"…ther one! Brace for impact!"

Even as he rose from the ground, with ears still pinging that annoying high tone, the watchtower guards' yell caught Garen's attention. From his crawling position, the vanguard could only unsheath his blade and use it as a shield, hoping it'd be enough. Loose bricks bounced against his armor as he scrambled further into the courtyard, farther away from the remnants of the gatehouse.

As he rose to his feet once more, Garen heard distant footsteps. A few paces isolated him from the defensive formation his men had set up, so all the Crownguard scion could do was turn to face whatever threat lay before him. He wasn't sure what to expect, though; an icy mist dissipated around the ruin of the gatehouse, obscuring vision. Garen pointed his sword at the mist in warning, ready to thrust at whatever came through.

A flying spear thrust forced Garen to reconsider. Forced to sidestep, Garen watched his assailant land from his jumping position. The man wore clothes of clearly Demacian make, but they were rough and worn; perhaps a trophy of some kind. Strapped on his back was a second thicker yet shorter spear of stone. The assailant was quick to recover, rolling before sending another thrust Garen's way. Garen deflected the strike with the broad flat of his sword and went for a slash-

Two blades rushed to meet his own. Garen recognized the warrior before him as one of the riders who was on his tail before Rodion and Varya delayed their advance. The swordsman was smaller than Garen, meaning the Crownguard scion could've bested him in a test of might. The spearman's recovery was quick, however, and the threat of a spear to the gut made Garen retreat.

From the shield line, someone called out, "Captain watch out!"

The warning was barely audible over the roars of the threats it warned about. Garen ducked past the thrust of yet another spear as woman riding a massive boar burst through the icy mist. She stopped just before the shield wall, but not before flinging her spear through one of the wall's openings. Garen could barely note whoever got wounded or killed, however, as a horde of Freljordian warriors came in. Horned helmets, rune-inlaid weapons and skulls and totems abound filled the courtyard in loose formation, seeking to add to their collection.

Garen felt little in the way of fear, however, "Vanguard, break their ranks!"

Whilst the Vanguard charged, they did not break the enemy's ranks. The Freljordians seemed to do so of their own accord, charging organically to meet the Demacian counteroffensive. The courtyard was soon a chaotic pit of death. The few healthy horses were mounted by riders dueling with the Freljordian's boars, whilst the various footmen from each side brawled. Arrows flew from the walls and from Freljordian scouts peering through the gates. All the while, shards of ice fell from the sky, punctuating the fight with each heavy hit against Aron's Defiance's walls.

The first spearman melded into the chaos when some Demacian spearmen charged past Garen. From behind the Freljordian vanguard's masked form, his equally masked swordsman friend was joined by a younger, unmasked hunter. They pressed against Garen with blades of differing quality; whilst the hunter's short sword was poorly made, the masked swordsman's twin blades were undeniably Demacian forged. Garen growled, vowing to avenge whoever the blades' original wielded was. With a powerful yell, he slashed in a circle, his blow too fast and powerful for his foes to try stab at his back. Whilst the masked one dodged the blow narrowly, the young hunter was literally disarmed. Garen then kicked the hunter in the chest, sending him into the masked swordsman. He charged to end them both-

A roar warned Garen of an oncoming charge from the Freljordian's beasts. The Crownguard scion was forced to back away, dodging the massive boar's tusks goring him. When the beast returned to the rest of the battle, Garen couldn't find his previous quarries. Instead, standing between two bested soldiers clutching bleeding wounds was the spearman. The masked man pointed his spear at Garen in challenge, a low chuckle leaving him. Garen obliged with a growl, taking three paces before sending a mighty overhead strike-

The blunt end of the masked man's spear left a stinging pain of Garen's left temple. After glancing up for a mere second, Garen ducked closer to the stone, making the follow-up slash from the spear's sharp end miss. The Crownguard Scion lunged for a thrust with his broadsword, only for the spearman to arc his weapon around his back, slapping Garen's sword hand lightly. A graceful flurry began as the spearman began spinning his spear, the sharp end clashing with Garen's raised blade, threatening to disarm him, if it didn't force his blade down.

It wouldn't; Garen refused to fall. Tightening his grip on his sword's hilt to the point of hurting, Garen caught the seventh strike and pushed off with a yell. The spearman backed away, returning to a cautious stance.

Garen took his own stance as he analyzed the previous exchange. He hadn't expected it from some Freljordian tribesman, but the man's fighting style was rather sophisticated; enough to be comparable to Demacia's own prodigies. There was a gap in finesse and grace, admittedly, but the spearman made up it for with an over-investment speed. The spearman didn't just numbly wait for openings to poke at. He made opportunities for himself, using swift, slashing, sweeping arcs, as well as creative, chipping counters-

And blinding quick thrusts. The Freljordian spearman lunged ahead, and Garen barely dodged the stab, the spearhead barely glancing off of his shoulder plating. Garen backed away, blocking another thrust as his eyes went to the sky.

As an overhead slash reared and readied, Garen internally chuckled - the similarities between the Freljordian's style and his friends' own were piling up rapidly. Or, perhaps it was simply spear techniques not changing much. Regardless, training with both the now-King and his Seneschal mentor had taught Garen many counters to the move being used against him. Garen met the overhead with his blade, but rather than simply block it or push it back, the Dauntless captain slid to the side of it. The move visibly surprised the spearman, and he was left open to a crashing fist which sent him reeling.

The spearman's mask went clattering to the ground, prompting the hooded figure to scramble away and try pick it up. If not for the spearman's nimble movements, a crueler foe would've gutted him there. Garen was perhaps a bit too slow, or rather more interested in information. Whilst scouts had heard that certain tribes in the Freljord were uniting, Garen hadn't been aware they'd grown to the scale needed for a full invasion. So, Garen lunged slowly with a downward slash, intending to disarm the spearman-

The Freljordian turned on a dime and released a flash of white, temporarily blinding Garen.

A mage... Garen scowled, Of course it's a mage. Couldn't just be a regular Freljordian...

When Garen's vision returned, the Freljordian had put on his mask once more, and wielded both his wooden spear and the shorter one previously stuck on his back. The spear had an odd grip and had etched, glowing runes pointed at Garen. Noting the aura of magic emanating from the stockier spear, as well as said spear's color, Garen paled. The spear was made of petricite, but how did a Freljordian tribesman know to use it that way? It was a recent development in Demacia, so how…

"…Sylas," the name left Garen's lips in an accusing, horrified whisper, "You know Sylas!"

The spearman paused and cocked his head, "Sylas?"

It has to be a lie, Garen thought, He knows… he knows!

Garen lunged forward, a yell on his lips-

-only to realize his sword wasn't in his hand, nor was he on the battlefield.

As elements of his old and new consciousness traded places - the light of the rising sun piercing smoke replaced by the setting sun filtered by a barred window; the hell of ice, blood and rubble being replaced with a sterile medical center room - Garen groaned. Sensations returned slowly. First came a dull pain in his head, then the realization that one of his eyes was dark, covered by cloth. Finally, hearing returned, and with it a familiar voice.

"…ren! Garen! Are you alright?"

Garen blinked in both pain and surprise, "Argh... Lux? Lux, you're... alright."

Lux was relieved, Garen could tell, but she hid it under a frown of irritation, "Of course I'm alright, I was indoors during the fighting. How about you?"

"I-" Garen's smile fell into a wince as the pain returned, "I've been better... Gah, what the hell happened? Feels like a castle fell on me."

"It kind of did," Alys Morn spoke with a deadpan tone from the corner of the room, but Garen found a thankful look in her eyes as well, "Whilst you were fighting that spearman, the Freljordian's ice artillery sent one of the watchtowers falling. I think a brick from the first floor doorway did you in. If it were anything higher..."

"Then thank the gods that didn't happen…" Garen sat up straighter on his cot and asked, "Alys… report."

"Garen, you're still hurt," Lux noted, alarmed.

Alys agreed, "Perhaps you should rest a bit more first? I've let things running pretty well."

"I'll rest later. I imagine the medics will want me strapped to this bed for a while. Just give me something to think about then," Garen sighed away another lance of pain before continuing, "What happened after I got knocked out?"

"We... lost," Alys paused with a wince of regret, "Reika, Cithria, and Diadoro were able to recover you and hold the line for a bit, but with the artillery coming in we were forced to retreat into the keep. Then a block smashed open the front gate, and we had to split the Vanguard to guard the main keep and different divisions."

Garen winced, already hearing his aunt's criticism in his ears, "After that?"

