Author's Note: Um. So I decided on a whim to continue this. That's a good thing, right? I sure hope so. Enjoy, my guppies.

"An ally has been slain."

The female announcer's smooth, silk-imbued voice washed over him like liquid, curling around him, daring him, directing him towards the scene.

Tryndamere sucked in a quivering breath. His skin grew clammy even as beads of sweat crawled down his form.

To see her struck down, to see Katarina's dagger wedged between her shoulder blades and mercilessly driven in.

His vision swam, not with the external pain he was enduring, but with the knowledge, the capacity of suffering for her sake within him that had suddenly grown from his time spent with her.

He took in her dull, listless eyes, her prone, unmoving body, her limp form as it seemed to clatter against the ground like a puppet. Not a single detail wasn't etched – engraved – into his mind for the rest of eternity.

He was no stranger to death. About the furthest thing from it, in fact.

Once upon a time, he underwent slaughter and decay and cruelty and bone-for-bone survival and the unforgiving voracity of war on a daily basis. And he weathered it. And he bore it.

But this, he could not stomach. This, he could not cope with.

"Tryndamere!" called Jayce. "What in the hell do you think you're doing?! Behind you!"

To his surprise and befuddlement, he was on his knees, his sword gouged into the earth in front of him. Perhaps shocked into submission by her death.

And his skin suddenly tasted the tang of metal on flesh, and Talon's blade sank – almost sweetly, succulently – into his back.

He fell, and all went dark, and his last thought before he dissipated into wisps and fragments was that no matter how prepared he was for death, no matter how undauntedly he beckoned it, nothing could ever brace him enough for hers.

"Here to chew me out?" he grunted. "Everyone else already has."

Ashe shook her head.

"No, of course not. I'm just worried. Tryndamere, what happened out there?"

"You saw for yourself. I zoned out and lost us the match. Typical barbarian brain. Can't even keep lucid enough to finish a fight."

"Oh, don't give me that self-deprecating crap," she glared at him. "Because you know by now that I'll have none of it. Something else was going on here, and trying to pull the wool over my eyes won't work. I only want to help."

"I don't need your help," he snapped. "I can make do just fine on my own."

"That's funny," she angrily retorted. "I seem to recall us making an oath that we were in this together. For the long haul, and for everything. Not just when and where it's convenient. I made my commitment, so what about you, dear husband?"

Tryndamere turned away, unable to meet her gaze.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" came his anguished groan.

"Why can't you just tell me what's wrong?" Ashe seethed. "Do you have such little faith in me? Am I nothing more than a trophy queen to help grant you foothold in world affairs? What am I for, Tryndamere?"

"It's you, alright?!" he roared, swiveling to face her, his voice brimming with fury, belying his grief-stricken countenance.

Ashe blinked, surprise effectively clearing her ire.

"M-Me?"

"Yes, you. I don't have to tell you what it's like-"

He twirled a lazy gesture into the air with his hand

"Out there. Barren wastelands, nothing but ice to keep us company, living off of what meager rations we can scrounge up. Day after day, brought to within an inch of our lives just so we can survive 'til dawn. Brutal conflict defined us; we lived through hell. And we're all the stronger for it. I'm all the stronger for it. I've grown so accustomed to carnage that I don't bat an eye at the reaper's presence. I'm always at death's door – hell, I'm its fucking playmate – because I can handle it, because I've gained control over the brushes with bloodshed."

His voice was tight with emotion, his teeth gnashing together in frustration.

"So I shouldn't be so affected. I can't be, it's unacceptable, death has never been able to sway me like this-"

"Tryndamere," Ashe cautiously ventured. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about…about you. When you die on the rift. I...at the sight of your blank expression when your…your lifeless body just topples to the ground, I just…everything in me seized up. I couldn't think or even realize where I was."

"Tryndamere…" she murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I know, I know! It's stupid of me. None of it is real. The deaths are simulated and the matches are arranged. No one else affects me like this. Just…just you. It's just your death I can't handle. It doesn't matter when I see you respawn seconds later, it only…it only makes it worse when I see you killed again. And again after that."

"But," Ashe bit her lip. "But you've been with me in matches before this. Surely this isn't the first time you've seen me slain."

He shook his head.

