Chapter Text
The Warden’s heavy footsteps echoed through solitary. Vi gritted her teeth, bracing herself. He had already beaten her once today, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he was coming back for round two. There weren’t exactly a lot of other reasons for him to come down here, unless her sentence was already up. She didn’t think it had been much longer than a day, but time was difficult down here. She couldn’t even tell how long she’d been in Stillwater anymore. It felt like years, but she didn’t think winter had come yet, which meant it couldn’t be more than a few months.
There was a second pair of footsteps and a new voice. Shit. He had someone else with him. That couldn’t be good. Vi’s mind ran through possible scenarios, all bad. If she was lucky, maybe he had just brought someone else to beat the shit out of her. But she usually didn’t get lucky.
They reached her cell. The man with him was tall and thin, with a red hair. He looked at Vi and scoffed.
“This is the one you told me about? She’s a child.”
“She’s good,” the Warden said. “Took one of my guard’s eye out.”
“That says more about your men than her,” the stranger said. “I’ll want to see her in action before I buy her.”
Buy her? This was somehow even worse than Vi had imagined. Well, she wasn’t going down without a fight. Maybe if she fought hard enough, they would just kill her.
“I’m not having her fight one of my people again, if that’s what you’re asking,” the Warden said.
“No,” the stranger agreed. “Let her out.”
“Uh…”
“Are you afraid of an unarmed, half-starved, beaten teenage girl? Let her out. I’ll handle her.”
The Warden sighed and opened the cell. Vi didn’t move, keeping her back to the wall and her fists raised. Adrenaline rushed through her tired, battered frame. The man stepped inside her cell, tilting his head. He had cold eyes that promised nothing but misery. Without thinking, Vi lunged at him. He dodged her attack easily. That surprised her—she had thought he would hit back, and hard. She threw punch after punch, each one missing. The pointlessness began to sink in along with the exhaustion. She slipped up and gave him an opening. In a moment she was shoved across the concrete wall, his cane at her throat.
She will not go down without a fight. Whatever they did to her, whatever happened, she would fight until the very end. For Powder and the slight, fading hope that she was still alive. For Vander and everyone else she’d lost. She refused to let herself be completely broken.
So she grabbed the man’s arms, digging her nails into his skin until he bled. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t show any other type of pain. It wasn’t until she spat in his face that he stuck her in the stomach. It was hard, and she was already injured. He let go of her, and she hit the floor, coughing, the world going dizzy.
“She’s quite the wild animal,” the man said. “I’ll take her.”
“No…” Vi muttered, trying to get up.
But it was no use. Her body had enough abuse, and she lost consciousness.
Before she even opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong. Everything was moving, like she was on a carnival ride. No, not a carnival ride. A ship.
Vi's eyes flew open as she scrambled to her feet. At least she tried. The moving floor beneath her quickly sent her back on the ground. Someone chuckled. Groaning, she got to her knees, looking at her surroundings. She was in a cell, much more comfortable and spacious than her previous one. There was a small mat complete with a blanket, a lidded chamber pot nailed to the floor, and a chain fastened to the wall that ended in a manacle around her ankle. There were three more cells; the middle one was empty, and the one on the end was occupied by a large, purple-furred Minotaur. He had been the one who had laughed at her.
“Don’t have your sea legs quite yet, eh, little one?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Vi snapped.
She noticed her cell had other things by the door. Crawling over, she found a small jug of water, some hard bread, and strips of jerky, along with a roll of bandages and a small bottle of iodine. All priceless treasures in her eyes. She wanted nothing more than to devour the food then and there, but she knew that it would just come up if she ate too fast. Especially on a ship. So she forced herself to eat torturously slow, taking careful sips of water in between. It took every ounce of her self-control, and she still ended up eating half of the bread along with most of the jerky. That hadn’t been wise, especially as she didn’t know when she’d get food again.
“Needn’t worry about that, little one,” the Minotaur said, guessing her thoughts. “They feed us pretty regularly. Need us healthy.”
“For what?” Vi asked.
She didn’t think she’d like the answer, but she had to know what kind of hell was waiting for her when the boat docked.
“Didn’t they tell you? We’re to be glorious Reckoners in the fighting pits of Noxus. A great honor.”
“Reckoners?” Vi echoed.
She had heard stories of Noxus, of their savage hordes and love for bloodshed. Apparently they had prisoners kill one another for sport. Was that what she was going to be? She guessed in many ways it could be worse. It wasn’t likely that she’d survive her first fight, but it would be over quickly. She didn’t have to worry about spending endless years under the man who bought her, enduring whatever torture he found amusing. And if she did somehow manage to survive, then she might make enough money to buy her freedom and get back to Zaun. Then she could find Powder, if she was alive, and kill Silco, if she wasn’t.
The panic in her chest unspooled as she took a deep, shaky breath, letting her head rest on the rough wood. She had a goal again. Not a very obtainable one, but it was still a goal. For now, it would keep her sane. Keep her moving.
“You all right, little one?” The Minotaur asked.
