Author's Note: Here it is, part 2 as promised! Enjoy.
Post-Insurgency, Year One
"Hey, so how'd it – HEAVENS ABOVE!"
Cupping hands to mouth, she stared in abject horror and shrank back as he drew nearer.
"Calm down. It's not as if I grew an arm. Quite the opposite," he laughed grimly, shouldering his way into the dingy room, taking care to distance himself.
Noticing, she sighed.
"Look, don't – I'm sorry, okay? It's just a shock, is all. I didn't think they'd have to…to…"
"Infection set in," he shrugged, but she wasn't fooled. "It was amputate or die, they told me. I wasn't afforded much choice. Then again, you would've had me out of your hair, eh?"
"Don't talk like that!"
Startled, he looked to her.
"Fell," she chewed her lip. "Was I really so awful as to make you think like that? I don't hate you. I don't, you understand?"
"It was just a joke, Uspart."
"You have poor taste."
He laughed, well and truly this time.
She glared, but had one more question.
"Did it hurt?"
"Are you stupid? Hell yes it hurt. God, I can still feel it being hacked off, down to this second."
Year 2
She gave him a withering glance.
"Okay, before you begin, let me just say in my defense – "
"Yeah? Let me hear it."
"…I have no defense."
"Our. Entire. Week's. Budget."
He shrank, still grasping for straws, still floundering like a man without oxygen in the wake of her ire.
"He was very convincing," he tried, somehow small in stature. "Very convincing."
"I'm sure he was."
She snatched the satchel from him, and he winced at the metallic patter. A few motes of silver spilled onto the sidewalk.
"From now on, I handle finances. Agreed?"
He did. Oh, he did.
Year 3
"They've reported back?"
He nodded, sitting down where she'd scooted to make space.
"My father's dead."
A tentative hand on his remaining shoulder, but she didn't have the words.
"Oh, Fell," she settled. "I'm…I don't know what to –"
"I don't either," he dumped his chin on his hand. "It still hasn't really hit, I guess."
"Tryndamere – " His first name, sweet against her throat, foul against the blanketing chill of loss and the heady throb of lilac on his nose.
Fingers, petite and calloused, feathered against his elbow.
"We're not taking this lying," she whispered. "We won't, you know that."
He looked her way.
He's heard children's rhymes of how vengeance consumes. Of how pitting rot against rot did no one any favors.
But he saw in her eyes passion, molten and golden and it seared him and it was a million serrated blades against his soul, and he was cleaved and parts of him scattered to the wind.
His hand clutched at his chest.
He thought back to the rhymes.
Meaningless platitude. Mere pittances of chatter.
He, and she, both knew that some things are not possible to leave undone.
Year 4
"You draw?!"
"Not well."
"Not well, my – Fell, these are amazing!"
"Well, thanks, I guess."
"I've known you for how long? And just now I find out you're an artist."
"I'm hardly – "
"Is this is of…me?"
"Where did you – give that back."
"Oh my God, you drew me. Well, Tryndamere, all you had to do was ask."
"Shut up."
"I didn't realize I was so beautiful as to – "
"Ashe."
"Yeeeees?"
"I will treat you to muffins and a flavor of shortcake – your choice – if you never mention this again."
"My lips are sealed."
"You can stop smirking, while you're at it."
Year 5
A body flew past, and he let it, twisting aside with practiced nonchalance.
"They're really playing hard ball now, Tryndamere," she said, chewing a fig quite absentmindedly.
Blood adorned the streets, gave the winter color, and he thought back to when they were first driven out.
He leaned against her, sighed, smeared red across his brow.
"Then so will we."
At the fore, the man with gestured with one arm, and their army rumbled.
Year 7
"So how does it feel? Back at the throne."
"'Throne'? That's a laugh and half. This is hardly a kingdom."
"Figure of speech, you dunce. Point is, we've done it."
"So we have. Wonder if our parents would be happy."
"Search me."
They paused, both staring listlessly at the flames crinkling cheerfully in the fireplace.
"Well," he shrugged - for the billionth time since they've met, and she rolled her eyes – and gestured to their surroundings. "If this is a 'kingdom' then I guess the Queen should be the one who has redecorating privilege. This cabin is pretty bare, but it's your call."
"Whoa, whoa, buster," she raised a brow, amused. "Since when am I the Queen? Your parents lived here, after all. My clan's long gone."
His glance dripped disdain.
"Ashe, do I really have to spell it out?"
She laughed.
And laughed and laughed. Her sides surely wouldn't survive.
"Why, Mr. Fell," she placed a dainty hand to her chest and her eyelashes flapped like butterflies and he nearly puked.
"Is this truly necess –"
"Are you, perchance, asking –"
"Please, lord have mercy," he groaned.
" – Little old me to marr –"
"Yes. For heaven's sake, of course I am. You witch."
Still caught up, she hugged him. His frame shook with her laughter.
"You're a dork."
"You'll never let me live this down, I suppose."
"What gave it away?"
And he knew, one way or another, she'd be the death of him.
Author's Note: And there it is! I hope no one's too disappointed by how short it was, but I wanted it like this; short, concise, just their interactions stripped bare and not much else. I realize a lot of it makes you feel like you're floating through space with how ambiguous I made the setting, but that's sort of how I wanted it to come across. Hope it worked out. There is a tiny tiny chance of this getting a continuation, but don't get your hopes up. Right now, this fic is considered finished.
Review? :)