It should go without saying that all the characters, and the setting, belong to Riot Games, this piece being as it is a piece of LoL fanfiction. That said, I am writing this because:

1) Me likes the game very much.

2) I am currently having a massive writer's block in another story, and want to explore new plot points, scenes, narrative developments (and also some rue family themes), the easy way.

3) I haven't seen anyone pairing these two, so it's about time.

4) If you need yet another reason for me to write this fanfic, you're such a... n inquisitive one.

Also, a couple things you should keep in mind; English is not my native language, and I can get pretty long winded with plot arcs. Also, criticism is very much appreciated; if there's something you don't like (and it is not dying for your ship type of dislike), do please tell me what it is and why.

Chapter 1. If you have a head, blood will rush to it.

The battle against the Zaunites had been harsh and bloody. Mostly the latter. He was drained, battered, cold in the thorny undergrowth of the forest. But worst of all, he was afraid. Every and each time he died, or didn't die, the blue whirl would envelop him, healing his wounds, searing him from the inside out, and forcing him to keep carrying on. His fear was not of death, nor of pain, as if he'd already grown used to that. It was mildly amusing even, how even though it was almost June, he felt cold. He knew it was from blood loss, but this didn't alleviate it in the slightest. From somewhere beyond the river that almost lapped at his hand, he heard a low groan, interspersed with the gurgling sound of breath bubbling through blood. Mundo had taken good care of one of his teammates, Jayce most probably, and was now sprinting towards him, about to finish what Jinx did or could not.

He almost wished for Mundo to whack him with that cleaver of his one more time, to put him out of his misery. And his wish transpired so; his head was severed from his shoulders with one quick slash. He was aware of himself succumbing to gravity, rolling downhill and into the water, and then his world faded to black.

Then to blue. Another death. He braced himself for the pain, the torture he would be submitted to. Even though he knew it would last for thirty seconds at most, it felt like thirty hours, at least. The Summoner who was bonded to him would surely be berating him for his failure, making sure his wounds healed in the most painful way possible, threatening him about his next death being final. Even though they both knew that it was both against the rules of the League and flat out impossible on the Summoner's Rift. Still, the thought of becoming something not even remotely capable of thought, let alone action, frightened him. In his mind he sought solace, bringing forward memories of their meeting yesterday, her radiant smile serving just fine as a barrier against his summoner's intrusion.

However, what he felt was the Rift's magic letting go of him, the warm rush of being revived just outside the rift. Thank God the match had ended. Even if they had lost, it was still worth it. Beside him were two fellow Piltovians, Jayce and Vi, and the two Crownguards. They were smiling at each other, and at him.

"Oh my God, that was close. I thought we'd lose," Jayce said, firmly shaking Garen's hand. "You're the man."

"No, Ezreal here is the man. Taking on those three on his own, that was such a performance. He even got the psycho!" Garen replied, smiling. "How was my sister on the southern flank?"

Ezreal chuckled slightly. "We sure make a good couple in lane. She's nice, makes my life a whole lot easier."

Lux chortled, beamed at him. "She's such a piece of sunshine, she lights the day right up," her brother said, wrapping them both in a huge man-hug.

"Stand ready," Vi said. "Three... two... one..."

"Squeeeeeeeal!" The flash illuminated their faces for a split second, dazzling everyone but Lux, who, being who and what she was, didn't even flinch. Ezreal wiped a tear from his eyes, heard her giggle, and he laughed too, for no good reason.