“Don’t call me that,” Vi snapped.
“I can’t help it,” he said, his voice softening. “They called me Alistar.”
Vi didn’t answer him. She wasn’t about to make friends with a guy who might end up killing her.
Not talking was fine the first night. She slept surprisingly well, the thin mat and coarse blanket both unheard-of luxuries. And in the morning she was delighted to find a servant girl who brought food: some more bread, a hard-boiled egg, and, incredibly, an orange. The girl asked, very politely, if she could empty her chamber pot.
“Aren’t they worried I might hurt you?” Vi wondered.
“Why would you do that?”
“I don’t know, maybe I’d try to escape or something.”
The girl shrugged.
“You’re on a boat in the middle of the ocean. And anyway, this ship is full of soldiers. You wouldn’t even get the chance to throw yourself off, if that’s what you were after. As for me, they can buy another serving girl when they get to the capital.”
“So, you’re a slave too,” Vi said, with some sympathy. “Where did they grab you from?”
“They didn’t ’grab me’ from anywhere. I was born into it. Would you like me to empty your chamber pot?”
“Go right ahead,” Vi said.
After she finished that unpleasant task, she locked the cell and went back upstairs. Vi finished her breakfast, tended to her wounds, and practiced her boxing. Not that she thought it would do her any good. But dying didn’t scare her anymore. She just wished it wouldn’t be so far from home.
The next few days passed slowly. It only took the second day until she broke down and started talking to Alistar. At first it was hard to find something to talk about. Neither of them wanted to talk about their past, and the future was somehow worse. Instead, Alistar told her about his way of fighting. Bits of advice that might help her survive. It was kind of him, given that she could easily end up using it to kill him, but she didn’t like it. It reminded her too much of Vander. The third day, she went quiet again. The fourth they finally docked.
Vi had a few minutes to collect herself before the guards came. Powder. There was a chance that she was alive. There was a chance that she’d get to see her again. And if not, if she died today, then at least she’d get to see Vander again.
The guards weren’t rough with her as they were in Stillwater, simply putting on a pair of shackles on her wrists before leading her out of the hold. Even when Alistar fought them, he was taken down swiftly by some kind of dart. Didn’t want to damage the merchandise.
The bright light of mid-morning burned her eyes, causing her to squint and stumble. Her sea legs didn’t help much either, but thankfully she didn’t fall again. Instead, she followed the guards through the blur of the harbor. There was almost a dreamlike quality about everything. A few months ago she’d been safe in Last Drop, loved and fed and happy. Now she was a slave in a strange country, and everyone she loved was dead. She was probably going to die in a matter of days, and she didn’t even care.
No. She couldn't allow that type of thinking. It was making her dangerously close to crying, and she couldn’t cry. Not now, not here. Not only was a show of strength important, but she refused to give any of these bastards the satisfaction.
So she shut down. Let everything happen to her while she stayed locked away inside her head. They took her to what she figured was the pits, stripped her, poked at her injuries, and decided it wasn’t anything too bad. She was cleaned, dressed, and told to choose a weapon for tomorrow. There were no gauntlets. She chose a sword. Vaguely, she heard the man in charge say:
“I swear, if she wasn’t a gift from General Du Couteau, I’d sell her as a housemaid.”
“They like the opening acts to be bloody,” another said. “They can’t all be champions.”
Dinner was good, at least. Some kind of grainy soup. She ate with about twenty others. They were young, or old, or starving. All scared in their own way. The opening act, she figured. Maybe one of them would kill her tomorrow. Thankfully nobody tried to talk to her. After dinner she was told to go to bed. Being a slave really wasn’t any different from being a prisoner, but she couldn’t deny the structure held some kind of comfort. It was nice not to have to think for herself. It was nice not to think at all.
Vi couldn’t sleep, of course. It wasn’t quiet. Some were crying, others talking in nervous whispers. She just lay there, staring into the darkness. If she needed to cry, this would be a good time to do it. But she couldn’t find any tears. She wondered what dying was like, remembering the old stories she was told by her mother about the Wolf and the Lamb. The Wolf chased those who dared fight or flee their deaths, while the Lamb sent her arrow into the hearts of those who had accepted their passing.
“And everyone must make that choice one day,” her mother had said. “But all end up in the same place.”
She always wanted to choose the Wolf. Go out fighting, like her parents did. But she was tempted to choose the Lamb’s arrow. To walk out into that arena tomorrow, let her sword drop from her hand, and wait. She knew she wouldn’t have to wait long. Why fight for these bastards' amusement? If she couldn’t even die in her own city, with those she loved, then she could at least go out on her own terms. Wasn’t that a kind of bravery of its own?
It would be so damn easy. She would be free. She would be with the rest of her family. Mom, Dad, Vander, Mylo, Claggor—
But not Powder. Powder might still be alive. It was a faint chance, but still a chance. And if she was, how could Vi ever leave her like that? She was all she had left.
No, she had to fight tomorrow. No matter how difficult, how unlikely, or how futile. She had to at least try.
For Powder.
So it was best if she got some sleep.