A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a while! Here's the next chapter. I'd like to take a moment to thank everyone who reviewed the last addition to the story before we get into it, particularly everyone who's been following for a while now. I love hearing from everyone and it really makes me a better writer. ALSO... I did end up writing that lemon. It's not in this story, but if you go to my profile you can find it in a separate "deleted scenes" file. It goes between this chapter and the previous one. By no means do you have to read it to get the story. I just thought it was a nice touch.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It's a long one, so hang in there! And don't forget to review!
~R3d
Ashe awoke the next morning surprisingly well rested. She kept her eyes closed, but could feel Weylan breathing behind her. She lay enveloped in his arms, surrounded by an intoxicating warmth. The flannel of his pajama pants tickled the crook of her knees as he shifted in the bed. Rolling over, she peeked at him through snowy lashes.
"Good morning, Love," he smiled, bringing a hand to her face to smooth down a flyaway lock of hair.
"Morning," she grinned back, feeling ridiculously happy and slightly awkward at the same time. The sky-blue of her nightgown poked innocently enough over a pillow behind Weylan's head, making her blush fiercely. Knowing what she must've spotted, he just laughed, his eyes filled to the brim with affection and a slight hint of mischief.
"What's the matter? Is Her Highness embarrassed by her own flesh?" he touched his nose to hers and ran his hand playfully down her side under the comforter. "Because let me be the first to say, there's nothing to be embarrassed about."
"That's not entirely it," she sighed, avoiding his eyes. "I'm just a little shocked by my lack of self-control, I suppose."
"Ashe, look at me," he waited. Her icy blue eyes slowly rose to meet his smoldering amber ones. The jest had completely faded from the depths of his golden gaze, replaced entirely with warmth and comfort she wouldn't have been able to imagine was possible. "You're human, Ashe. Just like the rest of us. We want things that we don't need, we need things that we think we don't… Sometimes we want things that other people tell us are bad for us. But honestly, who are they to decide that? You, for the first time in your life, let your heart tell your head what to do, and I think that makes you wonderfully and perfectly human. What's so wrong about that?"
"A queen is supposed to be more than human," she mumbled. Does she really believe that? Weylan hoped not.
"You sound like my grandfather," he scowled.
"You grandfather has it in for me, Weylan. I don't know what I ever did to him, but he's been making ruling Avarosa more difficult that it needs to be. So, to please him just for a while, maybe it's a good thing I sound like him. He could turn that whole council against me. Then what? No need to assassinate a dethroned queen, at least… But everything I've worked for… They'd destroy it."
It was Weylan's turn to look away. As he searched for something to say, a heavy hand fell twice on Ashe's door. They both nearly jumped out of bed at the sudden thud.
"Who is it?" Ashe called, reaching instantly for her nightgown behind Weylan's head.
"Tryndamere," came the response. Ashe relaxed a little. Tryndamere wouldn't care one bit about Weylan being there.
"And Alvar," a second voice added. Shit. Ashe fought to subdue the panic rising in her chest. He's sure to care a LOT that Weylan is here.
"Give me a moment!" Her wild eyes collided with Weylan's surprisingly calm ones. He motioned for her to slow down, grabbed his shirt, and tiptoed to the bathroom while she tied her robe and walked to the door.
"Are you feeling alright, Your Highness?" Alvar asked, pushing past her into her room. "You're terribly pale and I swear I heard you talking to yourself."
"With all due respect, Alvar, I'm always terribly pale." Tyndamere shuffled into the room behind the silver-haired old man, eyes downcast and a frown etched into his face. But what startled Ashe the most was how quiet he was.
"I suppose you have a point there, my Queen. Rough night?" Alvar nodded suspiciously at the disheveled bed; linens untucked and pillows strewn around the floor. She could feel the blood rushing to her face.
"Nightmare," she shrugged, looking to Tryndamere. He'd sat down silently on the chest at the foot of Ashe's bed. "Did you have a reason for waking me, or is this just a courtesy call?"
"You see, I had an idea early this morning while I was talking to one of the Barbarian council members on our way to start the preparations for the burial. I showed him around the town a bit. He was quite impressed with how self-sufficient and prepared we were, and made a few comments that led me to believe that the Barbarians as a people would maybe be interested in staying here in Avarosa with us, as in, permanently." Alvar stroked his chin and looked down at Tryndamere. "On my way to come see you, I ran into Tryndamere in the courtyard, so I decided to ask him what he thought. He insisted upon speaking directly to you, so I brought him with me. What do you think, your Highness, of an alliance between the Avarosan and the Barbarians?"
