High Marshal Crownguard did not sigh easily. Sighing meant that the weight she carried had finally pressed hard enough to reach her heart, that the calm steel she wore so naturally had bent, even if just slightly.
Across from her, her nephew stood at attention, posture straight and composed as ever, waiting for her to speak.
Tianna found the moment almost ironic. Just a few moons ago, she had scolded Garen for working himself to exhaustion, insisting that even the strongest soldier needed rest.
Now, as she studied his expression, that same quiet concern she once wore for him, she realized he was about to say the very same thing to her.
High Marshal Crownguard did not sigh easily. Yet Tianna leaned back into her chair, exhaling a long, weary breath that seemed to carry the weight of the entire kingdom with it. The sound alone was enough to make Garen blink in surprise.
Without a word, he moved to the chair opposite her and sat down, the heavy plate of his armor creaking softly. "Aunt Tianna," he began, his voice gentle, the edge of command gone, replaced by something far more familiar. For a brief moment, the Sword-Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard was gone, and in his place sat her nephew once more.
"Demacia has never been in a more precarious position than it is right now," Tianna said, leaning forward and lacing her fingers together atop the desk. Her voice was composed, but the tension behind it was unmistakable. This was no time to show fatigue.
"She has always prevailed, Aunt Tianna," Garen replied almost immediately, his tone firm, his posture unshaken. "Strength through discipline."
A faint smile touched Tianna's lips despite herself. Pride stirred in her chest as she looked at the young man before her. Garen had grown so much. "Honor through diligence," she answered softly, completing the old Crownguard creed.
Garen straightened even more, his gauntlets resting neatly on his knees. "What are your orders, High Marshal?"
Tianna nodded once, turning her attention to the stack of documents scattered across the desk, maps, reports, casualty lists. She gathered them with practiced precision, her expression sharpening as she spoke.
"We currently face major threats on three fronts," she began, her tone crisp and measured. "That's not even counting the riots breaking out across several provinces."
Garen frowned, leaning slightly forward as she continued.
"The traitor, Sylas of Dregbourne, is still amassing followers for his rebellion. He remains at large, and several Mage-Seeker laboratories have already fallen to his raids. From our reports, the mages rescued from those facilities are the very ones swelling his ranks."
A flash of distaste crossed Garen's face. "Is it odd that I'm not as worried about those labs?" he asked, his voice low, edged with disgust. "I've heard what they do to the mages they drag inside."
Tianna's gaze lingered on him, searching for something, before she finally spoke. "You're not wrong to feel that way," she admitted quietly. "Eldred has grown far too ambitious since His Majesty's demise. The MageSeekers hold more influence than ever, too much, if you ask me. And Eldred has the prince's ear. Unless Jarvan IV decides to strip them of that power…" She trailed off, her tone edged with frustration.
Garen's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "We never should have let things get this bad," he said grimly. "Even Uncle Eldred has to see that things are spiraling out of control."
Tianna shook her head, the faintest trace of weariness flickering behind her calm exterior. "Speaking of him will get us nowhere. You know as well as I do that Eldred will not stop. So long as the MageSeekers appear indispensable, he'll only grow bolder."
She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing. "No, the true problem lies elsewhere. Unless Prince Jarvan finally stops playing the tyrannical heir and takes the crown, this paralysis will continue. Demacia cannot afford such a ruler."
Garen looked down, his voice lowering. "I've tried to make him see reason. But I've yielded no results."
"As expected," Tianna said, her tone softening slightly. "Even with the half-dragon by his side, he still can't set aside his prejudice. He listens, but he doesn't hear."
She reached for another folder among the neatly stacked documents and slid it across the desk toward him. "And that brings us to the second issue, one that feeds off the first. Noxus."
Garen's brow furrowed as he picked up the report.
"They've been testing our borders more frequently," Tianna continued. "The skirmishes have since grown larger, more probing attacks. Assassinations. As you can attest, they've grown bolder." Her eyes flicked to him. "How many of the Dauntless Vanguard did we lose this time? Thirteen?"
"Twelve, High Marshal," Garen corrected quietly.
"...Twelve," Tianna repeated, her voice heavy. "Even one is too many. We're spread thin. Between Sylas's rebellion festering in the country and Noxian aggression to the west, Demacia cannot afford a civil war."
The High Marshal pushed the final document toward him. Its seal was still broken from earlier that morning. Garen glanced down, and a single word written in bold ink greeted him.