"We held the line from then on. The Freljordians couldn't break through any further without their artillery, so they just looted what they could from where they could for all its worth," Alys shrugged, a dissatisfied look on her face, "We've emptied out the second armory for replacements, since the main one was left basically completely empty. As for food, thankfully the Freljordians only got access to the secondary storage. We've still limited our daily portions to three-quarters the usual, but..."

"Better than expected," Garen nodded then paused, bracing for the worst of the report, "...how many did we loose?"

"We... I had to combine what was left of Ninth and Twelfth shields together, at least for now," Morn euphemised, "Minimal casualties for the Vanguard, all in all. That said, a third of the castle garrison was lost. That's nothing to say of the wounded..."

Garen could only sigh, regret radiating from his every word, "So... we lost."

"Yes. We lost."

Lux, as per usual, tried to brighten up the mood, "Well, you survived, right? You can fight another day."

As little as it did to help, Garen forced a weak smile out and nodded. As he glanced to Lux, however, another memory - accompanied by a dull, throbbing pain, of course - followed. The memory must've reflected on Garen's face, for he soon saw his light mage sister frowning.

"What is it?" Lux asked.

"There was a spearman leading the attack. Wore a mask, used magic... and one of his spears was made of petricite," Garen recounted, "More than that, he was using that petricite spear to store power. And the artillery... The Freljordians have never displayed the organization to pull that off."

Alys squinted, "What are you saying?"

"I think Sylas is with those Freljordians."

"Sylas?" A whirlwind of emotions seemed to clash within Lux, "But... why would... it wouldn't be him, not now."

"... It could be," Garen turned his gaze away. Even after Lux returned to the capital, the topic of the Unshackled was something to be avoided, "You have to admit, Lux, he'd do something like this. He doesn't really care about Demacia; he'd do everything to kill Jarvan and anyone else in his way."

"That wasn't what I meant..." Lux replied, surprising her brother, "I agree with you what you said, but... well, it could be possible..."

Garen sat up straighter, "... but?"

Lux frowned, "Well..."

Alys stepped forward to cover for Lux, "I couldn't mention it before, but before we left to find your patrol the prisoners escaped."

"They escaped?" Garen felt his face pale, "Well then, it has to be Sylas, right? The prisoner was a follower of Syl-"

"Not all of the prisoners were followers," Alys corrected, "Remember the new prisoners that were to come in after you went on patrol? They arrived, and from what we've determined they weren't followers of Sylas; at least, not anymore."

"But they were still looking for him, weren't they?" Garen assumed.

"Yes, but... they were freed. We interrogated them, took a short break to think up more questions, then found their cells empty and the guards knocked out," Lux explained, "And the person who did it left a calling card. A petricite rock that powered an illusion."

"Who was it-" Garen's question was cut off when he figured out the only other option, "... the demon from the capital. Nocturne was here?"

"Yes. He was. And... he came to warn us, of all things," Lux recalled, "We figured he'd be at the head of the force... and it seems we were right. Seems, anyway..."

...Which meant he had faced the demon. Part of Garen felt giddy at the thought: it seemed without his demon friend, the host wasn't up to par to face him. He was good, yes, but not nearly as powerful as he'd thought. Then again, perhaps it was the host's intent to not appear as who he was, and as such he was holding back; none of the blood magic from the capital had been used, and it seemed the final flash Garen had felt was a trump card not meant to be used...

But that was one part of Garen's mind. The other was troubled by the meeting's various implications. There was the obvious fear factor: the presumably Noxian host was working in tandem with the tribesmen. Were they Noxians in disguise, then? Highly unlikely; the forces seen matched more with Freljordian raiders in battle style and tactics more than any Noxian legion. But then again, it was also unlikely the Freljordians would join forces with Noxus; they were as suceptible to that tyrannical empire's dreams of conquest as Demacia. So what was the truth behind that?

Then, there was the magic. Something in Garen's gut told him he was in the right direction concerning Sylas. If the murderous mage was out there with the tribesmen... it didn't bode well.

And somehow, the situation had the capacity to somehow worsen; Lux wasn't finished, "Also... also, I... the mageseekers and I lost an artifact."

"An artifact?" Garen asked.

Alys jumped on as well, "I only heard you were attacked. What artifact?"

Lux answered, "Alys decided that I should prepare to leave in case the fortress went under attack. We prepared a carriage... then I found that the mageseekers were worried the fortress might fall or be breached, so they tried to have me bring a staff of some kind with me. They said it was some old, powerful relic... apparently, Nocturne agreed. He somehow appeared from Sergeant Praytor and stole it; destroyed the carriage as well. That's... why I'm still here; too risky to leave."

"... It was the right call to make," Alys concluded, before crossing her arms in thought, "I thought it was odd Praytor was reporting to the mageseekers... I thought he wasn't a mage."

"He isn't. Hell, his village has never recorded any magic presence," Garen noted, before explaining to a confused and judge mental Lux, "It was part of my criteria choosing your escorts; I didn't want to risk someone with sympathies for the rebellion."

"But if he wasn't a mage, how could he summon Nocturne?" Alys asked.

"He didn't," Lux insisted, "I don't know how Nocturne got to him, but it definitely wasn't his choice..."

Garen met Lux's eyes and ascertained what she really wanted, "... Alys, later, if you have the time, try see if you can get Praytor out of custody."

"You read my mind," Alys nodded before sending a soft gaze to Lux.

"Thanks," Lux sighed in relief, "He doesn't deserve that judgement."

Garen couldn't help but recall a choice he made not too long ago in a dark sewer. However different the circumstances, he remained stalwart on his decision, "No... no he doesn't."

"Garen! You're up!"

Garen looked to the doorway and gave a weak smile despite his injuries. Shield-Sergeant Merrek was a sight for his sore eyes. The man, still decked in bloodstained and dusted armor, smiled without a worry until the world; traces of relief were available on Merrek's face, but it was clearer to Garen that the sergeant hadn't doubted his survival in the slightest.

The man accompanying Merrek was less pleasant. Wearing pristine white robes highlighted by a burning torch, Garen felt his sore eyes worsen at the sight. His smile turned to a grimace as he lied far into his bed and squinted.

"Good to see you too, Merrek," Garen greeted, "But that light..."

"Hmm. Light sensitive... not a good sign," the medic handed Merrek the torch before approaching Garen from the side. The medic gave him an analytical stare before waving the sergeant off. As Merrek left the room, the medic explained, "You likely have a concussion. Not surprising given what caused your injury; we already accounted for it. My ladies, I would recommend leaving Captain Crownguard to rest soon. Captain, you'll need to recover for two days."

Garen sighed, "I guess I can make up paperwork-"

"Not quite, Captain. Concussions need both physical and mental recovery," the medic glanced to the other soldiers in the room, "Of course, knowing you Vanguard types, I doubt you'll actually listen. So, just be short with your work time. Better you rest for two days straight then over the course of four."

The medic left after that. Merrek came back in as he left and shrugged.

"Figured I'd need to be responsible," the sergeant said.

"I've been running most of the logistics," Alys Morn deadpanned.

"We have our callings. You sent the mail, I kept the wounded company," Merrek glanced to Garen, "Speaking of logistics , have you given the report?"

"Just about finished. I'd just explained our current theories on the spearman who he was fighting, among other things..."

"The demon host, most likely," Merrek noted, "The mystery deepens."

"Indeed. And I've just been told not to think too hard," Garen jested despite the throbbing at the back of his head resurfacing, "... Anything else to add?"

"Concerning the host? Not much," Merrek admitted, "The mageseekers took to analyzing the petricite he used for his illusions when he broke out the prisoners. Some of the older experts agree the rune's in some Noxian dialect, meaning 'light'. The younger half aren't convinced though, and have offered a Freljordian rune meaning 'mist'. So again, no definite ideas on who this guy is, who he's working for, or whatever they even want. Also, as I mentioned, Alys sent letters to all the nearby battalions, patrols, and outposts. Currently the plan's only to observe and scout the raiders if encountered, but we did send a letter to the capital and High Silvermere. We should get enough reinforcements to deal with the raiders soon."

"That's… good..." Garen blinked as he processed Merrek's report before falling on another questino, "Wait, how long was I out?"

"You've been sleeping for a day, boss."

"A day... those raiders have been strolling our country for a day."

Merrek frowned, "Yeah... well, I guess if you rest well, we can be out there stopping them soon."

"Right..." Garen gave a bitter chuckle, "I guess I should get to that. Alys, if anything happens-"

"Ignore doctor's orders and get you worked up, right, I'll do that," Alys waved him off with a smile, "Now you just get napping..."

