The Sunlight Warrior

This is a fanfiction short story about my favorite LoL champion: Leona.

A new dawn rises and the war begins…

Leona’s armor clicked together and her heavy boots crushed the ground beneath her as she ran aside her teammates. Leona’s purple undergarments covered her body and her golden armor contrasted against the dark color. The symbol of the Solari covered her chest and was the dominating symbol on her large triangular shield. Her zenith blade, blessed by the sun, dragged slightly on the ground as she slowed and her team had reached their starting spot for the battle. Every time she set foot on the Rift, she remembered her journey as a child and how she ended up in the League.

“Finish him off Leona! What are you waiting for? You have him pinned!” her father would shout at her from the stands. Every time she refused to kill her opponent, increased her father’s dissatisfaction and her distance from her family. Killing was not in her blood, but killing was in her father’s, and he never understood her. Her father knew she was different. No warrior in Mount Targon had Leona’s mindset. Leona appreciated a masterful battle with skilled swordsmanship and a worthy challenge, not adding another number to her kill count. Her best friend Pantheon respected her rationale.

“What goes through your mind, Leo? What keeps you from doing it?” Pantheon would ask her as they dueled with dull swords. His silver helmet hid his scratched and scarred face but could not hide his curious brown eyes.  They would take turns “winning” duels because they were so equally matched, but their styles were completely different. Pantheon’s focused on strength, power and offensive tactics. Leona’s focused on tactically anticipating and defensively striking. Their styles did not counter, but were a reflection of themselves.

“It’s not my place. Someone like you is meant to be the last person that they see. I am meant to be your sidekick. I get them down on the ground…” she laughed heartily and tripped Pantheon. She straddled him and ripped off his helmet; Leona was the only person that was allowed to see him without his helmet, “and you finish them off.” She jokingly made a stabbing motion with her blade then dropped it to play with his hair. He jokingly yielded.

“Well played, m’lady,” Pantheon smiled, kicking his feet out from under her and rolling backwards until he flipped up. “I think you’ve beaten me up enough today, and tomorrow is the big day. We both must be well rested and well fed for the tournament.” He walked over to Leo to help her up. She extended her hand. He was her strength, as was her mother, but she could not provide the physical intimacy that he could.

Leona grabbed his rough, scarred hand and pulled herself up. She knew that he trained himself to death. He was well-prepared for tomorrow, almost too prepared. He was favored to win the tournament, but everyone knew that; what they didn’t know was that Leona was planning on putting up quite a fight. This tourney was to her advantage: you didn’t have to kill your opponent but you had to fight until they yielded (or you did) or until someone died. “Clean yourself up and hurry to the gate. We will be late for dinner and we both know how my father takes to lateness. But as long as I stroll in with you, my father will soften his heart. You’re the son he’s never had and has always yearned for.” Her face flushed with a mild fury and an ounce of jealousy as she jogged off North towards her castle. Pantheon solemnly picked up his spear and Leona’s blade as he watched her rush off into the distance. He slowly walked towards his stone house to ready himself for dinner.

Leona waited anxiously at the gate for her friend, her long wavy brown hair blowing in the gentle wind. Leona was always radiant, just like the sun; Pantheon would always tell her this. She found herself pacing back and forth, her hands shaking subtly. Looking at her kingdom, she calmed down slightly. Mount Targon was beautiful in the evening. It was still blessed by the sunlight for it glowed in its splendor; banners sporting the Solari pattern waved in the wind and the rustic gold buildings glistened. She immediately noticed Pantheon emerging around the large fountain at the base of the stairs, marching with his broad shoulders back and his shiny silver helmet gently bouncing with every step. His iron chest plate was complimented with a deep red cape and his muscular legs were covered by thick black pants. His iron-plated boots clinked as he sped up the stairs to meet Leona. Her cheeks were stained with a rosy glow and he offered his arm to escort her inside.

Leona and Pantheon entered into the dining room of the castle linking arms. The two warriors knew how to interact with royalty, it was almost a duel life for each of them. Pantheon was essentially the King’s favorite warrior in Mount Targon and Leona was his least favorite, if he even felt she was one at all. Their friendship remained strong despite Leona’s famililial tension.