Skepticism jabbed at Ashe's clarity as she took in Alvar's story. He wants to form an alliance all of a sudden?
"So, what you're saying is that you've decided to try out the unity campaign and flip your political position completely around in a new direction?" Ashe raised an eyebrow at him. He chuckled.
"I know you must have a hard time believing me when I say, yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. But it's funny, your Highness, because," he paused to clear his throat, "it would seem, from the reaction I received from Tryndamere when I brought it up, that the two of you have already discussed something similar without the approval of both councils." He looked again down at the Barbarian King, who rolled his eyes.
"Even if I didn't have their approval, I don't need my council to tell me what I am and am not allowed to do. That's why I'm the king. My people trust me to do what's best for them," Tryndamere growled.
"Whether or not you need it is of no concern of mine, Your Majesty. But, you see, Queen Ashe has yet to earn the full trust of her council since the incident five years ago in which the Avarosan were denied their right to revenge against an invading tribe. There are those who may have decided to agree that it was for the best that way, but there are also those who would like to impeach her for it. That's why, five years ago, Queen Ashe agreed to a compromise with the council that until we deemed her fit to fully rule the tribe, she would need to get her plans approved by us before she made any decisions to act on them; an agreement, I might add, that you have been blatantly undercutting for the last few months." He turned back to Ashe, red-faced. Tryndamere's disbelieving expression sunk the dagger deeper into Ashe's chest.
"The decisions I've made have been making Avarosa a safer place to live," Ashe defended, her voice threateningly low. "And I hadn't brought the idea for a treaty with the Barbarians to the council just yet because Tryndamere and I literally just had that conversation forty-eight hours ago. I was at the Institute, and thought that the topic was a bit too confidential to send a letter."
"I see," Alvar rubbed his eyes with one hand, tiredly. "Well, if you could find the energy to get out of bed at some point today, I've gathered both councils in the dining room." The old man paced stiffly to the door. Before he left he turned to look over his shoulder. "If you see my grandson, tell him I'd like to speak with him."
Tryndamere made no move to leave, so Ashe waited a few seconds before sighing and closing the door.
"You're becoming a much better liar," he noted, not looking up. "Your face gives you away though."
"I don't know what you're talking about," she frowned.
"That bit about when and where you and I talked was pretty good, but the part about the nightmare you had didn't ring with an ounce of truth. And the mortified look on your face at that last comment the old man just made tells me everything I need to know." He chuckled slightly before looking around and scratching his beard. "So where is he? The bathroom?"
The heat emanating from Ashe's face must've warmed the air in the room a few degrees. Weylan slowly opened the door and came to stand next to Ashe.
"I had a feeling something was going on between you two," Tryndamere said finally. "I could tell. It was written all over the captain's face when he saw you and me riding up to meet them in the forest yesterday. He didn't like you sitting in my lap very much."
All Ashe and Weylan could do was stare at him. What was there to say?
"Don't worry," the Barbarian laughed, "I'll keep your little secret. Honestly, I'm rooting for you."
Ashe's jaw dropped impossibly at him. Did she hear him correctly?
"Don't look so surprised, Princess. I'm a Barbarian, not an ice witch. I know all about emotions, particularly the kind that spiral out of control. Anger and rage may be the ones everyone sees, but love is on the list too. They feed into each other, really." His voice trailed and he covered his face in his hands. Ashe and Weylan exchanged a look before Ashe spoke.
"Are you alright, Tryndmere?"
"No, but what's it to you?" he grumbled. His disposition had completely changed in such a short amount of time.
"Tryndamere, you can't expect me to believe that that's how you feel." She sat down next to him on the chest and touched his shoulder. She felt his muscles relax under her fingers.
"King Tryndamere," Weylan started, kneeling down next to Ashe, "I don't know you well, but I saw what you went through yesterday. I felt what you went through just by watching it, and I know that what I felt probably isn't even a fraction of what was going on inside you. You can't just hold it in like this."
The dark-haired man just laughed into his hands.
"Trust me when I say," he looked up at their faces with a dark expression, "no one wants me to let this out. Not if they want me to keep my sanity. There's no telling what I'd do."
"Maybe not all at once, then," Ashe suggested. "Weylan and I are here for you, if you decide you need someone to talk to." Weylan nodded.
