A/N: I am incredibly sorry for making you wait so long for this. On top of normal school related things, I've been busy with some other areas in my life that I'd been neglecting recently. Plus, writers block for me seems to be triggered by stress, which is just peachy. Anyway, I'd love to hear how you feel about this one. I'm trying to progress it faster. My greatest weakness as a writer/story teller is pacing, but I'm working on it.

Thanks for reading!

~R3d

Chapter 14: Vows

Ashe sat at the dining room table with her face buried in her arms. She'd been sitting there with Alvar, Tryndamere, and Garth for three hours working out wedding details. They had everything they needed for the reception and had chosen to err on the side of regality rather than practicality. Tryndamere and Ashe would wear complimenting outfits that pooled together several Freljordian styles. They would be married in the courtyard of the castle so that the reception could be held in one of the massive banquet halls that had never been used. Alvar would officiate the wedding. Bryndle would be Tryndamere's best man. Both Lissandra and Anivia had declined to act as Ashe's Maid of Honor – Lissandra because she didn't think it was her place, and Anivia because she felt that using a human from one of the three tribes would be more symbolic, so there was still that hole to fill. As far as the ceremony went, that was the end of the topics agreed upon, and not without much argument and head-butting. The current debate was over whether or not to use a traditional Barbarian unity wreath, or to just stick with the traditional Avarosan crowning of the non-royal spouse. Ashe peeked up at her tan, dark-haired counterpart. He was currently staring blankly out the stained glass window that cast a colorful geometric puzzle across the dark wood of the table.

"It'd be nice if we had some input from the bride and groom," Alvar groaned pointedly in Ashe's direction. She passively waved him off with her left hand. Garth turned to Tryndamere.

"King Tryndamere, I realize that this matter doesn't particularly interest you, but do you think you could make an effort to contribute?"

Tryndamere cleared his throat and tore his gaze from the window to scowl at the two old men.

"Why don't we do both?" he offered. "That would solve both problems."

The two elders looked dazed at Tryndamere, and then sheepishly at each other. Ashe grumbled from her isolated fortress behind her arms.

"Idiots…"

"Please excuse my intrusion upon your sulking, Your Highness," Alvar frowned, "but you'll have to speak up so that we can hear you. Mumbling is quite undignified for a woman of your status."

Ashe sat up.

"You're not excused. And if you'd really like to know, I was just saying how grateful I am to be sitting in on a three hour meeting with two old men planning my wedding to a man I hardly know."

"Ashe, you don't have to like this. It's what we have to do. It's what's best for everyone…"

"Yeah, everyone except for the three people it involves." Tryndamere sighed and turned back to the window.

"Beg your pardon? This involves only the two of you and your stubbornness. Don't drag my grandson into this. It's pointless to hold onto him, Ashe. Just let him be."

"Let him be?!" Ashe stood and slammed her bow onto the table with a resounding thud. "You really think it's that easy? That we can just re-wire ourselves to forget about how we feel? You think that I can choose to wake up one morning not in love with the one person on Runeterra who has never given me reason to doubt him? The one person who has believed in me since before my parents were killed? The one person who looks at me and sees through the crown and the cloak and armor?"

Ashe swung her bow across the table and slammed the end of it into the back of Tryndamere's head as he chuckled.

"Sorry," he laughed, rubbing his head. "You're obviously not up for dirty jokes at the moment."

"Obviously," she stated, frigidly.

"I thought it was funny," a voice added from the doorway. Ashe felt her body relax. "Careful with that, Ashe, you could be tried for domestic abuse in a few days." Weylan walked up behind her and placed his warm hand over the cold one she had pressed into the table in a trembling fist.

"Weylan, please address the queen properly when speaking to her." Alvar rubbed his temples.

"Sorry," the Captain smirked. "I didn't mean to cause trouble. I just wanted to ask something about the wedding." Everyone looked expectantly at him. His face went pink. "Have you decided who is going to give Ashe… erm Her Highness… away?... You know… Since her parents are gone?"

"You're joking." Alvar's face darkened.

"No. I'm not."

"Absolutely not. Weylan, I honestly don't think you should even be there." His grandfather looked down at his hands.

"What?" Tryndamere, Ashe and Weylan turned on him in unison.

"Alvar, I think that's a bit harsh," Garth said. It was a strange sentiment from the old, mangled Barbarian, but even he could see reason.

"Both of you get out." Tryndamere's bass barked down the table.