“Pantheon! Welcome, my son!” Leona’s father separated her from and Pantheon as he embraced Pantheon in a strong hug. Her father used to hug her that way, before her mother passed away.

“Your grace,” Pantheon bowed respectfully and extended his hand, “it is an honor to be in your presence and an honor to be sitting at your table. I appreciate…”

“Har Har Har! My son! No need to greet me so formally!” The King chuckled heartily, causing Pantheon to join in. “Please have a seat.” Her father’s eyes shot towards her as she stood there shyly with her head hanging down. “Leona…” he walked over to her sternly and she reactively met his gaze. His lips offered a slight smile to soften the blow of his gaze.

“Your grace,” Leona curtseyed awkwardly and bowed her head, waiting for her father’s permission to join the table. In her peripheral she saw him walk away and sit next to Pantheon. Leona sauntered over to the chair next to Pantheon but was beaten to it by the general of the Targon Army. Soon enough, every chair at the table was taken except for the chair at the opposite end of Pantheon, next to the forbidden secondary head of the table. Her mother used to sit there; the beautiful Queen was Targon’s favorite woman. She was just, charismatic, radiant, charitable and intelligent: beloved by all.

She died protecting the castle from a foreign invasion. The leader of the invasion and several of his best soldiers managed to reach the throne room. A small battle ensued between the Queen, the King, and the five members of the King’s guard. Because Leona’s mother and father were known as the King and Queen as well as two of the best warriors in Mount Targon, they were not afraid to take up arms for their kingdom. The King’s style, focused on strength and power, complimented the Queen’s tactical and agile strategy. Leona’s parents took down several of the invaders with ease. The Queen would attempt to disarm and distract while the King would take advantage of any missteps or mistakes, resulting in the invader’s death. Neither of them were without faults.

The leader of the invasion charged at the King from behind, but the Queen was too quick. She countered his strike, struggling against the man’s power and his jagged blade, their blades sparking against each other. The invading commander and the Queen continued to struggle as the King finished off the final invading soldier. She managed to back up against a marble column, quickly ducking and forcing the commander’s blade into the marble. She stabbed him in both calves as the King shouted, “Finish him off! What are you waiting for, darling? Kill him!” The Queen could not do it. The commander screamed in anger and pain, loosening his grip on the blade and slowly sinking to the ground. Killing was not in her blood. She motioned for the remaining guards to take him into the dungeons below. Before the Queen could take another step, the commander extended his leg back, swiping it and turning on his knees, facing her. His chest rapidly rose and fell and his knees shook on the ground. The King charged after the commander as he brought his blade down into the Queen’s heart. A small gasp escaped the Queen, as the King pierced his sword through the commander’s heart, twisting it as the rage exploded inside of him. Screaming, the King watched his beloved Queen breathe her last and close her eyes.

She imagined her mother sitting there, beautiful short brown hair and green eyes. She saw her mother smiling at her, but then she quickly snapped out of it. The King softly met Leona’s gaze and she quickly made her way to the end of the table. Servants pulled out her chair and helped her sit down. She hated that. She hated when people treated her like some glorified human being, at least on the battlefield there was a mutual respect and equal power. Conversations about war, training, kill counts and strategy filled the room while glasses clinked and servants replaced dishes. Pantheon’s eyes almost never left Leona, and he managed to keep his glance subtle so the men could not sense it. Leona only rarely took advantage of the opportunity to return his gentle gaze, but when she did it gave her a moment of fleeting happiness: being noticed and purposefully attended to by someone that she loved.

She thought she loved him. The way they interacted reminded Leona of her father and mother. Her father was reluctant at first to allow Pantheon into his daughter’s life, but the Queen insisted in Pantheon’s character and the King lifted his suspicions. When her mother died, the King found comfort in Leona and Pantheon’s relationship. Knowing that Leona could marry a warrior that would protect her gave the King peace of mind. The King could not protect his wife, his support, his Queen; he feared that he could not protect Leona either. Leona had taken on her mother’s greatest weakness, the weakness that had cost her her own life: the inability to kill. The King’s fear had come true.

Leona was about to excuse herself when the topic of the Grand Tournament arose amongst the drunken men.

“Pantheon’s the fan favorite!”

“You’re going to destroy your opposition!”