"This is the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had," Tryndamere said, shaking his head. Talking just makes it hurt more. "We'd better get downstairs, but I'd suggest putting clothes on first. Time to go write a treaty."
And with that, the giant man stood and walked out of Ashe's room, leaving them watching after him, dumbfounded.
"He's so…"
"Bipolar?" Ashe finished.
"I was going to say broken," Weylan corrected. "Maybe we can help him."
"If we're to ally with him, it'd be in our best interest," Ashe agreed. "But even if we weren't, I think it'd still be worth the effort."
Weylan smiled at her. Ashe's compassion was one of his favorite things about her. He hugged her and placed a kiss on her forehead before leaving the room to change into his armor. Ashe hurriedly showered and changed as well. Today is bound to be interesting.
"How nice of you to join us, Your Highness," Leoné scoffed as Ashe hurriedly slipped into the room, hair still damp, and took a seat next to Tryndamere, who appeared to be in no better spirits than when he'd left her room twenty minutes before.
"I'm sorry for making everyone wait," Ashe huffed, trying to hide her agitation, "I was only made aware of this meeting less than half an hour ago." She looked up at Weylan who sat across the table from her. "Oh, Captain, your grandfather was looking for you this morning. Did you find him, Alvar?" She looked down the table at the old man.
"No, my Queen, I caught him in the hall on his way to duty at the gate. I sent a different guard, if you don't mind," he placed his chin on his fist and pointedly narrowed his eyes at Ashe. "I wanted to get his opinion on all of this since it might cause a logistical nightmare for him."
"I don't mind Captain Weylan's presence at all," Ashe replied. "However, the assignments of my personal Royal Guard are one thing I can and do manage on my own. Next time, let me handle it." Her words cut through the air like arrows, but Alvar didn't stand down.
"Certainly," he grumbled. Weylan shot an angry glance down the table, but it went mostly unnoticed, that is by all but Tryndamere, who closed his eyes and chuckled.
"Now that we're all settled and happy to see each other," the Barbarian King began, "why don't we start doing something productive." With that he rolled a scroll out in front of him and the Frost Archer that had a few lines scribbled onto the top.
"Be it known that as of this _ day of _, 20 CLE that the Freljordian tribes of the Avarosan and the nomadic Barbarians under the rule of Princess Ashe and King Tryndamere are to unite as one entity to be governed as a single nation in Freljord. The following terms of this arrangement are to be upheld by both parties at all times to maintain this alliance:"
"That's as far as I got," Tryndamere shrugged. "I figured we should hash out all of the specifics together." He was talking mainly to Ashe, but the whole room began pondering the demands they wanted to make of each other. Ashe could feel the air in the room stiffen. A barbarian elder spoke first.
"The benefits of citizenship in Avarosa should be extended to the Barbarians," he nodded. Tryndamere handed Ashe the ink pen and she scribbled the statement across the parchment, allowing herself a daring glance at Alvar, but he seemed perfectly at ease with that stipulation.
"Neither group should be able to declare war independent of the other," Weylan suggested. Tryndamere nodded and Ashe wrote.
"What about participation in the military?" someone asked.
"And integrating them into the market?"
"And merging currency and valuables into something unified?"
The questions dragged on with little progress after that. It turned out there were a lot of things to be discussed before this whole mess could be completely sorted and written out. Ahnja interrupted them at lunch time, at which point they agreed to take a break. Ashe went for a walk in the courtyard while Weylan left to relieve a guard at the gate. Tryndamere stood to stretch his legs, but stayed in the dining room with Alvar and Garth, the one-eyed, scar-faced Barbarian elder. The two of them chatted delightfully with each other about the differences between Avarosan and Barbarian customs. Becoming rapidly disinterested in Alvar explaining how the rule of Avarosa was passed down genetically unless the leader was challenged and dethroned or killed in battle with no heir, Tryndamere decided to join Ashe in the courtyard. But when he went to search for her, she was nowhere to be found.
"She must've gone back inside," he mumbled to himself. He didn't feel like going back into that stuffy castle until he absolutely had to, so he picked one of the four pine trees that freckled the icy yard of the castle and sunk to sit at the base of the trunk. He had just begun to relax when something hit him on the top of his head with enough force for him to know it had not just fallen from the tree un-assisted. He shook the snow from his hair and looked up to find the Frost Archer perched comfortably on a branch near the middle of the tree.
"You're really not that observant," she laughed, carefully sliding off of her branch to the one below it.