That was until he saw the losing team entering. Mundo came in first, syringe in hand, examining it closely, followed by Jinx and Thresh, and then Singed and his bottle, which still let go puffs of (thankfully neutralized) gas every now and then. Then the Noxian that had insisted on replacing Ekko while he recovered. Ever eager to sow discord all around, she partook in disputes she'd have no apparent reason for. The simplest explanation he could think of for all of those gratuitous performances was that she had to appease her bloodlust somehow, however civilized it seemed to do so in the Fields of Justice. Ezreal hated Noxians and their constant lies and sleights, and he saw Garen barely managing to keep his mouth shut for pretty much the same reasons, and of course Demacia.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the summoner's voice was magically amplified, "another victory for Piltover in the eleventh round of the Challenge for Progress. The Institute of War asks you: will Piltover continue on their unstoppable rampage, or will the forces of Zaun ride a second wind as the cycle comes to an end? Stay tuned the day after tomorrow for the twelfth, and possibly final, round."

Ezreal looked about to see what everyone was doing, and was amused to see Jinx, Singed and Mundo already laughing their asses off. In a way it was surprising how the two brutes could even have a sense of humor. Jinx, not so much, he was sure she was laughing just because she found Singed's shield funny or something like that. Thresh was a little off to the side, talking to Lux in what seemed to be pretty civil terms.

"Daydreaming again, are we?" she said, catching him by surprise. Of how she'd gotten just behind him without him realising, he had no idea. Mostly because she wasn't there, and had probably never been. Still, he didn't exactly felt reassured by it. He looked around, slightly befuzzled, and felt someone pat his back. If she was playing her stupid games on... it was Jayce, of course.

"What's up Ez, everything OK?" he said, looking mildly concerned.

"Yeah, pretty much so, why are you asking?"

"You got pretty scared about something I'd say. You were looking at the Zaunites and suddenly turned around... You know, just checking in," Jayce said, smiling. "By the way, we should be going. I for one don't want to miss the cupcakes."

"Oh, is she making those? No way!"

"Yup. She said that, should we win, two each. Crownguards included."

"You are serious, right? Caitlyn making cupcakes for us!?"

"Well, yes. And Morgana too," Ezreal drooled at the statement. "They got both picked for bottom lane last round. I can only guess that Caitlyn planted any number of traps for Lulu in plain sight and Morgana was... well, Morgana, and somehow managed to challenge our sheriff on who makes the best pastries."

"Ever boisterous around her pastries. And our Sheriff got tangled in her games. Angel girl's got talent for trolling."

"And you've got talent to miss the point completely, sweetheart," said Morgana, who had just snuck up behind him. "I wonder if you have been missing my point as well, for all of those three months. Probably yes. Such explorer, that can't even explore himself!"

"I don't want what you want from me, but I don't want any of that," he replied, about to turn back towards Jayce. Oddly enough, Jayce was turned to Vi as if he hadn't noticed Morgana at all. Which probably meant she wasn't there. However, he was sure they would have noticed him talking to what essentially amounted to blank space, and would jab on him for the thousandth time that he should visit a psychiatry ward. It was true that he was being deceived by his own mind as of late. Oh well, he thought, I can deal with that later. But, to his surprise, everyone was gone. Had he been out for so long last time? He didn't want to know. The amount of matches, the amount of times he had died and come back to life as of late, the preparations for the final they'd just won must have gotten to him in some way.

Indeed, he felt tired. He made a break for the Grand Hall of Piltover in the Institute, where there was no doubt a party going on. He could almost feel the smell and the sounds, and his tiredness. His feet hurt from the grueling battle, all the running and jumping and Arcane Shifting had taken their toll.

Right as he was expecting it, everyone was celebrating. Caitlyn and Vi, the latter of which being well on the way of being drunk off her ass, were dancing to a neat little beat, while on a nearby bench Jayce, Garen and Jarvan IV were telling jokes. Morgana, Lux and someone else he couldn't quite recognize were behind a bar, serving drinks and pastries to Professor Heimerdinger and the lot of Yordles who had gathered around him. There also were several Piltovian summoners who walked back and forth, smiling, celebrating they had won yet another round this cycle and were two wins off winning outright. Not only would his city get a significant boost in funding, they would be recognized as a worthy opponent. And would add that extra little bit of padding between them and the ever hungry Noxus.

