This was a request from angels123. I don't see much of Quinn, so I'm happy to add this to my repertoire. Tried a bit of a new narration approach while I was at it. Enjoy~

x.x.x

Ashe,

I'm giving this to you because you're the only one I can trust. For your eyes only. I'd die of embarrassment if anyone else ever got their hands on this… whatever you want to call it. A journal, I guess. I just need to get all of this off my chest before I go crazy. Right now, I'm holed up in one of those outposts the Avarosan use for trade with the other tribes. It's tiny and I nearly got shot full of arrows by that security system out front, but at least I'm out of the snow.

Oh, and I'm really sorry I'm getting there later than I had planned. I know you hate tardiness, but I've been—

Well, just read on. You'll understand.

P.S. You and Sej are SO cute together. Have dozens of little boar babies by the time I get back, okay?

—Quinn

/-/

This all started during that match the other day. You know, the abysmal one where the Summoners were trolling and picked three AD Carries who just so happened to face two bruisers and a support? In the end, they steamrolled us—they were just too tough to take down.

Or maybe our Summoners just sucked. Go figure.

Anyway, Caitlyn and Jinx were blaming each other for their failings while we waited in the post-game lobby (I really think they need to figure out their differences because their squabbles are hindering their combat performance) when Valor suddenly began shrieking and waving his wings, going on about the danger that approached. You know how he gets around strangers.

The source of his distress was none other than the reason for my tardiness: Riven was walking along the shore with that faraway look on her face. It was like she wasn't aware of her surroundings, wandering without a destination in mind.

Is it just me, or does she always seem kind of… sad? I guess destroying an entire village under the command of the root of all evil, Noxus, will do that to you.

I, being polite, raised my hand in greeting and she nodded slightly, heading straight past me to sit beneath a palm tree at the other end of the island. It occurred to me that her teammates had already taken their leave and mine would soon be doing the same, so I joined her.

Did you know Riven doesn't have a place to call home? I mean, I know her title is "the Exile," but I never really thought that meant that she was all on her lonesome with no one to depend on.

No matter where I go, I have Valor. He's my closest companion and I know I can count on him no matter what. I can't imagine ever losing such a bond, much less never having it, and my heart went out to the stoic loner type.

Everyone needs someone, Ashe, no matter what they insist. I think that's the reason I tried so hard to become someone she could call friend.

Time skip to about three days later (don't worry; I won't bore you with my everyday life). We were on opposite teams again and Riven was wielding her huge, giant greatsword, thrashing anyone who stood in her path without blinking an eye.

I've got to admit, I've always kind of looked up to her. She's strong, brave, and stoic—the stereotypical lone hero who is the protector of the weak, serving as the sword and shield of Justice. Re-reading that sentence, I realize it sounds really corny, but whatever.

As we neared the end of the match, my team finally realized she was a force to be reckoned with and they started targeting her, throwing every skill and spell they could, but she broke through snares and stuns alike with Valor, repairing her weapon with a blaze of sickly green and cutting through our defenses like a hot knife through butter.

And through it all, she still wore that serious, sad expression.

After the match ended, I followed her to the lake at the center of the post-game lobby and, though I knew she sensed my presence, she didn't comment as she sat cross-legged on the shore, laying her re-broken sword across her lap and closing her eyes, as if in meditation.

I'll admit it: I took advantage of that moment to study her, taking in fair features and choppy ash-blonde locks that framed her face and fell into dark eyes. I wasn't sure at the time what had me so interested in her looks, but now I realize that it was admiration.

I also didn't know at the time that there's a very thin line between it and appreciation.

I was so lost in contemplation that I nearly jumped a foot when the Exile questioned softly, "May I help you?"

For some reason I felt guilty, though I had done nothing wrong, and I'm pretty sure she heard that guilt when I told her that I hadn't come to ask her for any favors.

To which she asked, "What do you want?"

I get it. People typically have hidden agendas—especially in our line of work.

Before I could protest that she had me all wrong, an idea occurred to me. I'm a wanderer myself, as you know, though I'm a lot more social a traveler than Riven is. When I first proposed that she accompany me in scouting the lesser known reaches of Valoran, I fully expected her to scoff and turn me down, which was why I gaped when, after a long moment of staring at me, her expression unreadable, she nodded curtly.

"Fine."

The Shurima Desert is gorgeous at night. I know you don't leave your kingdom too often, but the floating pyramids, glowing yellow-green with magic that shimmers in the fading light of the setting sun, are a sight worth seeing.

Even Riven seemed awed by their majesty, her dark gaze reflecting the energy like twin mirrors as we stood in the shadow of the giant, floating constructs.

"I've never taken a moment to just enjoy the scenery," she admitted softly.