Asta.
The room seemed to grow heavier.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The distant toll of a bell echoed faintly through the hall outside, its somber chime cutting through the silence.
At last, Tianna folded her hands together atop the table, her expression unreadable.
"This," she said quietly, "is our main problem."
Garen's eyes flicked up to meet hers.
'How ironic,' Tianna thought as she studied her nephew's face, so resolute, so disciplined, yet still so young. 'Noxus knocks at our gates. Sylas and his rebels edge closer to civil war... and yet the greatest threat to Demacia's stability is a single man.'
"His… display yesterday has stirred quite a bit of unrest within the city," Tianna said at last, her tone weary. She pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose as if to ease a headache. "If I'm being honest with you, Garen, I regret ever requesting that demonstration."
Garen remained silent, his armored fingers brushing over the edge of the parchment as he opened the document she had handed him. The soft rustle of paper filled the brief silence between them.
He began to read, line after line, his expression stoic at first, then slowly shifting. When his eyes stopped on a particular passage, they widened slightly. "High Marshal?"
Tianna's gaze flicked toward him, immediately recognizing the page. 'He's found the order,' she thought amusedly. Pushing herself up from her chair, she moved toward the tall arched window, sunlight cutting a pale line across her face.
"Garen," she began, her voice measured, "tell me, what do you think would happen if a fight were to break out between Demacia and Asta? What would the outcome be?"
Garen closed the folder and set it down on the table. He stood, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the floor. "I could never imagine Demacia falling to any foe," he said firmly. "No matter how powerful."
Tianna turned slightly, one brow arched. "So, you believe we would win?"
He nodded once. "Without a doubt." A short pause followed. "…But..."
"It would cost us too much," Tianna finished for him, her gaze turning hard. "Demacia would be left vulnerable. A war with that young man, even if we triumphed, would leave us gutted."
She looked back out the window, her reflection faint against the glass. "The power to defend an entire kingdom alone, or to reduce another to ash. That is what it means to hold the title of Wizard King."
Garen gave a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle. "He has a very idealistic view of that title."
"They always do," Tianna replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips before it quickly faded. "I was no different, once. But idealism isn't our concern here. Asta is."
Garen's blue eyes narrowed slightly. "You want me to befriend him."
Tianna finally turned fully toward him, her cloak whispering against the stone floor. "Not want," she said quietly. "Need."
"Asta is a dangerous element," Tianna said quietly, eyes cold as flint. "One we must handle with the utmost care. His power is too great to let him fall into the wrong hands." She turned on Garen with sudden intensity. "We need him on our side at all costs. If Eldred stands in the way, I'll see him brought to heel, by force if necessary."
Garen bowed his head in understanding. "As you command, High Marshal."
Tianna's posture softened just enough as she laid a gloved hand on his shoulder. "You've spoken with him. From what little you gleaned, you should know his character."
"He's a good man," Garen answered, steady and sure. The simple affirmation seemed to land with satisfying weight.
For the first time that morning, a genuine smile touched Tianna's lips, very rare. "Good." She straightened. "I spoke with Fiora earlier. I plan to have her meet with Asta."
Garen's eyes went wide at the suggestion. "Aunt Tianna, are you certain?"
Tianna's smirk was teasing and oddly maternal. "I have a feeling they'll be… perfect together. Can you think of a better suitor for her?"
Garen let out a groan, picturing the upheaval. "I... Understand High Marshal."
"And Asta's request?" he asked, returning to business.
Tianna turned back to the window and watched the white city gleam in the sunlight, the marble streets like a promise and a threat all at once. "I've forwarded the recommended course of action to Prince Jarvan IV." She tapped the largest document on the table, official orders and stipulations, neatly sealed.
Garen picked up the paper, scanning the lines. A slow, pleased smile spread across his face. "Imagine if Lux were to hear this," he said softly. "She'd burst with happiness."
Tianna allowed herself one small, indulgent chuckle before her expression closed again, all marshal and duty. "Let her be happy then. We have work to do."
---
'How did I get here?'
Cithria had asked herself that question a thousand times this morning alone.
She stood stiffly behind her Sword-Captain, hands clasped behind her back, as he sat upon a small wooden stool before a low table. Across from him, on an equally modest seat, was the foreign mage, Asta.
