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Epilogue
Novich slammed the door shut, denying the ice and cold from locking the heavy wooden entry ajar. With a gust of wind and the force of the door slamming shut, a flutter of snow flew ahead of him, blanketing the first couple tables of the heated, yet rather empty tavern. He took some time to remove his furs and quilts, tossing them over a rack on the wall next to him, leaving it to melt as people spoke his name.
"The Right Hand!" One infantryman shouted out, as his fellows echoing his greeting. Behind the bar, three employees worked hard to clean up the joint.
"Evening, gents," Novich replied, striding to the edge of the bar, leaning on both arms as he looked to one of the bartenders, "Freya, could I..."
"A pint of the usual?" The brunette lass replied, with a smile. Novich couldn't help but to return the favor.
"Yes, Gragas's finest. He still here?"
"Just out the back."
"I see." Novich said sadly, cursing his luck. The rabble-rouser always had a mean card-game and was a great companion for a drink. Of course, as it was his pub, beating him in a game of cards, dice or other often meant your drink was on the house.
"Right Hand!" A captain repeated with an inebriated grin, "How'ss the wall this fine evening?"
"Peaceful," Novich said, watching pretty Freya move down the isle to pour him his drink, "Although some wolf packs were howling down by the Palisades kept me busy."
"Glad t'know the Frostguard are minding their own business," A rugged man sitting on the farthest down the bar, one wooden stool down from the group of comrade broke in suddenly, "They got quite close the last time they visited."
He grumbled, intoxicated, and then spoke again.
"'Scuse me. My name's Calder."
"One of the barbarians from the Tundra," The lieutenant seated closest to him explained, "I'm in charge of his integration into the city. Calder, this is Novich, the Right Hand of the King, Leader of Freljord's Honor Guard and Commander of the Infantry."
Novich gave another polite smile to Freya as she happily handed him his drink. He had grown to like her, after all of the late hours they spent bantering. A cute, pretty girl, resilient and sharp.
"Thank you..." He said, before addressing Calder, "You need not worry of the Frostguard. They sit in quake in their frozen towns, lacking will to resist. They will bend the knee soon enough."
"Of course they will! Or else Ashe will sort them out, proper."
"Truly?" Calder responded.
"Damn straight," One of the group said, "She stood down an entire army of og- trolls, with just 100 men behind her and the king at her side. They say she took down more than 80 combatants as they charged up Avarosa's Perch. She could take on some lousy Frostguard any day of the year."
"80? Oft they say it was one hundred."
"What different does it make?! The Witch threw everything at her and she didn't even take a scratch! I say let them try it again so she can break the record!"
The military men all cheered and chuckled and rose their tankards over their heads in faux salute, Calder and Novich raised his as well.
"Hear hear!"
"All hail the Great Archer!"
"Glory to the Queen!"
"Her aim eternal!"
After everyone took a draught in honor of the Queen, some banter slipped through. The fourth man, a guard who sat between his lieutenant and captain friends, lay low and whispered with a grin.
"And what a dame our queen is... As a guard at the Crystal Hall, I go through much pain whenever she walks by. She has the figure of a goddess."
"A figure of a fine mount, you mean."
Another raunchy chuckle. Even the bartender gave a wince of a smile.
"Tits you could milk."
"And those legs..."
"White like a snowflake, too. Rumor has it that she has the cough."
"Pox!" The guard snorted, "She's lively as ever. More so. I saw her practicing with a broadsword like she was born with it. Skillfully as well."
"Really? Let her play with my sword, then!"
Novich rolled his eyes at the drunken daydreams of the military men as they laughed. He leaned in, trying to ask Freya a question, but Calder broke the silence, gesturing to Novich.
"Wary, boys. The King may overhear."
"Let him!" Was the humorous response, "Too much of cuckold to even touch her."
"I wouldn't say," The other barmaid spoke up with a sly smile, "My mum, Matilda, is one of the maids there. She says they've kissed quite often as of late."
A droll boooo sounded out from one of the men, the others following along, expressing disappointment, clearly unimpressed.
"We're on about the other lips, Maddy!" The captain countered with a smile.
Maddy laughed, eyes twinkling with confidence, "Let me finish, Halder: Thats not all my mum's said. She says that her sleep has been harder at the palace, with all the noise thats been coming from the royal chambers as of late."
Two of the men expressed their surprise with a prolonged Ooooooooo!, but Halder was skeptical.
"The wind cutting throw the cracks in the windows, lass. Your mum sleeps in the servant quarters."
"The maid quarters. Only one floor down from the Royal Chambers. Are you really going to doubt my mother's hearing that much?"
The captain known as Halder simply grinned and bowed his head, hoisting his mug once again.
"To the King, the lucky son of a bitch!"
The Troll King scratched his long, bulbous nose, looking at the scab, almost flicking it away, then eating the flake of flesh. Traditional troll attitude: Scabs and mites and all aren't meant to be left to the dirt and the worms. In the game of survival, every scrap counted.