That was believable. Though the blonde wanders, seemingly without purpose, I feel as though she spends more time in her head than she does among others.

I suggested that there was so much more to see, a subtle invitation that was entirely up to her to accept or not, and she looked at me—as if actually seeing me for the first time.

Something about the apprehension in her eyes was heart breaking to see. She still didn't trust my intentions. That would come with time.

Time skip again. I can't remember exactly how long after our little outing this was, but we were starting a match on Summoner's Rift, partnered up with Elise, Volibear, and Soraka. Riven seemed even less talkative than usual, which is saying something, but when I asked her what was wrong, she said that everything was fine.

Spoiler: she was lying.

The match began without a hitch, both teams hustling to their lanes behind a protective line of minions, and it wasn't until everyone had hit level six, unlocking their Ults and amassing decent equipment, that something went wrong.

More specifically, someone made a bad call and we fell into a team fight. I was way out of position, sandwiched between a rock (the approaching Talon, murder in crimson eyes) and a hard place (Fizz, the amphibious trickster from Bilgewater, his trident glowing purple with the effect of his Sheen) with nowhere to go.

I was a dead woman and Valor knew it, too, because he flung open the link we share, offering me the opportunity to assume his more agile form, but it was too late.

Or so I thought.

Riven came charging in without hesitation, stunning the assassin with a Ki Strike and murmuring, "The time for talk is over," in that ominous way she does. It sent a chill along my spine, though I knew the blade wasn't meant for me.

A wave of green energy left the greatsword with a powerful swing and she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly gentle as she instructed me to stay behind her.

Valor protested loudly at the manhandling, but I could only stare. I think, in that moment, I would have done anything she said, so long as warm hands clutched me, a tiny, concerned frown creasing her brow. Riven would have never admitted it, but she did care about my well-being. We had bonded to some degree.

I nodded, loading my crossbow and sending Valor screeching at the nearest foe, the relief I felt amplified two-fold by our linked consciousness. We made short work of our opponents and the match ended soon after— a swift victory for us.

Afterwards, I asked Riven a second time what was bothering her. I can't repeat what she said for the sake of preserving her privacy, but I will say that the warrior has some serious demons. The fact that she let me in—if only a little—was thrilling to say the least and I said as much when I hugged her, an action that caught us both off-guard.

Time flies when you're having fun and, from that point on, Riven and I were inseparable.

We travelled all over Valoran, hopping through rifts in space and time under the guise of adding more detail to my hand-drawn records of the varying terrains, but I think she knew better. At some point, my work became an excuse to spend more time with Riven—to get to know her better.

In the depths of the Kumungu Jungle, I learned that she loves animals. Ashe, you should have seen the way her eyes lit up when Nidalee gave the cougar kits permission to play with the outsiders.

In the shining splendor of Piltover, I learned that she has an unexpected aptitude for technology. Or perhaps she's just extremely quick to pick up on things?

In the outskirts of Noxus, I learned that her heart is still full of regret and that it weighs heavily on her shoulders each and every day—haunting her. Her quiet contemplation is often linked to her own personal demons: hellish flashbacks of burning buildings, maimed corpses, and the shattered innocence of a peaceful nation.

With that, I also learned that I cared too much about the Exile to let her bear that weight alone.

The final stop on our pilgrimage was Ionia. This time, the mission was a personal one having to deal with my quiet companion—closure of some sort for the former Noxian warrior. As we approached the city, she became steadily more restless until, finally, she asked, "What are we doing here?"

I briefly contemplated telling her a little white lie so that she would be more at ease, but I knew that the only thing Riven hated more than a coward was a liar. When I explained to her what my intention was, she graced me with a rare smile and placed her hand over mine. The blonde had been getting more and more comfortable with physical contact, but the gesture still startled me.

Whether it was because of the affection shining in dark orbs or the way my heart skipped a beat in response, I'll never know.

"Come home with me," I blurted, without thinking. I wanted... more of the swordswoman. And I wanted her to know more of me as well.

She arched an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't have a home."

Perhaps not in the traditional sense, but I did have a place that I frequented—a nice little hideout in the mountains outside of Demacia. What can I say? I enjoy my privacy.

You, Valor, and now Riven are the only ones who have ever seen it.

… Whoops, didn't mean to spoil her response. Though I suppose it was pretty obvious given that I'm still writing this. My hand keeps cramping up, it's so cold. I don't know how you do it. But I digress.

I'll skip over all of the travelling details and jump straight into the part where we were walking up that winding dirt footpath I had worn into the grass from years of coming and going. Riven was silent (big surprise), her eyes wandering over the building's outside and, suddenly, I very much wanted her to like it.

"You built this?"

With my own two hands. As such, it was more a hive than a traditional house and the inside was a clutter of map-making equipment, leather accessories for myself and Valor, and tons and tons of hunting trophies.

