The feast was remarkable, if not by taste then by company. Darius could see why they worked so well together; the Winter's Claw would roughhouse over the smallest things and then begin laughing when they were done. There was a variety of meats- some of which was used as a blunt weapon before consumption- and vegetation that he'd never seen before. He figured it was simply part of the tundra.

He had been invited to sit next to the woman who had translated for him, who sat to the left of Sejuani. When he had asked if politics were to be brought to meals, he simply received a shake of the head in return; he'd accepted it as simply part of the customs. Draven, in his normal fashion, fit right in with his tales of glory in the arenas; he had half the table on the edge of their seats with his signing and over exuberance.

He wondered how many of them understood him.

Liliana had elected to stay out of the feasting, instead taking her food outside and eating there; he assumed the translator's quip about cowardice was digging under her skin. She was always thin-skinned about such things.

"Are you a General?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts when the translator spoke, gaining his attention and making him turn his head. He blinked, taking a moment to comprehend what she had said and take in the features of her face now that they were closer to each other; the blue of her eyes was rather unnerving, and he could swear on his axe there were flecks of gold or red in them. He supposed it was simply how she was.

"I am. We are a small warband, expendable at the moment, but I am their General."

"You are young for such a position."

"You don't seem to be old."

She snorted into her drink, having to set it down and wipe her face before casting him another look. "I will take that as a compliment."

Her eyes looked to his brother, and he followed her gaze; Draven was now on the table, striking his signature pose to the glee of the warriors around him. He couldn't help the grin that crossed his face when the marksman unceremoniously toppled from his perch and crashed into his own chair headfirst.

"Is he quite alright?"

"He has the ego of a dragon in the heart of a man."

"... Dragon?"

He turned his head, furrowing his brows. "You have never heard of a dragon?"

"Dragons are not in the myths of the Freljord. Rams, bears, trolls…"

"Trolls?"

"Perhaps one day I will explain them."

There was a tone in her voice Darius almost couldn't identify. It was between amusement and understanding, a tone that wasn't uncommon in Noxus; she was hiding something.

"What is your name?"

"What is yours?"

"I won't ask twice, Freljordian."

"You should have asked earlier." She brought her drink to her lips, eyes closing as she drank. "My name is Carryn Flameborn. I am a blacksmith, currently employed by the Winter's Claw. Your turn."

"... General Darius Vald of the Noxian Empire."

"My chief is Sejuani Icefang-"

She halted in her sentence when the younger leader reached over and tugged on her arm, saying something that earned a full-fledged laugh from Carryn.

"And she challenges you to a drinking competition!"

Darius blinked, even as Carryn repeated the challenge louder for the entire tent to hear; Noxians and Freljordians alike cheered and chanted. Draven himself stuck his tongue out at Darius, calling out something that was barely discernible among the noise, yet Darius felt like he knew it was a 'don't lose' remark.

As such, he flashed Draven an inappropriate gesture before lifting his hand in agreement.

It only got louder.

The first drink was easy. As was the second, fourth, sixth… and then it began to hit him. She was smaller than he was, but she could handle her liquor just as well- or at least, visibly she did. His vision was blurry. He knew he shouldn't stand up.

He wasn't entirely sure which drink gave him the impulse to do otherwise, nor when he began singing the stupid bar song, or when he'd fallen back in his chair. He wasn't sure when she fell onto the table, either, but he could see that she had. Sejuani was redder than he was, he thought, but he couldn't see himself. Carryn was laughing too hard to drink anything herself, and Draven was bellowing about how his brother was obviously the winner. It was about the time he'd gone to sit down he realized that he'd made a wonderfully foolish mistake, and this was going to hurt like a horse kick to his head when he woke.

He didn't know when he blacked out, but some part of him knew he would never live this down.


I got a very small complaint about the length of my chapters and I'm sorry? I'll work on it as best I can. This is really for fun.

Also; last names in the Freljord are half earned, half clan. It depends on which clan you're from, however.
For example; Carryn's clan is Flame-. Meaning her mother was xxxx Flamesong / Flameblade. Sejuani's mother was likely Steelfang / Stormfang or Iceclaw / Icegaze. It's a maternal transference.