Morn's gaze fell on Lux, "Or I'll have my apprentice make you."

"If anything I'll probably keep him up," Lux admitted with a frown.

"Please don't, every stack of papers I read melts my mind," Alys jested before leaving, "I'll be headed to the mageseeker division to get Praytor out, Lux; meet me there when you're done here. As for you… rest well, Captain."

"I will," Garen assured before Alys left.

After a short pause, Merrek also made to leave, "I guess I ought to go too."

"Give the wounded my condolences," Garen chided.

"Of course."

With that, the two Crownguards were left alone. Lux glanced to the window before motioning for it.

"Is it noon?" Garen asked.

"In a few hours," Lux let the curtains fall, cutting off the sunlight; if not for a candle at Garen's bedside, the room would've been completely dark.

"Thank you..." Garen paused for a moment, almost letting sleep take him; his eyes were tired enough. But, a sudden recollection brought him back to alertness, "You were there when Nocturne attacked, weren't you?"

"I said already; I'm fine," Lux hastily replied, "I couldn't do much anyway..."

"... Lux. What did you do?" Lux only turned away, and the more paranoid, aching side of Garen's mind assumed, "You didn't-"

"No, I didn't... well, not..." Lux made an aggravated sound between a sigh and a growl, "I... attacked Nocturne. With my new sword. It didn't work; even with my… ability, he just disarmed me and made off with the artefact, but..."

"That was reckless, Lux," Garen argued, "The seekers were right there. You could be in a cell by now, if not executed..."

"What did you want me to do? Accept my fate?" Lux questioned, a defensive anger in her tone, "I couldn't just stand there. I had to help them; I had to try!"

Garen wanted to argue further, but between the obvious hypocrisy that rose in his mind and the throbbing headache that accompanied, he sighed and sunk further into his bed, "... I know. Of course you had to try. You're my sister, after all."

Lux's features softened at the jest, "Aunt Tianna does want both of us to be legendary Crownguard heroes."

"She also knew you weren't ready," Garen chided, "I know you want to help. And you will... hell, as queen you'll probably do greater things than I ever will..."

"Thanks for the reminder," Lux sarcastically cut in.

"Jarvan isn't too bad-"

"I know, but still," Lux smirked, "Dumping that suddenly on me wasn't cool."

"..."

"Garen?"

"Er... could've sworn I had a moral at the tip of my tongue," Garen frowned with a slow blink, "I guess I do need my rest."

"Right," Lux frowned, "Well... I wont disturb you anymore. Rest well?"

"I will, thanks."

After a short pause, Lux sat from her chair at Garen's side and made for the exit. The Crownguard scion closed his eyes at that moment, only to open them again at the sound of his sister's voice.

"Garen?"

"Yes, Lux?"

"When I fought Nocturne..." illuminated by the outside hallway's torchlight, Garen could make out Lux clenching her fist in frustration, "I was so powerless... it felt... awful. It felt awful. Have you felt that way before?"

"More times than I would've liked," Garen replied.

Lux stood silently at the entrance arch before asking, "How did you deal with it?"

"... It's probably terrible advice, but..." Garen chuckled, "Ren always said; you just have to keep going forward. Even if you get beat down, you have to get up and keep going. After all, I'm the Vanguard Captain, right? The whole kingdom… you… you're all relying on me. So… I guess that's that."

"Everyone relying on you… if I'm to be queen, I guess…" Lux sighed and sent a gentle smile to her brother, "Thank you, Garen."

With that, Lux's silhoette faded from sight…

"You're welcome, Lux."

… As did everything else, when the Vanguard Captain let his mind rest.

Though the battle had long ended and they'd gone far enough that snow and ice only appeared in pockets, the raider tribe was still in the throws of celebration. Rather than forage for wild berries or hunt for squirrels, the raiders snacked on nutrient-rich sandwich/rations and cured meats. Rather than wrap themselves in worn woolen cloaks, the raiders paraded the spoils of their raid; pristine Demacian plate gleamed over refined Demacian cloaks. Rather than prowl like the skilled hunters they were, they sang victories chants, smiling and laughing all the while.

It unnerved Aislynn, to say the least. The same voices that cheered around camp were assuredly the last things Demacian soldiers had heard the day before. Much of the cloths and steel bore blood stains from where their previous wearers and wielders were felled. And the rations… well, nothing was particularly displeasing about those save for the murder involved and the glee the raiders were enjoying them – they were military rations, after all.

By Aislynn's side, Cyrus watched with equal disdain, if not a more poisonous hate. He had gotten a set of stolen, fresh, undamaged Demacian armor – apparently what Xander had earned for his victories – but Aislynn imagined they did nothing but remind Cyrus of the life he once had… and the cost of the tribe's new toys.

"The sooner until we leave, the better," the fire mage muttered derisively.

"Assuming we ever will," Aislynn sighed "I don't fancy our chances if they don't take kindly to our leaving."

"Fire generally beats ice; maybe I could try something?"

Aislynn sent a tired frown tempered with a deadpan gaze Cyrus' way, "It didn't beat crossbow, and with these idiots roving about that… she is definitely going to be out there."

"So we stay with the tribe," Cyrus assumed.

"Or try convince Xander and Sylas that staying any longer with the trbie will be more trouble than its worth… somehow," An irritated growl left Aislynn's snarling mouth, "Where the hell did Xander even go?"

"Hell if I knew," Cyrus muttered, "… not even going to try convince Sylas?"

"Oh please… The raiders are practically worshiping him," Aislynn noted, "As if the mage rebels aren't already a cult of personality. He'll just join the two groups and send them both to hell on the hope of killing Jarvan."

Cyrus seemed to agree, remaining silent with a grimace on his face. Silence permeated on their little clearing, only broken by the clinking of Cyrus' armor. The fire mage's anxious pacing reflected Aislynn's own thoughts. They had to choose between the moral frying pan of working with Sylas and the raiders as they pillaged the northern countryside and the fire of getting inevitably caught by vengeful loyalist forces, if not a repeat encounter with that cruel killer Vayne.

... would the Noxians be a separate variable in this analogy? The thought brought a disgusted snicker out of Aislynn, Probably, right? They're not exactly dangerous or evil... at least I think... what would they be, though?

Well, you're right in saying they're not dangerous.

Wait, that wasn't my thoug-

The sudden interjection into her thoughts were Aislynn's only warning before her mind was fried by a sudden vision. Brown fur and blood shot eyes more realistic then she'd ever seen prior accompanied a familiar, eardrum-shattering shriek. The dream mage screamed and flailed off her moss-stone seat.

"What the fu-Freddy?!" She exclaimed, waving hands to ward off the threat that had disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Freddy?" Cyrus was at her side, igniting his blade, "What Freddy?"

A more familiar chuckle that should've sent shivers up Aislynn's spine didn't inspire reaction, mildly surprising her, "Nobody ever is ready for the Fazbear. Not that anyone would really know what that is..."

Aislynn and Cyrus turned to find no massive bears. Xander approached casually, wearing the same garb he'd used in the raid save the mask. Said mask was being worn by an ice golem of some kind wielding a gold staff and wearing familiar steel shoulder pads. Nocturne, Aislynn realized, flexed, shattering his icy body and reforming it with black mist summoned from the dream mage's direction. The new misty body parts slowly began to freeze from the gold staff; something that briefly confused Aislynn before she was left apathetic.

"Apologies for the jumpscare; lugging this staff around's bad for Nocturne's fluidity... gas-sity? But yeah, if we want to reset Noc's body we're gonna have to scare someone," Xander explained, "He needs fresh emotion to regrow what freezes over."

Unimpressed - naturally, Aislynn hoped - a question left the dream mage's lips.

"... Really? Freddy?"

"It works like a charm," Xander shrugged, hands up, "And if it ain't broke..."

Aislynn frowned, "That's… kind of nauseating?"

Nocturne chuckled with a more filtered, echoed laugh, "Nausea… Surprisingly don't see that emotion as much."

"You're efficient," Xander answered, and Aislynn felt a shudder of disturbance fade.

Nocturne hummed as he absorbed Aislynn's emotion, "Fear is generally stronger anyway."

Cyrus wasn't having any of it, focusing on a pressing matter, "Hold on, hold on, where have you been? What've you been doing?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to get Nocturne into camp in a cinematic fashion," Xander replied without pause, "Normally I'd just have him apparate in a fancy floaty way then go on from there but with our cargo that just won't be possible. Also, drafting fancy speeches takes awhile."

"Really now."

"Yeah. I'm not exactly Soates," Xander joked, "But I've got something, so let's get walking. Should be able to finish by the time we reach camp."