We went inside and Valor fluttered over to his perch above the fireplace while I began preparing the quail I had shot on the way up. Soon, dinner was bubbling in a cast iron pot hung over the dancing flames. Riven was sitting on the edge of the rocking chair I have sitting next to the window (which is funny, because that was the first thing you did as well) and the wood creaked faintly as she swayed, her gaze trained contemplatively on me.

If you're wondering why our conversations seem so short, that's because they are. The warrior is a woman of few words, but I feel as though we've got this silent sort of understanding that doesn't require long, in-depth conversations.

Kind of like my bond with Valor.

I offered my guest something to drink and she nodded in thanks, sipping hot tea from the wooden cup and remarking, "This is lovely."

I thanked her, genuinely flattered. Perhaps a bit more than I should have been, but this was Riven, the Noxian exile who just so happened to be my travelling companion and sometimes ally on the Fields of Justice. She was both strong and beautiful—a winning combination when wrapped up in so much honor and quiet dignity.

Eventually, dinner was ready and we ate stew out of wooden bowls, chatting amicably about our most recent adventure. Valor joined in at some points, which meant I had to translate, but my partner in conversation didn't seem to mind the intrusion, treating my dearest companion with the respect one would another human being.

I'm not going to lie, that won me over most of all.

It was getting late. The dinner dishes were piled on the counter, waiting to be taken down to the stream that cut across the rough terrain to be rinsed and Riven and I were sitting side by side on the fur pelt in front of the fire. Valor had nodded off, his head tucked under a broad wing.

We were silent, just enjoying each other's company, when Riven said softly, "I can't figure it out."

Which is an odd statement to start a conversation with. What could have possibly been rattling around in that sharp, cunning mind that she couldn't figure out?

"I don't understand why you're so…" So what? She gestured vaguely, completing, "generous."

I'm not, really. I have to really like you first. I admitted to that and she became very, very quiet and her expression very, very serious.

"Quinn…"

Had I somehow offended her?

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but I'd appreciate it if you'd drop the act. You don't have to curry my favour for whatever it is you want. I'll cooperate if you just ask."

That—both the words and the flat, almost resigned tone they were spoken in—broke my heart, honestly. This lovely, incredible person had been back-stabbed and disappointed so many times that there was no belief left in her closely-guarded heart. She had given up and, without hope, how can a human being even have the will to go on living?

I wanted her to trust me. I needed her to trust me.

That was why I kissed her.

It feels kind of dirty to write this out, but… That night I had the most intense orgasms I have ever had. Ever. They blew my mind, leaving me shaking like a leaf—a blubbering mess of twitching muscles and overloaded pleasure receptors. I can't even repeat the things that left my mouth in the heat of passion. You'd never let me live it down.

And she wouldn't let up! At some point, I think I was begging her to give me a moment to catch her breath and she smiled that slight, sexy smile, shutting me up with a smoldering kiss that made my knees weak.

Gosh, just thinking about it now makes me—

A hand covered Quinn's, stilling it, and she looked up at the blonde warrior, her cheeks going crimson. "W-why aren't you in bed?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Riven drawled, dark eyes sliding to the thin, leather bound book sitting on the worn, wooden desk in front of her companion. "What's this?"

"Nothing!" the avian warrior blurted, throwing herself forward to protect the object from the mercenary's sharp, inquisitive gaze.

The Exile could understand a need for privacy. She didn't pursue the subject, saying instead, "Come back to bed. It's freezing."

Quinn never would have taken her for the cuddly type…

With a bright smile, the falconer stowed her journal in the messenger bag slung across the back of the chair and followed the other Champion back to the twin bed pushed into the corner of the room. The piece of furniture was barely big enough for one person, much less the both of them, but it wasn't as though either girl minded the proximity. This establishment had been constructed for functionality over comfort, but they were glad to be out of the snow.

Both girls had stripped out of their cold, wet clothes and were wearing fur coats borrowed from the trading post's stock; Riven shed hers, flopping down onto the starch white sheets and crossing her arms behind her head. Sharp amber orbs wandered appreciatively over that lean, tones form and she bit her lip, her body flush with heat.

The Exile made a come-hither gesture and she swallowed hard before dropping her own coat, smirking when dark brown orbs dropped to pale thighs, left bare by the baggy white T-shirt she wore.

It was incredible how attracted they were to each other. Raw, intense want burned in chocolate-coloured orbs, but the blonde made no move to take what she desired when her lover straddled her hips. Not yet.

"Why did you want to see Ashe so badly, anyway?"

Quinn chuckled, blanketing her smaller form over Riven's and nuzzling into the older woman's throat. She made a pleased sound when strong arms wrapped around her. "No reason."

