Chapter Text
Chapter 1
You always thought that being born to a Piltovan mother and Zaunite father would mean belonging to both of your parents' worlds. You thought it would mean you would be welcome both in the City of Progress, among your mother's family and friends, and in your father’s City of Iron and Glass with his people.
You thought it would mean receiving the best of both worlds.
You were wrong. The reality slapped you hard in the face when you realised that being both Zaunite and Piltovan meant you didn't really belong in either of the worlds. You were too wild, too defiant, too Zaunite for the refined and analytical society of Piltover - you weren't deaf to the whispers about your bastardy and tainted blood, hushed sniggers about your lowly origins. The two-facedness of the Piltover society always left a bitter taste in your mouth. But you also never had enough of Zaunite blood to be accepted by your father’s people. They too saw your mixed blood and looked at your top-side upbringing with distaste and distrust. To them you were an outsider, someone not to be trusted or listened to.
It didn't help that you were born on the topside to a wilful daughter of a Piltovian merchant and his socialite wife who wandered too far from the gates of her parent's house and met a man from Zaun - your father. The forbidden romance, made only sweeter by the disapprovement of their families, blossomed. Weeks turned into months and their love only deepened - despite their differences, they found happiness in each other. They planned their future together, weaving plans about creating a family and building something theirs. So when your mother found herself pregnant it was a joyful occasion for both of them - a drop of hope that both parts of the city could coexist together . At least that's what your mother wrote in her journals.
But happiness always tends to run short and disappear when you least expect it.
Disaster struck your small family just weeks before you were born. Your father was killed in the same streets of Zaun he was born in, a simple collateral damage of the two feuding chem barons who couldn't agree on their territories because that was the reality of Zaun your mother wasn't shown to. The grief of your father's death brought your mother into early labor. You only hear what happened that night from the kitchen maids of your grandparent's house. Your mother labored through the whole night, screaming and cursing to the heavens for her lost love and future. In the early hours of the morning, her labors ended - she finally birthed her sorrow and her love in the form of a frail, sickly child.
You didn't cry at first, while your mother sobbed as she cradled you near her breast as if sensing the grim mood of that morning. They thought you were stillborn - born too early and too weak. And maybe it was the willfulness of your father's blood, the sheer determination to thrive that let you live. Or maybe it was an exchange between your life and your mother's. It didn't matter in the end. While you took your first breath your dear mother gave her last. She only managed to name you and bestow you with a kiss against your forehead, smiling against the tuft of hair curling on top of your head - the same colour as your father’s. You didn't know why your grandparents decided against dropping you to the nearest orphanage or river but they let you live in their house. They raised you between the same walls your mother grew up in even if they never let you forget that it was your fault their daughter was dead. Even despite the coldness of your grandparents, you lived better than most children of Zaun - they always reminded you of that. Your belly was full, you had clothes on your back and a roof above your head - more than most of them at least that's what you heard every day from them
What did it matter if you had never received any gentleness or love from the people who raised you? You should be grateful you never went to bed hungry.
What did it matter if you were always blamed for the death of your mother? You should be grateful you had an education befitting your status.
You were always, ceaselessly reminded how indebted to them you have to feel. How merciful your grandparents were to let such a shame as you live in their house. You endured their disdainful looks aimed at your Zaunite traits, how they sneered at your looks, how they tried their best to erase any remaining memory of your father - the shame of their House - with their lectures and hard lessons. But they forgot that you were your mother’s daughter too - the same willfulness that led her to meet your father flowed through your blood too and you didn't let them erase any part of who you were despite their disapproval and means to mold you into perfect, obedient lady of Piltover - you fought against those shackles with everything you had.
As the years passed and you started growing into a young woman, the chasm between you and your grandparents also deepened and their resentment of what you represented grew with each passing day. The shackles they tried to put on your neck tightened - you were expected to do what they told you, to dress the way they wanted and learn what they allowed you.
With each passing day, despite how much you resisted, the shackles started to strangle you more and more. You craved the freedom to pursue your interests - your grandparents deemed the art of healing too lowly for someone bearing their name. Even if they never let you forget how sullied your blood was because of your father. But most importantly you craved the freedom Zaun embodied, the one you only read in your mother's journals - free of rigid expectations, shallow values, and the resentment your grandparents bestowed on you.