Even now, just seeing him sent a shiver through her. The memory of that day still haunted her dreams, the day when the heavens themselves seemed to split. She had never felt so small before a single man.
Cithria had witnessed power beyond comprehension, power that defied even Demacia's most disciplined order. And she wasn't alone. Every soul in the kingdom had seen it, the massive sword that hung above them all.
Not above a city.
Not above a region
.
All of Demacia had been beneath that colossal blade.
'At least, that's what the Raptor Knights reported afterward,' Cithria thought, both grim and awed. 'If such a weapon were ever to fall… half the kingdom would vanish in an instant.'
And then there were his words, words that still echoed in her mind. 'A Wizard King.' The title had sounded like arrogance at first, until she'd seen what he was capable of.
Cithria shifted uneasily, forcing herself not to move her weight to her right foot, a nervous habit that her superiors often scolded her for. She watched as her captain, Garen Crownguard, studied the smooth stones laid out between them.
Asta leaned forward with boyish energy, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Boast," he declared with confidence.
Garen's lips curved into an amused smile. "Are you certain?"
On the short table lay a small rectangular blue mat. Resting neatly atop it were six smooth, flat white stones arranged in a single row.
Asta leaned forward, narrowing his eyes in thought. His gaze flicked between the stones with surprising focus for someone who'd only just learned the game.
'Probably trying to make sure he remembers which stones are which,' Cithria thought, quietly observing the exchange.
After a long pause, Asta gave a firm nod. "I am."
Garen smiled faintly. "Alright then, point to you."
Asta blinked, momentarily thrown off. Then he pouted, a comical expression that looked oddly natural on his otherwise rugged, confident face. "Aww, come on! You're not gonna challenge my boast? I might be wrong, you know."
Garen's low chuckle filled the quiet room. "Probably," he admitted, amusement dancing in his tone. "But I'd rather not crush you too quickly. You're still learning, after all."
Cithria felt her lips twitch upward before she quickly straightened her expression. Her Sword-Captain was right, Asta was still a complete novice at Tellstones. He'd only learned the rules a few minutes ago.
Garen's gauntleted fingers moved with easy confidence as he shifted one of the white stones on the mat. "My turn, then," he said, tone measured, but there was the faintest spark of playfulness in his eyes.
Asta leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching every motion like a hawk studying its prey. The blue mat reflected faintly in his eyes as he tried to read Garen's next move.
"Memory," Garen declared, tapping the farthest stone.
Asta squinted at it, lips pursed. "That one was… Honor."
Garen's smile widened. "Courage," he corrected, flipping the stone over to reveal the small carved symbol beneath. "You're close, though."
Asta groaned, running a hand through his messy hair. "I was so sure!"
"You have to think like a soldier, not a gambler," Garen said calmly. "Tellstones is about discipline, seeing what's there, and what's not. Everything on the board has a place, even the empty space."
Asta nodded slowly, though his brow remained furrowed. "Right. So a complicated guessing game."
"if that's how you see it," Garen said, his smile turning approving. "Your move."
Asta exhaled and placed a hand on one of the stones, muttering to himself under his breath. "Hmmn…" Then, in a sudden burst of confidence, he raised his head. "Challenge!"
Cithria barely managed to stop herself from sighing aloud. She could see Garen's shoulders tense ever so slightly, he'd heard that same reckless confidence before, usually from new recruits who thought bravery could substitute for patience.
"Oh? Which one?" Garen asked, amusement creeping into his tone.
"Center stone!" Asta grinned, pointing to the center stone.
"Duty." Garen tapped his chin, pretending to consider. Then he reached forward, flipped the stone, and revealed the tiny carving beneath it.
"Duty," he said simply.
Asta slumped. "Ah, come on!"
Garen laughed quietly. "That's two points for me."
Asta crossed his arms, leaning back with a mock pout. "You sure this isn't rigged for Demacians?"
"If it were," Garen replied smoothly, "you wouldn't have scored the first point."
Cithria bit the inside of her cheek to hide her grin. Seeing the Sword-Captain actually teasing someone felt strange, almost unreal. Only the members of the Vanguard could draw that kind of reaction from him.
Asta leaned back in, renewed determination flashing in his eyes. "Alright then. No holding back. This time, I'll win."
Garen raised an eyebrow, resting his chin lightly on his fist. "Your confidence is admirable, if misplaced. Go ahead."