They lay there for a moment, listening to the keening of the wind, before Quinn began to fidget, the excitement from reliving her past intimacy with the woman beneath her suffusing her sex with wet heat.

"… Riven?"

"Mm?" she sounded half-asleep already. They had travelled quite far today.

"I'm horny," she whispered.

The long, lanky form beneath her stiffened and the girl bit back a giggle as she began peppering kisses over the older woman's collar. It seemed she wouldn't have to try very hard to get her way.

Sure enough, the blonde growled something that sounded suspiciously like "tease" and flipped the falconer onto her back, nudging slender thighs apart and settling between them as she made quick work of the single article of clothing Quinn wore to sleep and impatiently pushing damp cotton panties aside.

"W-wait *gasp* here's your ah…! S-sense of romance?!"

"Buried in the snow," she grunted, sliding into tight wet heat.

Despite her protests, Quinn moaned and her hips bucked, her muscles clenching eagerly around the intruder in an attempt to draw talented digits in deeper.

"I swear to—Mm… Right there!"

The Exile chuckled, doing as she was told and curling her fingers, ramming them into the pulsating walls of the mousey blonde's sex; the marksman squealed, clutching at the sheets as her eyes rolled back in her head.

Riven wasn't one for foreplay, Demacia's Wing had learned: she was far too impatient once she had given into her body's baser instincts and her approach was swift and forceful—much like her combat style on the battlefield. Sometimes, the ash blonde warrior managed to tease Quinn to the edge of orgasm again and again, cruelly allowing her feverishly writhing body to cool down before working her to back up to that bottomless chasm of ecstasy, but it seemed now was not one of those exquisitely torturous moments.

In fact long, talented digits seemed intent on wringing as much pleasure out of the falconer in as little time as possible, hitting all of her sensitive spots with a measured focus that made the Demacian cry out, her senses overwhelmed with bliss.

Each deep, powerful thrust brought her closer to the yawning abyss until she was teetering at its edge, her vision swimming and her voice hoarse from the sensual litany that left it. It would only be a matter of time before—

A thumb pressed up against her clit, applying pressure, as Riven leaned forward, claiming her lips in a possessive, fierce kiss.

—her world flew apart, dissolving into multi-coloured lights behind tightly shut eyelids as the avian sharpshooter screeched, the sharp cry muffled by her partner's lips as their tongues danced clumsily, instinctively wrestling for dominance even as she lost the ability to even consider anything more than the all-encompassing wave that wiped her thoughts clean.

She could sense Valor's concern from the other room, the ruckus having roused him from his slumber, and she silently assured him that all was well—no, fantastic. In the face of such an explosive orgasm, Quinn could only lay there, panting. When she had finally caught her breath, she lifted her head, grinning goofily at the woman who had rocked her world.

"Geez, babe, you never disappoint a girl."

Silence. The young woman frowned slightly and struggled into a seated position, smiling affectionately when she saw that the Exile's eyes were closed.

"Oh, Riven…"

There was only a quiet snore in response—the exhausted woman had fallen fast asleep.

And, as the winds howled across the barren landscape, dispersing mounds of snow in its wake, the Freljord monarch and her lover looked out over their domain from the towering heights of a balcony of an ocean-side fortress, the former frowning worriedly.

"Quinn's late."

"She has Riven with her. I'm certain she's just fine."

The white-haired archer quirked an eyebrow at that knowing tone. "What are you suggesting?"

"You mean you haven't seen the way those two look at each other on the Fields of Justice?"

Ashe blinked. "No… Quinn isn't like that."

"Like us?" Sejuani chuckled, linking her arms around a slender waist and purring into a pointed ear, "And what makes you say that?"

The elfin woman flushed, shuddering. "I suppose you have a point…"

"Mm… Come, you'll catch your death out here."

As the pair headed back indoors, the Frost Archer cast one more look to the darkening horizon and gasped, hurrying back to the stone railing to receive the large, blue falcon that almost tumbled from the sky, its brilliant plumage covered in a thin layer of ice. He seemed more agitated than anything, cawing loudly and spreading his wings to steady himself as he landed daintily on the woman's pale forearm.

Valor, Quinn's avian partner. Where had he flown from and, more importantly, where was his mistress?

Tied to one of his legs was a rolled up leather-bound book and inside was pages upon pages of handwritten private thoughts:

Ashe,

I'm sending this to you because you're the only one I can trust. For your eyes only.

"What is it?" the Winter's Wrath questioned, interrupting her silent perusal.

Ashe smiled faintly, tucking the worn tome into the waistband of her robe. "Nothing, my love. Let's go back to bed." Valor warbled, ruffling his feathers, and she chuckled. "And of course, for my brave little messenger there will be plenty of rodents."

The monarch would examine her friend's letter later—when she had a moment alone.

-End-