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Sometimes, Darius wonders how long Zaun is going to last before some experiment accidentally turns its already heavily polluted atmosphere completely toxic, or maybe simply makes the whole place explode. He just hopes it doesn’t happen while he’s there. That would be a very disappointing way to die.
The chaos of the city has become familiar over the years. He’s been here often, too often maybe. He’d rather be on the battlefields, or patrolling the borders, or even leading a ranging party into Demacia. That one’s not going to happen for a while though. Noxus and Demacia are officially still at peace with each other, even if it’s a strained peace. So here he is instead, in smelly Zaun, feeling almost like an errand boy for Swain.
Darius posts the four soldiers accompanying him at the door and enters Viktor’s house alone. One of the scientist’s sentient robots lets him in and directs him to the lab. Darius tries not to glare at it, but he tightens his grip on his battleaxe slightly, wondering if the blade would be sharp enough to slice through metal.
Viktor has his back turned to the door as he’s working on something Darius cannot see.
“Ah, General, I wasn’t expecting you until the afternoon,” he says without turning around.
“It is already the afternoon,” Darius replies, placing himself so that he can see both the inventor and its machine. The robot however leaves the room, closing the door behind him.
“So it is,” Viktor concedes, and it’s hard to tell with how mechanic his voice sounds if he’s actually surprised. “Do you have what I asked for?”
Would Darius be here if he didn’t? He hands over the vial Jericho Swain entrusted to him, and Viktor takes it, looks at the magical inscriptions on the seal.
“Good, good. It is intact. A perfect voice sample. Very few mages would be able to pull off a spell like this, but Swain, well, he’s rather impressive. Thank you, General.”
“I also bring a message,” Darius replied. “Any misuse of this voice sample will be considered a betrayal of Noxus itself and will be repaid by death. Yours, and that of anyone who stands between the Noxian army and you.”
Viktor stares at Darius, and once again the general wishes he had a face he could read. Viktor’s metal mask gives no information on his thoughts, or his intentions, and it’s unnerving. The weight of Darius’s axe in his hand is reassuring.
“I made a deal with your leader,” Viktor finally says. “The sample will be used to make sure the golem only answers to one voice. It is its only purpose.”
Darius gives a brief nod in response, then moves back towards the door. He has nothing left to say to Viktor, or to do here, and he still needs to find an inn to spend the night before starting back to Noxus early the next morning. He freezes as he exits the lab. Right there, in the hallway, is a man leaning against the wall, like he’s waiting for him. The stranger looks at Darius like he’s studying him, from his boots all the way up to his eyes, and he smiles like he knows something the general doesn’t know.
Darius gets back to his senses, and in less than a second he has the blade of his battleaxe at the throat of the stranger.
“Whoa, calm down big guy,” the young man says, not sounding as alarmed as he should be.
“How did you get passed my guards?” Darius asks, but it’s more of a command.
“Back door,” the stranger says, cheekily raising his eyebrows.
“There’s no back door,” Darius growns.
“There is for me,” the man replies, winking, and he raises his left hand. Darius barely has the time to notice the ridiculously oversized glove before there’s a shimmer of energy, and suddenly the stranger is no longer in front of him but behind him. “I didn’t do anything to your soldiers, and I didn’t eavesdrop on you either, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the man continues. “I just don’t like waiting on the street, so I made my own way in.”
Darius frowns at the stranger, his axe raised between them, and finally really looks at him. He’s young, in his mid to late twenties, with messy blond hair. His leather clothes are covered in dust, and there’s dirt on his brow, like he rubbed it with a muddy hand or something. He’s slender but not skinny by far, he’s stupidly attractive, the kind of man girls all over Valora would fall for in a heartbeat.
And finally, there’s the glove. It looks too big for the young man, but the hand part still fits him, and there’s a stone set in it, glowing almost lazily on the back of the stranger’s hand. Darius squints.
“And what is Piltover’s Grandmaster Explorer doing in Zaun?” Darius asks, and is satisfied to see surprise in Ezreal’s eyes for a second.
“And what is a Noxian general doing here?” he replies with a smirk.
Darius clenches his teeth. He knows Ezreal by reputation: an explorer who can’t resist the thought of discovering hidden treasures, a man who thirsts for adventures much more than for power. He honestly doubts the boy has it in him to be a spy.
“I would advise, if you value your life, not to sneak up on soldiers in the future,” Darius says through clenched teeth, slowly lowering his axe and deflecting the question.
“I was leaning against a wall,” Ezreal says rolling his eyes. “Whatever.”
Darius turns his back to Ezreal, keeping a firm grip on his battleaxe as he walks towards the front door. He can hear the explorer mutter a disdainful “Noxians” in his back and he grits his teeth. Beheading Piltover’s prodigal explorer would definitely put a strain on the current peace between Noxus and Demacia, of which Piltover is a close ally. Not to mention it would be a waste of a pretty head.
***
The beer is too warm and the stew not quite warm enough, but Darius and his men have had much worse and this was the only inn with enough rooms for the five of them. There’s some kind of festival in a couple of days and the city is packed with scientists, mages and various entertainers. In the small hour he’s spent in the common room he’s already heard rumors about Piltover elite scientists and researchers being here under disguises, about spies from all over Valora lurking in every corner, and even something ludicrous about an army of chemically engineered ratmen.
Not that anyone would tell Darius these things directly. Between the armor and the battleaxe, he knows he’s pretty imposing (and clearly a soldier), and no one spontaneously chats about rumors to a Noxian soldier. It’s a little known fact, however, that Darius has amazing hearing, which often comes in handy. Katarina Du Couteau likes to tell him that if he was better at talking and at blending in, it would make him a great spy, to which Darius usually just shrugs: he knows he’d rather be on a battlefield than anywhere else.