The Left Hand of Noxus walked off, practically hopping past the rocks and hard dirt towards the camp. Nocturne followed at a slower pace, misty body growing heavier with each icy growth. After exchanging looks, Aislynn and Cyrus joined them. The dream mage glanced to the golden staff in Nocturne's hand, glancing with concern as said hand froze over.

"Right… so, what is that, and why do you need to be all cinematic?"

"Excellent questions!" Xander smiled as he explained, "For cinematics, well, I'm sure you've caught on with how badly we're manipulating the Freljordians' religious zealotry for our purposes. Now, gods, angels, demons, etcetera don't just dump things on their worshippers and piss off; they need grand shows of power… or speeches. Also, Nocturne – our stand in spirit – may be suspicious for not acclimatising well to our relic here."

"And said relic?"

"A weapon of power belonging to the last Freljordians who attacked Aron's Defiance," Xander answered, "From what I can tell, it just magnifies ice magic. Also, as a True Ice weapon, we regular mages can't use it. The freezing you see here would happen to us, and unlike Nocturne we can't easily regrow our limbs. So, that means it's going to the tribespeople or down a chasm somewhere."

"I did not forgo my facade for the latter to occur," Nocturne added.

Aislynn frowned, annoyed, "… that's it? You ditched us for a whole morning for that?"

"I was going to be back," Xander frowned back, confused at his fellow dream mage's reaction.

"The raiders wouldn't have known," Aislynn raised her voice with her point, "They might've killed u-"

"A) That's an overreaction, B) Sylas, for all his faults, wouldn't have killed you, and C) They would've known, because Sylas knew. Maybe I'd ditch you guys, but I wouldn't ditch Erret," Xander countered, "Sheesh, so paranoid… But, it was my bad to not give explanations to that before hand, so sorry."

"... Fine, apology accepted," Aislynn paused in place before conceding, "But… is it really a good idea to enable these Freljordian's beliefs?"

"I only really stomach it so far as it gets them off our backs, if not make them useful," the Left Hand of Noxus replied, waving Aislynn off.

How Machiavellian, Aislynn thought derisively.

Cyrus nodded in agreement with Xander's words however, "The less we work with them the better. As long as it doesn't worsen things."

Xander stopped in place and looked to the side in thought, "Well…"

Cyrus glared with the fire of a volcano, "What?"

"Teaching them more efficient ways to achieve victory – like artillery strikes – might've made things better or worse," Xander explained, "But, I imagine the bloodshed will definitely worsen when we're not there to guide them away from it personally."

"… personally? Wait, so we're leaving the tribe?"

"We are – or at least, Erret and I are – only here for Sylas," the Left Hand of Noxus noted, "It shouldn't be too hard to convince Sylas we need to go; we'll need to meet with his side of the rebellion, after all. And from there, yes, we can leave the tribe."

"And how will you convince him that the raiders aren't a simple addition to his forces?" Aislynn questioned.

Xander flinched before awkwardly chuckled, "Well it won't be up to him… I hope."

"You hope?"

"Sylas is a respected mage and warrior with powers beyond the Freljordians' expectation; read as chosen by the gods. But, I have an actual spirit at my apparent beck and call," Xander eventually shrugged again, continuing ahead, "Ah, well. We'll see what happens."

"We'll see what happens?" Aislynn scowled, "That doesn't seem smart."

"Agreed," Cyrus said, "Maybe we ought to plan more? We still have time."

"Maybe we could..." Xander stopped in his tracks with an amused sigh, "… no, nevermind. We don't have time."

Aislynn and Cyrus moved their gazes from each other to the road ahead. They hadn't quite reached the camp yet, but they had reached the general area in which the raiders' scouts patrolled. Those men weren't of concern, however: directly ahead, riding atop their druvask mounts were Sylas and Thorva. Their gazes were on them; something odd for the latter person, given who Aislynn and Cyrus knew to be in their company. A quick survey arround revealed Nocturne was gone… or rather, hiding; the staff the demon held onto was imbeded in the ground behind Xander, and black smoke and ice that rose from it told the pacifistic mages everything they needed.

Unaware, Sylas greeted Xander, "Good afternoon, Xander. Where've you been?"

"Not scheming with my Noxian buddies, I assure you," Xander jested in reply.

Thorva frowned, "We noticed... Your sword-wielding friend has been leaving wounds across camp."

"Spars, I hope?" Xander asked.

"If they weren't spars we'd be having a different conversation," Sylas answered, tight smirk on his face.

The only change Xander displayed was a flicker of anger in his eyes, "Of course… so, what is it? I imagine you have a reason to be looking for me? Or is it them?"

"It's you we're looking for," Sylas assured, "Though, I had assumed Aislynn and Cyrus were in camp. Good thing we found all three of you, I suppose."

"And what do you want with us?" Aislynn questioned, arms crossed.

"We were hoping to speak of plans," Thorva answered, "Where next to raid… and Sylas tells me he wishes to speak with other… tribes of rebels?"

"Groups would be more accurate," Sylas lightly chided, "But yes, I was hoping we could speak on such things."

"Great minds think alike, then," Xander paused pensively, then nodded, "Alright, you've found us. Are we talking here, or can we get indoors?"

"The Scarmother would like to join as well, and her tent should be big enough for all of us," Thorva nodded, "Follow me."

As Thorva's mount trotted ahead and Sylas' own followed, Aislynn noted Xander crouch slightly to whisper at Nocturne. Cyrus did as well before following Sylas and Thorva, presumably to play cover. That left Aislynn to watch the Noxian...

The demon poked his shadowy head out of the ground, "I know illusion magic. I'll drop off the scepter at the tent and we can pick it up later. Now go."

Xander glanced to Aislynn, who shrugged and silently motioned for the Noxian to follow. Xander did, leaving a curious mound of ice to trail in the snow, unbeknownst to any scouts.

"Apologies for making you wait," Xander spoke lightly, as though in jest.

"Are the optics so important to you?" Aislynn questioned.

"I spent a whole morning figuring it out; you tell me."

Thankfully for Xander's optics, they caught up before Thorva or Sylas caught on. Soon, they were back in camp, surrounded by raiders who greeted them with approving cheers. Xander, strode mostly aloof, though the looks of reverence interspersed in a sea of jovial celebration did bring a smile to Xander's face. Thorva, however, Aislynn noticed, smiled sincerely at each compliment and blessing. The shamanka seemed thankful; something that put Aislynn in unease only when she considered what Thorva had likely done to earn such praise. More disturbing to Aislynn was Sylas, who simply nodded at those who addressed him.

So used to getting your ass kissed already, Sylas? And you have the audacity to hate the nobility... maybe you weren't insulted, but jealous.

Thorva led them on to the tent at camp center. Though not at all impressive compared to even the cabin at the Meltridge hideout, the Scarmother's tent was the biggest in the camp. Patterns made from expensive-looking furs decorated the outside, along with skull-decorated poles. As if the epithet Scarmother wasn't intimidating enough, the tent before them had all the makings of a warlord's.

As they entered, Aislynn figured the only way the Scarmother could confirm her beliefs more was by having a corpse of an underling on the floor. Alas, all the Scarmother had was a map pinned to a makeshift table made of a tree stump. Of course, it had a knife stabbed into it, but otherwise it was perfectly fine.

"...where'd you get the map?" Xander asked.

"At the siege," the Scarmother explained after a pause.

"... huh. You speak Demacian?"

"I've started teaching her," Thorva said, "This is not the Freljord. The people here are different..."

"Of course, apologies for digression," Xander nodded before standing before the map, "So, shall we start?"

The Scarmother loomed over the map and motioned to a section of Demacia's north, muttering Freljordian explanations. Approaching closer, Aislynn watched the woman's fingers trace a list of villages before reaching a dot on the map: High Silvermere. Thorva translated the specifics.

"The Scarmother's plan thus far had been to raid along these villages in random pattern before striking at this castle... High Silvermere?" Thorva said, "The village raids will make the Southerners send a force to attack the tribe. But, this will then leave this Silvermare castle weak, and we can attack it."

"That distraction plan ain't bad, but attacking High Silvermere won't be possible for a while," Xander said after a pause, "It isn't just a castle. It's a city... a massive village with multiple castles. We'd need Brokvar to return with more men to stand a chance, and that assumes he can get thousands. No, that likely won't be happening..."

Thorva translated Xander's words, paused, then gave the reply, "What, then, do we do?"

"All we should need to do is raid. As you say, they'll come to us. We'll meet them... well, not head on, but neither does a wolf meet their prey head on. Hit and run, ambush tactics."