"B-Back then, you weren't – I mean, you…we hadn't yet…"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, averting his gaze.

"You didn't mean as much to me as you do now."

Ashe's eyes widened.

"T-The very idea of you getting hurt like that, Ashe…" he mumbled. "I don't know what I would do if-"

But she cut him off with a fierce hug.

"I hadn't realized," she whispered. "I hadn't realized, Tryndamere. I'm sorry. I've always had this fear that…that perhaps I was the only one still wholeheartedly in this arrangement. That perhaps you were no longer interested in what we had, and only saw me as the queen."

"That's a stupid fear to have," he muttered.

She smiled.

"I see that now."

Ashe leaned her head on his shoulder. Her silver tresses spilled over down the length of his arm.

"You don't have any cause for concern. I'm not going anywhere. And neither are you. When I said that we were in this for the long haul, I meant it."

"But our battles won't always take place on the Fields of Justice. Out in Freljord, we're still engaging in actual combat, fighting a real war."

"Yes, and we'll do so together. I have nothing to fear with my oh-so-devoted barbarian at my side," She grinned at him. "It's not like you'll let anything happen to me, right?"

He scoffed at the absurdity.

"As if you have to ask."

A pale hand smoothed the wrinkles lingering on Tryndamere's collar.

"Remember," Ashe warned, leveling a frosty glower at him. "You're to be on your best behavior. The potential of this compromise is very important."

"Right, right," he grumbled. "You don't have to keep reminding me every two seconds."

"I mean it," she said, tiptoeing so that she was nose to nose with him. "If you put one toe out of line, it could jeopardize whatever shaky foundation is keeping this half-baked alliance afloat. And these are Demacians. You carry yourself with anything less than the utmost decorum, and they'll eat us alive. So please, mind your manners."

"I told you," his tone was gruff with irritation. "I can handle it. Let's just get this over with."

As they entered the conference room, a fair-haired man at the head of a considerably large table greeted them and gestured for them to sit.

They settled down beside each other, opposite from the man. Flanking the two were numerous Demacian officials. Tryndamere scrunched up his nose in distaste. Their hosts positively reeked of nobility. It was stifling to him how loftily they looked upon their surroundings.

"Well," the man boomed, his voice seeming to cascade over the very tapestries unfurled across the walls. Tryndamere swore to himself that he saw one flutter the slightest bit.

"I welcome you, venerable Queen of Freljord, within our hallowed walls. Demacia extends only the most amicable of greetings. Rest assured that we hold you in the highest esteem."

"Likewise," Ashe replied. "We are honored by your acquiescence to our request."

"But of course," the diplomat inclined his head over his threaded fingers. "Who are we to turn away such a respectable nation when they are in need? Demacia holds justice above all else."

Tryndamere narrowed his eyes.

Where was your justice when Noxus was dispatching of us barbarians like vermin?

However, he held his tongue, as he knew he must.

"You are too generous. Then, you wouldn't mind if we cut to the chase, so to speak?"

Tryndamere could not help but admire how pristinely Ashe carried herself, how she was able to command respect from her posture alone. Here was a woman – his wife, if one could believe it – who was impervious, who could not be talked down or mentally dwindled. Unlike himself, she was able to meet these socially ironclad nobles at their own level, their own game, and twist her own triumph above theirs.

"Of course, of course," the man's smile widened. "Please, what brings your majesty here?"

Ashe calmly steepled her fingers.

"I want to discuss the matter of how far our alliance extends. As you are well aware, Lissandra's recent betrayal hit us hard. As the days drag on, our forces are spread more and more thin. It is a struggle maintaining military efficacy when we are being assaulted on multiple fronts by both Sejuani and our former ally. We were hoping,"

Ashe leveled an unflinching, cool gaze at the diplomat.

"That Demacia could perhaps lend us aid in this regard. Even supplying us with a meager portion of your troops would assuredly go a long way. And I can promise you that should we successfully stave them off, it is most certainly in your benefit to have Freljord, as you know it under our monarchy, in your debt."

The man drummed his gloved fingers on the polished oak of the table.

The smile –presumptuous, simpering, arrogant, insincere, Tryndamere noted, his aggravation bubbling – never left his face.

