The three days it took Ezreal, Ryland and their faction of the Winter's Claw to get to Angel's Crossing were some of the strangest of Ezreal's life.
The frills of ice around them began to thaw. Moonlight-hued flowers sprung up beneath their boots even as the moss grew thicker. The air was warm and humid, tasting of spring rain.
Instead of the crisp black color of winter, the sky held a violet-indigo hue at night. The moon glowed orange instead of white, and wind blew continually from the south.
The tribe behind them whispered that they'd never seen the like.
Well, it could be a natural weather event, Ezreal thought. But I doubt it.
He and Ryland's auras grew a bit brighter but not any larger, to Ezreal's relief. He could think again. He hadn't realized how much mental noise his aura created, how little he could think over its deep-throated roar.
The Aitah insisted on dressing them in their finest clothes. Clad in hand-sewn gray shirts and buck-leather boots, he and Ryland appeared to be barbarians themselves – though of different factions.
The Aitah said that Ryland looked like the Winter's Claw to the East, while Ezreal could be from Ashe's court himself.
"Always opposite," Ryland murmured to him, smiling. He splashed his face with water. Ezreal saw a golden school of fish dart by. Their scales flashed.
New life. Spring life. He'd seen fawns, baby rabbits, countless butterflies. At night, huge white moths flocked to his and Ryland's auras.
The tribe had broke for dinner. Ezreal could smell it – fish roasting on the fire. The cheery sun was slowly descending.
"Life is made of opposites. Don't let it bother you."
"Speak your wisdom, Aven Lightbringer," Ryland said with an arched eyebrow. "I would hear more of it."
Ezreal snorted and knelt beside the brook. He stirred the warm water with his index finger. The triangular scars on his cheeks were a faded pink. "Think about it. Life and death. Night and day. Summer and winter."
Ryland knelt beside him. His face wavered in the brook's ripples. "But one of them is always more desirable."
"Each of them has their own beauty. It's cliché but – if it were summer all the time, would we truly appreciate it? You know, darkest night, brightest stars, and all that stuff. Speaking of brightness, you're Storming a bit, I think."
Ryland's mossy irises had taken on a silvery hue. His hand suddenly plunged beneath the brook's surface.
Immediately, insects and fish flocked to it, nibbling his fingers, darting between them. Bees and butterflies came to him in a humming cloud.
The creatures' seething bodies covered the entire surface of the stream within an instant.
Ezreal snatched his hand back in shock. "What –?"
"I don't know what happened to my powers," Ryland said quietly. "But I have a pretty good suspicion of what's changing the weather."
Ezreal felt his skin prickle. "What do you mean?"
"Pulsefire. It deals with weather, remember? And apparently, silver and gold make blue in this case."
Ryland smiled and lifted his hand out of the water. He gently brushed the minnows clinging to his fingers back into the stream, where they belonged. The insects dispersed.
"Ryland. I –" Ezreal swallowed. "This trip has been challenging, and a lot of weird stuff has happened."
"Yes." Ryland's eyes slowly faded back to normal.
"This is a bit more serious than an aurora or a thunderstorm," Ezreal said carefully. "This is an entire ecosystem."
"An entire pattern of nature, yes."
"…Are we really that powerful?"
"I will never know why you questioned it." Ryland closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the sun. Its spring light seemed a warm kiss. "You know how Lissandra wants to bury the world in ice?"
"Yes." Ezreal's ocean blue eyes were alight with fear.
"You and I could drench it in eternal spring."
Ezreal looked at his hands. The golden fire enveloping them made his heart flutter in his chest. "Why us?"
Ryland's hand trailed back into the water. "Why anything? It seems in this case the opposites make something in the middle."
Ezreal clasped his hands. "There are no studies on this, Ryland," he said desperately. "I would know. I've read the books on magic. On Pulsefire. Hell, I've written them. But I've never even heard of something like this happening."
"It's probably never happened before." Ryland stretched his legs. "Or at least, not where someone could've recorded it. Maybe it happened in the old days. To the Aitah's tribe."
"What would happen if we fought?" Ezreal asked suddenly. "I don't know who would win anymore."
His companion cocked his head. "That's an interesting question. Does it bother you?"