"I knew I should've put my helmet back on," he grumbled again.
"I'm really sorry; I just thought I'd try to make you feel better." She swung down and landed next to him by the tree trunk.
"So you threw a snowball at me?" He raised a brow and looked at her with tired, sorrow-filled eyes. He managed a half-smile as he shook his head and went back to appreciating the strangely permanent structures in Avarosa.
"I suppose I didn't think that one entirely through," she apologized. She peeked over at him through the veil of her hair. He looked more tired even than he had before.
"These negotiations are going to take a long time," he sighed.
"Particularly with Alvar heading them on the Avarosan side. He'll want to make sure everything is explicitly written out in the treaty." Ashe leaned back against the trunk of the conifer and closed her eyes.
"I don't blame him," Tryndamere shrugged. "It's important enough."
"I suppose." They sat in silence for a time until Tryndamere shifted so that he sat more on the tree roots and less in the snow.
"Her name was Lorelai," he almost whispered. Ashe opened her eyes and looked at him incredulously. "She was a year older than me. I knew I was in love with her the moment I met her. Her hair was black as ink, her eyes chocolate brown; like a fresh cup of cocoa. And her voice could tame wild boar with one song. I was seventeen, and she was the daughter of the tribe's best mage. She could heal a limb right back onto a body. She would've made a great summoner." He looked down at his palms. "I asked for her hand after being with her for a month. Her father said no, initially, but after a second month of her bringing it up and begging, he agreed." The King's features relaxed as he looked up into some faraway realm that only he could see. He placed a hand to his chest and grasped the turquoise pendant that dangled from a necklace Ashe had never taken much notice of. "I didn't have any way to get a ring, so until we made it to the trading post at Rakelstake, which was little more than that back then, I gave her my mother's necklace. But we never made it to Rakelstake." His fist tightened around the more than precious gem at his sternum and grimaced as if he were in pain. Ashe reached out and placed a cautious hand on his forearm. After a few seconds, he relaxed and opened his eyes.
"It's just so strange," he mumbled to himself.
"What's strange?" Ashe asked, leaning forward to try to get a better look at his face.
"It's nothing," he shrugged, turning his head away from her. He still held tightly to the necklace in his hand. The clearing of someone's throat interrupted them.
"I think it's time we resume negotiations," Alvar announced as he approached, looking skeptically at the hand Ashe had placed on Tryndamere's arm. "Unless, that is, you're too busy at the moment."
"We'll be right there," Ashe promised him, withdrawing her hand. He always seemed to happen upon circumstances that could be misinterpreted, it seemed.
"Don't keep us waiting."
All through the summer, the elders met once a week to make demands to be included in the treaty. Ashe and Tryndamere attended when they could, but were honestly busy with the construction of new dwellings for the Barbarians. While the city worked from sun-up to sundown to build the houses, the town's metalworkers and blacksmiths worked to build up armor and weapons that would fit the generally larger soldiers in the barbarian ranks. With the addition of a second and third greenhouse, plus the duties each of the monarchs had to attend to at the Institute of War, neither of them got much time to do anything except work.
A chilly night at the end of July saw Ashe lying curled-up, half asleep, tucked safely under Weylan's arm in her bed. A fire popped and hissed rhythmically from the fireplace, and Weylan hummed a familiar tune he'd been practicing on his low whistle in his spare time.
"I talked to Tryndamere a little more about Lorelai today," he interrupted himself, rolling over to completely wrap his arms around her. She opened one eye and looked back at him.
"Oh? What did he say?" She allowed her eyelid to droop back over her sleep-deprived eye, but listened attentively to the peppermint-scented man.
"After she was killed in the last battle of his tribe, he went on a rampage, fighting every warrior and tribe leader he came across… and winning. A few months later he found Lorelai's mother. She'd been with a different tribe when Tryndamere's was attacked. She felt so guilty about being alive she hadn't been able to return to where they were slaughtered. She thought Tryndamere was dead too. She became the only constant in his life, so he clung to her."
Ashe frowned. Tryndamere's inability to cope with the loss of his would-be mother-in-law had a dangerously variable impact on his personality. Sometimes he was happy. Sometimes he was inconsolably angry. Most of the time he would sit quietly, distant and unable to properly express a coherent thought. All he could do was nod and grunt either in agreement or disapproval. Since his single random outburst under the conifer in the courtyard nearly four months ago, he hadn't said a word regarding Lorelai, her mother, or his past.
