like a burning of flesh, wrong, but familiar.Â
And his smile returned as he continued speaking, Jarvanâs strong voice yet soft words tugging him out of the shell that was his own mind, a soft sigh, verging on becoming a laugh escaped him.Â
âYou make it sound like weâre an old married couple.â In the back of his mind, heâd like to toy with the idea, but of course, it was an idea, not a reality. Only meant to be an escape from reality, from the bloodshed, something to shield you from something that nothing physical could halt, could deny...
âOf course. Sounds wonderful.â He knew they were not children, and while it was an idealistic time for Jarvan, a simpler time, Garen was not given such a past, save for the deepest youth that he had long since forgotten except faint traces. Life was not so simple for any time, but either way...
It sounded like a way to rest, something that was still strange... But longed for, as though it was an old friend.
Like a clock going back and forth--Tick tock tick tock--It seemed that his own heartbeat would thrum within his own ears, unceasing, nonstop, only hastening then relaxing, pounding or so slow he wondered if his heart finally would stop from the pain that always seemed to long to tear it in two.Â
So loud, like a drum being hit so hard it barely ceases to remain strong, only being hit again--again again again. Refusing to stop, no, should it stop, he would stop, collapse, fall and shatter apart to become something he wasnât, a corpse, something that would be the last thing that his homeland needed so dearly.Â
But sometimes it was appealing. To rest indefinitely.Â
There was no time to rest now. Not without a cost.Â
Ezreal was disappointed. He wanted to prove himself against the other man, but supposed this was, in itself, a kind of victory too. He crossed his arms and made a soft sound of contentment.
âFine. I guess it would be kind of bad if I hurt you and you still had to do all your guard stuff, anyway. Some time when you arenât busy, then?â
âWell, that would probably be when the... âcivil warâ, so to speak, ends.â He tried to not put much opinion into that topic--Things got sensitive, and heated, extremely quickly and it was nothing short of dangerous.Â
âCatch me then, pipsqueak.â He couldnât help but smile a little. It was nice not having to stress about anything for a few minutes.Â
He should have been more scared, maybe it was the fact that his own vision seemed to fail him more often than not, well, no he just had bad vision, butâŚ
âŚ
He wasnât very scared at all.Â
The creature consumed and destroyed the attackers with little to no remorse. Even he, with his awful sight, could figure well enough that this creature was something that was strongâSomething inhuman. Hesitant, perhaps, but not afraid, he taking a few steps towards the creature once it seemed to have no longer be fighting, it growing⌠quieter.Â
Of course, he... As strange as it was, he truly did not care for fighting. In fact, he despised combat, fighting, slaughter... But damn, he was good at it. And he wasnât a fearful little rat of a soldier, no, he knew that fighting had a place, and he knew it well. But that didnât mean that he wasnât disgusted with every moment...
The crunching and slurping and... It sent a shiver down his spine.Â
â... Not in this moment, no. I was on a lone patrol...â He was frozen. â... What--Who are you? N-name. Whatâs your name?â
He should have been more scared, maybe it was the fact that his own vision seemed to fail him more often than not, well, no he just had bad vision, butâŚ
âŚ
He wasnât very scared at all.Â
The creature consumed and destroyed the attackers with little to no remorse. Even he, with his awful sight, could figure well enough that this creature was something that was strongâSomething inhuman. Hesitant, perhaps, but not afraid, he taking a few steps towards the creature once it seemed to have no longer be fighting, it growing⌠quieter.Â
ââŚWhat about an arm wrestle! I know Iâll win, but Iâll try not to hurt your hand when I beat you.â
He couldnât help but chuckle a little. âNo--I know youâll win. Rather not risk getting hurt trying to win.â Garen was more than certain the other was joking. He was... At least twice his size. Unless the other was going to cheat, but even then...
Eh. Either way, there was little harm done. Play was play.Â
Talon was silent as he stared at the stranger - a guard of the royal family, if he was to guess from his armour alone. Yet the arrow buried in his side - the shaft broken off as far as he could manage so as not to hinder his movement - kept him here. In enemy territory, impaired and unable to protect himself properly.
He did not trust this man. He could not. He knew the cost of trusting too easily.
Talon hissed softly.
âI do not⌠I do not need helpâŚâ
Or, if he was being entirely honest: I know this is a trap.
His brows furrowed in worry. When it came to times like this, it should not matter where you were born. You needed help? You got help. Of course, there were exceptions, but in this moment, he wasnât thinking of that.Â
â... Please. I want to help. If you think you could rip it from your flesh, I could stop you from bleeding. And after that--I will leave if you truly to not trust me.â
Hesitation.
â... I know you need help. I donât want anything from you except the chance to help you. No one should die when thereâs a chance of life. No one should suffer when pain can be stopped.
To own the truth, he didnât wholly notice he was being shoved, in fact, he just thought someone bumped him, taking a step forward, and then he turned back, looking at the...
...Â
HIM.Â
A scowl formed on his features as he glared down at the other.Â
âCan I ask what youâre doing here, and why I shouldnât arrest you right now?â He almost barked at him, demanding a response.Â
Casually sits down by himself, and lets out a soft, tired sigh.Â
â... I forget that everyone tends to need me for... everything...â Even so, he was smiling a little. It felt kind of good to be doing things again.Â
gracieabrams
blakekathryn
kianamaiart
baratheonpilled
amandla