Again, Thorva translated then gave a new question, "And this city of Silvermere?"

Xander paused once more before leaning over the map and pointing west, tracing the lines that represented the Ironfork River.

"The villages here provide food for Silvermere. Raiding across the area will cut off some of High Silvermere's food supply..." Xander pointed to the junction of land between High Silvermere and the Great City, "With more raiding tribes attacking roads here, we could deprive the city of all it may need."

"The seat of the Crownguards, reduced to a starving hovel of fools," Sylas smirked, "Efficient and fitting..."

Xander rolled his eyes, "That first points on the mark... put away that hate-boner though..."

"Yeah..." Aislynn couldn't help but add, but had little else to say. She only grimaced, disdain written all over her.

Something, oddly, the Scarmother found amusement in. The old warrior wondered something allowed in Freljordian before sending a prompting glance at Thorva. To her credit, the shamanka hesitated, looking to Aislynn with tight discomfort.

Aislynn scowled, defiant, "Well?"

"The Scarmother noticed your disgust. She finds your feelings odd given what the southerners did to you..." Thorva seemed to agree with her fellow Freljordian's comment, but didn't hold as much disdain, "... she thinks you craven."

Aislynn could feel her temper all but snap. She snarled and turned away, "Tell the Scarmother I don't care what she thinks of me."

Sylas blinked, "I don't know why, but I thought you'd have more to say."

"That's because I don't have anything for her, but I have all sorts of things for you," Aislynn clarified, "You were in prison how long? How many days did you go hungry? And now you want a whole city to feel that way?"

Sylas frowned at the comment, a trace of... something lingering in his eyes. Perhaps fearing that something to be genuine rage, Xander spoke up.

"Now, now, let's not g-"

"You're not off the hook here, Xander," Aislynn took the new opportunity, "Surely you realize this is wrong? That it's evil?"

"I do, but I think it a necessary evil," the Left Hand of Noxus replied, "Of course, I understand that is a slippery slope. But... well, the moral high ground doesn't do shit against steel, unfortunately. Surely after Vayne you've been reminded that some bloodshed is necessary?"

Aislynn scowled at that most bitter pill to swallow, "... sure."

A solemn look hovered in Xander's eyes before the Left Hand of Noxus changed the subject, "In any case... hit and run tactics are the goal. They may even not be enough to starve a city, especially with our current numbers, but it's the only way I see our fight continuing."

Thorva translated again, spoke something else, then asked a question of her own, "How, then, will we add to our numbers?"

Xander chuckled - Aislynn suspected less from amusement and more to center himself for a hard sell, "Well... one thing you should know: all the rebels in Demacia are spread out. We speak in secret, so as to not be caught by the loyalists."

"So, we must find them?"

"It could take some time," Xander noted, "Some rebels aren't even United... which is why I propose a split."

"A split?" Thorva's pause of disbelief was cut short when she had to translate for the Scarmother. The veteran Freljordian raised an eyebrow in curious doubt as a cold presence filled the room.

The shamanka finally asked, "What would this split mean?"

"Much of the rebels are spread throughout the country, but most of them follow Sylas as leader. The rest follow Aislynn," Xander motioned to his fellow dream mage, "I propose a small party leave to spread word of Sylas' return. Aislynn will organize her men as well. Whilst the Freljordians lay the northern front low, the rest of the rebels shall attack the undefended regions of the south and east. The loyalists shall be spread thin, and soon even the smallest of tribes will find glory against the hosts our foe poses against us."

As Thorva translated to the Scarmother, Xander glanced to Sylas, "Sounds good?"

"I suppose keeping up the offense would be wise," Sylas mused.

The Scarmother listened closely to Thorva's translation and gave a criticism for the shamanka to speak out, "This split will leave us unable to speak, though. Our enemy may be confused for a moment, but we will be as an unwieldy weapon."

"Not to worry, Thorva," Xander closed his eyes before, in dramatic effect, opening them to reveal shadows glowing white, "That is where we come in."

Both Thorva and the Scarmother were cowed silent by Nocturne's arrival. Xander didn't mind, flaring his demon's power and causing the shadows of the room to deepen. When he spoke, a distorted echo told Aislynn that Nocturne's powers were being invoked; translation, if she were to guess.

"Though miles and mountains may lay between us, in dreams we shall be united," Xander swore, "A Demacia where all may earn what they deserve. Where the bounty of the land is free to be taken by those who wish for it. Not hindered by place of birth, or the blood in their veins, or the spirits they pay homage to. This dream shall unite us. My spirit shall make it so. As the moon rises and our eyes close, we shall wake to the realm of dreams. There we shall speak."

After a pause to let his speech sink in, Xander smirked and asked, "Will that suffice?"

Thorva slowly nodded, "That should do-"

The Scarmother muttered something softly, then elaborated onto something else, prompting Thorva to translate.

"The Scarmother is willing to fight for your cause, but she will not suffer multiple defeats waiting for your people to group," Thorva translated, "She would like assurance that you will not leave us to fight your war for you."

"… well, what would like as assurance?"

Thorva translated Xander's message, then widened her eyes at the Scarmother's response. A short argument ensued; one that gave Aislynn the vibe of a debate of sanctity. Alarmingly, Sylas crossed his arms by the table, a frown on his face as he listened.

Aislynn tapped Sylas lightly, "What are they saying?"

"I don't quite know…" Sylas admitted, "But I caught the word 'improper'… I think-"

Thorva sighed and gave the Scarmother's offer, "The Scarmother Vrynna implores the spirit of vengeance to let her be host to him, if only for a moment."

Xander didn't seem displeased, but he was surprised, "Nocturne? She wants Nocturne? Hm… I suppose it could be done…"

The Left Hand of Noxus' eyebrows shot up, prompting his gaze down. The gaze went to the side as a mental discussion between demon and host visibly occurred. By the end, another chuckle left Xander's lips.

Filtered by Nocturne's magic, Xander spoke, "Scarmother Vrynna, you seek power to assure the survival of your tribe, correct? To this end you wish for mypower?

The Scarmother seemed shocked for only a split-second; she straightened quickly and spoke-

"Nocturne will be staying with me," the Left Hand of Noxus decided, "But, for your service, your tribe has earned a boon. For bringing judgement to Aron's Defiance… aye, a specific boon would do well… Thorva, can you gather the tribe? I believe this blessing deserves celebration."

Thorva nodded and made to leave. Just as the flap of the Scarmother's tent closed, Xander reached down and picked up an item wrapped in wool. From holes in the wrapping, frosty mist waved through. Xander sent a mischevious look to the exit before laying the item on the table. The woolen cover's many folds slowly unraveled, revealing a familiar crystal-blue glow reflecting off of gold.

Scarmother Vrynna's eyes widened, "That's…"

"A weapon of True Ice," Xander smirked cruelly, fully aware of the dreams he was shattering, "Unfortunate for you, Scarmother. But, I'm certain it will serve the tribe."

"How… where did you get it?" Vrynna asked.

"It will be revealed in time," Xander chuckled, wrapping Rylai's Crystal Scepter back in wool.

"You got it from Aron's Defiance, didn't you?" Sylas assumed, "How? I heard from the warriors you were on the front lines… and they definetely would've spoken about your steal if you got it with them."

Unfiltered by Nocturne's magic, Xander replied, "I was at the front line. Nocturne wasn't. And it helps that the Mageseekers wanted to get it out of the fort in case it was taken over. Out in the open, it was easy pickings."

"That easy?"

"All the Dauntless were at the front. The people at the back were the shitters."

Sylas snorted, "The shitters?"

"Yeah. Because they're shit at fighting? Well, they were mostly Mageseekers who didn't know how to fight a mage who actually fights back. Never mind a demon, heh-"

"The tribe is gathered," Thorva burst into the tent again, before stopping, clearing her throat awkwardly, "Well… yes, the tribe's gathered…"

"Calm down, Thorva," Aislynn couldn't tell whether Xander was speaking with Nocturne's magic or whether Nocturne was speaking through Xander, "This, I think, is your hour."

"My hour?"

Xander rolled his eyes and walked through the tent flap, revealing a crowd of awaiting Freljordians. The Left Hand left quickly, leaving a shadowy mist in his wake. Aislynn followed, Thorva, Sylas and the Scarmother at her side. The dream mage found Xander at the center of camp, by the central campfire, with Erret by his side. An amused expression held on both Erret and Xander conversed.

"… I'll trust you to do your thing," Erret waved his friend off.