"Do you think he'll ever be normal again?" Weylan wondered aloud. Ashe stretched out, placed her hand on Weylan's chest, and looked sleepily up at him.
"Normal? Yes. I should hope so. He already acts normal, sometimes," Ashe pointed out. "It's whether or not he'll ever be happy that worries me. A person can function on dysfunction for a lifetime, but what's the point of barely living just for the sake of living? I worry that if he can't find something to hold onto, he'll be doomed to walk Valoran crazed and sullen for the rest of his life. As co-ruler of Avarosa, and as his friend, I'd like to see him happy for once."
Weylan nodded, bringing his hands to her face and leaning forward to kiss her forehead. At that moment, they heard heavy footsteps down the hallway. No doubt it was Tryndamere. No one else in the castle walked so loudly. They heard him pause at the door before he tapped uncertainly on the wood.
"Tryndamere?" Ashe called from the bed, sitting up. She wore one of Weylan's undershirts and a pair of her own pajama pants. The Barbarian King peeked shamefully through the door.
"I'm sorry to wake you," he started.
"No, no we weren't asleep," Weylan corrected him.
"You can sit in here with us if you want," Ashe offered.
Tryndamere shut the door carefully behind himself. His raven black hair hung unrestrained down his back and he wore a light blue tank top and dark blue flannel pants. Ashe had to admit it was strange to see him wearing a shirt. It was obvious he'd been trying to sleep. It was even more obvious that he hadn't been successful in the slightest at getting any rest, possibly for a few months. He turned Ashe's desk chair around to face them.
"I can't sleep," he admitted finally.
"You look exhausted, Your Highness," Weylan offered. "Are you alright?"
"Everytime I close my eyes, it's a warzone. The shadowy figure from the massacre so long ago, snowy creeks littered with bodies… Sometimes I even have dreams that Lorelai's being tortured to death as a prisoner of war of some tribe dispute that I can't even place. She's everywhere, and she's killing me. I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time in three weeks. At first all I could do was sleep, but now I can't close my eyes without seeing her, and it's getting worse. Am I going insane?"
He propped his arms up on his knees and hid his face in his palms. Ashe flipped her legs over the edge of the bed and craned her neck down to try to look at him through his arms. She reached out and slid her cool fingers between his forehead and his palm and took his hand in her lap. He refused to meet her gaze.
"Maybe it would help to talk about it; the dreams I mean," she offered. "Maybe it'll get them out of your system."
Weylan crawled over to the side of the bed and sat cross-legged next to Ashe, concern flooding his features. Tryndamere shook his head, but surprised both of them when he began to speak.
"This dark figure's been haunting me ever since that day," he murmured. "It was he that led the army that destroyed my tribe. He was fast. Faster than any fighter I've ever seen. And his eyes glowed red against his night black form. But his sword… The blade seemed to be alive, growling and devouring everyone it cut down. I don't know who he is, but he will pay for what he did…" His voice trailed off.
"Have you ever told anyone this story?" Weylan asked after a few moments.
"No," Tryndamere admitted. "The only others who know are the High Councilors and Senior Summoners who did my Judgement at the Institute. I didn't even tell Lorelai's mother."
Ashe stroked his hand to urge him to continue. This is progress, she thought. Surely this is progress.
"He tossed us around like garbage in the snow. He didn't really even need the army. He could've taken us out all on his own. When I ran up to hit him from behind, he turned at the very last minute and sliced me open with that creature-like blade and I was sure I was a goner. Lorelai saw me go down and tried to run across the battlefield to heal me. It gets blurry, but I watched him... I watched him… he…" Tryndamere's body began shaking. What Ashe first mistook for anger she suddenly realized was overwhelming sadness and terror. Tears streamed out of the King's uncovered eye and his hand squeezed carefully around Ashe's, though the control he had over the strength of his grip was waning as his hand clenched harder down on her wrists. Weylan started to reach for his hand, but a warning glance from Ashe kept him still. She moved the tips of her fingers in a soothing pattern to remind the Barbarian that her hands were still in his fist before speaking softly.
"Tryndamere, it's alright. It's okay to be sad about it. It's okay to feel weak and afraid. It's okay to cry. You're safe here." She was able to free her right hand and wipe the salty streak from his face. His grip on her other hand suddenly released and he inhaled sharply, sat up in the chair and squeezed his eyes closed to try to shut out the memories flooding back to him. His fists closed around the loose flannel of his pants. Eyes still twisted shut, he swallowed before finally saying, "he swung around and sliced her open from her right hip to her left shoulder. The light in her eyes died before she even hit the ground… and any inkling of happiness that lived within me died with her."