“You know, if you hadn’t been at Viktor’s house before me, I’d think you were following me, general.”
Darius’s men start to stand up, reaching for their swords as Ezreal unceremoniously takes the seat in front of Darius. The general signals them to sit down and carefully makes his face look blend as he stares at Ezreal, who appears to be almost lounging in what Darius knows to be a very uncomfortable chair.
“I was also here before you,” he says, observing the man in front of him.
Ezreal’s pretty good at hiding his body language, but Darius is better at reading it, and under his pretence of easiness he can see Ezreal is tense, attentive to Darius’s men, and most likely ready to just teleport away the way he did earlier at the first sign of things going wrong.
“Nope, got my room here this morning, before I hit the library,” Ezreal grins.
“I see,” Darius replies calmly, not actually seeing what the young man’s point was.
A waitress approaches the table and sets a bowl of stew and a pint of beer in front of Ezreal. He pays her with a disarming smile and she blushes furiously before moving on to the next table. Darius frowns, slightly annoyed.
“What do you want?” he asks as Ezreal takes a sip of his drink and winces.
“A beer that’s not room temperature, for one,” he replies. Then, looking right into Darius’s eyes, “and the pleasure of your company.”
Darius raises an inquisitive eyebrow. “I almost killed you when we first met.”
“That’s part of what makes you interesting,” Ezreal smirks, and Darius can’t help the small, amused smile that briefly stretches his own lips.
Ezreal seems to relax a little bit as he tries to hide a smug smile by taking another sip from his beer. Darius is so tempted to just accept his words, to believe Ezreal is just looking for company or intrigued by him, but he’s risen through the ranks by exerting constant vigilance, which is now engrained in him.
The two men eat in silence, Darius keeping a careful eye on his table companion, while Ezreal focuses on his food, only periodically looking up at Darius. He empties his beer and, in spite of his earlier complaint about it, signals the waitress for a refill.
“You’re not very loquacious when you’re not threatening someone’s life, are you?” Ezreal asks eventually, looking back up at Darius.
Darius decides to stay silent, starring back at Ezreal until the young mage drops his eyes with almost a shy smile. The general carefully keeps his face blank when Ezreal looks back up again, his eyebrows raised.
“Case in point,” Ezreal mutters, and it’s hard to say if he’s annoyed or amused. “I don’t know how you do it, really, I’m one of those people who always has to fill the silences.”
Darius wants to answer that being talkative doesn’t really make for the best soldiers, but he’s having too much fun staying silent and impassive as Ezreal tries to get something out of him.
“I guess that gets me into trouble sometimes,” Ezreal continues, “but it’s usually worth it, and you’re totally doing this on purpose aren’t you.”
Darius can’t help a short laugh and a smirk. “Perhaps,” he replies.
Ezreal’s laughter is longer, almost bubbly, and once again Darius is tempted to accept this man’s presence at face value, to stop examining him as a potential threat. He knows better, though. Everyone is a potential threat.
“I wonder if there’s a spell to cool down beer?” Ezreal muses, looking at his drink. “Maybe some of the Freljord mages would know… no, they can just keep things cool with snow up there. Maybe in Shurima? Tell me, General,” he asks, his eyes back on Darius, “you wouldn’t happen to know any Shuriman mage, by chance?”
Is this what Ezreal wants from him? Both Demacia and Noxus have approached the newly declared Shuriman Empire, and it is true that Azir seems to be slightly better inclined towards Noxus than Demacia. However, Shurima is still mostly composed of independent tribes who so far refuse to recognize the authority of the Capital after centuries of freedom, so this shouldn’t prevent him from finding a Shuriman mage inclined to share whatever information Ezreal really is after, which is clearly not beer-cooling spells. Maybe he’s just trying to evaluate exactly how good a relationship Noxus has with Shurima?
Or, Darius realizes as his eyes fall on Ezreal’s glove, maybe the Shuriman mages aren’t too happy to see Piltover’s Prodigal Explorer wearing an ancient artifact of such power that should by right belong to them. Maybe this isn’t politics, exactly, but Ezreal saw in him a potential way to get something he wants.
“Not really,” Darius answers laconically. He doesn’t like being used, especially not without knowing the real reason Ezreal is looking for a Shuriman mage.
Ezreal shrugs and takes another sip of his beer, like it doesn’t really matter, then starts chattering about the upcoming festival and how he’s looking forward to the fireworks that will be shot next week, which he heard should be pretty spectacular. And Darius is left wondering if he just over-thought the whole conversation, and if Ezreal was actually just having a random thought about beer-cooling spells.
Darius must admit after a little while that Ezreal is really good at keeping up a conversation even when his interlocutor is only replying in the most succinct way possible. He wonders what his men think of the whole thing. They’re probably as confused as he is, judging by the looks they give Ezreal.
Darius finds himself smirking again at a comment from Ezreal and resists the urge to shake his head. This is completely surreal.
Ezreal stretches his back, a silent admittance that his chair is, in fact, anything but comfortable. The motion is fluid, almost catlike, and Darius will blame the two pints of beer he’s had for how he briefly lets himself admire the view. You would have to be blind not to notice how attractive Ezreal is, and Darius is anything but blind.
He reminds himself to keep his guard up. After all, he still doesn’t know what Ezreal wants from him. If he actually wants anything. Which is looking less likely by the second, as Ezreal starts to get up.
“Well, it’s getting late and I’m sure soldiers need their beauty sleep too,” he says with a smile. “Thank you for the company, though. Even if you don’t talk that much.”
Darius watches the young man leave the common room, still puzzled. It annoys him greatly, not knowing what to make of him.
“Sir?” Nidal, one of his men, asks, almost whispering. “What was that all about?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Darius replies.
Just to make sure, Darius asks the innkeeper before they retreat to their room for the night: Ezreal did indeed get his room that morning, before he and his men even arrived in Zaun.