“There’s going to be a new record of yields!”

“No doubt you’re going to take the title! And all of the gold!”  Men threw compliments at Pantheon in between laughs and Pantheon simply nodded his head honorably.

 “If you win this tournament you’ll have your pick of every beautiful maiden in Targon! Don’t let a pretty face distract you, though!” The general shook Pantheon and filled up his glass with more ale and the King firmly grabbed his shoulder and nodded towards Leona. The three of them shared a small moment. This moment of happiness was short lived, but Leona refused to let it go. She wanted more moments like this and she knew they each did too. She hoped that if she won the Grand Tournament that her father would soften his over-protective side and would be proud of her. For once. He loved Leo, but with every action she took, he only saw her mother. He prayed that the Solari protect her.

The men’s laughter and chatter began to dissolve and that was her cue to leave. Leona quietly pushed her chair back.

“Excuse me, your grace, General, gentlemen,” curtseying for each group, “and Pantheon… It was an honor to dine with you. I apologize I must…”

“Leona, thank you. Please take my daughter to her room.” The King addressed a guard. He quickly beckoned for her and she turned to face her father. “Oh, and darling. Don’t worry about tomorrow. I spoke to the General and you will be exempt from fighting for the reason that you are too sick and injured to fight. Understand?” the King nodded, satisfied, as he laced his fingers together in front of his mouth. Leona gave a quick final curtsey, walking away to the eruption of laughter. The roar of voices echoed through the hall, and through her mind.

 Leona walked to her room and punched her pillows, eventually missing and hitting her headboard. She shook her hand in pain and pulled it into her chest, falling asleep with blood staining her dress.

Leona woke up to the sound of horns. These horns represented the beginning of the Grand Tournament. Leona had two options: to stay in her castle and watch the battles from her room or to fight. She called her servants into her room and hatched a plan. She undressed and her servants went to work. They bandaged her chest so it would appear flat and would fit under her armor. Her arms and legs were powdered to appear more muscular, tan and mildly scarred. Leona had one of the servants fetch some armor from the armory. She pinned her hair in a tight bun so it would be easily hidden under a helmet. She reached for her sword in her sheath.

“Oh no,” Leona gasped, “I left my sword when I dueled with Pantheon. Now I don’t have a sword.” She pounded her fist on her vanity, causing perfumes and jewelry to crash to the floor. Leona thought of her mother. Her mother had a special sword forged for one of Leona’s birthdays. A few weeks prior, Leona approached her mother asking if she could train in swordplay with Pantheon. Her mother laughed and promised that her time would come when she could dance with real steel. On her birthday, her mother came into her room with a specially wrapped present. This sword was beautifully crafted and Leona could see her reflection in the steel.

“You need a blade as radiant as you are, love. You are your own sunlight.” Leona’s mother kissed her forehead gently. The Queen placed the sword back in its decorative box and slid it under Leona’s bed. The Queen told Leona to promise not to tell her father and that it would be their little secret. “Warrior to warrior?” She asked, embracing Leona in a tight hug.

From that day, Leona refused to use the sword that her mother got her. She thought it was too special to see a real battle, so she stole one from the armory to train with Pantheon. Sometimes when she felt discouraged she would look at her reflection in the sword. This always made her think of her mother. This reflection became more important to her once her mother died. Pantheon challenged her physically and mentally, and she always asked her mother for strength. The one physical connection she had to her mother kept her going. She needed her mother now. She took the sword out of its box, looking at herself briefly in the steel blade, and sliced straight through the footboard of her bed. The wood snapped in half; the cut was perfect. The maids came in with an iron chest plate, a silver helmet, thick red pants and black iron-pleated boots. After getting armored up, Leona needed to quickly make it out of the castle unnoticed. She covered herself with a large red cloak, covering her helmet and her sheathed sword. The maids created diversions to allow Leona to escape.

Leona uncloaked herself and continued down the path towards the tournament festivities. Ditching the cloak in a nearby bush, Leona needed to blend in. Keeping her shoulders back she grazed her sheath and adjusted her helmet. Once she was immersed in the crowd, it was a simple nod to keep herself involved. She needed not to talk to anyone, but if she was forced to, she would call herself Mason and claim to be an orphaned warrior from out of town. That was if anyone asked, but usually people didn’t care about stories, unless killing was a part of it. The booming sound of the King’s voice quieted the people as the attention turned to the the center of town.

