Chapter Text
Travelling to the City had always been a rare treat, ever since Claggor accompanied Vander as a lad. Mousey’s hooves clattering against stone instead of dirt was the quietest rise in volume, almost lost to the din of more people than the tavern would see in a year. It could be overwhelming, the domesticated smell of life compared to the richness in the forest he’d just left, but it was life nonetheless and it always filled his heart with no small measure of glee. The world remained oblivious to his awe, and soon the wagon was swallowed into the swollen flow of traffic into the market district.
It was a welcome change from his situation this time last year. Back then he’d spent the time at home dreading the next visit to the city. He’d count down the days, stretch out the meagre supplies well beyond their capacity. Only then would he make the trip, leaving the tavern boarded up and hoping it was still standing when he returned. What little relief he’d gain when walking back into the empty cold would be exhausted through spending the night getting everything back in order for business in the morning. And so the next countdown would begin.
Claggor let himself relax into controlled pace of the road, picturing the welcome he’d receive now he was no longer returning to an empty lodge. It would be too late for little Naph to greet him, so the shrieking hug would have to wait until he awoke to an armful of happy toddler in the morning. Viktor was a possibility, the omega was regularly feeling safe enough to leave the child alone in the room whilst he and Jayce worked downstairs. Claggor’s week-long absence might have set that back though, the lack of an extra pack alpha spurring his instincts to guarding over the pup like he had the first few months.
Jayce would be there to greet him, perhaps even making their guests wait for service to help him unload the wagon. More efficient, he’d probably claim, cutting the time for the task and allowing them to debrief at the same time. And then Claggor will be sent to bed with his supper, and Jayce’s smile will charm even the most disgruntled waiting customer, and he’ll fall asleep before he can even think about going back downstairs to help close up.
It felt right, closer to the trips he’d made before the Cold Years. Back when there’d been a different family waiting for them, though no less love. Silco, no less capable at running the bar despite being an omega would snap that Vander was late returning, though his frown would never reach the man’s eyes. Those would burn with the embers of the fading fire, and Claggor would try and hide his giggle at the sight of Vander trying to hide his blush from the gaze’s heat.
The tavern bar would always close early on those nights, for ‘stock-taking’ Vander would say as he hurried Claggor into bed, warning him to be quiet lest he awoke the others. And then, the adventure would end with heavy boots fading down into their fathers’ room, and telling his eagerly waiting siblings the tale of his days prior.
That was the only coldness left in his life, returning to an empty bedroom. As burdens went, it was almost laughable compared to the amount of joy which filled the rest of his life. He loved the two men he lived with fiercely, like brothers, the pup he was proud to call his nephew, and they were, in every way that mattered, as tight-knit a family as any.
Which was why Claggor secretly loved the breaks the trips gave him, even as guilt ate at his heart for being so ungrateful. The loneliness became more tenable once he was no longer surrounded by its antithesis, and by the time he returned home, his heart would be filled with a genuine loneliness. One that could be remedied the moment he walked back through the front door, and bathed in the warmth of home once more.
Plus, he did still genuinely adore the excitement of Piltover, as long as his trips stayed short enough that the city didn’t wear on him. The City of Progress still lived up to its name, so there was always something new to see the four times he made the journey each year. Sometimes he wondered if he’d bump into one of his family; his fathers were still missing, of course, but the last he’d heard Vi had spent some time in Piltover. None of the flashes of pink hair in the crowds ever led to a reunion, but his heart never stopped searching. The other two were more of a mystery: all he could hope for Mylo was that the beta hadn’t ended up dead in a ditch. Jinx was somewhere, that he knew for certain. The girl’s instincts were sharper than any guardsman’s sword, and that was without the protection her mate Ekko would ensure.
So no, he didn’t worry for his siblings, but it would be nice to see them again.
The journey led him to his usual inn, not as nice as the one he ran but decent enough even though it cost more than he’d ever dream of charging. ‘City,’ Vander would growl when they settled in for their first night, shaking his head as he checked the rest of the coin in the sack brought to cover their expenses for the trip. Claggor resisted the temptation to follow suit, though he grinned at the thought.
Claggor’s resemblance to his father was strong enough that the merchants he traded with gave the same preferential treatment, and he made sure to return the energy in turn. It was most likely a mere sliver of the personality his father exuded, but it wouldn’t do to bring shame on the man’s name. In any case, the traders seemed pleased to see him and that the inn was still going strong. They wished him well, and seemed happy at the promise their generosity would be repaid the next time they needed a place to rest on their next journeys to the South.