***
Darius grits his teeth as he watches the deserter run. The crowd cheers when an axe catches him in the leg and the man falls. He gets back up though, dragging his crippled leg behind him as he desperately tries to make it through the posts marking the entrance of the plaza. If he reaches them, he’ll be pardoned for his crimes and allowed to live. Not that he actually has a chance to reach them.
If Darius had been the one to capture him, he’d have beheaded the man right then. The penalty for deserting the army before the end of your service is death, not public humiliation. Not this spectacle.
But Darius hadn’t been the one to find him, and so the man was sentenced to death by execution. Which meant that, as a general, Darius had to attend.
The crowd cheers again as Draven throws his axes all the way through the plaza, decapitating neatly the deserter only a few feet from the posts. Such skill, such precision, and Draven is wasting it all in showy, unnecessary effects. Darius resists the urge to glare at his brother as Draven walks, or rather prances, through the plaza to get his bloody axes back and raise them over his head with a flurry of swirls that paint the ground and Draven’s face in red. The crowd loves it.
The show is finally over, Darius can lead his troupe back out of the plaza. His men know not to talk to him after executions, but Darius can still hear them as they whisper between themselves, praising the spectacle they’ve just witnessed, and it irritates him even more. He craves some peace and quiet, which is why he decides to update the registers himself rather than sending one of his men to do it.
Noxus takes great pride in its extensive and precise military registers. Every important deed of every soldier is carefully documented, has been for generations. Every tactics used in battle is also described and commentated, a precious resource for every military tactician, and it isn’t rare to see Jericho Swain perusing the registers, which are kept in a heavily guarded section of the Noxian Grand Library.
Darius takes a deep, calming breath as he enters the imposing building. The air is much cooler inside than in the crowded, sunbathed streets, and the noise fades away when the door closes behind him. Darius tries to leave behind him his exasperation with his brother’s life choices and his annoyance with the Noxian people’s enjoyment of unnecessary bloodbath.
Not that Darius has any problem with blood, far from it. He’ll be the first one to shed it on a battlefield, hacking his way through enemies with his battleaxe, bringing death and terror. There isn’t anything wrong with shedding blood when it’s necessary or when it’s useful. Bloodthirst, on the other hand, can be dangerous. If you take too much enjoyment in watching people die, then you risk losing perspective.
Darius mentally shakes his thoughts away and starts walking towards the military section of the library. The Grand Library is actually more of a collection of libraries and record halls for every guild and important group in Noxus. The military section is only rivaled in size by that of the Bleak Academy, although there are wild rumors about a massive, heavily concealed and protected secret subterranean section belonging to Noxian spies or even to the Black Rose itself. Not that anyone can prove its existence.
Members of a guild or organization are allowed access to most documents of their own section, but outsiders need to request a member to bring them specific documents or books, which they can consult in the central area of the library, usually under supervision. Darius almost stops in his tracks when he spots a shock of blond hair at one of the tables.
Darius’s control is stronger than his surprise and he doesn’t alter his pace as he walks past Ezreal, who’s bent over what seems to be a collection of construction plans. The men guarding the entrance to the military section salute him as he approaches, and Darius gestures for them to get at ease. He stops next to Sergeant Nikides.
“Tell me,” he asks in a low, hushed tone that shouldn’t carry back to the tables at the center of the library, “how long has this man been here?”
“The blond foreigner?” Nikides replies with a frown. “He was already here when we took over from Sergeant Pelius and his men, I believe.”
Darius nods, wondering what the famous explorer is looking for here. It’s been over two months since his strange encounter with Ezreal, and he’s been trying not to give it too much thought. Ezreal didn’t get any information of any use off him, he’d made sure of that, so there was no point wasting time trying to figure out what he had wanted from him. Clearly he hadn’t gotten it.
But whatever he’d been after then, he was probably still after now, or he wouldn’t be here. And whatever it was, he didn’t seem to mind being seen looking for it, which probably meant it wasn’t anything to do with politics. Piltover was much more subtle about that kind of things.
Darius grabbed the Deserters Register from a shelf. It was an old, pretty thick leather-bound ledger. The fact that it was still the only volume since the start of the written records is a testimony to the men and women serving in the Noxian army. They are true to their nation. That, and they know what happens to deserters.
There is a small desk where he could quickly add the day of capture and execution of the deserter. But the light in the part of the library is terrible, and Darius has been thinking about reading up on the military relations between the old Shuriman Empire and Noxus for a while now, which Ezreal’s presence has reminded him of. To him, it is ancient history, but to Azir it is his very recent past.
He ventures down the oldest parts of the military archives, to where books and rolled scrolls of parchment sit side by side on the shelves. Some of those documents are fragile, so he handles them with care as he selects a couple of ledgers and a few scrolls.
Darius gets one of the soldiers on guard duty to help him carry most of it out to the well-lit tables where Ezreal is already sitting. He picks a seat from which he can keep an eye on the young man without being in his direct sight: Ezreal will only see him if he turns around, and he looks so focused on what he’s reading that it doesn’t seem likely to happen any time soon.
Darius starts with his duties and quickly fills up the Deserters Register before setting it aside and carefully unrolling a few scrolls. The text has been preserved from the tear and wear of time by magic, but the writing is still hard to read, tiny scratches of ink written in an indelicate hand, and using some words and phrases that have been out of style for centuries.
Darius isn’t a scholar. He grew up in the streets of the capital, using his wits and his strength to make sure he and his little brother always had something to eat and somewhere to sleep. It’s only after he joined the military that he realized the power of the written word. Orders from superiors are carried to the field on paper, and an officer who can’t read is at the mercy of whichever soldier he asks to decipher it for him. Worse even, secret messages and delicate information will not be entrusted to those officers since they would need a common soldier’s help to read it.