He couldn't hold it in anymore. He'd been holding it in for seven years. He doubled over and sobbed into his hands, his hair falling around his shoulders. Ashe and Weylan looked at each other, tears welling in both of their eyes. They waited silently for him to regain control of his breathing before Ashe slid off the bed to her knees in front of him and stroked his head.
"Tryndamere?" she whispered. He forced himself to look up weakly at her. He somewhat expected to find cold, judging eyes glowering down at him, but instead found caring, comforting, consoling orbs of cerulean draining the pain right out of him. She has the ability to calm blizzards, he thought incredulously.
"A lot of us in Freljord have suffered inexplicable loss. And coping is hard enough without bottling up the emotions and heartache. Please, Trynd," she pushed his hair back from his face like she remembered her own father doing so many times when she was little and sad. "Don't try to face this alone. You've got friends. Lots of them. Me, Weylan, Bryndle, Anivia… All of us are here for you. Things around here are bound to get worse before they get better, and we're all in this together. The weight of the world is a lot easier to carry with a little help."
Weylan smiled and clasped a hand to the Barbarian's shoulder.
"There's no need to brave it alone anymore, sir, though I must admit, you make an admirable job of it. There's no weakness in relying on others; in politics and in personal matters. We need each other sometimes."
Tryndamere let the tension in his shoulders release their hold on the anger and bitterness in his heart and closed his eyes, clutching the pendant at his chest.
"She'll always be with you, Tryndamere," Ashe murmured.
He laughed half-heartedly and hugged the charm tighter to him still. She's part of me, he mused. She's with me all the time; everywhere I go, in everyone I meet. She's there.
Opening his eyes, the king scratched the back of his head and smirked sheepishly.
"I'm terribly sorry to have kept you both up so late. We've got a meeting bright and early in the morning about the treaty. Alvar would be skeptical if two out of the three of us were tired, but the whole trio? He's sure to think up some crazy reason for that, huh?" Tryndamere gave a meaningful glance to Weylan, who chuckled and shook his head, blonde bangs falling down into his eyes.
"That one would make headlines," Weylan laughed. "I can see it now on the front page of the August issue of the Journal of Justice. 'Freljord in Uproar After Princess Experiments with Multiple Lovers.'"
"They'd call her the Frel-whore," Tryndamere chuckled. Ashe was not amused.
"Alright, assholes, I'm still sitting right here. Keep it up, you, and you'll sleep in your own bed tonight." She elbowed Weylan in the ribs.
"I'm only kidding, Darling," he smiled, rubbing the spot where she jabbed him.
"And you," she chided, wheeling on the Barbarian, "go get some sleep. Some good sleep. I mean it."
He nodded and rose to walk to the door. He looked over his shoulder before opening it and sighed, relieved from their talk and saddened at a sudden thought.
"Take care of each other," he said desperately. "You never know how much time you have. And thank you both."
The two of them nodded to him and he left the room, walking much more quietly down the hall that when he'd come.
The messenger from Rakelstake arrived before the sun had risen above the Iron Spike Mountains. Ashe and Tryndamere sat in the dining room looking over what seemed like the millionth revision of the treaty when Weylan led the teenage boy through the double doors.
"Your Majesties, word from Rakelstake," Weylan introduced. The boy stood looking at the floor, avoiding eye contact with the royals.
"Well let's have it," Tryndamere prompted. "And we're leaders, not Gods. You don't have to look at the floor, boy."
Hesitantly the page raised his eyes and relaxed a little at Ashe's welcoming smile, but stiffened when he looked at Tryndamere.
"Yes sir," he nodded, shakily. "I've been sent with an urgent message from the Frostguard tribe at Rakelstake. Early this morning, Ice Dervish Princess Mauvole was discovered deceased in her room. Princess Lissandra requests the presence of Her Majesty Princess Ashe at her coronation later today. The Princess also requests that Her Highness invites Tryndamere, the Barbarian King, to attend as well, though it would seem that would be silly since I just told him about it as well." His face burned in embarrassment and he nervously pulled at one sleeve of his coat.
"The Ice Dervish is dead?" Ashe asked. The boy nodded.
"Was she assassinated?" Tryndamere blurted, not buying that the princess could've just keeled over so suddenly.