"King Tryndamere…" Garth began, but the larger man was already making his way toward them.

"Out."

Ashe hadn't really ever been genuinely afraid of Tryndamere, but she was suddenly terrified that he was going to hit one of them. The elderly men stood and suggested a short break before bee-lining for the door. Tryndamere tossed a chair at the doorframe for good measure. He was seeing red and his mind was racing angrily around his head. Why can't they see? Why can't things be simple? I should already be married, and Ashe should be engaged to the man she loves. Lorelai, why? Why couldn't I have just died there with you? What's the point? All I do is ruin everything I touch. And now it's even harder because… because…

"Tryndamere?" Her voice settled soothingly between his eyebrows at the forefront of his mind. Lorelai? "Trynd, it's alright. Calm down."

"Lorelai?" Tryndamere's vision returned to him as his anger dissipated. An icy hand on his shoulder snapped his mind back into reality.

"No, Tryndamere it's me, Ashe. Lorelai's not here, remember?" Ashe's eyes betrayed her worry for the man. He's lost it. He thinks I'm her.

"Right. She's… not…" Tryndamere looked around just to make sure. He could've sworn he'd heard her. She's the only person who could pull me out of a rage like that, he shuddered. Weylan stood back behind Ashe, but had a hand on her shoulder seemingly to pull her away in case Tryndamere decided to turn on her. The Barbarian looked around. Apparently he'd thrown more than one chair… And flipped the table… Among other things. "I need to go think…" he dismissed himself. Neither of them followed.

Weylan sat quietly in his room that night, reading. Ashe had gone back to the Institute to invite High Councilor Kolminye in person, as well as a few champions she believed would be there. A timid knock found its way to his door.

"Who is it?" he called.

Ahnja cracked the door open.

"Care for some company?"

"Sure," he shrugged. "Are you excited?"

"Excited?" she questioned, entering his room. She was wearing her normal housemaid's uniform; long blue skirt with a white blouse and blue vest with a jagged Freljordian design detailing the edges, but the top two buttons of her shirt were undone. She's unusually unkempt, he noted. "OH! You mean about Ashe asking me to be her Maid of Honor? Of course I'm excited!" she smiled weakly.

"Good. I'm sure you'll have fun," he nodded.

"I'm not so excited to be around Bryndle all day though. He's been flirting with me recently, and I'm not at all interested."

Gossip? Ahnja never talks to me about any of this. Why does she look so uncomfortable? Nervous, even?

"Eh, just let him down easy. I'm sure he'd understand. Why aren't you interested anyway? I don't mean to pry, but Brydle seems pretty nice to me." Weylan glanced back down and dog-eared the page in his book he'd left off on before closing it. When he looked up at Ahnja, she was sitting on the side of his bed, downcast face hidden behind her hair. Oh no.

"Please don't be angry…" she winced.

"Ahnja…" he sighed, placing his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes. He'd not been expecting this. At least it was proof that he and Ashe had done a decent job of hiding their relationship from the workers. He peered through his fingers and was met with a smirk, but it wasn't from Ahnja.

"You're a very smart man, Weylan. And you care dearly for your beloved Princess, don't you?"

Weylan narrowed his eyes at the woman who'd reported Siska for treason. "Sari."

"Well, now how did you discover that little tidbit of information?" She glared at Ahnja, who shrank away. So she hadn't known why Bryndle was asking her all those questions after all.

"Ahnja, what's going on?" Weylan moved to get up, but Sari shoved him back down.

"You really think she knows? Hmm. Maybe you're not so smart after all. Regardless, I've got a bit of a… proposition… for you."

"Where's Siska?" Weylan asked as the woman drew a dagger from the belt at her hip. It was obvious she'd recently arrived. Her leggings were damp up to her knees. She'd clearly been trudging around outside, probably in the snow banks around the castle.

"Sari, don't," Ahnja whimpered.

"Shut up. No one gets hurt if you both just listen to what I need to tell you. Got it?" Her dark green eyes seemed to pin Ahnja in place. She returned her attention to the Captain. "If you follow my instructions explicitly, I might let your darling little ice-witch live. So listen carefully."

"You're threatening to kill her? What did she ever…" She stepped closer to him and rested the point of her weapon at the apex of the V in his shirt, rendering him silent.

"Yes. I'm threatening to kill Ashe. And I'm promising to kill Tryndamere. Here's what's in it for you."