So Darius had learned. And as he taught himself, he also learned about the vast repository of military knowledge and wisdom from the Grand Library. After all these years, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy the tedious task of reading, but he values the knowledge he’s gleaned from it, and he looks down on the few high-ranking officers he knows who have never bothered learning.
The parchment he’s currently reading (or rather deciphering), written by a lieutenant who happened to be a mage, a fact not as uncommon at the time as it is now, mostly gushes over the amazing thaumaturgic powers of the Shuriman emperor and his family. It’s hard to tell if Lieutenant Capheus was just a mediocre mage easily impressed or if he was right to be in awe. Plus, if magic is anything like warfare, what was impressive centuries ago might look like child’s play to today’s mages.
But then again, maybe not. Darius looks up to Ezreal, who’s still going through a pile of construction plans. He’s wearing the Shuriman gauntlet on his left hand, which, rumor has it, not only lets him manipulate his own powers with no effort but also amplifies them. There’s a reason everyone’s been exploring the desert for centuries, looking for artifacts from the old empire. It’s not all for money, or for the thrill of the find. It’s about power too.
Darius’s eyes are still lingering on Ezreal’s back when the young man rubs the back of his neck and gets up. He walks towards a man sitting at another table, clearly Noxian judging by the way he’s dressed, and clearly annoyed to be here judging by the sulky look on his face.
“What I’m looking for isn’t in there,” Ezreal says politely, if a little bit more coldly than Darius remembers. “Could you bring me the rest of them?”
“That’s all there is,” the Noxian snarls back.
“It can’t be,” Ezreal replies, shaking his head. “None of these correspond to what I’m looking for.”
“I know my job, you arrogant Pilty!” the Noxian replies angrily. “These are all the constructions directed by Arphen of Zaun in the Capital. Just because General Tyros said I have to help you doesn’t mean you can insult me.”
“I wasn’t insulting you,” Ezreal replies, his voice even colder, and Darius watches carefully as he clenches his fists. “But none of those plans correspond to what was described in his journal. There has to be more.”
“Well your journal is wrong, because there isn’t.”
Ezreal is staring daggers at the Noxian builder, and Darius ‘s curiosity gets the best of him. If Tyros is involved into letting a foreigner go through the Grand Library, then it has to be important in some way. Darius gets up and makes his way over to them.
“What is it exactly that you’re looking for?” he asks, making both men jump slightly. Darius can’t help but smirk at the surprise painted all over Ezreal’s face for a couple of seconds.
“Um, hello,” Ezreal says, getting his face back under control. “I’m trying to find a specific building, and none of those ” – he points towards the plans scattered over his table – “fit.”
“I gathered as much.” Darius resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Who is this Arphen, what building are you looking for and why?”
“These are the most words I’ve heard you pronounce in one go,” Ezreal grins.
“Then I’ll add a few more: why has Tyros granted you access to our resources?”
“All right, all right,” Ezreal replies. “Arphen was a Zaunite architect, and also a thief. He’s hidden something of great value in the foundations of a building he worked on when he fled from Zaun to Noxus to avoid arrest. Something the heir of its rightful owner would like to get back.”
“And the recent agreement between Zaun and Noxus means any stolen Zaunite property on Noxus soil must be returned to its proper owner if found,” Darius completes with a frown. “But you,” he points to Ezreal, “aren’t Zaunite.”
“My employer is,” Ezreal shrugs.
“You have an employer? A Zaunite employer?” The hatred between Piltover and Zaun is as strong as that between Noxus and Demacia, everyone knows that. The idea of someone like Ezreal working for a Zaunite is surprising, to say the least.
“He presented me with an interesting case. Well, a fascinating puzzle, really. I can’t resist puzzles.”
Darius muses over this. General Tyros wouldn’t have let Ezreal go around the city looking for the gods only know what if his ‘employer’ wasn’t someone important. And given where Darius first met Ezreal…
What could Viktor be looking for, what could he want enough to hire Piltover’s Grand Explorer to find it for him? He needs to know. Even though Zaun’s been Noxus’s ally for a long time, Darius doesn’t trust the inventor. He’s ambitious, too ambitious, and that can be dangerous. He needs to know, and Ezreal’s probably his best chance at figuring this out.
“You say this Arphen hid it when he reached the city?”
“Soon enough at least,” Ezreal nods, cocking his head on the side as he looks curiously at Darius.
“You,” he says, pointing to the man from the Builders Guild, “find out who was his supervisor when he reached the city, and pull out all the plans under that master’s name for the three years following Arphen’s arrival.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replies, glaring at both of them.
“Noxians,” Ezreal grunts under his breath as he watches the other man walk away.
“Need I remind you that you’re still standing next to one?” Darius asks with a smirk.
“Yeah, but you’re fun,” Ezreal says with a dismissive hand gesture. “What’s that about a supervisor?”
“When foreigners come to Noxus, they cannot open any sort of business. They have to work under a Noxian supervisor for three years before they’re granted any rights. Most people don’t make it past the first year.”
“You guys really don’t like foreigners, do you?” Ezreal says, not really asking for an answer. “Thanks for your help, I had no idea,” he adds, and sounds sincerely grateful as he smiles at Darius.
“So, is this why you talked to me back in Zaun?” Darius asks, curious.
“In part,” Ezreal admits, leaning against the table, looking much more relaxed now than before. “I knew I’d be put in contact with a Noxian general and figured you might be him, so when I saw you at the inn I thought I’d get to know you a little. But turns out I had to deal with that boring Tyros.” He makes a face, and Darius has to suppress a laugh. “I still don’t know your name, by the way.”
“Really?” Darius hadn’t realized Ezreal didn’t know exactly who he was. For a moment he plays with the idea of not telling him, of keeping that upper hand, but he knows that here, in Noxus, it wouldn’t be hard for Ezreal to find out anyway. “I’m Darius.”