"I've been assured that Princes Mauvole died of natural causes."
Ashe glanced at Tryndamere and nodded. He shrugged and went back to reading the treaty.
"We'll be there," Ashe smiled. "You must've traveled through the night to get here so early. Captain Weylan will show you to a guest room. Weylan, please have Ahnja prepare breakfast for… What did you say your name was?"
"I didn't, Your Highess," the boy dipped his head in a bow. "My name is Thatcher; Thatch for short."
"Make sure Thatch is well attended to, Weylan. You can travel with our caravan back to Rakelstake."
Thatcher smiled thankfully at Ashe, bowed to Tryndamere, and followed Weylan happily out of the room. A few seconds later, Garth and Alvar walked through the door.
"What was that about a caravan to Rakelstake?" Alvar pulled a chair out for Garth before sitting across the table from Tryndamere.
"Princess Lissandra has requested the presence of Tryndamere and me at her coronation. Apparently the former Ice Dervish, Princess Mauvole passed away last night." Ashe went back to reading the page of the treaty she'd started.
"Passed away? Was she murdered?" Garth leaned forward in interest.
"It would appear she wasn't," the Frost Archer informed him, not looking up.
"Why would she want the other tribes there?" Alvar asked.
"I suppose we'll find out," Ashe mumbled, becoming irritated.
"If they're on friendly terms with us, it'd be interesting to speak with some of their councilmembers, eh?" Alvar said, elbowing Garth. Ashe looked up incredulously at the two of them, but Tryndamere beat her to the punch.
"Who said anything about us taking any council members with us? For all we know, Lissandra wants us there for the publicity. I heard the Frostguard want in on League affairs and what better way than to send a champion to the Institute? If two high-profile champions show up in Rakelstake, the Journal is sure to cover it in the first August issue, which will give her an in. I see no reason to take such a large group. It'll take us twice the time to get there if we try to take more than a handful of people. No, it will be Ashe, Weylan, Bryndle, the boy and myself. And Anivia to scout for Winterclaw. That's it." Once he finished, he looked back down at the scroll in front of him. Ashe peeked up at the elder through a white curtain, and had to stifle a scoff when she saw the man's face reddening. Garth seemed to have accepted his king's orders, but Alvar was not having it. He turned on Ashe.
"I don't think you understand, Your Highness," he started. "The princess…"
"Is completely capable of making wise decisions for the Avarosans," Tryndamere interrupted, raising his voice and glaring at the old man. "No matter how much you feel she isn't. I have faith in her, and I'm not even an Avarosan. But yes, I suppose there is a disagreement between the two of us in terms of the conditions of Ashe's right to make decisions for your people." He turned to look at Ashe, his eyes dull and washed-out from his impatience. "Ashe, this is ridiculous. Tell him he's not coming, or I'm not going. Taking too many people will endanger the entire caravan. It's not like we're traveling South to the Institute. We're headed North into Winterclaw territory. Sejuani hasn't been seen, aside from League matches, in months. She's mobilizing. I'm sure of it. If we take a huge group up to Rakelstake, we'll be easier to find."
Ashe considered his words for a moment. She was furious with Alvar, of course, and was sick in general of being treated like a child. Finally she sat up taller in her chair and turned to the elders.
"You won't be joining us, Alvar. I won't make any decisions or agreements while I'm there, anyway, but just to make you feel better, I'll give you my word. But when I get back, I'd like to call a meeting with all of the elders. I think it's time we dropped the babysitting detail," she narrowed her eyes in warning, which made Tryndamere smile violently at Alvar.
"We'll see about that, Your Highness," Alvar scoffed, indignantly. He stood and rushed out of the room. Garth sat in confused silence.
"I knew Alvar had a lot of power around here, but I had no idea it was because he assumed it was his over yours, Princess. Please forgive my ignorance. I didn't mean to impose myself…"
"No, Garth, don't worry about it. There's no way you could've known." She rubbed her eyes tiredly and looked sideways at Tryndamere. "Thank you."
He shrugged.
"That was the easy part," he pointed out.
Right, she thought.
The ride to Rakelstake was uneventful. The summer had lured the wolves that prowl the tundra in search of food in the winter back into the depths of the forest where bigger game could be found grazing. The monarchs had opted to wear less conspicuous clothing, Ashe in fur-lined breeches, black boots, a long-sleeved black top, and a black cape and the king armor-less in a practical looking bearskin coat and plain leggings and boots. There was no sign of any Winterclaw in the area, which put Ashe at ease as they rode in through the gate at the Frostguard settlement. An escort was there to greet them and lead them through the city to meet with Lissandra at the town's center near the bazaar. She smiled at them as they approached.