It took an argument with your grandparents to make your decision—or, more likely, the decision was made for you. You couldn't even remember why the fight started in the first place, but you clearly remember the painful slap against your cheek and your grandmother's words echoing in your head.
You are no granddaughter of ours. It should have been you who died that day. Not my daughter.
You finally understood the message they tried to teach you for years now . You were nothing to them. And it was time to grant them their wish . It was time to leave.
The stark difference between Piltover and the Zaun was more striking than you thought. And not in a good way, that's what you realized when finally reached the Lanes already lighter than before setting foot into Zaun.
Zaun was nothing like the Piltover she grew up in. The air was heavy, settling heavily in her lungs and forcing her to breathe more deeply. The streets didn't have the same order as in her city - they were crowded and chaotic - with too many different people cruising through the narrow streets. You felt overwhelmed.
You must admit that despite how much your grandparents hated you and your origins, they let you live in comfort with a belly full of food and clothes on your back. Differently than most children of Zaun started their lives - you learned that very early when the bag of food you picked from the kitchens was stolen first by the gaggle of kids who left you with a split lip and bruised body. Your pouch of coins was taken later when you were too stupid to let it show in the marketplace trying to buy some inconspicuous clothes. You cursed your impulsiveness to run away from Piltover without any solid plan as you took refuge in one of the dark alleys of the Lanes. Already bruised and sore after just barely one day in Undercity.
Despite the blood you have been shamed for all your life, you were just a small, stupid girl from Piltover - too used to the comfort of safety and a full belly. Not understanding that freedom in Zaun was fought with teeth and nails. That everything in Zaun needed to be fought for.
You also learned that well when someone tried to take your bag with your most prized possession - your mother's journals. You fought with everything you had but it was not enough compared to the brute strength of a grown man. He easily pushed you to the ground, making you wheeze when something in your chest broke with a sharp snap after he kicked you. You tried to move and turn yourself when he put his boot on your back and pressed it down. Hard. A pitiful whimper escaped you as white, blinding pain coursed through your body, you ignored the hot tears burning at the corners of your eyes.
The man just laughed, an ugly sound coming out of his chest as he grabbed your bag. You whimpered again, reaching your hand towards him. Towards the only possession you had of your mother. He cursed once, after finding nothing of value in your bag, and threw the brown bag in rage. His wrathful eyes turned to you.
Fear coursed through your body as he took another step forward, brandishing his knife. But then anger followed your fear. You will not beg for mercy.
He raised his knife and you were ready for the strike when a hand caught the man’s forearm in an iron grip, skillfully stopping the attack.
“Strike that child again and see how your own life will end, boy”
Natalys Hund was one of the few medics who still resided in Zaun and the only one who was free to cross any lines and territories in Zaun. She was a middle-aged woman , with black hair streaked with gray and hard hands who never faltered neither in healing nor striking someone. She was hard and bitter and sharp but she always showed up when the people of Zaun needed her.
As she showed up for you.
The man quickly dropped his knife, letting your bag drop near your head and swiftly disappearing in the shadows leaving you alone with the older medic. Natalys crouched near you, her shrewd eyes looking over you and your Piltover clothes with barely concealed disdain.
“What does little pilltie like you are doing in a place like this, hm?
You opened your mouth to speak but only a wheeze escaped you followed by blinding pain with every breath you took. Natalys hummed, reaching her hands forward to put on your chest - fingers skillfully running over your ribs. When she gently pressed on your left side even more severe pain shot through your body, almost blinding you. “Nasty little fellow he was, huh? Messed your ribs real good.”
You remained silent. Natalys hummed again while reaching into one of her pouches hanging from the belt and withdrawing a small vial of medicine . She opened a cork with a small pop and put it near your lips with a reassuring nod while her other hand cradled your jaw tightly, easily immobilizing your head.
“Drink deep, girl. You will need it,”
You were too in pain, too tired to even try to resist. You greedily swallowed the potion already feeling the effects of it. The dark shadows danced in the corner of your eyes as you eagerly welcomed unconsciousness. At least you weren't in pain.
