I do not own League of Legends.
Enjoy~! =D
The night is deep and silent.
He rises from his bed, restless, but careful not to wake the woman beside him.
Nothing romantic is between them, but they thought that sharing a bed between them would be good for show.
Their people are young and they are in need of rulers that are true.
With that in mind, neither of them had a qualm about the matter. It was something people like them would do.
He pulls the blanket over her shoulders. She looks restless.
Standing up, he walks over the window and closes it. It's colder than most nights of the Freljord.
He glances around the room and his eyes land on the fireplace, where the embers are weakly flickering.
He grabs the poker and starts prodding on the logs. He adds coal from the sack beside him and the fire starts to crackle and burn.
The room is considerably warmer and he is satisfied with it.
He hears a small moan and turns to her. She stirs a bit and goes still.
There is no reason for him to be worried at the least. Their tribe is in peace and those who threaten it have yet to make their move. The people are living well and it's one of the things their arranged marriage hoped to achieve.
The King moves away from the fire and resumes his place beside his wife.
He notes that when she sleeps she's as harmless as a fly.
She's on her side, facing him if he were on the bed. Her hair forms a thin curtain covering her face.
To him there's nothing more beautiful.
He could not tell her that and he cannot tell her that.
There are repercussions that he is not prepared to exterminate yet.
But once he is, by Avarosa, he will tell her.
For now, he will content himself with watching her slumber.
He climbs onto the bed as well and pulls the covers over him. He turns to her so they're face to face.
Gently, he pushes the hair out of her face and she stirs and stills.
Whatever worry he bore in his chest a while ago is gone. Perhaps it's because he loves her that her mere presence is enough to chase away his demons?
Perhaps it's because she opened her arms and her heart to him that he cannot help but have the compelling desire to protect the woman before him?
He does not know. And he does not care to know.
His eyelids start to flutter and the image of her sleeping right next to him becomes blurred.
Finally he is feeling the need and the overwhelming want to sleep.
Slowly he closes his eyes and allows the slumber to embrace him.
But then a loud clang snaps him out of his stupor.
He is upright within minutes and his wife follows suit.
He clenches and unclenches his fingers. The tingling left on his skin and the shiver running down his spine is telling him that an uninvited guest is within.
She gets his signal and grabs her weapons.
There had been infiltrations in their abode before and most of them happened in the middle of the night.
They are no strangers to assassins sent to end their lives by either the Winter's Claw or the Ice Witch or even foreigners. It is not easy to become the monarchial heads of a city-state after all.
He grabs his sword as she flattens her ear on the door. Her hands move quickly and precisely to fit the arrow into her bow.
The Barbarian King on the other hand, is warming up his muscles to the use of his large sword.
Slowly, she pushes the large wooden door open and peeks at both sides. Opening it large enough for exit, she steps out, the moonlight reflecting her steps on the carpeted floor.
He follows her in a less-graceful manner yet it's quiet enough to match her stealth.
She is poised to strike at whatever may come from her side and he is sure to finish what comes from his.
They wait motionlessly. There are no other inhabitants of their house. Servants leave after sunset as they believe that the King and the Queen of the Freljord have activities that do not require their ears.
After a few they decide to split up and look for the infiltrators. They agree to meet up inside their room once they are done.
The King heads to the left side while his Queen heads to the right.
And then he thinks that it would be problematic if it continues.
If, per se, they were to have children of their own then these things will happen more often.
And it will not be a growing environment for the children.
He imagines them, a girl and a boy, one with his hair and her eyes and the other with her hair and his eyes, or the other way around.
His childhood had not been much of a childhood, but if his Queen were to grace him with children of his own then he will fight whoever and whatever might wish to harm them.
And then he shakes his head.
Fantasies stay as fantasies, he reminds himself.
His Queen will not let him touch her in that way.
There is no love, he tells himself.
They are married out of political gain, he chants to himself.
She will not yield to him in that aspect, he admits to himself.
And he should not hope for too much, he berates himself.
It is enough that he found his way to her heart.
With a nod, the Barbarian King moves on.
His bare feet make no sound as they tread across the floor. Slow and calculated steps keep him hidden. The carpet disguises the sound of his sword being dragged along the ground.
He reaches the west wing of the house, where his wife made a library for herself. She is not really that keen into reading books, but she does read from time to time.
On the other hand, he never wanted to try.
To him it's all just symbols and drivel. They cannot be used in battle, so of what use are they to the likes of him?
He hears the flipping of pages and the dropping of books. He glances at the offender and pulls back in an instant.
This one's wearing a black robe; that much he can tell.
He hears strings of curses as the infiltrator moves from one shelf to another, tearing out pages and dropping books in the process.
The only books in her personal library are books containing the complete map of the Freljord, books regarding politics and economy, and a few novels regarding romance.
The King knows his wife's tastes. And he knows that she is not foolish enough to leave war stratagems in obvious places.
So he moves, quick and steady towards the offender. It is a good thing that the moon is in front of them and not behind them. The offender will not be able to see the King's shadow.
He lifts up his blade and when he is halfway through completely cutting the man in half, the latter moves away.
The shudder in the man's breath tells the barbarian that his prey is afraid.
And there is nothing to be afraid of unless you have a chance: a weapon.
Judging by his shallow and quick breaths, this man is not a fighter.
He is merely a coward.
The King grips his blade and prepares to decapitate the man.
The offender smirks and utters the name of his Queen before his head comes off clean.
Filled with sudden trepidation, he rushes off to the east side of the house. It is where the stairs leading to the first floor of their house is located.
