'I told you so.'

Quinn blotted out the smug maven as her teeth chattered incessantly, her hands shrivelling into snowballs around her crossbow as the two women ascended the slope spiralling upwards through the city. The ranger shivered in her metal shell as Sona tightened the glossy bearskin cape she had bought from a Freyjordian tradesman on their way to the frozen city: the latter could not help but cast wistful glances at the thick fur cosily embracing the maven and was now bitterly regretting her decision to endure the elements naturally. Sona swished from side to side as she ran her gloved fingers up and down her cape's dappled hairs, twirling under the light snowfall and giggling at the ranger's tense expression. 'Hey, Freyjord virgin. Are you listening to me?'

'Shut up, S-s-sona,' the ranger stuttered back, blowing a swirl of icy air in the direction of her tormentor. 'It's s-summer in Demacia, so I figured that things w-would have warmed up a little this side of the m-m-mountains…'

'Oh, ranger,' the musician chuckled softly, shaking her head at the quivering Quinn and snapping off a shimmering icicle from the shoulder of her tarnishing armour. 'Sometimes you need to know when to swallow your pride, dear friend.'

'That w-went a long time ago, don't worry,' Quinn laughed huskily. 'So, how f-f-far – gah, it's so cold that I can't even s-speak! – how close are we n-now?'

'See that ice spire up ahead, the one glittering just in front of that mountain? That's the top of the Royal Palace,' Sona pointed out, her woollen finger tracing the outline of the imposing structure in the distance for Quinn's benefit. 'It's made of True Ice, so don't touch its exterior walls when we get there as it will cut you. Only Freyjordian flesh can withstand its chill, and only the Ice Born can truly harness its power without damaging themselves.'

'Am I going to die in there?' the ranger asked waspishly, eyeing the glassy walls suspiciously as the grip on her crossbow began to tremble with the c old. 'Seriously, how can these people l-l-live in such conditions?'

'It's in their blood,' the maven elucidated for her, her blue eyes flitting between the passing natives that were obviously gawking at the newcomers. 'If you're native to Freyjordian lands, your physiology naturally adapts to its extremes. That's why no foreign invader has ever been able to conquer this territory.'

'Huh,' Quinn mused with interest as she deflected the occasional snowflake from her face. 'So that's why the Noxian Barbarian Pacification Campaign went so wrong. Well, it's a comforting thought that they can't take Frejyord, at least.'

'For now,' Sona conceded, huffing as she magically heaved them both up the last of the treacherous terrain. She clapped triumphantly and let out a delighted peal of giggles as they turned around the final twist and theatrically flourished her hands towards their destination. 'The Royal Palace, my ranger.'

Quinn was accustomed to architectural grandeur, but nothing had prepared her for the sight of a dwelling forged from True Ice. She paused to look up at its glass walls and gasped, momentarily forgetting the cold as the warmth of wonder danced from head to toe within her aching limbs. Its blue topaz sheen glinted bewitchingly in the summer sun, the light rippling through it as if it were alive. Quinn's wide eyes took in the razor-sharp crown of icicles protecting its roof, the pearlescent sheet of a frozen river encircling its grounds, the peculiar sleds fanned out to catch the wind as they glided in the forecourt. In her periphery, she saw Sona's delicate cheekbones contract as the maven grinned at the ranger's awestruck reaction and felt her gloved hand wrap encouragingly around her frostbitten claws. 'Come on, Quinn. You're blocking the way.'

She tugged her aside as a sled tinkled its bell at her to warn her of its arrival and its occupant muttered something disapprovingly in Frejlish, but Quinn could not be mad: she simply shook her head in disbelief at this fantastical world and let herself be hauled by Sona over the last few metres towards the Ice Palace, her crystallising breath coming in quick adrenal pants as tears pricked her eyes at its beauty.

The musician's smirk broadened into a radiant smile of recognition as the two travellers ascended the sturdy stone steps up to the majestic wooden doors, eagerly extending her hand outwards towards their boulder of a guard. 'Long time no see, stranger.'

'Sona!' beamed the superman, dashing forward to envelope her petite hand between his two bear's paws as he gave her a hearty kiss on each cheek. 'It's been too long, my friend. How are you?'

'Good thank you, how are you? I'm sure you get bigger every time I see you,' the maven laughed, stretching up on her tip-toes to pat his hulky plated shoulder. She wobbled upon a sheet of ice and he caught her, erupting with laughter at her embarrassment.

'All the better to catch you with, my pretty,' he teased with a twinkle in his eye, placing her down gently and turning to the ranger. 'Ah, and I see you brought a friend! The more, the merrier.'

Sona smiled, placing her hand gently on Quinn's back to bring her forward. 'This is Quinn, a friend of mine from back home. She's a ranger in the Dauntless Vanguard, but she's here on personal business to see the King and Queen.'