"Well, your majesty, you can have faith in the fact that we are very interested in building bridges. Our nation would dearly like to sustain and bolster relations with Freljord. More elaborate negotiations will have to be discussed, of course, but I think you'll be pleased with just how much we are willing to offer."

The relief on the queen's face was palpable.

"Freljord extends its deepest of gratitudes," she provided. "I'm sure we can come to an agreement that will avail us both."

"In fact, I am surprised," he chuckled. "That you have only approached us just now with your situation. It is a testament to your majesty's resourcefulness that you've managed to last this long with…well, with what help you've had so far."

Ashe's cordial smile froze with bewilderment.

"Pardon?"

"Well, if you'll forgive me for saying this," he crooned. "But your questionable taste in 'allies' up until now has admittedly worried us. Of course, we are very glad that you've come to your senses and have come to us at last for reinforcement."

"What are you implying?"

Her eyebrows were perched upon the precipice of dawning comprehension.

Tryndamere's fists clenched under the table.

Keep a lid on it. Maintain control. This is important. She's counting on you.

"Oh, no offense at all meant against you, of course!" he assured, as if appalled she could think such a thing. "We are, if anything, impressed that you have been able to do so much with merely barbarians at your beck and call. We certainly don't mean to lump you in with them; we have nothing but the utmost respect for the Avarosans."

Tryndamere saw red.

Yet even then, he preserved his composure. A stream of blood ran down his lip from where he bit it.

"Between you and me," the man went on, unaware of Tryndamere's mounting rage. "Of course we and Noxus meet eye to eye on nary a single thing, but even I admit that there wasn't much harm in letting them carry on with their little 'Pacification Campaign'."

It was at this point that Tryndamere noticed, even through the haze of anger clouding his vision, that the diplomat hadn't as so much as glanced at him or acknowledged his existence in the room since they sat down.

The roaring red; the glowing outrage had brimmed the gap that spanned his injury, healing the cut on his lip.

A snarl threatened to escape, but Tryndamere, with every fiber of his will, pushed it back.

"I mean," the man wrapped a strand of blond hair around his ring finger. Tryndamere, through his curtain of red, saw his smile warp, saw the grotesqueness lining his visage. "I admire your persistence in attempting to tame those savages, but we are relieved that you finally recognize a lost cause when you see one. Even Noxus knew: rabble is as rabble does, after al-"

Hands slammed onto the table with such force, cracks slithered from the point of impact. A chair clattered noisily to the ground, startling the insolent diplomat.

But it wasn't Tryndamere's.

"You expect me," Ashe's said quietly, cold fury etched harshly onto every contour of her face. "To sit idly by while you blatantly insult my husband and his people?"

Said husband looked on wide-eyed. He had never witnessed Ashe so furious. Such was his awe that his own indignation had completely slipped his mind, which was no small feat. Whereas his rage was an inferno, her fury was a blizzard, a tempest, a maelstrom.

And Tryndamere actually pitied the poor sap in front of them now. No longer did he don that atrocious excuse for a smile, no more was his steady posture. God forbid anyone else have to be the full blown victim of the frost archer's concentrated wrath.

"Now see here," he spluttered, licking his dry lips. "Do you realize what you are doing? Jeopardizing this alliance is not in your best intere-"

"Fuck the alliance," was Ashe's smooth retort. "I don't give two unadulterated shits about this pathetic excuse for an alliance. Whilst your pompous arrogant selves sat, complacent, surrounded by your wealth and your beloved prestige, my husband bore the burden of taking up the crown and providing us salvation in our time of need."

She swept back the wisps of silver covering her frozen gaze.

"I have never been happy with Demacia. For turning its back on Freljord, for outright shunning our barbarian brethren. But I was willing to brush aside my preconceptions. I was willing endure whatever hoops you would have me jump through, whatever strife you would put me through simply for your own amusement, because we need the aid."

By now, the officials in the room were numb with fear, their mouths frozen shut out of trepidation.

"But I WILL NOT tolerate your slander towards those who sacrificed so much to help us maintain statehood. If you take nothing else away in that blackened husk you call a brain, then know this: the barbarians are not just our allies, they are our comrades-in-arms. They are not just our citizens, they are our family!"

Never breaking eye contact, Ashe withdrew her hand from the splintered table.