She told him that with Tryndamere dead, and Ashe and Weylan's secret exposed, the kingdom would inevitably crash and burn. He and Ashe would be outcast. They'd need to run away to avoid being arrested and probably killed for murdering the Barbarian King. That leaves them free to hide away and be together forever, which, as Sari had gathered from her subordinates, was something that might interest the both of them. Sari would then lead the Noxians in an invasion, take the country, and take Ashe's place as ruler of Avarosa under a Noxian flag.

"Why did you come here to tell me all of this? And what's to stop me from telling Ashe and Tryndamere?" Weylan glared up at her from under the knife.

"You're in charge of Ashe's guard. I need to know the easiest way to get my assassin into the coronation ceremony in Rakelstake the day after the wedding."

"And you think I'm going to tell you?" He focused every fiber of his being on ignoring the icy steel at his sternum.

"No," she hissed, "I'm going to tell you. You will place Tryndamere in an open place on the stage. You will also ensure that Tryndamere speaks to the crowd after Ashe."

"Why? To disguise the assassin as an anti-Barbarian Avarosan?"

"Oh, you are good. I guess there's a valid reason to your appointment after all, Captain. I just thought it made it easier for the Queen to invite you to slumber parties."

"I won't help you," he muttered. She tweaked the blade ever so slightly to leave a tiny cut where the tip had been tickling his skin, but he was able to suppress any indication that she'd hurt him.

"If you don't, Ashe dies. If my man doesn't have a clear shot at Tryndamere, his secondary target is her."

"And if he can't get to either of them?"

She'd been expecting him to be difficult.

"Trust me, he'll get to one of them. He's planning to have to take down a giant, Barbarian King whose legend is a story about him coming back from the dead. He'll be able to take out a little Frost Archer with no problem."

Weylan cringed and became suddenly aware of the tingling at the center of his chest.

"You might want to clean that out," she scoffed. Sari turned back toward her sister and pulled her to her feet. Through her hair, Weylan could see silent tears streaming down Ahnja's face. A pang of guilt dug into his side. He'd suspected she was in on it. They retreated stealthily down the stairs.

Weylan stood and calmly walked to his bathroom to examine the cut in his chest. It was swollen and… stinging? No… Burning. He watched it in the mirror for a few moments as the flesh around the tiny gash reddened. What did she do to me? He hurriedly took a handful of water and splashed it onto himself. There was an instant relief, but the swelling remained. He leaned forward and splashed water on his face and ran his hands through his hair. What do I do?

That day began just as plainly as the day before it had. Ashe lay awake as the sun peeked over the mountain range and began reflecting bright rays of light through the window off the snowy ground. Weylan lay asleep next to her. He was restless. He had tossed back and forth all night. She assumed it was because the last day had finally arrived. She left him to shower, but he was gone when she returned to her bed. He'd left a note on her pillow.

"No matter what happens, no one can change how I love you. You are my sunbeam through the trees on a frigid December morning. You are the fresh scent of new foliage in the evergreens. My heart has always belonged to you. Keep it well."

He never signed his name, just in case Ahnja ever found his notes before Ashe did. The white-haired woman stashed the note in a book on her night stand and turned to her mirror. She admired how she looked in her plain battle attire; still a Queen, but not a wife. Her stomach churned. Today would be long and grueling.

Ashe spun in the mirror to appease a beaming Leoné. The elder had designed the wedding dress with the help of some women from the other two tribes. Ahnja hung back and leaned against the wall nearest Ashe's bathroom. Every time their eyes met, Ashe felt that Ahnja was apologizing. For what, she wasn't sure. As far as Ashe thought Ahnja knew, she'd chosen Tryndamere as her king. She decided to pursue it later in private.

"What do you think?" Leoné smiled to Ashe. The queen forced her mouth to turn up slightly.

"It's pretty," she lied. In truth, she hated it, but her opinion was far from unbiased. She wasn't even sure if her disdain for the blue gown was truly because she didn't like it, or if she just didn't like anything about today. It's probably both, she admitted to herself. She'd always pictured herself in a white wedding dress, not blue.

"I think so," one of the other women commented. "Let's get you downstairs to the dining room to wait. The ceremony should begin soon. That High Councilor woman you invited is already here and seated in the courtyard." The three of them smiled excitedly.

"Any other champions?" It would at least give her something to think about. Ashe planned on asking Nunu to be Freljord's Emissary.