By the end of the fourth day in the city, Mousey’s wagon was full to bursting with supplies that would easily last ’til the next trip and he still had a few coins to spare. The journey would only take a day and there was nowhere to stop to spend it, so he continued his father’s tradition of tossing the remaining coins to the various beggars that lined the streets on the slow march out of the city. Their numbers always increased drastically the further he got from the centre proper, but he was certain that the line inched closer each trip. A result of the war he’d heard whispers of in the late hours of the night at the bar, perhaps. Or maybe just a symptom of a city that prided itself of progress at all cost, even if that meant its own citizens got left behind, floundering in its wake. Neither were a comfort when the coins ran out and he still had a maze of streets to navigate before reaching the city’s gates.
At least he could go faster, the traffic dwindling drastically the closer the road strayed into the wilderness that awaited the other side of the walls. Not that it was really that bad, but most people in Piltover had little cause to leave. And perhaps he was a little biased, seeing that his tavern was just the first of the stops those few would shelter in over the fortnight-long journey to the next settlement of any note.
Which was the reason he chuckled when he saw he’d be following another wagon, the company unusual but not unheard of. His future customers’ coach did not hide its travellers’ wealth, rather the gilded patterned coverings boasted it. Such arrogance could prove costly, given that bandits weren’t unheard of in the forest the road snaked through. In fact, it was likely Claggor served some fairly regularly, he wasn’t in the habit of asking where the money that paid his fees came from and was honestly grateful they preferred to target travellers on the road over him in his small inn. Besides, it seemed in poor taste to flaunt such decadence after the poverty he’d witnessed in the lead up to the gates.
A turn in the road into the thickly canopied woodland answered the question that occupied his mind, just a single glimpse at the design on the carriage’s wheels. The Golden Gear of Progress, the sigil of the city of Piltover. A Councillor. Curious that it was travelling without the usual retinue of security, but even the most unlettered bandit would steer clear of such a target; Pilties weren’t exactly known for their mercy. And a city ruled by academics and inventors meant that even the soft hands of its rulers packed a punch, or more accurately would be carrying something that could mete it out more effectively.
The loss of bodies needing beds wouldn’t be a problem for Jayce, who had an uncanny ability to extract appropriate compensation from the customers he believed ‘deserved’ it. Probably on account of his Piltovan upbringing and subsequent exile, given that the harshest demands were reserved for the wealthier patrons from that city who passed through their doorway. It almost certainly wasn’t ethical, but Claggor knew his fathers would have approved, and it helped pay for Jayce’s two-sided justice. No matter how few coins a family walked in with, their children would be leaving well-fed and with enough food to ensure they stayed that way until they reached the next tavern on the highway.
It wasn’t concern for future coin that made him hurry when he saw the coach lurch as it took the next corner though, and the scream was genuine when he saw the small man fall out onto the road. He was too late to help him, could only watch in horror as those large wheels didn’t falter, crushing the legs in their path. Mousey was too heavily laden to push her any harder, so Claggor didn’t hesitate before throwing himself to the ground and sprinting over.
He’d covered half the distance before the carriage shuddered to a halt, but the scene that unfolded nearly struck him still. Another occupant jumped down, but showed no concern or hurry in walking over to the fallen man. His pace was almost leisurely, and the twisted sneer directed downwards was one of the most horrifying things Claggor had ever seen, even more so than the mess of blood and bone spread out on the road ahead of him.
And then the man started kicking.
Most people would be screaming from the pain, but not the man lying on the road. He wasn't even shocked into silence, which would also have been understandable to Claggor. No, the man was hurling words that made Claggor's ears burn, despite looking a breath away from death.
By the time he’d made it over to the couple he was certain of two things: the fall hadn’t been an accident like he’d initially assumed; and the ruined legs weren’t the only reason the smaller man, omega – if Claggor’s nose was right, the thick stench of blood making it hard to be completely certain - needed help.
“Stupid. Fucking. Slut.” Each word was punctuated by a kick that would floor an equal opponent in a bar fight, but still the omega on the road tried to push himself to his elbows so he could face his attacker. The strength and determination were admirable, the biting retorts, though, seemed… ill-advised.
