A.N.: This one is a bit angsty. Azir has difficulty adapting to some of the changes that came with his ascension.


Sivir knocked and waited for the weary voice to call out.

"Who seeks me?"

"Make a guess. I brought you breakfast," she answered balancing a well-packed tray.

"Come in, but by all means, be quick to close the door."

One fine eyebrow rose in suspicion at the request, but she did as asked. It was not the most outlandish of things to ask, knowing the circumstances.

"You wouldn't believe how much bribery it took to let me take this from the kitchen," she said, locking the heavy door. "Apparently, only the Voidborn and Renekton were given a pass from eating in the canteen. No wonder. Imagine that slimeball Kog'Maw eating at a table. He'd sooner eat the tableware than to try and use it."

"I appreciate that you did this for me, Sivir," answered the occupant of the room and the Battle Mistress could see from his silhouette on the drapery separating the two halves of the small temporary quarters that he bowed his head slightly. "I'm reluctant to dine in the company of the other champions for the time being."

She left this without comment, mostly because it took a lot of concentration to navigate the cluttered space without knocking something down with the heavy tray. The summoners had assured them that after they finished the rejuvenating spells they planned to cast on the Rift, they'd get to work on the Champions' Quarters and Shurima would have a whole new wing to call their own. Until those plans were put into practice though, the new champions had to make do with small, bland rooms that made Sivir think of hastily emptied storages. The knickknacks lying around at least made the space look more like home.

She pushed past the heavy drapery and was about to make a barbed comment when she was rendered speechless by surprise.

Somewhere in the rational depths of her mind, she knew that Azir should be able to remove his golden armor. She just never expected to actually see him do it.

The Ascended Emperor of Shurima was sitting on his bed in nothing but a pair of breeches, which left most of his otherwise armored form uncovered. Lots of fine, light grey feathers, similarly pale limbs, a curved beak, big blue eyes and was that tuft of ruffled feathers a crest on his head? Sivir was no expert, but employing birds of prey was a fine tradition of Shuriman hunters and she learned to recognize and appreciate the form of a well-bred hawk or eagle.

"I must say, you are a mighty handsome pigeon," she teased, putting down the food on the table by the window.

"Please don't say that," he said, getting up and moving to sit at the table. Sivir still didn't get a hang of reading his face, but there was a tension in his voice that made her feel that she should have chosen her words better.

"Sorry, your Highness. I wanted to say a mighty handsome falcon."

Azir snapped his beak in irritation, but didn't dignify that with an answer.

Sivir decided to give him his space and wandered off to look around. Pieces of his armor were scattered around the bed and she noticed a bottle of cleaning solution and a rag there; he must have been busy with maintenance when she arrived. Sivir picked up the headpiece, surprised at the weight. She didn't imagine that it was genuinely solid gold, but there was no mistaking it. Weighting up the piece in her hand she made a quick calculation how much the whole set would weight.

Of all the metals to use for armor, gold was the worst choice, hands down. For one thing, without magical reinforcement it was very malleable and easily deformed in battle; it was true enough that once you got a spell to stick to it, gold held onto the enchantment like there was no tomorrow, but still. What really made it unsuitable was the density; gold was some awfully heavy stuff. It was heavier than lead for crying out loud, more than twice as heavy as plain old steel was.

For all the warriors' fondness of armor that screamed "made from solid steel", Sivir knew for a fact that most of those ridiculously big pieces were hollow, or creatively padded and formed platemail. Why bother with overweight slabs, when a protective enchantment would serve the same purpose?

The realization that the fragile looking Azir ran around in weightier gear than that big brute Darius made Sivir appreciate the caster a bit more.

She almost dropped the helmet at the noise of breaking glass. She spun around and found Azir staring at the remnants of the broken glass, tension clear in every inch of his frame.

"Everything all right?" she asked, slightly alarmed by the sight. Emperors were proud bastards and one of the things he took pride in was his control, over emotions and magic both. To see him tense – no, clearly upset, she noted when she noticed his hands, shaking even balled into fists – was an alarming event in itself.

"No. You were right." His voice was flat and the shaking intensified. "I am a pigeon, a useless birdbrain who doesn't even know how to drink a glass of water or enjoy a meal anymore."

Sivir stared at him and, maybe for the first time, actually looked. His beak moved as he spoke, but he had admitted that it was mostly out of habit; ascension was complicated magic that went over Sivir's head, but it still couldn't make a bird's unyielding beak to form words and his voice just… sounded when he felt like speaking.

Among other things, a beak was also entirely unsuitable for mundane, everyday tasks like chewing. The realization lead to a train of thoughts that Sivir didn't want to follow through, but it gave her a fairly solid idea why he was so reluctant to eat or drink in company.

Or feel uneasy when she teased him about being a bird. That particular detail should have made her catch onto the problem a lot faster.

"You've gone though quite a big change and nobody expects you to adapt to it right away," she said, picking up the shards of broken glass from the floor. "Every now and then even emperors are allowed to take things one step at a time." Azir seemed to get a hold of himself while she finished with the shards, but he still looked pretty shaken.

"Would it make you feel better if I left?"

"No," he said quickly. "Please stay. I have little taste for the food, but it would be a shame to waste it."

"Well, I missed my breakfast because of this errand, so I will take great pleasure in eating yours," she joked, but behind the light tone, she was on the lookout for any other worrying sign, but the dark mood seems to have passed for the time being.

So she grabbed a chair and chitchatted the morning away, sharing rumors as they came to her mind while Azir sipped his morning coffee through a silly, bright orange curvy straw that must have remained from the LCS opening party a few days before.

Sivir made a mental note to check her sources on the rumor that Jericho Swain occasionally got stuck in his other form when he overexerted himself. Who knows, maybe if she cashes in a few favors, she could persuade the old crow to give a few tips to make Azir's life a bit easier.


A.N.: I keep thinking about these two. Azir has a lot of new things he has to cope with after being dead for a long time and Sivir is his only connection to the now. As for Sivir, Azir is her ticket to becoming a royalty, which is enough starting reason to put up with the man, no matter how infuriating he can be at times. More to come.

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