"Several, your Highness. Anivia, Nunu and his yeti, Volibear… Even the Crownguards decided to attend." Ashe was surprised Leoné was able to recognize that many champions.

"No Sejuani, I assume," Ashe smirked.

"Did you invite her?"

"Of course I did. I'm hoping she comes to the coronation tomorrow. I invited her to be on the Royal council."

"You'll never give up, will you?" the elder sighed, straightening Ashe's train.

"I suppose that depends on your definition of giving up," she replied, suddenly despondent, looking at herself in the mirror.

"I suppose it does."

"Is everyone decent?" The muffled voice from the door made Ashe's heart drop to her stomach. She felt light-headed as she watched Ahnja open the door for Weylan. He wore a royal blue suit with a white button-down shirt. The gold details around his cuffs and down the lapels of the jacket were crisp and jagged like the cliff face behind the castle. The sheath belted around his waist glistened with encrusted crystals and his sword was carefully polished. The sword belt looked familiar, though Ashe felt as if she'd seen it in a dream. She averted her eyes from him to fight the swelling of emotions in her chest.

Contrariwise, Weylan's gaze poured over her. He noted the way she stood, tall but defeated, in the corner of her own room, pinned between the elders and the reflection of herself that she didn't want to see. He saw how she pinched the fabric of her skirt uncomfortably. And anger flared up to his diaphragm when she turned her head away from him and cast her gaze to the floor. This wasn't his Ashe. It was Alvar's figurehead puppet. He choked down the knot in his throat and forced a smile.

"You look lovely, Your Highness."

"Thank you Captain. You look pretty smart yourself." She allowed herself another peek at him. The darkness in his eyes gave him away. This was just as torturous for him as she'd feared.

"The belt was my father's. He wore it at my parents' wedding…"

"And at my father's funeral," she remembered aloud.

"How fitting," Leoné huffed sarcastically. "We're almost ready Weylan, why don't you wait outside?"

"I'd actually like a moment alone with him," Ashe insisted. "I can finish the rest myself."

Leoné began to protest, and then thought better of it.

"As you wish. We'll be waiting in the foyer. Keep it short."

The women left the room and shut the door behind them.

"I hate it," she grumbled, turning again in the mirror.

"It's not what I'd envisioned at all," he agreed. He moved to stand behind her just as the tiniest of tears slid slowly down her face. He wiped it on his sleeve before it reached her jaw. "It's going to be alright. Everything will sort itself out."

"We keep telling ourselves that…" she sighed.

"Because it's true. You're going to make it through this, Ashe. I'll be with you the whole time. Even when we can't be together, I'm always right here." He turned her to him and placed his hand over her heart. "Just remember that. No one can take that away."

"You're so cheesy," she half-heartedly giggled.

"But you smiled," he argued. "I'd do anything for that smile."

She folded herself into him. All she wanted was to be in her favorite place, wrapped in his arms in the middle of the night, stealing kisses and talking nonsense.

"Let's go create a country, shall we?" He hugged her close, his heart breaking. We can run. We could be together forever. But at what cost? Peace? A nation? The life of a friend? He wanted to tell her more than anything in the world, but he couldn't come up with the words to say it.

They made their way solemnly to the door. He stopped her, leaned down, and pressed his lips longingly to hers. As he pulled away, he leached a piece of her heart straight out of her chest.

The entire town was there. Those who weren't specifically invited to the ceremony stood watching around the fence and from various lookout points close to the castle. Vessaria smiled at Ashe and nodded encouragement to her as she walked down the aisle. It was then that she realized her face was flat. She had subconsciously been able to keep from frowning, but on her wedding day she figured she should probably smile a little. She quickly plastered a meek but believable smile on her face for the rest of the ceremony.

Tryndamere stepped forward and met Ashe and Weylan at the end of the narrow aisle way with a feigned smile. The two men watched Ashe's face intently as Weylan lifted her hand out of the crook of his elbow and guided it safely to Tryndamere's palm. Her breath hitched at the exchange, but she swallowed her sudden anguish and smiled weakly to Weylan before turning back to the Barbarian, who seemed ready to catch her.

Do they think I'm made of glass? She took a breath and stepped confidently towards him and turned to face her escort. Weylan stood stiff and placed a fist over his heart. Keep it well, she remembered, and nodded ever so slightly to him before Weylan turned to take his seat in the front row with Bristol.