Ezreal’s eyes widen in surprise, his body tensing up. “Darius, you’re General Darius, the Bloody Hand of Noxus?”
“They just call me the Hand of Noxus,” Darius replies, frowning. “Although I like the sound of that, too.”
“Wow, you’re absolutely not the way I’d imagined,” Ezreal muses, still eyeing him warily.
“And how did you imagine me?”
“Uglier, for one,” Ezreal replies with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. “Less fun, too.”
“I’m not fun,” Darius protests, and Ezreal laughs, relaxing again. Darius doesn’t know if he’s angry at that or amused too. He’s thankful that the builder chooses this moment to come back with a new pile of construction plans.
“Aren’t you going back to your work?” Ezreal asks when Darius sits down at his table after ordering Sergeant Nikides to bring his documents back to the military section of the library.
“You’ve piqued my curiosity,” Darius replies simply.
“See? I said you were fun,” Ezreal smiles, and Darius has to smile back, if only a little.
***
A few hours later find the both of them navigating old tunnels that no one has set foot in for the past sixty years. The Noxian capital is built half on top of a mountain, half inside of it. Sometimes, either due to natural causes or to human activity, parts of the underground city become too unstable to live in, so the people are moved out and the tunnels are closed off. The area they’re currently walking through had been evacuated after an underground river had been diverted from its course. The walls of the streets are wet, the water reflecting the light from the torches they carry.
“I appreciate your company,” Ezreal says, evidently unable to let only the sound of their footsteps fill the silence. “But I’m not entirely sure why you had to come with me. You must have more important things to do, certainly.”
“Trying to get rid of me now that I’ve outlived my usefulness?” Darius asks dryly.
“If I wanted to ditch you, I could just shift through one of the walls, you know,” Ezreal replies, looking over his shoulder to wink at Darius. “I do have the proper authorizations to go after my prize on my own.”
Darius doesn’t say anything in reply, and eventually Ezreal just rolls his eyes before looking down at his map again. The truth is, Darius is weary of what Ezreal’s ‘prize’ is. Ezreal hasn’t mentioned anything that would give Darius any clue on its nature, although, granted, Darius didn’t ask directly what it was. He’s not sure what he’ll do if that thing turns out to be of any military significance. Officially, he’s not supposed to do anything. But it wouldn’t be the first time Darius has taken the law into his own hands. Something in him doesn’t relish the thought of having to kill Ezreal if it comes to it, though. He’s not so bad, for a Pilty.
They take a left, going down a long flight of slippery stairs and reaching a level that is less humid. The stairs let out in a large street, bordered with houses carved into the rock. The facades are beautiful, painted in bright, light colors except for where the water has filtered down, revealing the grey stone underneath.
“How could anyone live so deep inside a mountain?” Ezreal muses, raising his torch above his head to examine the blue and green pattern on a wall. “I’d go mad, trapped like this.”
“This was a rich neighborhood,” Darius explains sharply, feeling the need to defend the Noxian way of life. “Places like these are the least vulnerable in case of an attack on the city. Most of these houses would also have plenty of secret passageways and hidden chambers carved into the rock. We still have a few streets like this, for the very wealthy, but most of the owners also have a smaller house topside.”
Ezreal gives him a surprised look, followed by a brief laugh.
“What?” Darius glares.
“Well I just found out how to make you actually talk,” Ezreal smirks. “Just say anything negative about Noxus and you’ll fiercely defend you nation.”
“Well I am a general,” Darius replies, keeping his face neutral. “Defending my nation is what I do.”
Ezreal snickers and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “I knew you were fun”.
When Ezreal looks away from him, Darius smirks.
“Alright, we should almost be there,” Ezreal declares not long after, as they reach an intersection. “Over here, on the left, the building with the curved façade.”
The Zaunite architect had hidden whatever he had stolen in the foundation of a public building. A smart move, really, as it would have allowed him to return there later to retrieve it without having to break into someone’s home. The place used to belong to the merchants guild, although they had emptied it when this section of the underground city was evacuated. Now it only contains a series of empty rooms on the ground floor and empty vaults bellow. The guild didn’t leave even a single empty shelf. There’s a reason the merchant guild is influential in such a heavily military society. Money is power, of a sort. Noxian merchants do not let anything go to waste.
With a dexterity Darius can only admire, Ezreal folds his map, slips it into his bag, pulls out a notebook and opens it, all with just one hand as he’s still holding his torch in the other.
“It should be under the lowest-level vault in the north-west corner of the building,” he says, then starts walking down more steps.
“What, no complains about how impractical it is to find the north when so deep underground?” Darius asks, almost teasingly.
“Please,” Ezreal replies, raising a hand to his chest as if he were offended, “who do you think I am? I know how many times we’ve turned in these tunnels you call streets. The north is that way,” he says, pointing to their right. Darius is silently impressed.
They reach the vault in question and Darius looks around. The floor is one large stone slab, but the walls are made of white granite, which was probably polished back when the place was in use. The water has reached this place though, irregularly eroding the stone.
“So, what now?” Darius asks, frowning a little.
“Now, I dig,” Ezreal smiles, looking as happy as a child on Snowdown day.
Darius leans against a wall and watches as the young man starts carving wholes where the floor and the wall meet. Pulses of yellow energy shoot out of his gauntleted hand, small and precise. The grey stone and white granite is reduced to splinters, and Ezreal examines the wholes under the light of his torch.
Darius’s hand grips his battleaxe, a reflexive gesture when he feels a threat. If Ezreal can break rock so easily, can he also turn flesh and bones into shreds almost effortlessly? If he used his abilities for war, he would be terrifying on a battlefield. Ezreal’s reputation isn’t that of a fighter though. Darius doesn’t know if it’s really reassuring.