"Ashe, Tryndamere, I'm glad to see both of you were able to make it. I hope it wasn't too difficult for you to find Tryndamere to forward the invitation. I assumed you'd have a better idea of where to find him than I would." Her long blonde hair lifted slightly with the Northern breeze.
"He wasn't too far away from us, actually," Ashe assured her. As in, right next to me, but who needs to know that just yet? "My condolences for the loss of the Ice Dervish. I'm sure you must be rather affected by it." At this, Ashe felt Tryndamere's stare harden on the young woman. He's so skeptical.
"It was definitely a surprise," she admitted. "We aren't entirely sure what killed Princess Mauvole just yet. The authorities just keep saying there was no sign of foul play, which is a relief, I suppose, but it's just not common to drop dead for no reason… Ah! I see you've brought Anivia as well. Welcome, Cryophoenix."
Anivia landed and nodded to the soon-to-be Ice Dervish, but something about her friend put Ashe off. She supposed they'd talk about it later.
As they walked around a corner toward the very center of the town, Ashe noticed the crowd accumulating. It must almost be time for the coronation. As if reading the Frost Archer's thoughts, Lissandra smiled and turned to their little party.
"I must go address the citizens now. Please, feel free to stay as long as you like. You can stay with me if it gets to be too late to ride back to Avarosa." With that, the blonde haired, fair-skinned princess turned to sneak around the backside of the crowd. No one seemed to notice any of them as they stood near the edge, trying to stay out of the way.
"Tryndamere, many of the people gathered here appear to be of Barbarian decent," Anivia noted.
"Huh? Oh, yeah, most Barbarian tribes have a pretty good relationship with Rakelstake. It's more of its own city than it ever was before, but it's still a major trading hub. And Princess Mauvole was very supportive of trading with us. They've probably come to pay their respects."
Weylan stepped up close behind Ashe, wary eyes scanning the crowd. Ashe's hand on the back of his put him somewhat at ease, but having her out in the middle of a giant crowd with no security detail was gut-wrenching, particularly with the threat of Noxian assassins or even an invasion by Sejuani still looming. She discreetly drew a circle across the smooth plane of his hand and allowed herself to be pushed lightly back into him by someone trying to get around her.
Sparks flew momentarily from the electric blue eyes of the Frost Archer to the grounding amber of Weylan's in a quiet exchange between the two of them. Tryndamere caught a glimpse of it before turning his attention back to the elevated platform where Lissandra was now standing, talking quietly with an elder. He couldn't deny that he was happy for them. He'd never seen Ashe look as weightless as she did when she was with Weylan. He also couldn't deny that despite that, watching their romance blossom made him think more often of Lorelai, which was pleasant sometimes, but also painful beyond belief. He sighed.
The sooner this treaty is written, the sooner I can move back into my Institute apartment and just clear my head, he thought. Just then, the sound of Lissandra's voice recaptured his attention. She had just accepted the title of Ice Dervish and had been passed down Princess Mauvole's sword. The crowd clapped, but he could tell they were still hesitant about her. Then, the unspeakable happened.
"Many of you are aware of the cruelties that plague our country. Poverty, hunger, war, and death. You've seen it. You've heard it. You've lived it. I'm here today to tell you that I'm tired – tired of all of the hardship that settles itself into our lives and buries itself deep within the souls of Freljord. Well, it's time for a change!" Lissandra glanced at Ashe before continuing. "For too long, we have endured hardships from external politics and internal strife. Today is the day that the citizens of the Freljord choose to end this madness, and it begins from within. It begins when we, the noble tribe of the Ice Dervish, put the needs of our people above the needs of our pride and recognize Princess Ashe as the true power to lead Freljord, united and strong."**
A startled gasp came from many in the crowd. Ashe's eyes widened. What? Tryndamere's jaw dropped and he turned his head to look at Ashe. What? Weylan shook his head disbelievingly and cleared his throat. "What did she just say?"
As Lissandra tried to leave the stage, she was swarmed with Institute reporters for the Journal of Justice. Had she just sworn fealty to the princess of Avarosa?
**Part of this dialogue was taken directly out of the Journal of Justice in the interest of making the story accurate according to the lore.**