The rest was a blur. Recite some vows, stand in a wreath, place a crown… She allowed Tryndamere to hold her hands, but made sure to hold all of her own weight away from him. The last thing she wanted was to make it appear that Avarosa was leaning on the Barbarians. Her mind switched to political mode as soon as her hand made contact with her new ally. Stand straight, make eye contact with him, don't fidget with your dress, she silently reminded herself. Alvar turned to Tryndamere and looked down at his notes.

"Do you, King Tryndamere of the Freljordian Barbarian Tribes, take Ashe as your wedded wife, to have and to hold, as long as you both shall live?"

Tryndamere froze his face as best as he could. It's good business. We need this.

"I do."

When Alvar turned to Ashe, she faltered. Her stomach flipped and the blood drained from her face. When Tryndamere felt her muscles tense, he squeezed her hand in an effort to keep her focused as Alvar repeated the question to her.

"Do you, Queen Ashe of the Avarosan and Frost Guard Tribes, take Tryndamere as your wedded husband, to have and to hold, as long as you both shall live?"

Weylan shuddered in his seat.

"I do," she stuttered. A sense of relief washed over her. We're almost done.

"By the power vested in me by the Elders of Freljord, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Alvar smiled and clasped his hands. Ashe remembered then how wedding ceremonies normally end. Her mouth went dry. "My King, you may kiss your Queen."

A glance at Tryndamere told Ashe that he'd forgotten about that part as well. He shifted nervously. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. We should've rehearsed this. She peeked at Weylan, who'd looked away painfully. For the best, she thought. She smiled helplessly at her new husband and dropped her gaze to his hands. Make it quick.

Tryndamere was internally panicking. He'd completely forgotten this detail. We should've written it out. She already told them it's not romantic. This marriage is strictly political. They'd have understood. He glanced carefully around the courtyard at the eagerly awaiting faces; some crying, some holding their breath, all smiling… Maybe not, he reconsidered. They were all so into it. He wished desperately that the three of them had discussed this. Ashe's smile calmed him momentarily. Her downcast eyes apologized profusely at him. Make it quick, he thought, and leaned in to place a chaste kiss at the corner of Ashe's mouth. The gathered citizens cheered, and relief flooded his body. We did it.

Dinner that night was extravagant. The table stretched from one end of the previously unused banquet hall to the other. An anteroom contained a large open space for dancing and a chandelier dripping with icy crystals. People laughed and smiled and danced and seemed to enjoy themselves. Unfortunately, they all wanted to talk to Ashe. She didn't see Weylan until it was nearly midnight. After having danced a few times with Tryndamere, he hoped it would be okay for him to ask her. The small orchestra played a moderately paced waltz, but her dress prevented her from doing any incredibly fancy dancing, so they used the opportunity to talk.

"How are you doing?" he asked, almost uncomfortably. Is this how it was going to be?

"I'm alright, just incredibly tired. But it looks like Tryndamere will be up for a few more hours." She caught sight of him at the bar. Again. Though he was definitely drinking less than normal, Ashe could tell he was verging on stumbling Tryndamere status.

"I'll ask him to take you to bed soon," Weylan whispered.

"You don't have to do that." She averted his eyes.

"The sooner the party disperses, the sooner I can come talk to both of you. It's important…" he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. It was Garen Crownguard.

"Sorry, friend," the Demacian apologized. "I just wanted a chance to talk to the Queen before my sister and I head back to the Institute."

Weylan smiled to the golden-armored man, bowed to both of them, and retreated to his room to wait. There was a note on his pillow from Sari.

Captain,

I feel as if I may not have made myself clear. I've many resources at my disposal. IF you tell Ashe and Tryndamere about my plans for tomorrow, I can assure you Siska, Ashe, and Tryndamere will all die tomorrow. If you don't believe how dangerous my assassin is, allow me to prove it to you. Walk to your window and open it, hold up your left hand with all of your fingers spread, but don't move otherwise. I think you'll be impressed.

~ S

He crept over to his window and pushed it open into the frigid night air. The party below him cast yellow pools of light on the snow on the ground through the ballroom windows. He stood still, lifted his open hand, and waited, his muscles tense. Faster than his mind could register, a glint of silver sliced the air between his middle and ring finger and thudded decidedly into the far wall. An undeniably Avarosan blade stuck out of his wall, buried to the hilt. He grew weary as his options disappeared before his eyes. He could only save one of them…

"And I will…" he promised himself.