You woke up groggy, following shadows who pulled you back to the world of living where surprisingly only dull pain greeted you. You opened your eyes, blinking owlishly at the unfamiliar place. Before you could look at the room more attentively a familiar voice broke the silence making you jolt in place, moving your battered ribs in a way that made you close your eyes for a second while taking a deep breath.
“Easy, girl. Don't let all my hard work go to waste” she spoke moving closely to you and rolling your blanket down to look at your chest - your chest tightly wrapped in bandages. The question was clear in your eyes and Natalys saw it.
She chuckled, a scratching sound almost made you wince again.
“Asshole cracked two of your ribs, you're one lucky button that I was making my rounds close by,” she shrugged her shoulders as if it was a common occurrence “Some lacerations and a lot of bruises - gonna be a few hellish days but you're gonna live.”
You slowly nodded, eyes following your injuries with rapt interest - noticing blues and violets blooming across your arms and winding down through the legs. Even with all the bandages you could feel how bruised the skin on your ribs was. Not to mention the throbbing of the right side of your face - you were really glad the room had no mirrors.
You're not in Piltover anymore, little Dorothy.
“Also, now that we're all safe and good. My question still remains - what are you doing here, little piltie? It's no place for you, little girl.”
It felt like something hard hit your chest again when all of the realization hit you. A choked sob escaped your throat even if you moved your hand to cover your mouth - as if that would prevent the sound from escaping.
“You ran away from home, girl?”
Natalys almost sounded kind. You shook your head, ignoring the pain it caused you at the moment. The old healer furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.
“Don't tell me, they just kicked you out of their house?”
Tearful eyes met her brown eyes. And she cursed out loud. One hand reached to rub her face as if the whole conversation just made her tired.
“Fucking pilties , throwing their kids just like that. And they say we're animals.”
She sighed at seeing your defeated form. Shoulder tucked down and head lowered, only the messy strands of hair covering your face while the silent sobs shook your frame. Your own hands were wrapped tightly around herself as if trying to contain the grief inside. Natalys cursed again. Like a mantra, the words echoed in her mind.
Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it.
“Hey, kiddo, you have nowhere to stay, right?” She asked, her voice unusually gentle. You shook your head and pathetic sniffle. Something awful happened to Natalys heart - like it skipped a beat - she just had too much coffee. Don't do it. Don't do it.
“Wanna stay with me for a few days? Until we figure something else?”
She did it. Your eyes shone with tender hope. Natalys Hund cursed again. Once again she picked a stray.
A few days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months into years as you stayed with Natalys . At first, you were only there to heal. You were sure Natalys was ready to kick you out of the house as soon as your ribs healed after you spent days asking her questions about her role as medic of Undercity. The gruff woman spent more time rolling her eyes and grumbling under her breath than speaking but even despite her clear annoyance she indulged you with explanations and answers, she even let you read her medical journals - information you practically inhaled with gusto, not noticing the fond look Natalys bestowed upon you. You didn't notice until you practically joined her on her rounds that Natalys was teaching you her craft. She explained every potion she made, every illness and cure she knew in great detail. And after you finally asked her about it she just shrugged, not looking at you as she refilled her medical bag.
“I’m not getting any younger, girly,” she stated, finally looking up to meet your eyes. You looked at her graying hair and small wrinkles near her boldly painted eyes with slightly raised eyebrows. Natalys snorted, throwing a roll of gauze at you which you barely managed to dodge. “Cheeky shit. But yes, you seem to have a good head about you and are willing to get your hands dirty. Not the worst apprentice.”
You ducked your head, hiding the smile sprawled across your lips. Natalys looked at you fully. You grew up in her care so much. Gone was the scared girl in Piltover clothes, and in front of her was a young yet confident woman. She hadn't expected that scared child to flourish in Zaun so well, learning the ways of Undercity with such fire and determination. She also did not expect you to follow in her footsteps - learning the art of healing with great interest and gift.
Natalys also worried because you were too kind for a place like this. Yes, you were fierce and could hold your own with a pistol but you were also kind and gentle at heart . Always ready to help any stray child or person in need. She worried because life in Zaun was hard and she feared that your kind heart would be hurt. Natalys hadn't expected to care so much for the lost child she found in the alley, but you somehow managed to crawl your way into her heart.
It scared her.