The time for the Frozen Watchers to return.
Sejuani will remain queen until it is our time.
We will rule differently from before, they will believe that they are in control. She will prep the people, till the land like the Avarosan, but the land Sejuani tends will bear the fruit of the Watchers. She will be the fire that will cull the meek from the ice, sifting through every tribe so that only the hardiest will survive.
It will be a mirror of black ice that serves as a doorway from the abyss to the surface.
We will heed the call, carrying out every command the ruler of the Freljord gives. Her hand will paint blood upon its face the crest of the Watchers, her Watchers. She will rise from her seat and stride towards the panel of smooth ice to her right.
She will be the warrior's living trophy. To her left will sit the false queen, Ashe, whose bow will remain locked away. She will sit upon a throne made of ebony ice, her hands stained with the blood of those who surrendered, who were too weak to even try facing her.
A sacrifice for the ones who have made her so great.
With our guidance, she will force them to march to the abyss, throwing them into the darkness. With our help, she will defeat the Avarosan, destroying their weak-willed soldiers easily.
But unlike her, pride will not get in the way of our return.
It is sly
We must do it quietly, fool them into believing that we serve them. It will take time for our numbers to return to full force. Their bodies will be thrown into the abyss, bringing their life force down with them to help awaken the others. We will fight beside her as she butchers those who would've died for her moments ago.
But this one shall be seen as a slaughter.
And another battle will be waged. But her people, those who have survived, will stand by her with undying loyalty. They will attack, claiming that she has gone mad, that she threatens the Freljord just as much as we do.
We will accept.
She will ignore them and affirm her offer, threatening death to all who oppose. But to her, why would a victor throw away a perfectly good weapon if it was still useable. Her allies will protest, they will urge her to destroy the threat once and for all.
In her mind, she will offer the defeated Watchers a chance to fight under her banner, to serve under her as her soldiers for she deems them strong enough to have a rightful place in the Freljord. On the 10th day, she will be faced with a choice, a choice where she will not know the full extents of.
She will hold this moment as a stain on her mind and use it to spur the iceborn blood in her. There will be a single moment when she will wish to surrender, to cease the fighting so they could rest. Her flail will grow dull, the stones will crumble, their wills stretched thin. The battle will rage on for days, not a minute of sleep will be granted in that time.
They will not be enough to stop our rise, but they must believe otherwise. They will all ready themselves; the bear, the berserker, the boar-rider, the furred monk, the phoenix and the traitor with a shield. What she will think is the wind will be the battle cry of our return. She will arrive at where we fell and will wait and wait, listening to the howling of the abyss.
Their reasons for doing so will be what undoes them in the end. But together, they have a single goal in mind; to protect the Freljord. The journey will be treacherous, even with the help of the ice phoenix; many will perish before they even reach us.
It will be the Ursine who secretly accepts the gifts and presents them to the warrior as his own. She will refuse their aid, even sending away their supplies and intel. But this is a cowardice act and she will not sacrifice her pride for victory. It would be the perfect chance, pull a false mask and throw the Avarosan into danger, using them as cannon fodder as she defeats the Watchers and the farmers alike.
Many strong warriors will join her cause, a barbarian from Lokfar, a monk from Ionia, and eventually, Ashe will wish to aid her. Although begrudgingly, she will postpone her war with the Avarosan and command her armies to ride east, deeper into the Freljord.
She will accept, seeing herself in him.
He will warn her of us, of the coming evil that will spew forth from the chasm in the land. He will bring with him an army of Ursine, all hardened by his teachings of war and battle. A creature of formidable size will approach her, with claws like the winter and armor that crackles with the sky.
She will ride out; finally fulfilling the promise she made them to show them the true traditions of the Freljord. She will burn the grain, raid the messengers, and rally her troops behind her. She will not tolerate being mocked as if she needed a hand out from the peace lovers to live.
She will be insulted
They expect her to be grateful, to accept their peace offering. They will barely be armed, bearing the gift of grain sown by them for the harsh winter to come. The chief will be caught by surprise, with her warriors are poised and ready, when it is a convoy that approaches the borders of her lands.
She will become ten times harsher, ensuring that every man, woman, and child knew how to kill, how to survive, how to prove that they were worthy of calling themselves a member of the Winter's Claw. They will prepare for battle, hearing that the Avarosan of the south claim to have the queen of the Freljord among them.
She will not be defeated nor will she eat, her people will grow stronger from this. If they yield, she will kill them right there. When she defeats them, she will determine whether or not they will be allowed to eat that night. Starting with her tribe, she will challenge each of them to a battle.
Her dying tribe will follow in her footsteps, even more eagerly when she crafts a flail of true ice as her weapon. Little by little, the magic of the winds will fuse into her flesh; strengthening her as they tear her apart. She will go on to push herself to the extreme, becoming one with the icy soul of the Freljord.
They will fill the pit of hunger in her stomach for that night. She will hold close to her heart the words she has heard the seer say. Sejuani, the only surviving of her blood, will walk out of the tent a changed woman, leaving behind her ration of salted meat on the table.
A low breath streams out of the old woman's mouth, her wrinkled and tattooed hands peeling away from the jagged shard of ice set on the table. She pulls the fur around her tighter, the fire in the center of the tent offering little warmth.
Darting eyes shift from the young warrior and the ice.
"What did you see, shaman?" Sejuani asks, her legs crossed in a traditional manner. Her sharp gaze follows the woman as she gets up from her seat and wordlessly paces over to the worn down cabinet.
"I saw your future." She begins, the cracked wood whining before sliding open. With her back to the seated warrior, she tells her what she needs to hear.
What they want her to hear
"Sejuani, last of your family's blood, you will one day conquer and unite the divided tribes of the Freljord."
She does not look back at the stunned woman, nor does she move as she bids her farewell, leaving behind a small package as payment. The tent stills, whisperings of an ancient tongue fills her ears, promising her immortality and great powers if she aids their return.
She lets her eyes close for a moment and sees the Freljord encased in black snow.
In her hands, she cradles a horn that her ancestors once instructed her to blow if the ice began to whisper to her.
That night, she sleeps with the unmelting ice tucked away in her cabinet and the broken shards of the shattered instrument burning in the fire of the mystic's tent.
A/N: if you haven't figured it out yet, read the story backwards sentence by sentence.