Ezreal is very methodical, Darius notes as he watches him work. He leaves portions of the wall base untouched so that the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down, and instead opens up the floor in front of the intact sections of the wall. The debris are pushed away from the wall and towards the middle of the room so there’s no clutter where the explorer is working. Clearly, Ezreal’s done this before. Of course, Darius knows the other man has a knack to uncover lost artifacts and treasures, but for some reason he’d always imagined treasure-hunting to involve more exploration and less, well, plain old digging, really.
“It doesn’t seem to be under this wall,” Ezreal says, shaking his head as he stands back up. He takes a sip of water from his canister, then leans against said wall and wipes the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand.
Digging those holes seems to have taken more effort than Darius had thought. Now that the young man is facing him, Darius can see the way his shirt, damp with sweat, clings to his body under the leather jacket. He can see the rise and fall of Ezreal’s chest as he breathes with more difficulty, like someone who’s just been running. And is it only due to the flickering torchlight, or are Ezreal’s cheeks flushed from the effort, too? Darius frowns when he meets Ezreal’s amused eyes, realizing he’d been staring at him a little too intently. And maybe a little too appreciatively, too, judging by the knowing smile on Ezreal’s face.
“Was it supposed to be under this wall?” Darius asks, pretending that nothing had happened.
“The journal didn’t say,” Ezreal shrugs. “I’ll move on to the next wall in a minute.”
Ezreal lets his head rest against the wall, exposing his throat to the light, and looks at Darius through half-closed eyes. Darius can’t help but feel slightly amused by the other man’s attitude, and raises an inquiring eyebrow. Ezreal just smiles and shrugs lightly.
True to his word, Ezreal eventually pushes himself off the wall and starts working on the next. Darius takes advantage of the fact that the blond can’t see him to let his eyes roam a little, just because he can. Ezreal’s back is as almost as pretty as his face, and Darius has to admit that, if he doesn’t end up killing him (or being killed by him, which now that he’s seen Ezreal’s handiwork on stone, Darius has to count as a possibility), he wouldn’t mind finding out exactly what Ezreal’s earlier look really meant. It could be… entertaining, to say the least.
In the meantime, he’ll stay on his guard, though.
“Ah-ha!” Ezreal exclaims, triumphant, and Darius takes a few steps forward to take a look.
Through the latest hole Ezreal dug into the stone, Darius can see the edge of something, wrapped in cloth. Ezreal tries to pry it out, but the bundle doesn’t budge until more of the stone around it is reduced to dust. Carefully, Ezreal takes the bundle out and stands back up next to Darius, whose curiosity is growing with each passing second.
“Hold this?” Ezreal asks, shoving his torch into Darius’s hand.
Darius takes it and puts it down on the ground. There is no way he’s going to have both hands taken now, not when he could very well need to draw his axe and force Ezreal to give away his prize. Ezreal doesn’t seem to notice, busy as he is unwrapping the layers of fabric to reveal a sturdy iron box, engraved with symbols that only look vaguely familiar to Darius. Ezreal leans closer to Darius’s torch to get a better look, his fingers tracing some of the symbols.
“What is it,” Darius asks in a neutral voice, eyeing warily the look of wonder on Ezreal’s face.
“Definitely not what V… my employer said,” Ezreal replies softly, confirming to Darius that Viktor was the one behind this. “See these marks here? They are antique Shuriman, from around the period of the Empire’s formation. I’ve seen some of these before, although I’m not entirely certain of their meaning.”
“You don’t seem surprised that Viktor lied to you,” Darius remarks.
Ezreal looks up at the name and stares at Darius for a second, as if reasserting his opinion of him. “I had a feeling,” he replies after a beat or two. “Some of the texts from Arphen’s writings didn’t match what Viktor said. He could have just been mistaken, but…”
Ezreal goes back to his examination of the box. He doesn’t seem to think Viktor didn’t know what he was sending him after, and Darius had to agree that a lie was the most likely explanation. Which didn’t bode well for what was actually in the box.
“This one, I’m pretty sure means power,” Ezreal says, mostly to himself, as he touches one of the symbols with his fingertip. “And that one over there is mind, that was pretty obvious from the Shenera tablet. Plus it’s pretty close to the symbol used later on. But this one over here, I’ve never seen it before.”
“Could it be dangerous?” Darius asks, his hand tightening on the handle of his axe.
“Only one way to find out,” Ezreal replies cheerily, and opens the box.
In an instant, Darius has his blade against Ezreal’s throat as he’s about to order him to give him the box. But there’s a sudden pulse of energy coming out of the box and the ground suddenly starts shaking and rumbling under them. One of the walls cracks, and Ezreal arcane shifts away from his axe to reappear next to Darius and pull him down. He ends up sprawled on top of Ezreal just as part of the ceiling crashes down right where he was standing a second ago.
Ezreal is breathing hard, his face inches from Darius’s. There’s a spark of panic in his eyes for a moment, then he seems to bring it back under control and just stares up at Darius.
“Oops,” he whispers, biting his lower lip. “That was a bit reckless.”
“A bit?” Darius asks, raising an eyebrow. The ground has stopped shaking already, and thankfully nothing else seems to be about to collapse on them, so Darius does his best to slow down his racing heartbeat. Dry sarcasm helps.
“To be fair, how was I supposed to guess the box was thaumaturgically sealed?” Ezreal asks.
“I am no mage,” Darius replies. “I have no idea what you mean. What happened?”
“Oh, right, sorry,” Ezreal smiles. “Thaumaturgic seals are very rare, they repel magical energy. In this case, they kept the artifact’s energy locked in for centuries, maybe millenniums. Magic tends to build up, and when I opened the box it could finally escape. So, oops.” Ezreal wiggles a little under Darius. “Listen, I’m not usually one to complain, but so much armor and muscle is a little bit heavy, and this stone isn’t exactly comfortable. Would you mind getting up?”