But he had more important things in his head. He had a lot to read about the Vallant people, and their folk traditions, in preparation for the trip he was about to undertake. What was he even doing in the party? He had to get to the library, right now! Even though he was tired, he grabbed his share of the cupcakes on the table, packed them away and bolted for the library. There was a long way from the Piltover section though, and after a minute or so his legs began to feel sore. He slowed to a walking pace, but his determination did not diminish.

As he turned a corner, he saw a couple of what looked to be Ionian summoners searching for something, or someone. Most probably someone, if he were to look at their faces.

"Oh look, here we go," said one of them. "The Prodigal Explorer. Ask him the questions."

Ezreal was caught by surprise, dumbfounded. He didn't harbor any particular feelings towards the Ionians, good or ill, and he had likewise nothing to do with them.

"Excuse me sir, but... uh, are you sure I'm the man you're searching for?"

The largest of the summoners stepped closer. "Absolutely. Now, have you seen the Loose Cannon as of late?"

"Uhm, I just was in the Fields of Justice against her, but apart from that, I'm afraid not. Let me guess-" if they were asking for Jinx, she had surely blown something up that she shouldn't, "sixty wounded?"

"Actually, no. Rumor has it that the Dark Sovereign has her locked up, but if you say she's alive and well, we probably are in the clear, in which case we are back to our business. Thanks for your help, Prodigal Explorer."

Though he didn't dislike Ionians, he felt like most of them were somewhat of a nutcase. He also noticed that the other people in the corridor seemed quite indifferent to him standing still in the middle of a four-way junction, watching the cloister in which the summoners had gone and vanished. Anyway, he continued towards the library, because that's where he would most likely find the information he needed. To understand what the ruins meant, the themes behind the symbols they depicted, the legends of their builders, he had to know something about a culture of ages long past, a culture so alien to his own he even struggled to fathom it. Times of war and famine, those were things every culture could relate to, but every one would attribute to them different deities, heroes, and would even turn a unique face toward those challenges.

Take the Shurima Desert for example. In the wastes, in the rock formations, there had once been excavated villages. The few manuscripts he could recover from them told tales of the Earth Weaver, how he brought fertility to the soil, and also how their ancestors had angered Him and he made the mountains to the east, blocking off the moisture. Although quite scarce, there were non-religious texts in such places too; but those single pages, often a page or two of some priest's diary, were often far more interesting, for they spoke of how the ancient people actually lived their lives.

As for him, he missed the thrill of unravelling new ruins, setting the ground for new discoveries, or simply travelling to lands far away and unknown to his own civilization. But to do that, he had to find the books he needed, those would always take him to the edge of knowledge and so he'd only have to take one single step.

"Ezreal, the Prodigal Explorer, it is pleasant to see you here again," Nasus' deep voice rumbled from above him. The jackal-ascended was imposing as always in his golden armor, though not threatening. That hostility and aggressiveness were reserved for his enemies, a trait Ezreal wished more Champions would have.

"I salute you, Curator. How's work going?"

"Quite well indeed. Those weekly reports from the Institute do get quite tiresome at times, ah, preserving history takes time. At least I've only had one battle in the last three days, so I could read. By the way, I think you'd like to know that someone asked me on your whereabouts early in this morning."

Ezreal was quite surprised to hear that. "So they must be interested in what I read. Do you recall who it was, that asked for me?"

Nasus shook his head. "No. I was quite distracted at the time, with those reports I mentioned earlier no less, so I didn't quite pay full attention. A mage for sure, seeing how she carried herself, but no. And she didn't look like Lux at all."

"Eh, they will ask again, I guess. By the way, is there anything concerning the Vallant in the library?"

"The Vallant?" Nasus said, somewhat bemused. "Strange I haven't heard anything of them before, if there is anything it should lie right past everything on the Freljordian Sagas, full on to the right and the far end."

"Many thanks and... uh, anything interesting popped up?" Ezreal said as he lightly massaged his head.