He passes by their room and sees that she is not there. It can only mean that she's either still engaged in battle with the offender, or she's on her way back.
He can only hope that it's the latter.
The urge to take her in his arms and crush her small body into his deafens his ears and makes his senses go on alert.
Suddenly he can smell her.
Does that mean that she's close by?
Does that mean that she's safe?
Does that mean that his anxiety is merely him being paranoid?
He cannot help it, he reasons; he is in love with her.
He runs.
There is no one in the halls. And the stairs are eerily silent. Something prickles on his skin and he smells snow.
The backdoor is ajar and is being tossed to and fro by the winter wind.
Quickly, he steps off the stairs, taking two steps at a time and jumping past the last three steps.
As he approaches the door, he smells her again.
The extreme sensitivity of his senses is threatening to drive him crazy, but at least it can help him.
He hears a clang and another and another and then the rustling of snow. When he finally reaches the backdoor, he sees his Queen.
She is on the snow, facedown. Her bow is far from her reach and her arrows are splayed.
The man before her is wearing the same black robe.
But this one has a weapon.
This one has an axe.
He cannot determine from where the axe came from but he's sure that the blood coating the sharp end is his wife's.
And his heart starts to beat madly.
His eyebrows furrow together and he can feel the blood heating up his ears.
He can hear the rhythmic pumping of blood through his veins. And he cannot deny the anger bubbling from within the deepest reaches of his abdomen.
His Queen is hurt.
And the offender will pay.
With a loud battle cry, the King drags his blade towards the snow and charges at the robed man.
The man does not speak and instead uses his axe to defend himself. They have nearly equal speed due to the size of the weapons they wield.
But when it comes to strength, the rage of the King cannot be paralleled by this mere man.
This one smirks even as he is fallen on one knee. He futilely tries to keep his axe in his hands as the Barbarian King mercilessly pounds the axe's blade with his sword.
There is no forgiveness for the assault of his Queen.
And this man will be the first to be witness to that.
She lies on the snow, helpless as the previous attack with the axe injured her left arm to the point of bleeding. The cold helped numb the wound, but she could not feel her entire arm at the moment.
She managed to send out her hawk to one of their allies before she was injured. But then she became an easy prey to the man's fists.
Her cheek is stinging a bit, but thankfully it's not swelling that badly.
She turns to the King, who is continuing is fatal swings. And she hears him mutter the word, unforgivable.
She sees the rage and the hate and the loathing and the pure anger.
And she wonders why he is acting in such a way.
She sees his hand, angry with veins as he is gripping his sword too tightly.
And she watches as he, with one swift motion, pierces the man's torso, like meat run through with a prong.
The offender dies, with his axe in his hands and still raised upward, as if defending from the King's blows.
His rage ebbs off and he puts his blade down. From the corner of his eye, he sees his Queen, lying on the cold snow.
And he rushes to her like a madman.
He takes her in his arms and takes her left hand. She winces, the sudden contact made her quite surprised.
Above all, the warmth was too blatant to ignore.
His eyes are filled with worry and regret.
And she wonders why he is acting in such a way.
They sit there in silence until the cold makes her shiver. He offers to take her back inside, but she implores him to take her arrows and her bow.
And so he does. He gently places her down on the snow, like she's a porcelain doll. And it stirs something within her.
This man is her husband.
Perhaps she did not see him as such.
No. She did not want to see him as such.
He may not be princely, but she is sure, no prince will be able to protect her from such threats.
He may be a barbarian but he has not behaved himself as such.
He may be filled with rage, but she knows that it is not everything about him.
He… this man, who is picking up her arrows, is her husband.
And when she utters his name in her head, she feels it.
She feels the love emanating from her and soaring out to him, like an arrow in flight.
He goes back to her side and hands her weapons. He picks her up and his sword as well.
They walk up in silence to their bedroom.
The young Queen is new to such depth of emotion, but with this man holding her in his arms, she knows that there is nothing to be afraid of.
Once they're in their room, he places her on a chair and bandages her wounds. He washes off the blood and she studies him.
The coarseness of his face makes him fit to be a King; not a mere prince whose status can easily be erased once his existence reaches the same fate.
And she smiles.
He is no prince. He is a King.
He is her King.
When he sees her smile all of his worries vanish away.
And he allows himself a small smile as well.
Everything is fine because he loves her.
He stands up and she follows suit, determined to prove herself a worthy woman to such a strong man.
She doesn't know that she doesn't need to prove herself.
He has already accepted her.
They climb on their bed together and pull the covers over them. They're sleeping face to face with smiles on their faces.
The fire slowly crackles as they eyelids start to become heavier and heavier by the minute.
And she watches as her King falls into sleep.
She reaches out and kisses his forehead, his nose and finally his lips.
Then she falls back to the mattress and welcomes slumber as she watches her King's serene face.
He saved her from such foolish fantasies that are not for her.
He treasured her; though she was not aware, he made her the most important thing of his life.
He gave her a love, one that does not exist in the novels that she read, but one that exists in her heart.
And that's how she loved him.
So yeah this is the last chapter...
To be honest it took me longer than usual to find some inspiration for this... XD
And I think I ruined the magic of the angst in the first chapter... XD
And that's why I probably won't be continuing.
But thank you to my readers and the ones who reviewed. I really appreciated it... =D
So please do not hesitate to click the REVIEW button and feel free to convey your deepest darkest thoughts regarding the fic as it is greatly appreciated. =D
And I'll be working on my other fics and a GarenXKatarina fic (finally!). =D
See you in between the lines again!
chquine_harvinellisse