"My king is a thousand times the man you or anyone in this room can ever hope to be. This meeting is over. Be happy I don't skewer you where you sit."

She abruptly grasped Tryndamere's hand and stormed out of the room, dragging him unceremoniously alongside her.

It was not until they were securely on their horses, well on their way back to Freljord, that Tryndamere decided to speak up.

"So who was it who reminded me just how important this was? How we had to be on our 'best behavior'?" he teased.

Ashe glared sideways at him.

"If you think," she said slowly. "that I was going to stand by and let them continue slinging mud at you for another moment longer-"

He laughed.

"Relax. How can you expect me to be anything but happy after that little tirade of yours? Lord only knows how badly I wanted to tear into 'im myself."

"Hmph," she pouted.

"But," he cautiously ventured. "what are we going to do now? There's no denying that we needed their help."

"I don't care," Ashe frowned. "I don't give a damn how much we require troops. They can talk down to me all they want, but nothing is worth taking what he said about you and your people lying down. I will never allow anyone to speak of you that way."

He blinked, genuinely taken aback by Ashe's vehemence on the matter.

"I suppose we'll just have to make do ourselves, like we always have," he chuckled.

"Yes," Ashe nodded stiffly. "We will."

Tryndamere grinned. He reached out across the gap between their mounts and grabbed her hand.

Startled, Ashe spluttered, "W-What are you doing?"

"Your palm," he answered. "It's injured, isn't it?"

Blushing at having been caught, Ashe gently dislodged his grip.

"It's nothing," she muttered. "It was worth breaking their stupid table."

"Regardless," Tryndamere sternly replied. "The moment we get back home, we're having a medic see to that. Can't go fighting a war with an infected stump of an arm, can we?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Yes, mother," came her sarcastic drawl.

At that, Tryndamere broke out into outright, unhindered laughter.

"What is it now?" She asked, exasperated.

"Nothing, just…" he smiled. "It's like we've underwent some strange role reversal today. Don't you agree?"

"I just think you're rubbing off on me," Ashe scoffed. "Which isn't necessarily a good thing, mind you."

"Depends who's asking, 'f you ask me."

"Well, I didn't."

"Touchy."

Ashe winced.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I guess I'm still a little heated from what happened."

"Whoa," he vigorously waved his arm through the air, as if attempting to dispel the very notion of what she said. "Don't apologize! Why're you apologizing for defending me? I think if anyone has the right to feel a little incensed, it's you."

"Actually," she raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't that be you?"

"Nah," he chuckled. "Why would I need to lose my temper when you're there to do it for me? Good deal scarier too, I'd say."

Ashe remained silent, seemingly pondering something at great length.

"Tryndamere," she finally offered. "You'd never abandon us, would you? Like the Demacians did."

He narrowed his eyes.

"Perish the thought," he growled. "No, seriously."

"Because…" she trailed off. "You're all we have. And we're all you have."

"Damn straight. Look into my eyes for a sec, would you?"

Confused, Ashe did so.

He fixed her with a searing, blistering gaze that spoke volumes.

"I. Will. Never. Leave you. Do you think even death itself can change that?"

Transfixed, staring into his torrent of flames, Ashe knew the ironclad truth.

"No," she smiled. "It can't."

Demacia could go and crumble for all she cared. All she ever needed was sitting on that horse next to her.

Author's Note:

So I realize I might be just a little unfair in my portrayal of Demacia. The way I rationalize it is that Demacia as a whole, even though it has its problems, isn't prone to that sort of behavior, and it's just that little rotten-to-the-core nameless diplomat (and perhaps those in the room with him) that Ashe and Tryndamere are unfortunate enough to have to deal with. You'll notice I refrained from using any big-name Demacia champions like Garen or Lux. I'm sure they're just nice and wonderful, don't you worry. And in regards to this story, I think I will decide to update it now and then when the whimsy strikes me. They're probably all going to be interconnected shorts that detail Ashe and Tryndamere's circumstances as rulers and as a couple. Who knows where it'll take me, who knows how often I'll update (but keep your fingers crossed, hm?), and who knows when I'll decide to end it. And who knows, I might even like to throw in an AU here or there to spice things up! In fact, that might even be coming up next. Here's hoping, hm?

I hope you enjoyed reading! Please, tell me your thoughts!