The kindly guard presented Quinn with his dinner-plate hand, the latter trying her utmost not to cringe as he enthusiastically squeezed the delicate bones cushioned only by her thin skin. He mercifully released his bull-strength grip and threw his head back to laugh harder. 'Haha, this one is tough! Definitely a soldier! Welcome to Frejyord, Quinn. I am Braum.'

'Hello, Braum. It's lovely to meet you,' Quinn smiled, secretly thrilled that this gentle giant had deemed her to be tough. She cast her eye along his imposing physique, towering stature and, perhaps most intriguingly, a frozen slab he held as a stunning shield in his other hand. She was shocked to discover that it was a door and gazed up in amazement at the Heart of Frejyord, his thick moustache tickling his cheeks as he clocked her curious glances. 'I trouble you with the story another time, young ranger. But, for now, come! The King and Queen can always make time for old friends, sweet Sona. This one looks like she is not quite so used to our climate, and you must be tired after travelling all this way.'

'Oh, yes,' Sona agreed as Braum ran one rough finger across the front door's partition and it melted apart for them to step through. 'But we don't want to be any trouble. We are here because Queen Ashe promised me help if I ever needed it the last time I was in Frejyord…of course, I would love to catch up as well, but this can't really wait.'

'No worries, my child,' Braum replied heartily as he caught a messenger to inform the Queen of their arrival and threaded through the stunning entrance hall of the palace, although this conversation faded into a soft hum for Quinn as she found herself staring at the soft pink and blue flames jittering in the torches adorning the walls. Her lips quirked into a subtle smile as she thought of Caleb when she saw a genuine Frejordian rug, just like the ones he used to claim were in Lightshield Castle when they were children, and then looked up to the brilliant rainbow droplets of light shimmering in the true ice chandeliers, their spotlights throwing colours across the glass floors supporting them through each corridor.

Quinn noted with interest that much of the castle possessed a common touch despite its royal flashiness: where there were elegant Avarosan tapestries draped across the chilling walls and snowdrop flowers encased in beautifully shaped vases, there were also glinting emerald skulls and jagged swords mounted to the sides. As a soldier, she could not help her eyes roaming to the mighty weapons: knowing that the Queen was a frost archer, she imagined that such items belonged to the famed King Tryndamere. She wondered if the political couple had bickered over who got to keep what in the castle and grinned to herself before she slammed into the brick wall of Braum's back and fell over. He heaved her back up in one swift motion, dusting her down and apologised profusely. 'Oops! Sorry, Quinn, I have a bad habit of doing that.'

'It's no problem, sir,' Quinn replied, laughing to herself as she straightened her armour, 'but I must say that I'm glad you're on our side.'

'Where Miss Sona goes, I go,' he replied softly, smiling down on them both as he knocked on the main door. 'The Queen now knows to expect you both. Please go in, I will most likely see you both later. Best of luck.'

Sona patted Quinn soothingly as Braum disappeared down the long corridor, her etwahl speaking gently to the ranger. 'I can sense your apprehension. Fear not, Quinn, the Queen is incredibly warm and kind. She will help us, I can feel it.'

The two women walked through as a guard opened the door for them both and their wet shoes squeaked loudly on the glacier floor, Sona seemingly untroubled by this but Quinn acutely aware of every little motion she made in the presence of foreign royalty. She noticed a slender woman perched upon an elegant wrought-iron throne emblazoned with an Avarosan crest, her arms resting lightly on the supports and her foot swinging expectantly at the base of her shapely crossed legs. Quinn was momentarily star-struck as she recognised the Queen's snow-white locks, heart-shaped face and azure eyes from the history annuals and suppressed a nervous swallow as Ashe's delicate face broke into a delighted smile. 'Oh my goodness, Sona! So it is you! How have you been, my dear?'

'Wonderful, your Majesty,' Sona responded enthusiastically, sinking into a pretty curtsey as Quinn dipped her head respectfully. 'Something told me I would always come back.'

'I am so happy to see you!' the Frost Archer exclaimed, leaping up to kiss Sona twice on her cheeks – the ranger assumed this was Frejyordian etiquette – and pulling back to survey the maven.

'How beautiful and healthy you are looking, and how grown up you are now, Sona. Can you believe it's been five years since you played at my wedding? Half a decade…' she trailed off thoughtfully, her blue eyes shining reminiscently. 'I owe so much of that day to you, you know. I remember being so nervous, a silly little bride of eighteen sweating profusely with nerves at marrying a great hulk of a man. I'm glad how it all turned out, of course, but your soothing music…well, it may have just kept me from running. You played beautifully, and I'm sure you still do.'

'Thank you, my Queen,' Sona replied, giggling and blushing at praise from this respected source before indicating Quinn to the Frost Archer. 'Actually, I seem to remember that you promised me anything I wanted that day. And there's something I really need involving my friend Quinn here.'