He stood waiting in a chamber, more like a pit, cold and uncomfortable, even with his handy club of true ice by his side. Near the center of the crater was a long crack the twisted up the north wall of the room. A grim, dark gash in an already glum atmosphere, the glowing ices that hung on the wall nothing like the sun or candlelight. Not to mention the wind.
The wind was sharp and loud, howling, full of emotion and hate. It was an unnatural noise that felt colder than the air or the ice, swelling and dying at intervals. Only when the whistling truly die out did he stand to attention.
Lissandra skittered out, her frozen form spiny and small, with plenty of jagged edges. Everything about her sharpened after the Siege of Racklestake, the wounds she had sustained contorted her body into a sickly pile of shards, even her voice had become more of a hissing whisper than anything else.
"They will consent."
"About time," Trundle spat in a rather irritated tone, "Things would have been so much easier-"
"Quiet," Lissandra spat angrily, "They had their reasons for not lending this kind of aid. They ended up as they are now due to this sort of work."
"Except you are in control now." Trundle responded dully, watching Lissandra carefully.
Lissandra's face slipped from a glare into a sullen look, assessing Trundle deeply. The distrust between them had only grown over the blunder just a little over a month ago.
"I suppose I do. Now, bring me my elite. This war changes now, with Iceborn in my ranks. My Iceborn."
Sejuani kicked the man hard, the snow flashing around her face, catching in her eyes, her teeth, her ears. Her men around her had their arms at the ready, prepared to take over after she was finished.
After a minute she stepped back, catching her breath and collecting her thoughts in the frigid night air.
"You really are a fucking work of art," She roared down at the figure, who began to stand ever so slowly, bruised yet emanating calm, "You worked for the prissy little princess! You trained Ashe! You sipped wine in her court! Admit it!"
"I work for the Freljord," The man said in a level tone, "Did I not play a pivotal role in aiding your troop escape during the battle?"
"After losing us the battle! What sort of shit-head logic are you using, 'For the Freljord'!"
"Logic that you must listen too, Sejuani. I saved your force, as the battle had clearly gone to Ashe's favor. Stopping your Ursine and your Barbarian was the only way I could do it. The only way I could save you."
Sejuani was unhappy. She missed Bristle's rugged fur, standing on this stony wall made her feel open, vulnerable. What if there was a sharpshooter with a bow, pulling it taught at this very moment... The memory of Ashe made her shudder.
"Which is why I gave you time to find your peace." She growled.
"And in that time I gave you success. How could you have scaled these walls without my help?"
Sejuani wanted to roar a cutting response and kick him off the battlements to end this exchange, but she could not deny it. In the small moment he was in irons, he had brought her much. With his knowledge, she was able to take the fortress by surprise and gleam its weaknesses. All of this he provided willingly, his hands in chains.
"I can give you more. There is so much for you to do, Sejuani. The throne is but a distraction: You have something much greater in your future... if you would give me a chance."
Sejuani was more than skeptical: The black trickster demon that led her into battle had abandoned her half-way through. She was wary to trust, but this man had saved her life and had saved her campaign from utter disaster. If he had wanted her dead, he wouldn't have gotten involved in the first place.
She stared down the battlements, then out towards the Ursine and the Shattered Helm, visible in the dancing aurora lights. She thought long and hard.
"Thank you for Daggercave, I suppose. But there is so much more I ask of you. Tell me what I need to hear. Teach me what I need to know. This is your one chance."
Udyr nodded.
"I shall not fail you."
The night dragged on, its stars blanketing the alpine empire in a quiet light. Tryndamere stood at his balcony and stared out into the horizon, gripping his Claymore. He had been here for a couple minutes at least, with unsettling thoughts waking him from his slumber. A hand massaged him from the back and he turned to see his wife at his side.
"What keeps you up, my love?" She whispered sleepily, concerned yet at ease, gently resting her head on his shoulder.
"I can't say," Tryndamere started slowly, uncertain, "The IoW is under investigation. Noxus is pulling away from our border. The Frostguard are quiet. I know we got a letter from Daggercave a week ago, but I feel as if the world is shifting. In my bones. Something amiss."
"I see... Does it worry you?" Ashe replied quietly, following his gaze into the horizon.
The trials ahead were fearsome. Unlike anything Tryndamere or Ashe could ever comprehend. Unlike anything Runeterra had ever known. He knew that much, by how the Darkin blood-magic flared in his gut, the fury everlasting.
"Of course not. I have you."
He was not scared. He would not cave to the hatred. Not with her at his side: Their story had only just begun. They would triumph. He was sure of this too. The inferno never lied.
He turned away from the glum and bright night and gave her a simple embrace before they went back to bed to rest for whatever tomorrow would bring. Tryndamere didn't think much as he let his exhaustion and weariness overtake him, but just as his mind surrendered to slumber's embrace, he thought of Ashe. She slept close to him, an arm on his chest and her face on his shoulder.
He loved her so.
_Fin_
Author's Note will be posted as another chapter by the end of this week.