Xander smiled, looked to a stone and stood upon it. The shoulderplates of Nocturne formed around him, signaling his would-be divine right to speak up and be heard. The Freljordians were quick to follow this right, their attentive gazes immedately falling on the Noxian.

Behind them, Thorva slowly approached, an apprehensive look on her face. That anxiety faded, however, when Nocturne's form ripped itself from Xander. The demon was only connected to his host by a smoky tether. A shadowy hand pulled at the wool cover that the Left Hand held outstretched, revealing its contents with icy whispers. The hand finally froze when the golden weapon within was grasped, prompting gasps of wonder from those watching. Thorva's voice was not among the gasps, however; the shamanka held a hand over her face in stunned silence.

"Hail ye glorious raiders of the Freljord," the Left Hand of Noxus' voice echoed, filtered by Nocturne's magic, "You and your brothers in arms have done a great service."

Thorva's hand left her mouth, eyes not leaving the scepter in Nocturne's hand, "That is Rylai's… truly?"

"It is the genuine article," Xander confirmed with a smile and his own voice before booming to the tribe with Nocturne's magic, "Behold; where the mighty Rylai fell to the fangs of the south, we have triumphed. With the judgement of your chosen, Sylas; with the relentless wrath of your Scarmother, Vrynna; with the wisdom of your shamanka, Thorva… the warriors of old have been avenged!"

The crowd of raiders held smirks of agreement, with a few in the back cheering affirmatively.

Xander continued, motioning to Nocturne, "Such was your fury that the cowards of the south, in their blue cloaks, looked to flee with what they did not deserve. But, the spirit of vengeance would not be denied. And with a purchase of blood, Nocturne took back the weapon of Rylai."

Nocturne, at that moment, raised the scepter higher. The demon even pulsed some of his power into the artefact, and a spark of blue glowed from the scepter's crystal head. Thankfully, the raiders did not note the sudden ice growth on Nocturne's arm. Or, if they did, they took it as more sign of the supernatural's blessing, never mind the contrast and conflict.

"With this victory, the land of Demacia is open to you!" Xander swore, "This land, which as you have seen, is a fruitful, grand domain. Unfortunately, it has been ruled by unworthy fools…"

The Freljordians grumbled at that, though some dark chuckles born from recollections of the siege of Aron's Defiance echoed. Aislynn frowned, but otherwise kept her judgement to herself. Xander continued, a feigned forlorn frown on his face.

"I have asked much of you, and you have done as asked... and yet still there is more work to be done," the demon host listed, "I implore to you mighty warriors; will you fight once more?"

Behind Xander, Thorva mumbled something. The Scarmother glanced at her, then nodded, then Thorva repeated whatever vow she made. The shamanka was joined by other Freljordians in the tribe; leaders, Aislynn guessed, if their elaborate clothes and tribal accessories and lean, scarred forms meant anything.

The Left Hand of Noxus smirked and continued, "Then heed my words! You shall humble the fools in steel armor, and take of that which they have squandered. You will deliver vengeance to the cowards of blue cloaks and stone masks; they are the most accursed of your foes. You shall bring the fruits of this land to the worthy – those blessed with great powers, who have been unjustly damned by this nation's leaders. This is the decree of the spirit of vengeance."

Nocturne's tether faded before turning to Thorva. The shamanka was silent as the demon approached, leveling a frozen hand to her. Xander did not speak next: Nocturne followed the Left Hand's script with his own, haunting voice.

"Thorva, blessed shamanka, worthy Iceborn," Nocturne greeted, "Reclaim the scepter of Rylai. Be the spearhead for this crusade."

Thorva opened her mouth to speak, but whatever retort, denial, acceptance speech or show of thanks faded. Instead, grim determination froze on the shamanka's face as she took the scepter. Ice blue eyes widened and a grunt of pain left her lips; Aislynn could tell the shamanka wanted to make a louder complaint. That louder complaint forced itself out in a pained cry, but still the shamanka's grit held. She raised the scepter high, where Aislynn could see her hand freezing to a pale almost-blue-

A flash of white burst from the crystal head of Rylai's scepter. When it cleared, Thorva raised the scepter down with a sigh, surrounded by the intricate patterns of snowflakes descending around her. The scepter's crystal, which was previously a light blue like the sky, now held an darker, purer azure. The tribe remained silent for a few previous seconds before Thorva raised the scepter again, channeling its power to create a small ice stage that elevated her over her contemporaries.

Though the tribe's cheers were deafening, Aislynn didn't know how to react.

"How does it feel?"

Thorva slashed with her spear and growled as it only met air. A follow up slash found stone, but so did the shamanka's cheek when the counter came. Thorva reacted quick enough to duck the oncoming charge, rolling past and taking another combat stance. In her left hand she held her spear in reverse, ready to throw or thrust. Her right brandished her new weapon. However heavy and blunt it was, the icy head of Rylai's Crystal Scepter still stung with the wrath of true ice and bruised as much as any staff-based weapon. It was a worthy tool for war, but was she worthy of it?

Well, even if it was, Xander doubted it would earn her victory over him.

Thorva growled after a short series of pants, then responded, "It's what I've always wanted."

The declaration was punctuated by Thorva throwing her spear. Xander dodged the projectile and responded with a blast from his musket. The blast met conjured ice, then gold met petricite in a dance of defiant wills. Thorva span around, plucking her spear from the ground before sweeping it at Xander. Wood met wood, then an elbow met a nose, and Thorva stumbled back, dazed. When she recovered, she found a glowing bayonet point at her throat.

"Four to one," Xander smirked, "And for the record, I don't believe you."

As the two spear wielders reset their duel to starting positions, Thorva sent a perturbed glance Xander's way.

"Why wouldn't this be everything I wanted?" The shamanka questioned, twirling Rylai's Scepter in her hand.

"That's a question you ought to ask yourself," Xander shrugged, stabbing his spear to the ground and taking stance with his musket, "Though I do have a few ideas..."

The Left Hand dashed forward, bayonet point first. The stab was parried, but Xander was able to block the oncoming thrust of Rylai's Scepter with the thick stock of his musket. Petricite hissed as it absorbed ice magic, as did Thorva when she was forced to retreat by a shove of the musket's barrel into her face. Dodging the blow, she sent a sweeping attack Xander's way. The Left Hand advanced past the spear's point, catching the blunt blow of the staff with his ribs and a grunt of pain. Xander readied a stab, but was met with a cold pain to the other side of his core. Before it intensified, Thorva pulled back her new scepter's head and reset stance.

"Four to two," the shamanka noted grimly, "Do you have ideas, or does Nocturne?"

The demon in question, who'd previously watched their duel silently, spoke up, "Concerning this, more him than I."

"Takes one to know one," Xander explained, a carefree smile on his face, "Though, I think I'm more honest with myself than you are..."

The smile persisted even when Thorva took the initiative, lunging ahead and channeling the power of her scepter. The projection of ice pillars was telegraphed enough for Xander to not only dodge them but use them to close the distance. The Left Hand advanced, hopping between the pillars. Thorva dodged a jumping stab then swatted away a slash from Xander's musket. She dashed away from an upwards thrust of Xander's spear, ducked another spinning slash, then backed away from a flying knee.

"A liar... telling me that?" Resetting then replying with a series of thrusts and quick slices, Thorva growled, "Why... would I... believe you!?"

"Who can... say?" Xander backed away from each attack, dodging or blocking most but catching a scratch across his cheek, "But... I'm clearly... on the right track..."

Xander sidestepped a telegraphed lunge then intercepted with a knee to the gut. Thorva was caught breathless, and she was sent skidding back by a spinning back kick. It was testament to the Freljordian's grit that she didn't pass out from the brutal strikes, recovering quickly enough to block a magic musket shot with an ice wall from Rylai's scepter.

Xander caught his breath in the silence that followed, "So... why isn't this what you wanted?"

Thorva's initial reply was the ice wall shoving forward. Xander was knocked back by the moving ice, and barely was able to scramble out of the way of Thorva's jumping stab. The Left Hand rose, firing easily dodged musket shots to set up for a stabbing counter with his spear. Thorva barely evaded the counter thrust, swatting it away before spinning her spear's staff into her foe's face. Thorva then imbedded Rylai's Scepter into the ground. At first nothing came, then Xander was tripped unto his back by ice stubs behind his heel. An anticlimactic end: Thorva's spear found his throat from there.

"Four to three," Thorva sighed, exhausted and determined and reflective, "... I did not feel worthy of this scepter. You should not have had to be there... I wanted to be victorious over that place alone."

"Well, standing over me like this..." Xander send a half-lidded gaze Thorva's way, "Do you feel worthy?"