“Today marks Mount Targon’s annual Grand Tournament! We gather together to praise the Solari and give thanks to the wonderful blessings that she has bestowed upon our kingdom. We offer the bravery of the warriors that are participating in this tournament and we offer their dedication to the glory of the battle. I ask that all warriors please step forward.” The King beckoned the men to enter into the center of the makeshift arena, standing before the king. Leona stepped through the crowd, moving into the line of fifteen other men. Almost instinctively, everyone bowed and Leona was not a second behind in doing so. “Welcome, warriors. Be strong. Be brave. Be glorious. We salute you.” The crowd cheered loudly as horns sounded. “Let the tournament begin!” the king exclaimed waving his hands in the air in celebration.

The rules were simple: man on man duel. The winner was determined by the death or yield of his opponent. The winner moved on to the next round. If a man yielded, he was to be publically flogged until the General deemed his punishment appropriate. Any weapon could be used and hand to hand combat was encouraged. Leona had to defeat two people to reach the finals, and she knew who she would be facing. Pantheon’s first duel started the tournament. His opponent was a scrawny, unskilled warrior wielding only a tiny axe. Pantheon dodged several wide attacks and kicked his opponent to the ground, forcing him to drop the axe. He quickly screamed “I yield!” as Pantheon dug his spear into his skinny leg. Pantheon rose, pulling his spear out of the man’s leg and wiping it on his pants. The tournament proceeded with Pantheon’s side of the bracket first. His second battle was not much more of a challenge, however; his opponent managed to scrape his upper thigh with his lance before Pantheon hurdled his spear through his hip. The man had managed to yield before he fainted, hitting the ground with a thunderous thump. Pantheon grunted as he yanked the blood stained spear out of the lifeless body.  Dust blew in the wind and the crowd continued to cheer for their favorite warrior. How was Leona to defeat the greatest warrior in Targon and her best friend?

Leona was shoved into the ring by a tournament captain and met her first opponent: a tall, slender man wielding a skinny long sword. Leona retreated to the opposite end of the arena and they exchanged a respectful nod, indicating the beginning of the battle. Leona approached cautiously as the man shuffled from side to side, bouncing towards her. Their swords met with a great clank, repeating several times before the man made a grave mistake: attempting to thrust his sword straight through her stomach, Leona turned into him and broke his arm back. The man dropped his sword as Leona shoved her sword in his foot, slowly twisting it. He collapsed to the ground, yielding. She was quickly sent back into the arena to face a broad shouldered beastly man. This one was quick, for her opponent had been badly wounded in his last battle. His first swing was straight up and down, allowing Leona to step on the sword and stomp on his left wrist. The man groaned in pain as his right arm whipped around, punching Leona in the gut and sending her into the ground. He swung at her once more and she quickly deflected the sword and it pierced the ground. Leona kicked her right foot out and it bent his right kneecap back with a bone-shattering sound. The man grazed his sword across Leona’s midsection, pulling his hand down to his knee and falling to the ground. The man yielded, realizing that he had two broken legs and probably didn’t stand a chance.

Leona’s vision suddenly blurred as she knelt down and threw up a brownish-yellow color that soon became stained with blood. This isn’t me. I… I can’t go on fighting. Fatigue consumed her damaged body, and poisoned her mind. She contemplated yielding before the fight; it could be seen as somewhat respectable to yield to a worthy opponent such as Pantheon. Her mother appeared in her mind, taking up arms to fight alongside her. If I’m going to die, it will be of honor…just like mother. She extended her hand to her mother, grabbed onto her sword in the ground and hoisted herself up. The crowd began cheering Pantheon’s name as he emerged into the arena. She met him in the middle of the arena and simultaneously bowed towards the King, then towards the audience.

            Pantheon turned towards her. “May the the Solari grant us the glory and protection in this battle.” She looked past his helmet and into his dark brown eyes. This moment she had relived every day: the moment of respectful and intense competition. He never looked at her like a delicate girl. He saw her as a warrior, nothing less. This moment ignited the fire in her. She wanted to prove herself to him as she did every day in the fields. Their moment began fleeting, and Leona knew it was time.