Ezreal took a deep breath. "I've been so bad to you –"
"Not this again. You've said enough. And I'm sure you'd still win. Healer versus Carry, remember?" Ryland patted Ezreal's head. The League had never seemed more distant.
"That wasn't a healer's power," Ezreal said quietly. "Soraka can't control animals."
"It is. Just not one that's seen very often. Remember? Way back? Varadi said his tribe's healer was really good with animals. Only the best healers have it." Ryland laughed. "Doesn't explain why I have it."
"You're a good healer –"
"Enough." Ryland held up one hand. "Please."
"You deserve more compliments," Ezreal fumed. His anxious fingers began to pull blades of grass apart.
"As do you." Ryland kissed Ezreal on the right temple lightly.
Ezreal leapt away. His cheeks were glowing a bright pink. He scrubbed at his skin, opened his mouth to say something, and didn't.
Ryland chuckled and let a flock of ladybugs land on his sleeves. Their bright red shells flickered like embers.
Every night was a festival. The barbarian musicians played high, whistling notes on their wooden pipes, their fingers moving too quickly for Ezreal to follow in the dancing firelight. They'd play the song once as a chorus, then pass it to Ryland.
Though the notes sounded strange on the clarinet, Ryland's talent for perfect pitch and fast memorization allowed him to mimic their songs. The rest of the barbarians joined in after he played it solo.
The haunting melodies echoed through the forest. Occasionally, a pack of wolves answered.
Ezreal sensed other tribes circling them. He wondered if the Aitah felt the weight of their predatory glances. They felt the same as the hungry stares of wolves and cougars.
He knew Ryland knew of them. Ryland could read everyone's thoughts now without a bit of effort. He'd even taken up telling fortunes, predicting the future for the barbarian hunters.
The warriors came alone or in pairs before they broke for supper. Many of them thanked him and Skylan for bringing the spring. Others wished them well, or congratulated Skylan on reaching Aven at last. But always they would ask for a fortune, a "dream-gaze" as they called it.
Ryland spoke to them vaguely, giving them a general sense of where their life was going. You will have good health, you'll have a hard winter.
But Ezreal, linked to Ryland's mind, knew that Ryland knew much more. For many of the barbarians, he could see the day of their death.
And for many of them, that day was coming soon.
After Ezreal saw one of the barbarians ripped apart by machines in his mind's eyes, he grabbed Ryland's arm, panting. The man was walking away, looking thoughtful. Ezreal watched as he rejoined his barbarian friends, and soon there was back-slapping and chatter all around.
"How can you do this? How can you stand it? He's going to be dead within a week! How can you do it?"
Ryland shrugged. "I've endured much worse."
"What do you see for me?"
"I've told you before. You're a key. Something like that." Ryland turned once more to the sky. With his Overflow, he appeared much more peaceful, serene.
He was in tune with the universe at last. The world was a symphony. The butterflies were the light plucking of strings, while the birds were flute notes piping skyward. The breeze brought an echo of windchimes only he could hear.
On one level, Ryland thought it was a fantastical hallucination. A deeper part of him – the one trained in healing – knew it wasn't. That he was hearing the world as it truly was.
Ezreal stood in front of him, his blue eyes still fearful. "What's going to happen?"
"A battle," Ryland said calmly. "One for the ages."
"Will I die?"
Ryland sighed. "We all die eventually, Aven. Maybe even you."
"Stop calling me that!" Ezreal squeezed Ryland's arm hard .
Ryland's aura wrapped around his. For a moment, Ezreal's hand and Ryland's forearm glistened blue.
Ryland met the Explorer's terrified gaze. "I know you're sorry. I know."
The second morning, Ryland arose with the hunters. Ezreal followed him.
Ryland bade them to hide behind trees, remain silent.
He pressed the clarinet to his lips and played as the dawn drew across the sky with a flourish. Deer slowly crept out of the shadows.
A wave of whispers from the barbarians with their slings and arrows. The herd of deer was entirely entranced, approaching Ryland with velvety noses and dainty hooves.
He played for them, making the last thing they'd ever hear sweet.
Ryland nodded slightly and closed his eyes.
The barbarians broke from the woods, shouting and flinging weapons. Ezreal felt his chest tighten as he watched the slaughter. The tiny meadow was soon drenched in blood.
And this is nothing compared to the days ahead.