Ashe stepped away from Sona and threw an apologetic smile at the ranger. 'Forgive me, Quinn, for I got too swept up in the embrace of an old friend to not notice a new one. Please, tell me about yourself.'

'Erm…' Quinn stuttered nervously, her eyes flickering between the two expectant ladies. 'Well, I-I'm a ranger in the Vanguard and a tragedy has befallen the Demacian royal family. I am currently trying to track down an assassin in order to administer justice via our laws, but I need to get to Ionia first.'

'We tried to go through the Ironspikes, but the Noxians are stationed there,' Sona continued as the Queen's jovial mood sunk into serious consideration. 'As Demacians, we know they will not let us through and our only path through is at the Freyjordian passage to Piltover.'

'I see…' Ashe pondered, visualising the route in her head and piecing together their information. 'So you require assistance to climb through the mountains and cross over to the city?'

'Yes, if at all possible ma'am,' Quinn confirmed. 'I understand that Demacia has regretfully not always had a history of cooperation with Frejyord, but you must understand how bound I am to Vanguard duty to right any wrongs and to eliminate any threats to our political stability. We believe an assassin will be going after King Jarvan, and we suspect that Noxus may have something to do with it. I need to work with the Ionians, however, in order to determine this man's identity and to offer any assistance I can to the conflict.'

Ashe chewed her lip as she considered the implications of Quinn's appeal. 'Whilst I perhaps do not agree with Demacian justice, it would be hypocritical of me to condemn a royal family for doing whatever it takes to secure their dynasty. I would like to help, but…hmm. So, did this assassin kill a Demacian royal?'

'No, an innocent,' Quinn responded ruefully, 'an Earl of the Demacian Council following the engagement ceremony of Princess Lux and Prince Jarvan. His death appeared to have represented more of a message than have any political sense, and we believe the killer is a Noxian as they are plotting against the King in order to shake Demacian authority whilst they focus on softening up Ionia. We intend, however, to join the Ionians in battle.'

'An innocent…' the Queen muttered to herself, looking up at the earnest ranger before she leant back, pressing her fingers together and tilting her head to consider the plea. 'You must understand that if I help you and General Swain finds out about this then I am also implicated. And I refuse to drag Frejyord into another war with Noxus, whose reasons for bloodshed do not necessarily have to be comprehensive. We lost too many for too long, as my husband knows all too well.'

'I know, my Queen,' Queen acknowledged, bowing her head to gaze at the hearthstone below. 'And I am so sorry for the Barbarian suffering at the hands of Noxus, but you must understand that this assassin's skill is unprecedented, and that he presents a challenge not only to our royalty, but also to that of others. He is so clean with his work that I imagine he could do away with any high-ranking official that Noxus wants dead. This isn't just bull-headed Demacian pride, I promise. This is like nothing we've ever seen before.'

Sona took over the argument from the ranger, gazing intensely at the Frost Archer. 'Please, my Queen, at least consider this case. We will simply pass through and leave no trace that you assisted us for this mission. You need not be involved and we will make sure to avoid the Noxians on the other side. We will deny your involvement to the bitter end.'

Suddenly, a chorus of husky laughter broke the tense exchange and the doors swung open as Braum and another man strolled into the drawing room, their guffaws rattling around the airy room as they slapped their hands together in companionship. Quinn quickly deduced from the other man's unkempt handsomeness, powerful shape and ill-fitting robes that this must be the the Barbarian King. Tryndamere paused mid-step as he observed the palpable tension and his sprung shoulders soon relaxed as he perceived the Queen's visitors. 'Maven? Is that you?'

'Yes, Your Majesty,' Sona smiled, dropping into a dainty curtsey as he shook her hand and then placed a scratchy kiss on its velvet top. 'So good to see you looking your strong, regal self.'

'Hmpph,' he mumbled, 'Regal. Not quite sure what to make of that. I hoped that all this royalty bullshit would not rub off on me, but maybe it's inevitable.'

'Tryndamere,' Ashe chided quietly, jerking her head towards Quinn and Sona. 'Perhaps you might like to conduct yourself a little more politely in front of our guests.'

'But of course, dear wife,' he teased, sinking into an exaggerated bow and then turning to the two women. 'So, what brings you here So-'

He stopped again as he observed Quinn with curious eyes, searching for any sign of recognition. When he drew blank, he peered closer and the creases around his playful eyes folded with suspicion at the sight of the blue and gold armour encasing the ranger. 'A Demacian brings you here,' he answered himself, his laidback humour hardening as his reproachful eyes stared down Quinn.