"Wha-"

Whatever reply was on Thorva's lips was quickly replaced by a yelp as Xander tripped her up with one kick to the leg. A second to the chest sent Thorva tumbling back, though to her credit she dodged the oncoming stab, which imbedded Xander's spear uselessly into the dirt. She also scrambled past a spinning slash from the Left Hand before replying in earnest by catching the next strike with her own spear.

"Don't be hasty, Thorva," the Left Hand smirked, "There's much to grow from yet!"

Thorva let Xander thrust past her, but the Left Hand converted into a roll to dodge the counter. A magic blast found purchase, singing Thorva's midsection slightly and forcing her to retreat. A second shot found her left hand, however, and Thorva was disarmed for her spear. The shamanka fought back with Rylai's scepter, but the ice shards were far more telegraphed in range than Xander's musket. Thorva was forced to conjure another wall.

"I'm not about to lose just yet, and even if I did you haven't fought me at my best," Xander mused aloud, "So... is there another way I could dissuade this unworthy feeling? Perhaps some other way I've lessened your self confidenc-"

Thorva's reply wasn't on words or an ice wall. Instead, from her cover, Thorva projected a hail of smaller projectiles. Since they were limited by the wall's breadth and height, Xander still dodged them, but a spike caught him in the shoulder, drawing blood. A bigger, blunter block knocked him to his feet, and Xander found himself face to face with the blue crystal of Thorva's scepter.

The shamanka didn't even list the score, a bubbling rage surfacing through her eyes "... you undermined my authority as shamanka... you, an outsider, a non-believer-"

Thorva flinched, then tried pushing forward with her scepter. A natural response, given Xander had implanted a vision of him grabbing the scepter in the shamanka's mind. The opening allowed Xander sit up, let go of his musket, lean out of the thrust's way, grab at Thorva's exposed legs and shove up.

As Thorva scrambled to stabilise her footing, Xander went on the offensive. Empowered by hemomancy powered by the blood flowing from his wounds, Xander closed the distance before Thorva could recover. A sloppy sweep of Rylai's Scepter was easily ducked, and Xander caught on to Thorva's exposed spear arm. The Left Hand of Noxus pulled the shamanka over his shoulder then delivered a brutal elbow, weakening Thorva enough for her to drop her weapon. She tried to defy Xander a bit more, but Xander simply mounted the breadth of Thorva's torso and began to pound down. Thorva raised her arms to defend, blocking a punch before trying to scramble away, but that gave Xander her back. A collared arm curved around her neck and pulled, depriving air-

And releasing just as quickly. Xander stood up, panting lightly at the sudden scramble. As Thorva rose to a sitting position, even more exhausted, Xander unceremoniously plopped down on his ass next to her. The shamanka's gaze didn't meet the Left Hand's; the latter hoped a cordial tone would put the Freljordian at ease.

"Five to four... good set," Xander put his weapons aside and helped Thorva up as he continued, "So... that's it. You believe I've made you worthless, and that's why you feel unworthy of your weapon... Apologies, I suppose."

"You're stronger than I am, and the gods put you on my path. That's all there is to it," Thorva bitterly muttered.

Xander couldn't particularly disagree with that statement. Whilst he was, as Thorva had pointed out, an apostate, it was undeniable that he'd appeared on Thorva's path, thus changing its course. Whilst Thorva might've been outshined by Sylas without Xander's interference, at the very least Sylas was a neutral anomaly; not neccessarily for the gods, but not against them either. The Left Hand of Noxus was by comparison a deceitful, honorless man who served a force opposing the status quo of Freljord, yet he still clearly held the supernatural's favor. With that context, where Thorva might've been blind to Sylas' intentions, she wasn't to Xander's. Her reaction, then, was only natural.

"Well... I did say it takes one to know one," Xander noted.

Thorva finally glanced at Xander again, "... What do you mean?"

"Since I was born, I wanted to do something important; be someone important. I accomplished what I wanted in Noxus... and I'm still here," A wince of pain interrupted Xander's explanation, "Hrn... I taught you a bit of hemomancy, right? Never got to practice it, even during the siege or after it... help heal this scar would you?"

"You can heal yourself," Thorva replied.

"But, this healing is a good skill to have," Xander countered, "Better practice with me than with someone who actually needs it."

Thorva frowned as she focused on the wound, pulling out the ice shard that caused it. Xander hissed; a sound that remained as Thorva hesitated to channel her power. She hadn't been taught much, admittedly; Xander had spent more time sparring with spear than dealing with magic. The Left Hand slightly regretted it.

"Well?" Xander prompted.

After a hesitant pause, Thorva tugged open Xander's coat. Before Xander could react, Thorva then also pulled away his shirt, exposing his bleeding torso to the elements.

The Left Hand gave an uncharacteristic flinch, "Oi-"

"I need more space," Thorva justified, eyes slowly flickering red as she began her healing. The blood flow ceased and drops began to float in air before the shamanka continued the previous discussion, "So you're here... but still, for Noxus?"

"Well... still, admittedly yes," Xander shrugged, the familiar soothing feeling of hemomancy putting his pain at ease, "But, I'm here with you, getting the measure of your person, as opposed to putting a knife in someone's back or at the head of an army."

Thorva paused in thought for a moment, grimacing before channeling Xander's blood to mend muscle together, "... Why are you here, then?"

Xander grunted at the sting of his body being forced together, but replied, "I realized I wanted something more... specific. I had some perfect image, or at least, an outcome. What I did in Noxus wasn't bad, and I could've been content..."

"Content?"

"Err... feeling as though it were enough," Xander continued, "I'm here for Sylas, because I need him for that..."

"To save your people, the other blessed of Demacia?" Thorva crossed her arms as she finished her healing, "Or for your masters in Noxus?"

"The former... but enough about me," Xander glanced to Rylai's Crystal Scepter, as he fumbled his shirt back on, "So, what was it I was offering, a way to dissuade your lack of self-worth? Hmm, how to start... perhaps... tell me, what do you think of yourself?"

"What do you mean?" Thorva asked.

"Who is Thorva? A skilled spearwoman? A blessed shamanka? The wielder Rylai's lost scepter?" Xander straightened up and repeated, "Who is Thorva? One of these? All of these? Or something else?"

A pensive silence filled the air before Thorva answered, "Of your answers, 'all of these' fits best."

"Well, that's using my answers," Xander noted with a shudder, "Use your words... Freljordian if you need; Nocturne, to me."

Thorva was silent as Nocturne brought Xander his weapons and merged with him. She then answered in her native tongue, "I am a servant for the gods, and through them a leader for my people. I should be steward for our ways... but those ways would not have me put faith in outsiders, never mind be all but subservient to them... yet Sylas has been blessed; to not be Iceborn and survive True Ice's touch would need such a miracle. And you, with your spirit of vengeance..."

Thorva's gaze went to Xander, or perhaps to the demon inhabiting him.

"You don't believe in the gods," Thorva continued, seemingly unaware of the demon and host's squabble, "You don't keep our ways... you are deceitful without peer... are you even an ally of Sylas?"

"Hmm... not exactly," Xander admitted, "If Sylas did something that would harm your people, or go against their interests... would you defy him?"

Thorva blinked at the question, "Sylas... he wouldn't do us ill."

"If that's true..." Xander mentally waved off that consideration, "It's a question. If someone you trusted, or even loved, did harm to your people, meaning to do so... you would defy them, yes?"

"I would," to her credit, Thorva didn't hesitate, "I would do anything for my people."

"Anything?"

"I would kill for my people... I would die for my people," the shamanka insisted.

"We're similar there, at least..." Xander then chuckled, "Or maybe..."

Thorva scowled, "You doubt me?"

"Not really... but to kill and die for your people... it's unoriginal," Xander sent an almost mocking glance her way, "Any of the tribe's warriors would do so."

"And that makes it bad?"

"It makes it disappointing," Xander admitted, "You're going to lead these people. As much as the Scarmother, if not more so. Surely a leader can do better than die for his or her people?"

Thorva's lips curled slightly before the shamanka's gaze went to the side. Xander could only sigh; that Thorva needed time to process such a concept... The Left Hand's mind wandered to what he knew about the Freljord, and it's history. The internal scowl on his mind deepened.

And people shit talk Noxus... Xander grumbled, Of course the Freljord's worse! Ashe would be an above-average leader at most anywhere else, but in the Freljord she's somehow revolutionary! Well, I suppose I've made some progress with-

"What would you do for your people?" Thorva asked.