Even as the barbarians hoisted their prizes over their heads, Ezreal collapsed behind a tree, his forehead pressed to the ground. He eventually felt Ryland's warm hand on his back.
"Ezreal, we have to keep it together. I know you can."
Stay strong.
There was the same image Ezreal had sent him – the glassy black ocean beneath the wild, painted sky.
Keep calm.
Katarina , try as she did to ignore it, missed Ryland.
And that disturbed her.
Greatly.
Ugh. Of all the guys to make me go soft, that one? I've fucked guys ten to twelve times hotter than him. He's a healer and I'm an assassin. This shouldn't work.
A snarky voice in the back of her head spoke up. Guess opposites do attract. No so tough now, huh? Next thing you know, you'll have twelve kids like Lux is going to. You'll be knitting socks instead of slitting throats.
She shuddered and told the voice to shut up, but the image persisted. Ryland – strong, beautiful Ryland – kissing her cheek, while nasty little hybrids of them ran around screaming.
Children. I've always hated them.
So it was partly the fear that she'd gone soft, and partly her insatiable sexual appetite that made her target Jarvan. The challenge was a factor, too. He hated her.
But the challenge was something to keep her mind occupied while marching wordlessly, a troll at each shoulder.
None of the other prisoners were guarded as hard as she was. Sometimes the thought made Katarina proud. Other times she wanted to cry.
Fucking Ryland and his damn emotions. At least this time I'm not corrupted, so I'll remember screwing someone famous.
They were nearing Angel's Crossing, despite following Varadi's asinine route. It turned out it was a sort of sacred battle way, something the trolls and Freljordians took very seriously.
She watched Jarvan for two and a half weeks. She watched the way he rested his back against trees, looking utterly exhausted.
She watched the delicate way he lifted food and water to his lips. She wondered if he'd acquired these gestures through etiquette training or if he'd been born with them. If he had princely blood.
The night before they were scheduled to arrive in Angel's Crossing, after the trolls and Ian the human allowed her to bathe, she scooted next to Jarvan during the dinner fire.
Jarvan didn't look at her, sipping his cup of water and staring straight ahead. The Freljordians were clustered together, speaking in their own liquid tongue. It sounded like a stream of watery vowels flowing into an ocean of words.
"Have you started wondering what Lissandra's going to do to us? Or do those things not trouble Jarvan, Exemplar of Demacia?"
Jarvan glanced sideways at her. "She might kill us. Though I suppose torture is in order."
"Mmm. It's a good thing I have so much practice. Your Demacian soldiers like to play rough." She let her seductive smile spread across her face. Her eyelashes brushed the tops of her cheeks when she fluttered them.
Jarvan snorted. "So, what now? I'm to be your Ezreal for the night?"
Kat blinked, startled. "'Fraid I don't take your meaning."
"You wish to play some perverse Noxian game with me. Well, m'lady, you won't find it quite as easy to tie me up and make me beg for mercy. I'm not as much of a bitch as the blonde boy."
He slammed his cup against the ground and glared at her. The firelight danced over his features – the dark shadow clinging to his jaw and upper lip, the beginnings of hair on his chest, the hungry look in his gray-green eyes.
"So I'll find it harder," Kat said with a laugh. "And that's supposed to dissuade me?"
"Ugh. Noxian jokes." Jarvan rubbed at his eyes and sighed deeply. "Kat. I know our countries have bad blood between us – centuries of it. But in this moment I beg your mercy. Please. Don't force me to have sex with you."
Katarina felt a wave of jaw-clenching anger. Fuming, she asked, "Why? Am I really that unattractive?"
"What? No!" Jarvan said it so loudly that their beastly guards spared them a glance, before turning away with a grunt.
He leaned towards her intently. "Though you're not beautiful by Demacian standards, you are fair, and I wouldn't sully your flesh with mine."
Sully? Kat thought irritably. What century is this guy living in? I don't even know what that means.
Then – through her anger and the dim light - she saw the fear sparkling in Jarvan's eyes. It was distant, muted, a faraway beacon. But Katarina had seen fear all her life, and recognized it.
"You really do think Lissandra might kill us," she said slowly.