“Slut? I fucking wish! No, that was all yours darling, no wonder it was impotent. Or perhaps it couldn’t bear the shame of being tied to its Alpha and took the easy way out,” the omega hissed, acid and blood on his lips as he spat the words out.
Claggor tried to speak up, desperate to help even with no clue how, but the couple seemed not to notice his presence, lost in private moment of pain and hatred. “Oh no, that’s all you Allie, and you know it. You certainly complained about the strength of my seed enough, even though you barely hold your end of this mating bond, so what else am I meant to do? No, you’re broken. Why else would our, what is it now, five pups choose oblivion? And I can’t say I blame them, you’re no mother. But- ” and both Claggor and the smaller man gasped when the alpha – and that he knew for certain, the acrid pheromones came off him in waves – reached down to pull his omega upright with a fist in his pale, sweat-soaked hair, “you could at least pretend long enough to give me the heir our families demand of us. Or even ‘til after this trip, so you didn’t ruin my fucking carriage when we’ve barely left the city.”
The blond opened his mouth as if to speak, even with the fingers bruising into his scalp, but Claggor had finally had enough of… whatever this was. “What’s going on?” he paused to clear his throat, shocked by the strength of his voice. The pair seemed shocked too, as they let him continue speaking, “Do you need me to ride back to the city to get help?”
“Don’t bother,” the alpha snapped, recovering first, “your wagon will pass mine with room to spare. Go.” His words were lazily imperious, and Claggor wondered if the blond was the only person ever to defy him. Perhaps that’s why the hatred was so raw and palpable.
A pained wheeze, the first sign of weakness, from the floor broke his musing and the shame of forgetting what was most important crackled under his skin. “He needs help, look at the blood on the road. I can stay with him whilst you ride back, if that’s what you’d prefer, but he’ll die if we don’t act now.” Sticking with the carnage on the gravel seemed safest, the source of the other blood seemed too personal to meddle in.
He needn’t have bothered being polite for the alpha’s sake though, and all he could do was stare in shock as the man finally released his grip on the hair in his hands, wrenching it away as if diseased with no care for the strands that remained looped around his fingers. There was an uncomfortable quiet for a moment, and Claggor wondered if his estimation of the omega’s survival time was grossly optimistic. He didn’t get the chance to glance down and check though, because the raking laugh had his eyes snapping straight ahead to its source.
“I think you’re overestimating my wife’s willingness to do as he’s told. No, he’ll cling to life to the bitter end, see? Anyone else wouldn’t have survived that fall, or would have had the decency to open an artery when their thighs were crushed open. My wife though, he’s so worthless he can’t even die right. Guess it’s business as usual, and I’ll have to do it myself. You seem like… a nice lad, so just go on your way because I’m not going to hold your hand if you don’t like what you see.”
Claggor was aware he was running out of time, but even when he felt the thud of a silk-tressed head rest upon his boot, he couldn’t stop the question racing from his lips. “What? Why do you need to kill him? There’s got to be an easier way to sort this out.”
The man looked him up and down, and Claggor hoped the blush across his face wasn’t as obvious as it felt. He didn’t want this man’s approval, even though he could admit that perhaps this was an unexpectedly calm reaction on his part. “Perhaps,” he mused, seeming to take the question seriously, “but it’s not the killing I need to be easy. It’s the afterwards. It’s hard to believe but this bitch is a scion of House Salo, and whilst they were desperate to get rid of him to whoever would take him, there is precedent that needs to be followed. We separate, and I lose the very generous dowry I was paid to take him off their hands, and I lose their automatic support with the Council. Become a widower on the way to a state visit to Noxus? Well, that’s a different story. Especially if we were attacked by the bandits their House’s Head has been concerned about for years now, and would finally give them cause to extend the city’s boundaries further into the forest. It’s the least Allie can do to repent for the shame he’s brought his family – first omega born in three generations, would you believe? – so whilst they won’t miss him, they might look back at him fondly. And I’ll be rewarded, doubly so if I tell them discreetly how I removed a persistent thorn in their family tree, so it’s a win-win situation really.”
Claggor was no stranger to the concept of death, not even when it was premature, but this? The cruelty chilled him to the bone. Even if the omega was guilty of something more serious than being gobby in the face of murder, he couldn’t imagine he deserved this.
Before he could even attempt to vocalise those thoughts, he realised the alpha’s nasty sneer had been turned his way. “Except, of course, it’s not exactly discreet anymore – now that I have a witness.”