Three more turns passed in steady rhythm, stone, word, memory, and misstep. Each time Asta grew more animated, his energy almost infectious, though his accuracy… less so.
When the final move came, Asta slapped his palm against the mat. "That one's Justice!"
Garen turned the stone over.
The symbol for Pride gleamed faintly in the light.
Silence lingered for a beat before Asta let out a dramatic sigh. "I think this game hates me."
Garen chuckled, sitting back. "Four turns. A fair match, for your first true round."
Asta grinned despite his loss, a spark of stubborn optimism in his eyes. "Guess that means next time, I'll win in three."
Cithria couldn't help it, this time, she smiled openly.
A small huff of breath drew Cithria's attention away from the table. Her gaze shifted toward the open courtyard beyond the veranda, where a young boy was still running laps under the morning sun.
Darryl.
The child's movements were uneven but determined, his boots striking the stone with a steady rhythm that echoed faintly through the estate grounds. Sweat clung to his brow, his breaths coming sharp and quick. By Cithria's count, this was his seventeenth lap. Quite impressive, she thought, for someone his age.
Her eyes lifted to the walls surrounding the courtyard. A few guards stood stationed there, silent and watchful as always. But among them, she recognized several wearing the half masks and the white-and-silver insignia of the MageSeekers. Their attention wasn't on the horizon or the gate. It was fixed squarely on the boy.
Cithria's jaw tightened. She didn't need to guess what they were thinking.
Fortunately for Darryl, their hands were tied.
Not after the two royal decrees that had been issued nearly a month ago. Not after he had changed everything.
---
By will of the Crown and consent of the High Marshal, Asta of Clover shall henceforth serve as Emissary Extraordinary to the Court of Demacia, empowered to act in counsel, in demonstration, and in the defense of the realm under royal sanction.
His presence shall not be deemed that of a foreign soldier, but of a friend and ally whose deeds shall bring honor to both Demacia and his homeland.
---
Decree of Mutual Accord and Magical Stewardship
> By authority of the Crown and the will of the High Marshal, the Kingdom of Demacia recognizes Asta of Clover as an Emissary Extraordinary to the Crown and Ally of the Realm. In this accord, the Clover Kingdom shall stand as friend and defender of Demacia in times of peril, and Asta shall, by royal sanction, oversee the instruction and moral guidance of select mages within Demacian borders, that their gifts may serve the light rather than threaten it. Their number shall remain under his supervision, and their conduct bound by Demacian law.
Thus, through diligence and discipline, may even power once feared be turned to virtue, for the strength of Demacia and the peace of her people.
---
With those decrees, Asta had suddenly become one of the most important figures in all of Demacia.
It was, as Morn would have said, a right mess.
Cithria could hardly make sense of the political whirlwind that followed, the endless meetings, the whispered debates in the courtyards, the sudden tension between the MageSeekers and the Crown. But she did understand why the High Marshal and the prince had chosen this path.
Asta was powerful. It was that simple. Better he stand beside them as an ally than against them as an enemy.
Still, things had only grown more complicated after Sword-Captain Garen announced that he would be visiting Asta regularly, and that he intended to take one of the Vanguard with him.
That was when Morn, ever so helpfully, had mentioned that Cithria herself had already spoken with the foreign mage.
Cithria had nearly choked on her drink at that. She respected Morn, truly, the healer had saved her life more than once, but in that moment, she wanted to stab her with every one of Hess' many, many blades.
'He barely said five words to me that one time,' she thought bitterly, watching as Garen smiled, calmly rearranging the small mat and returning the smooth stones to their places.
Cithria tipped her head back, letting her gaze follow the sun as it climbed higher into the sky.
'Seriously,' she sighed inwardly. How did I end up here?
-----
Rules of Tell Stones
The game is played on a small mat ("the Line") with a set of uniquely‐symbolled stones placed beside it (the "Pool").
Players take turns doing one of several actions: placing a stone from the Pool into the Line, hiding (flipping) a face-up stone, swapping two stones, peeking at a face‐down stone, or attempting to score.
To score, you can either Challenge (point at a face-down stone and ask the opponent to name it; if they fail you score, if they succeed they do) or Boast (claim you know all the face-down stones and either your opponent gives you the point or you must prove it).
The first player to a set number of points (usually three) wins.
There's an added element of memory, bluffing and misdirection, players watch not only the stones but each other.