“I don’t know, I think I like where you are,” Darius replies slowly. He watches as Ezreal’s breath catches, just slightly. “It allows me to do this.”
Darius grabs the box, which was lying on the ground next to them, and closes it before getting up on his knees, smirking down at Ezreal’s chocked face. The young man does look good sprawled under him, he must admit.
“Hey, that’s mine!” Ezreal protests, trying to get the box back as Darius gets back up.
“No more playing with the powerful magical artifact until we get to someplace safe,” Darius declares in a voice that allows no complaint.
“I take back what I said,” Ezreal sighs. “You’re no fun at all, Noxian.”
Darius absolutely refuses to call Ezreal’s little pout adorable.
***
“Where to, now?” Ezreal asks as they exit the tunnels.
He turns his face towards the sunset, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, and Darius grits his teeth. No one as powerful as Ezreal should be allowed to look so innocent, even if only for a handful of seconds.
“Not the library,” Darius replies, thinking.
“Yeah, that’s probably not a good place to play with an unknown magical artifact,” Ezreal agrees. “Lots of vulnerable documents and all that.”
Not to mention the fact that if Darius decides this thing is too dangerous, he’d rather not have witnesses to his breaking of the treaty with Zaun. Although, if it isn’t what Viktor originally told Ezreal it was, then maybe the inventor isn’t its legal owner anyway, and thus Noxus doesn’t have to turn it in? Still, somewhere private would be best.
“Where are you staying?” Darius asks, frowning at the small box in his hand, trying to ignore the feeling in his gut at the thought of having to fight Ezreal. It would be a great fight, he tells himself. A worthy opponent. He enjoys a good fight. Why is he fiercely hoping it doesn’t come to that?
“The Laughing Dog Inn,” Ezreal replies with an undecipherable look. “Which is kind of at the other end of the city.”
And a very popular, very busy establishment. Darius barely hesitates a second or two before offering:
“My place is much closer.”
Ezreal is smirking now, but he accepts the offer and follows Darius through the streets of the Capital. Darius’s house is strategically situated halfway between the palace and the barracks, only about ten minutes from where they emerged from the tunnels. It looks deceivingly small from the outside, but it’s clinging to and actually half digging through a cliff side, making it a decent place to live in.
Darius could have afforded a more imposing, grand house, but what would be the point? He doesn’t need more space, doesn’t need to impress his (very rare) visitors with opulence, and nothing can beat this location anyway. It’s home, which, to the street boy he once was, is already luxurious enough.
Ezreal follows him silently inside and into a simple sitting room Darius rarely uses unless he has a visitor, which doesn’t happen often. Usually, Darius would have put his battleaxe down against the wall and offered his guest something to drink, because anyone he’d let into his house would be someone he trusts and respects.
Darius glances quickly at Ezreal, wondering. Yes, he thinks he might have come to respect Ezreal: he’s powerful, efficient at what he does, and surprisingly good company. Trust, however, is something Darius doesn’t grant easily. So his battleaxe remains at his side as he puts the iron box on the table and gestures Ezreal towards it.
“Alright,” Ezreal says, approaching the table. “The built-up magical energy already escaped, so opening the box should not destroy the place.”
“I figured,” Darius replies, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, “or we wouldn’t be here.”
Ezreal nods and casually opens the lid of the little box. As expected, there is no rumbling of the earth this time, and Ezreal lifts a round pendant out. It’s not a very feminine piece of jewelry, although the intricate designs on it seem elegant, and Darius takes a step closer to get a better look.
Ezreal brushes a finger from his ungloved hand against it and holds his breath, closing his eyes, a look of pure pleasure on his face. Something makes Darius shiver slightly, and he tries to ignore it.
“Oh yeah, there’s power here,” Ezreal breathes out, wrapping his hand over the amulet. “But what do you do?”
They both stare at Ezreal’s hand, as if it was going to tell them the answer, just like that. Ezreal sighs, opening his fingers again to take a closer look at the symbols etched into the silver. Darius almost wants to take a closer look too, but he feels like what he should do is just wait and see.
“I wonder, can you feel the magic from it, too?” Ezreal asks after a while, frowning slightly at the pendant.
“I can feel something,” Darius replies, realizing as he does that it’s true. There’s a strange feeling buzzing through him, has been since Ezreal first touched the amulet.
Ezreal looks up at him, almost surprised. “It’s rare for non-mages to be able to feel latent magic, magic that isn’t currently being used. Can you feel the power from my glove too?”
Darius shakes his head. Does that mean the pendant has been activated by Ezreal’s touch, then? Is there magic being worked, unbeknownst to either of them? Darius might have been concerned, but Ezreal seems more thoughtful than worried, and he knows more about magic than Darius. That’s probably why Darius’s hand isn’t gripping his battleaxe, why he feels so calm and steady.
“What does it feel like, to you?” Ezreal asks after a moment, cocking his head on the side.
“Like I’m ready,” Darius replies. “Like I’m waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For you,” Darius says simply, frowning. For a second, he wants to scream, shout that there’s something wrong going on, but that feeling melts away and he just stands there, ready for whatever needs to be done.
Ezreal is looking at him, perplexed. His eyes shift to the amulet in his hand, then back to Darius’s face, and they’re slightly wider, from bewilderment or fear Darius cannot tell.
“Put…” Ezreal stops, biting his lower lip. He takes a deep breath and starts again, speaking slowly. “Put your axe down, General.”
Darius takes his axe off his belt and lowers it to the ground. He doesn’t know why he hasn’t done it sooner, really. He’s home, he doesn’t need his battleaxe when it’s just Ezreal and him.
“Sit down,” Ezreal tells him, quickly, as if he’s going to lose his nerve if he thinks about it too much.