For a moment the man seemed to puff up and out, his light grey eyes narrowing as he sized Claggor up for the third time. His scent evened out, sulphur giving way to just ash and rot to earth, but was no less unpleasant due to the sheer strength. Claggor had dealt with worse though, and was able to stand his ground against the tide with little difficulty. At least this man was clean under everything, unlike the many alphas that liked posturing under his roof.
The outcome wasn’t spoken, but the way he deflated made it clear that a decision had been made, even if he tried to hide it running a hand through greased black hair and coughing. “Name your price.”
To his shame, Claggor’s first thoughts were of the dilapidated outbuildings behind the tavern, and how they’d make the perfect accommodations for their growing family. More children were soon to be born if Jayce and Viktor continued at their current pace, and the fact he knew that in the first place was testament to how… cramped the personal rooms of the inn were. By the time he’d snapped out of the daydreams, the man’s smile was satisfied and he was already reaching towards the sagging coin purse tied to his belt.
“I want him. Alive,” he blurted without thinking. Not his best proposition, simply stating that he wanted to save the future murder victim as payment for not telling anyone about said murder.
The cackling laugh, therefore, came as quite the shock. “He’s pretty, I’ll give him that, and the mouth is good when kept occupied but it’s a nightmare when it’s not. Trust me kid, the money is a better deal here – use your head.”
His unspoken words were deafening, but Claggor steeled himself and doubled down. He didn’t exactly see what he meant by ‘pretty’, but he supposed being thrown out of a moving carriage and kicked in the face wouldn’t do anyone any favours in that regard. “I’m serious! Look, I don’t want your money, I just don’t want to be complicit in whatever this is. I have a child to return to; I can’t have that on my conscience. I’ll-I’ll take him off your hands, and you can go ahead with the rest of your plan if you need. Please.”
It was a risk, giving the other man such a heartfelt plea, and he certainly didn’t seem like the type to not press an advantage when presented one. He tried to ignore the sinking sensation as the silence dragged, made sure not to slouch or show any further weakness.
“Fine,” the alpha spat eventually. “Your fucking loss though. And let me make one thing crystal clear-” He stepped forward, and Claggor found himself unable to breathe, even when he had the other’s man’s air ghosting over his chin as an example. “If you can’t control him, if I hear even a whisper of a rumour that my wife still lives, then the City Guard will be at your door and you’ll be dead – both of you – before you can say a word. They don’t take chances with poor as shit non-citizens, especially ones that rob Councillors.”
Claggor’s gulp was audible, but the man had the grace not to mention it. Instead, he simply stared with a smile, waiting for his response. It made sense as an offer, but the words kept catching in his throat every time he tried to say yes. ‘Control’? He could give the bleeding man a kinder, if less luxurious, life and would do anything in his power to make him happy, but that’s all he would, could, do. If that wasn’t enough… well, it wasn’t like he had the stomach to enforce imprisonment. And it wasn’t just him at home to worry about. The thought of putting Jayce, Viktor and little Naph in danger, especially instead of gaining money he could use to support them, almost made him want to rescind the offer. Almost.
“How do I know that you won’t do that anyway? Make me a kidnapping robber instead of a murdering one?” he managed to force out. It would be just his luck that he’d do everything right and still end up the villain in this bastard’s excuse.
It seemed he’d caught the man off guard, because the barking laugh seemed like the first genuine one he’d heard the entire conversation. “You don’t, I suppose. But to tell you the truth, I’m warming up to the idea. Allie’s a spoilt bitch, who’s not worked a day in his life, and the thought of him slaving away as a poor farmer’s wife – no, wench, well, it’s got its charms.”
“I’m not a-” Claggor’s automatic protest was cut short by the man bending down to his wife’s level. There was no heartful goodbye, not even a final mocking remark, just apathetic business. He simply plucked the blood-stained rings, wrapped them with a handkerchief with disgust, and stood back up.
“For evidence,” he murmured, with a wry, apologetic grin. “They’ll understand why I didn’t bring back the body, but these are priceless heirlooms – my father would tear the whole forest apart to find them.”
When it came obvious Claggor had no response, the alpha spun on his heel and strutted back to his own coach. It lurched into motion the moment the door slammed shut, leaving Claggor in a cloud of dust. With a wife. A wife who was mostly a pile of broken limbs and pool of blood at his feet, and who owned only the ruined rags that no longer covered his body. Right.