"Aye." Jarvan clamped his lips together, ashamed that Kat had read him so easily. "This isn't a conflict between Demacia and Noxus. Often I could talk Noxian captors into releasing me. With Lissandra, I'm not a Prince. I'm a bystander."
"Disposable."
"Yes."
"But we'll escape – the Freljordians just don't want to because the trolls are feeding and sheltering us."
Jarvan closed his eyes. "If this small detachment was enough to conquer us, her large army will easily slay us."
Kat pulled her knees closer to her chest. "Are you sure it isn't the Skelgarn whispering these things to you? I know a man – like you – well –" She paused. Jarvan was considering her, head cocked.
"Yes?"
"You're brave."
"As are you. I've come to know it on the Rift."
Katarina unexpectedly felt herself blush. "Um. Thanks."
"To you as well." Jarvan looked away, flushed from collarbone to cheeks. "Kat – do you think – ah. Hm."
"No, go ahead," Katarina said. Her heart was pounding at the pulse points in her throat. "You can say it."
"Do you think there can be lasting peace between our two countries?"
The words stumbled out of his mouth, tripping across his tongue. Katarina felt her stomach plummet. Oh, gods. This could be history right here. Happening right now. To me.
She swallowed hard. "I think there could be."
"Yes. I agree. But then –"
"All the bloodshed will have been useless." She looked to him. Something inside of her was clawing at her. Tearing her organs apart.
Words, she realized. Words were hurting her. Words she needed to say. "Jarvan – I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for killing your men. Your lieutenants."
Jarvan flinched.
"Your captains and generals. I'm so sorry. They all had families and I just – I just killed them. Knives to their necks or temples –"
Her voice cracked. A portion of her knew it was partly the Skelgarn. But it was partly Ryland too. He spoke so constantly of compassion for every human being. Hell, he loved her when she was a walking murder machine.
Her vision blurred over. I've gone soft. Soft. She sobbed into her lap.
When she looked up, the prince of Demacia was gently brushing her tears away with his thumb. His eyes were full of sympathy. For a Noxian.
When he held his finger to her lips, she almost thought it was a gesture of comfort. But he wanted her to listen – something else she read in his eyes.
She strained her ears to hear whatever it was over the crackle of the fire.
Then she did – three sharp notes floating through the deep Freljordian forest.
"What is that?" she whispered.
"Listen. It might come again." Jarvan closed his eyes, as if willing his range of hearing to increase. Kat bit her tongue. She could hear the blood pumping inside of her ears.
Then she heard it and had to call on all her training to keep from gasping. She leaned even closer to Jarvan. "Ryland's clarinet."
"Aye," Jarvan breathed. "Can you contact him?"
"How?"
"Some sort of mental thing. A link. I don't know how it works." Jarvan's tone was completely conversational now, nothing to arouse suspicion. The experience he had in these situations was showing.
Kat plastered on a friendly smile and nodded. "I'll try. Oh, gods. We never practiced it consciously. I'll need to concentrate."
Jarvan nodded slightly. "I'll occupy them for a bit."
Katarina had watched as he'd built up relationships with the guards as well. He played seven-card poker and chess and too many gambling games to count. Things he probably hadn't learned in etiquette school.
Barely breathing, Katarina expanded her mind. She imagined her consciousness expanding from a pinprick to the vista of the night sky.
And she meditated on Ryland. His dark hair, green eyes and –
She shuddered as her consciousness found his wandering through the dark forest. His power had been massive before, but now it was monumental.
Kat! I've missed you! Gods, I've missed you. The words brushed against her mind like hummingbird wings. She ached to kiss him.
Ryland, we need help. We've been captured.
His presence seemed to wrap her in warmth. By who?
Kat silently focused on sending him her experience in pictures. Then she noticed his mind shifting into hers, permeating it like water.
Ryland? What are you doing?
It's faster this way. Sorry, love.
She felt him sifting through memories and caught her breath. There's so much murder. So much death.
I'm used to it. He found her memory of the past three weeks. It unfolded before him.
We need Ezreal. Jarvan thinks Lissandra's going to kill us.
Ezreal, huh? She felt Ryland smile. I hope I can help out too.
Though she sensed his impatience to go, she kept him a bit longer. What happened to you? You're like an inferno of Empath.
I'll tell you once we save you.
Will it be just you and Ezreal?
No, no. That smile again. We'll bring friends.