She shook his hand, slowly marching to her end of the arena. Drums and trumpets sounded and Leona and Pantheon nodded. Pantheon twirled his spear, marching towards her intimidatingly. She stood frozen, blood dripping down the front of her armor. Her stomach was empty and her head was clouded.  He won’t kill me. He won’t kill me. Leona knew how he fought. He wouldn’t kill his opponent outside of the battlefield unless there was a risk of losing.

            Pantheon slowed as he got closer to her, holding his spear above his head and bringing it quickly down, just grazing her arm as she dodged his attack. He shoved his spear horizontally across her chest and she kicked her foot clockwise, shoving his knee sideways. Pantheon gave a quick and powerful thrust with the handle of his spear before he dropped it and Leona collapsed on the ground. He knocked the wind out of her. This reminded her of when she knocked Pantheon on his back in the field and she sat on top of him. He would playfully yield and she would take his helmet off, losing herself and her breath looking into his dangerously gentle eyes.

            Although her breathing had not fully recovered, she slopily kicked her feet out from under her and picked up her sword, waiting for Pantheon to get back into range. Their weapons danced intimately in the air, quickly, then slowing down and becoming more exaggerated and powerful. They were both getting tired. She was anticipating his every move and he was becoming more frustrated. He had enough of this. He faked her out a couple of times with short thrusts, then swiped his spearhead across her midsection. The pain of her last match suddenly hit her. Her midsection was being stabbed simultaneously with thousands of daggers and her heart was sinking to her stomach.

He never practiced that with me. Leona cried out in anger and pain as Pantheon swung his spear higher, hitting her in the head and knocking her helmet off. She felt her mind shut off as she crashed to the ground. After her thoughts returned to her, she quickly tried to get on her hands and knees; Pantheon aggressively kicked her over, holding his spear right above her face �"only Pantheon had been closer to her. Leona’s hair slowly came undone from its bun and the wind blew it out of her face. Her cheeks were flushed with a rosy pink and her long bangs were draped with blood. Leona’s head slowly jerked as her chest shook her body as she coughed. Her peaceful expression countered her battle-torn body. 

            “Leona!” Her father screamed, rising from his chair. He ran to the edge of the platform and firmly grasped the wooden barrier. His eyes watered and his breathing became shorter and more intense. Leona struggled against the pain. The limited strength she had was quickly fleeting from her body, however she felt her mother’s presence getting stronger within her. Pantheon began to shake with his spear cocked above him, his muscles tensing with each passing second, and his expression softened. His carved chest pumped faster and his bloody thigh twitched. The crowd gasped and began to softly chatter among themselves.

            “I…yi…” Leona softly groaned, her breath beginning to escape her. Her head dropped to the right and her muscles loosened up. Just as she felt the last bit of life in her, she became immediately engulfed in a warm beam of sunlight. The outline of her body dissolved into the stream of light and her soul began to rise, taking on a new form.

 “Leona…” her mother’s voice spoke to her, “the Solari had chosen me to protect you, and now you know the reason why. You have been blessed by the goddess. Show the people what it is like to live through the light. Be their Sunlight Warrior…” The beautiful voice faded away, yet Leona felt her mother’s presence in her heart. Leona had been rebirthed by the light and renewed to her worldly form.

This ritual was something that was taught in school, something that was merely an ancient tale. Children learned of the Sunlight Warrior’s virtue and strength. Parents used the tale as a way to discipline their children, warning them that the Sunlight Warrior knew both justice and mercy. Great warriors claimed to have been blessed with their skills, and therefore claiming the title of the Sunlight Warrior. None of them were saved. This was not a title to be won in a contest nor earned by hours of training. No kill count would indicate the next Warrior. The Solari chooses the noblest of hearts. Mount Targon had waited for the Sunlight Warrior for hundreds of years, but the people had never expected it to be Leona, except for her father. 

            Emerging from the beam of light, clothed in brilliant golden armor and bearing her zenith blade, Leona emerged as the Sunlight Warrior…

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Author's Note

Not sure if I should add another part to the story (maybe an epilogue) or if I should write something from Patheon's perspective.