Darius knows the chair behind him is comfortable, and there’s really no reason to keep standing around after a long day. He sits down and patiently looks up at Ezreal, deferring to him for what happens next.
“That… That’s not possible,” Ezreal whispers, looking down at Darius, then at the pendant in his hand. “That’s just wrong.”
He shoves the amulet back into the iron box, shutting it and taking a few steps away from Darius. The instant the lid is closed, something seems to slide off Darius’s skin, and he frowns at his axe on the ground, then at Ezreal’s worried face. The young man is now safely on the other side of the table from him.
Darius knows he shouldn’t have put his weapon down, that he shouldn’t be casually sitting in this chair. But he also knows it was the right thing to do at the time. Both convictions are warring inside of him for a moment, confusing him. But his better judgment wins out, and in a swift movement he grabs his battleaxe again and gets up, squinting his eyes at Ezreal.
Slowly, almost sluggishly, as if a part of his mind was reluctant to making the connection, things start to fall into place. He looks at the box, then back up at Ezreal’s worried face.
“You…” he says, tightening his grip on his weapon. But he doesn’t know what else to say.
He know, knows, that he would have done anything Ezreal told him to do, and Ezreal seems to know it to. He could have taken advantage of it. He could have ordered Darius around, could have played with him, could have made him betray his nation, could have used him for whatever he wanted.
But Ezreal didn’t. Ezreal put the amulet back into a box designed to lock in all magic. Darius can feel the rage cursing through him at the thought of not being in control, his need to fight off an enemy that isn’t actually there anymore. Ezreal isn’t the enemy. Slowly, Darius lowers his battleaxe and takes a deep breath.
“Thank you,” he says, finally, through gritted teeth.
Ezreal nods, and seems to relax a little. They both stare at the box.
“I know you have a treaty with Zaun,” Ezreal starts, speaking slowly. “And I’m biased, because I’m from Piltover. But the thought of Viktor owning something like this... Of anyone owning this, really...”
“Yes,” Darius agrees. He isn’t a politician. He is the Hand of Noxus, the one who does what has to be done for his nation. Zaun is their ally, but with something like this, they would not need any allies. Viktor could take whatever he wants. He cannot have it.
Darius could give it to Swain. Swain would know how to use something like that for the good of Noxus. They could rule Runeterra. But where would be the honor, the glory? The victory would taste foul in Darius’s mouth. That is, if he kept his own will through it.
“How do we destroy it?” he asks, almost reluctantly.
“I’m not sure,” Ezreal says, sounding just as conflicted as Darius, although probably for different reasons. Destroying a powerful, valuable ancient artifact can’t be an easy decision for someone like him, Darius supposes. “Magic? Brute force? A combination of both?”
Darius grabs the box and opens the lid, lets the amulet slide down on the ground without touching it. He doesn’t think he can use it himself, since he isn’t a mage, but if he can, if it works for him… He doesn’t know if he’d have the willpower not to use it. So he prefers not knowing.
He takes his battleaxe in both hands and signals Ezreal to come over with a jerk of his head as he raises his weapon, ready to strike.
“Together?” Ezreal asks, teleporting over the table to stand next to Darius, his gloved hand pointed toward the pendant on the floor.
“Now!” Darius says, lowering his axe with as much strength as he can muster, while Ezreal shoots a pulse of bright yellow energy down. They hit the amulet at the same time, and it seems to explode, energy rushing out of the crushed pendant and sending them both flying through the room.
Darius hits the chair he sat into earlier with so much force it shatters under him. He can hear his battleaxe landing somewhere to his right with a loud ‘clang’, but most of his attention is on the blond man sprawled over him. Darius puts a hand on Ezreal’s arm, not sure if he intends to help him up or just steady him. Ezreal’s face is mere inches from his.
“Hello there,” Ezreal says, grinning and not moving away.
“I thought too much armor wasn’t comfortable,” Darius comments, raising an eyebrow, his hand still resting on Ezreal’s arm. He can feel firm, warm muscle underneath the leather.
“I don’t mind when I’m not being crushed under it,” Ezreal replies, wiggling a little on top of Darius to get more comfortable. “Although, if you want to take it off…”
Darius smirks and lets his hand trail up Ezreal’s arm to his shoulder, then his neck. He pushes his fingers through tangled blond hair and, grinning, Ezreal kisses him. It’s teasing and playful at first before the kiss heats up, and by the time they part they’re both panting and Darius’s fingers are digging into Ezreal’s waist.
“We should check the amulet,” Darius says, reluctantly.
Ezreal lets his forehead fall to Darius’s armored shoulder. “Noxians,” he grumbles. “All duty and no fun.”
“Only duty first, fun after,” Darius smirks. “You have my word.”
With an amused grunt, Ezreal gets off Darius and up, offering his hand to help Darius on his feet. Darius grabs it and gets up too, and they walk to what’s left of the amulet. It’s crushed and broken open, the silver blackened. Ezreal picks it up and squeezes it in his hand.
“The magic is dead,” he says, sounding a little sad. “Sorry about your floor.”
The stone floor is charred and cracked where the amulet was. Darius shrugs.
“I’ll just put a carpet over it or something,” he replies, watching Ezreal put the pendant back in the box. “What will you tell Viktor?”
“That I found it like this?” Ezreal shrugs, too. “I doubt he’ll think I destroyed it. He knows how much I love magic and history. I don’t think he’d understand why we did this.”
Ezreal still looks a little sad as he stares at the box on the table. Darius steps closer to him and grabs his chin, making him turn his head away from the artifact and towards him.
“You’re a better man than most,” he tells him, then kisses him again.
“And you’re not bad for a Noxian,” Ezreal replies, a bit breathlessly, when they part. “So, that’s duty taken care of.”
“Indeed,” Darius tells him, pushing Ezreal until the back of his legs hits the table.
Ezreal grins.