'Hey, I'm a Demacian too, Your Majesty,' Sona joked jauntily, though she flinched at the resentment spewing from Tryndamere's expression. She looked desperately at the Queen for some assistance. 'Umm…'

'This is Quinn, Tryndamere,' Ashe explained pointedly, flashing daggers at her husband's conspicuous hostility. 'She's a Demacian ranger in the Dauntless Vanguard, but she needs to get to Ionia in order to track down an assassin that may make an attempt upon King Jarvan's life. They both wish to travel through our side of the Ironspikes in order to get to Piltover as the Noxians have inhabited the other half, but of course they will need our help to push through the blizzard or they will never make it.'

'Right,' Tryndamere responded bluntly, pouring himself a large amber whiskey from a cocktail table and chugging it down in one full slug. He refilled his glass and his platinum wedding ring tapped harshly against the crystal as he considered this information. 'So, tell me young ranger…what makes you think that I, the Barbarian King, will help the lackey of a dynasty that turned away my people when we were being slaughtered by the Noxians?'

Sona gasped quietly, beads of sweat trickling down her forehead as she threw a worried glance at Quinn. Braum coughed uncomfortably and spun his shield around on the floor to distract himself, whilst Ashe opened her mouth to protest bitterly against the King's brutal words. Tryndamere raised his hand to momentarily silence her and continued to lock eyes with the ranger, whose heart was banging sickeningly against her chest at the unexpected turn this conversation had taken.

She cleared her nerves from her throat and bowed her head to the ground, like prey trying not to antagonise her predator. 'As I have said to the Queen, I deeply regret the ambivalent relationship between our two nations in the past. Yet, I must also say that this assassin is a threat to us all, given that he was able to sneak in so well into Demacian grounds-s'

'Says more about Demacian preparations than it does about the assassin, though, doesn't it?' Tryndamere pressed relentlessly, enjoying watching the girl squirm and the words fall anxiously from her mouth at breakneck speed. 'You think you're all so strong and proud and tough, yet when you face real danger, you do anything to block it out from your utopia unless it directly concerns you. Good to see consistency in your people, at least.'

Ashe placed her hand on Tryndamere's sinewy forearm and tugged ineffectually at it. 'No, Trynda,' she whispered into his ear furiously. 'This is not the time or the place. Stop being so rude! If this gets back to the Lightshields…'

'If what gets back to them? That they're cowards? They could do with the reality check!' Tryndamere thundered as he shrugged off his wife from his arm, throwing an accusatory finger at Quinn. 'I bet you're one of them snobby blue-bloods too, aren't you? A sibling, a cousin? How much did it cost to buy you that armour and rank?'

'I'm actually of peasant stock, and it cost me my whole life, Your Majesty,' Quinn responded coolly. 'I'm an orphan, raised in the marshes. I earnt my rank with blood, tears and sweat.'

'Quinn…' Sona whined, wincing at the ranger's strong words as she clamped her hands to her temples in her frustration at this disastrous diplomacy. 'My Queen, I must apologise for the ranger's words. She didn't mean it.'

'Oh yes she did, Sona,' Tryndamere countered politely, though he turned to Quinn with a snarl on his face. 'And I don't believe a word of it, little girl. With all your little airs and graces, I'd be surprised if you weren't the Prince's playmate growing up. Pity you're all so inbred that you can't think straight and react normally in a political crisis.'

'How dare you!' exploded Quinn, evoking a whimper from Sona and a shocked inhalation of breath from the Queen. 'Listen, old man, I was a ten year old marsh rat when the Barbarian Campaign began. I'd barely even learnt to shoot arrows at that age-' she added as she slapped her crossbow against her shoulder, 'and I sure as hell know that I wasn't in charge of who came in and who didn't. I know about the horrors that your people went through at Swain's hands, and I do sympathise most strongly, but it's not my fault that King Jarvan II was not quite so forthcoming with protection as you would have liked. But don't you ever call the Lightshields cowards again. As of now, Prince Jarvan is in the midst of declaring war on our oldest enemy in support of the Ionians. This is a new generation and a new era for Demacia!'

There was a hushed silence as she could hear Sona trying to suppress a sob and her own pulse beating harshly in her neck, drumming in her ears as the Barbarian and the ranger searched the other's eyes for weakness. Then, suddenly, a rumbling laugh trickled out of Tryndamere and he held his hand out to Quinn. 'You've got some fire, lady. Rather like my own dear wife. I like it.'

Stunned, she looked down at its calloused texture in puzzlement before he offered it again. He tilted his head towards his hand once more. 'Go on, take it. I'm not going to screw you over. Take it.'

The ranger momentarily scanned the worried faces surrounding her before gingerly offering her own hand to the Barbarian King. He grasped it hard and shook her hand forcefully enough to wrench her arm, but not so much for it to hurt before letting out another booming laugh. Tryndamere's laughter allowed the room to relax and there was a nervous titter from its inhabitants as he gazed with respect at the ranger. 'Proud yet humble. Hmm. Now here's a Demacian I can do business with.'