"What would I do... If I needed to, I would break every taboo and commit every sin of every tribe on this world... or I would support every tradition and do every good deed of and for every nation... everything in short, but that's a given," Xander replied after a considerate thought, "Ultimately-"

"Xander, Thorva! Is that you over there?"

The two spear wielders' attention was caught by the voice of the Unshackled Revolutionary. Xander awkwardly chuckled and stood up as he glanced up the nearby hill, finding not only Sylas but also Aislynn gazing down at them, the latter with hands on her hips. Of course, there wasn't really any reason to be embarrassed: Sylas had said he and the others could take care of the pack-up process on their own. Xander had packed up his share, setting it on a nearby tree to where he and Thorva had sparred, so he was in the clear...

If one excluded that Aislynn said she'd have liked assistance so they could leave quicker... but Sylas was the authority, and he'd given a green light, right?

And there was unfinished business to deal with...

Alas, the two revolutionaries strode down the hill without a care in the world to Xander's intentions. Sylas seemed to just want to go along with the plan, whilst Aislynn visibly held back her irritance. Sylas glanced to the pillars of ice behind them, then grimaced as he approached, likely noticing the bruises both fighters sported.

"You two seem busy," Sylas mused, "Just a spar?"

"Thorva'll have to carry our weight whilst we're gone," Xander justified, "Training her both martially and with hemomancy seemed a productive way to spend our last few minutes together. So... we're ready to go?"

"We have been for the past six minutes," Aislynn replied.

"That ain't too terrible... but alright, guess we're done here," Xander shrugged, "Sylas, anything you want to say before we go?"

The revolutionary glanced accusingly at Xander, "Maybe if you leave for a moment..."

"Ha!" Xander slung his back across one arm and put the opposite arm around Aislynn's shoulder, "Well, if you insist on keeping our peaceful lady waiting..."

"Get off me," Aislynn chided, shrugging off Xander's arm with surprising explosiveness, "... ten minutes at most. You're pretty fast, I'll trust you to catch up to us. If not, we're ditching you-"

"As if you could get my drüvask to move," Sylas countered, "Don't worry, Lynn, I won't be long."

Nocturne drifted past Sylas that second before relieving his first human friend's weights, "Don't be. They can't control your drüvask, but an animal's mind generally is weaker than a man's."

"Calm down, Nocturne, we'll be fine. Now, come on," Xander slowly began his ascent up the, only to turn back for a moment, "Oh, and Thorva, before I go... you are ready to do what needs to be done, and that is good. But you must be wise and decisive enough to know what must be done. Know that, and I am certain you will be more than worthy of your sceptre."

"You are certain?" Thorva asked.

"As I said, takes one to know one," Xander smiled, "I do what I believe is best for my people. Just as you will you do for yours. Your gods willing, we both make it out of this alive."

The shamanka's eyes seemed to flicker with mild distaste at an apostate invoking her faith, but she nodded good-naturedly. Xander saw no more, continuing up the hill and letting Sylas and the Freljordian scheme behind his back. Xander knew - or at least hoped - that last comment wasn't missed by Thorva. The Left Hand had said he'd do what he believed best for...

"So, was it worth it?" Aislynn caught up with Xander with a question.

The Left Hand replied with a question of his own as he glanced at her, "Worth what?"

He found the irritation bubbling under Aislynn's eyes rising to the surface, "Was it worth ditching us?"

"Ah..." Xander chuckled, "You mean ditching you."

"Maybe not," Aislynn crossed her arms and gave Xander a glare that made him think he was right, "Your buddy was the one who packed for you. Wonder how he feels about it?"

"Erret's fine; I gave him warning before you even asked for my aid," Xander answered, "He knows it was possibly important. Which it was... So, to answer your question; yes, it was worth it."

"Important?" Aislynn narrowed her eyes in suspicion, "What were you doing with Thorva? Not just sparring, I imagine?"

"If there was a word... influencing, I suppose," Xander shrugged, "First step: check if she's another crazy Freljordian conqueror. If not, step two: identify what she is. Step three... hope you can pivot her away from raiding the countryside..."

"So step three was a bust?" Aislynn assumed.

"Well, no thanks to you and Sylas coming in," Xander noted, "Though admittedly I basically would've threatened war on the basis of it being what Demacia would need, and she'd have to play my ball to not get wiped out...

Aislynn sent a sour look to the Left Hand, "Putting aside that terrible idea... I'd argue war isn't what Demacia needs."

"Would need, Aislynn, would need," Xander highlighted, "And... you can't be saying you'd pursue pacifism even when it gets you wiped out, are you? If worse comes to-"

"I know," the female dream mage frowned, "... what a terrible predicament we're in, then. That you're the only thing in the way of that, and..."

"There'll be the dream meetings," Xander spoke more to assure himself as they reached their destination, "But... yeah."

The uncertainty in the Left Hand's voice caught his allies' attention. Aislynn and Xander hadn't had to go far to regroup; the rest of their party was already at the outskirts, packing all they reasonably could onto Sylas' drüvask. Cyrus paced by the drüvask and was first to notice their return. Erret, who leaned by a nearby tent's support column, was second. Happ didn't notice at all, as he tried to make conversation with the nearby tent's owner; the guard spearwoman was almost as amused as she was confused. Such was issue of the language barrier...

"So you're back, Noxian," Cyrus greeted with a tight frown, "We're heading out?"

"As soon as Sylas gets back," Xander glanced back, "Which should be soon... or we could leave right now and let him catch up."

Happ's attention was caught by that, "I don't think that's wise."

Cyrus snorted, "Of course you don't."

As the mage rebels bickered, Erret stood up, "Heard the tail end of that... did you pull it off or...?"

"I was starting to close in before Sylas got to me," Xander leaned close to Erret, hoping to dissuade prying ears, "Hopefully I can figure it out later..."

"Well , you don't need to, right?" Erret noted, "It's not like the tribe's part of the plan..."

A bitter smirk spread across Xander's face, "In Noxus I'd be off already... but-"

"This is Demacia, we have to give a shit," Erret chuckled, "Right. Well, I'll trust you'll be fine."

Xander rolled his eyes, "Thanks for that ringing endorsement."

Turning away from his friend, Xander watched Sylas bounce past the hill to reach them. At a slower, calmer pace, Thorva followed. On the shamanka's face was an almost solemn expression, whilst Sylas had a more... sincerely content...? It wasn't the conniving smirk Xander expected, but he wasn't exactly ready to let his guard down.

"Figured out how to kill me?" Xander jested.

"You did that for me," Sylas shot back, and for a moment Xander's smile faltered. He was planning on directly meeting with Sylas' rebels... their leader might've caught on to something.

Sylas was seemingly ignorant to Xander's plight, addressing the rest of the party, "You all ready to go?"

"It's about time," Cyrus muttered.

"I know that look, Sylas," Aislynn walked over to the revolutionary's drüvask and tugged at the reigns. The massive beast grunted but otherwise followed, "No need for a grand speech. It may only be half a day's journey to Snowset but I'm not getting caught in a storm."

Sylas feigned offense, "Lynn, you cut me to the quick-"

"Shut it, I already have you time to say goodbye, we're going."

Cyrus followed Aislynn as she pulled the drüvask away. Erret glanced once to Xander, found no countering signals, and followed as well. A few of the Freljordians who were seeing them off began waving goodbyes - the Scarmother, sat atop her mount was not among them.

Sylas sported a disapproving frown before glancing to Thorva, "Err... well, guess it's time."

"May the gods bless your journey," Thorva nodded, "All of you."

Sylas glanced curiously to Xander before going to catch up with his mount - Happ followed him. The Left Hand repeated the exercise, but did not leave immediately. He gave a respectful bow to the shamanka then turned away, hiding his frown. Thorva didn't seem to notice the Left Hand's gaze left her at the last moment. The Scarmother did, though, but she was first to show disdain. Xander didn't know why, but...

It wasn't his problem anymore. As snow cracked under his boots and the distance between this phase of the revolution and Xander grew, the Left Hand forced his fears out of his mind. His last attempts at diplomacy were sloppy, but where the Left Hand was a poor barterer, he at least could read people decently. Would Thorva reach his expectations and limit the Scarmother's bloodlust? Had Xander's slight tilts even worked? Was Thorva even averse to bloodshed? Did she understand the threat the Left Hand had made?

It didn't matter. With Sylas' rebellion and a likely increase in Demacian military presence on the horizon, Xander knew his plate would be full again soon enough. And after all, Erret was right. The tribe's perfect cooperation wasn't necessary.

And yet, Xander did, in his dark heart, hold hope.

Author's Note: [Edit 20/03/22] - Textual errors corrected.