"Are you quite alright? You are more disperse than usual."

"Ugh, it must be all the training deaths for the challenge, they must have gotten in my head in some way. It's gotten way worse since that last match against Jinx and co. I don't think it's serious or anything, a good read should do for now. I'm too tired for parties and the likes really..."

"Let you be right. By the way, don't forget we close at one o'clock."

That said, Ezreal went into the library. He was indeed centered on his objective, enough to miss the worried look in Nasus' face. So he went straight to the right, caught a glimpse of Draven of all people reading by one of the tables closest to the entrance, and sunk in the endless corridor of tomes and books. He knew there was a round table, close to a window, in which he would be able to study in peace, for no one had reasons to dive so deep.

Demacian myths to his right, Noxian accounts to his left, they stood on opposite sides, like in the world outside, no doubt spewing accusatory words at one another. Then Ionian parables at one side, always introspective, while Demacian literature still had a way to go and carried on until the end of the corridor. Prolific writers they were. Next to the Ionian, the ancient manuscripts of the Archives of Shurima and other places of the desert, some of which he had unearthed himself.

Then the Freljord. He knew he was about to find what he searched for, and started looking more attentively at the titles. Great Warriors of the Winter's Claw he could probably skip altogether, Freljordian Astronomy could be interesting but still it was not what he was searching for. Of the Frozen Watchers, on the other hand, could be interesting, for if he was not mistaken, the Vallant people had died out due to a cold spell. Maybe there would be hints about what happened to them in the end, scattered amongst parables and legends and myths, so he grabbed it and continued on in his search. He ended up grabbing another four books which could potentially hold clues. One of them was a report from Piltovian scientists on their findings in the ice cores of the Howling Abyss. After all, he wrote to expand that knowledge to people who didn't have the time to scrutinize hundreds of books and make a days-long travel to the other side of Valoran.

So he did that. Because he could, and he liked it. Was there any other reason?

He sat at the table, and to his surprise, there was a girl whom he didn't recognize at first glance. She was reading too, her eyes devouring letters, darting from left to right. He didn't heed her presence much, he just sat down opposite her in the round table and laid his books on the table. He was shocked to see they were cold to the touch. He giggled at the thought that books of the Freljord were cold to the touch, and it seemed such a silly thing, well they were from up there! But then he realized that the Freljordian books were cold to the touch, and that it could herald no good things. Either there was some kind of magic in them, or worse, they were wet.

And as he opened the first book, the rotten stench of mold eating paper washed over him like a wave of quicksilver attempting to drown him. He wheezed, gasped, but started turning pages to see if there was anything salvageable. Most of the ink had been washed out in the water's wake, leaving but a series of unreadable blots, and his head started hurting again. Even the edges of the book itself seemed wispy and blurry, but they were not so when he took... when he... he didn't know what he had been thinking, his head throbbed too hard to think properly anymore. It felt as if someone was hitting the spot between his eyebrows with sewage water, and his body started to fail him.

It was then that he noticed that the bookshelves also looked blurry, and the curtains, and the table, and his own hand. It was as if the world around him threatened to disappear any second, and him with it. He was no longer in pain, but he would have traded his current state of disorientation for pain without any second thoughts. He felt as if he was about to die in the Rift, as if some overarching magic was claiming his memories to be restored later. Sleep, perhaps?

Then he felt the need to grasp for some purchase, to right himself. He looked at the girl sitting in front of him, smiling at him. She was smiling at him. Yes, she was smiling at him. The problem laying therein, he shouldn't have been able to tell it from the general blur, what the silky curtains had become. It was then he took heed of his being extremely, unnaturally tired, and that he could see Mount Targon in the distance. But the pain was gone, and he sat in the library, in the Institute.

And Syndra's face was not blurry, nor was it purple.
As soon as he recognized her, his strength returned to him,
albeit only partially.
It was she who spoke first.

"Long way away now. Back in place?"