Gemini – Chapter 4

I wake in pitch blackness. Our makeshift lamp is missing from its perch. In her angst-ridden fugue, Ashe could have stumbled across anything. Our land is cruel to the careless.

Tentatively, I clamber to my knees. A flash of pain reminds me that I won't be standing on two feet. I may have torn cartilage with the sprain. Crawling through the dust, I reach for the wall. There's true ice dotted around this cavern. If I locate one vein…

A jolt runs through my hand. While true ice can disintegrate flesh, I can somehow channel it. Thanks to the placement of the stars on a winter's eve, I was born a mage.

Few people know. Because of Lissandra's corruption of the Frostguard, any magical talent is a barrier to command. Even if our duelling pit swam with the blood of my victims, no one alive would follow me. They'd rather die than become thralls.

After my parents heard of my future dominance, they bribed someone to permanently brand me with arcane shackles, a pattern of scarred flesh upon thickened, irregular bone. Hidden beneath my hair, storm-hewn spirals embellish my scalp. If they weren't evidence of my sorcerous birth, I'd shave my head as they're very striking.

I was never told who kept our secret. With time, I recognised ursine glyphs. However, the trail grew cold. Volibear was an outsider before his ordination. Few people shared gossip with the malcontent, fewer still with the man in charge.

After receiving my legendary flail, I was given a chance to flex my power, stealthily blending ice magic with my weapon's enchantment. I've made progress but I'm still numb, thanks to my brand. It's like boxing when you can't feel your fists. You can swing forever but your progress crawls without feedback, and your knuckles may become chalk.

I siphon magic into the vein, guiding a river that wends through the rock. Azure lights flicker, primeval teardrops glisten. A swarm of tiny growths pepper the ceiling, while dense colonies glower from opposite walls. Finally, two blossoms, frozen apart in a circular dance, divide armies like warring roses.

It feels like I'm outside, watching fireflies congregate above torches, beneath a clear sky with twin moons.

All around is endless motion. Beside other materials, with their trembling atoms, true ice dwells in a perfect, unique stasis, throwing invisible forces into sharp relief. I can feel the waves of light crashing one after another, though my human eyes are too slow to parse the million separate images.

Ashe's cave is wholly revealed. I'm surprised at how warm it is without a fire. The stream bubbles with geothermic energy. Fascinating, I wasn't aware of any potential volcanoes. Our maps will need updating.

How much of the Freljord has the prodigal Ashe walked? I can't understand why such an explorer tolerates and encourages Avarosan decadence.

I crawl to my blanket, with only my broken body, traitorous heart and empty soul for company. Moments like these are supposedly valuable, chances to consider my feelings and actions.

I've never been consciously reflective, yet I struggle to lose myself. The disconnection affords me prescience in battle. A cool mind helps to form tactical manoeuvres. When confronted with personal demons, I'm a slave to the past. Unbidden thoughts and memories devour the present. I lose control of the future, dressing old wounds while fresh blood is pooling at my feet.

Of course, without my soul, there is no future.

Someone approaches with Ashe's recognisable rhythm. A question mark interrupts her flow. My new lights peep through the bony curtain. Silence drags on and on while she waits for clues of a trap. Eventually, I speak. 'Ashe, the lights are my doing. You're safe to come in.'

She bounds through the clattersome drapes like a hairless monkey, landing on all-fours. Her back is laden with grisly remains, held in place with an excess of rope. She carries a dripping, ominous cloth sack and her knife, while her bow snaps diagonally across her torso from shoulder to hip. While she disentangles her load, Ashe's mouth opens in wonder. The low hood obscures her eyes. 'What the… Sejuani, how…? Ugh!' With an audible thwack, the bowstring whips her face by mistake.

When I pad over to help, she cowers, roaming hands close to her chest. I refuse to bear this awkwardness. 'You must know I felt you groping me.'

Like a rodent, she lifts her paws to her mouth. 'I'm sorry!'

'Don't be.' Her nose jerks up at my response. 'I'm not upset. I may be upset if you dwell on it.'

'Why must you excuse every horrible thing I do? Can't you punch me for once?'

'Why should I? You've expressed your interest and I chose to sleep in your care.'

'You weren't receptive when I found you lying outside.'

'I felt vulnerable then… I…' can hardly say that I watched her dangling over the metaphorical abyss from an astral projection. 'I've improved enough that I can take it, so you're hurting yourself more than me.'

'Your boundaries depend on our current strength? I don't agree.'

'But of course they do. Boundaries are nothing without enforcement, and intrusion is nothing without consequence.'

'I dread to imagine your tribe's courtship rites.'

I recognise her anger. She thinks me a traitor to the female drudges toiling under my rule, as if any solidarity comes from an accident of birth. 'The Winter's Claw do not have "courtship rites". You are free to sing a ballad, offer trinkets or dedicate victories. You may seize your beloved, earn acceptance with the blaze of your passion…'

'And if she refuses?'

'You are free to persist… while she is free to respond with violence, humiliation or death. We train everyone to kill, so no woman is defenceless.'

'What if you become helpless through no fault of your own?' Ashe indicates my leg. It's a bad example. That's definitely my fault. She's labouring to draw lines between her points and my situation.

'I might ask you the same question. Your petty laws are nothing without an eye watching every house, and a patrol on every doorstep.'

'We're not animals. Fear of punishment is one safeguard, yes, but we also have respect.'

'As do we.'

'Say that again to my people!' Ashe waves her knife. 'Do you know how many children your barbarians have forced upon our women?'

I gratefully receive her antagonism. However wrong she might be, conviction will serve her better than self-doubt. I want more from her. 'Should your growers prefer to be weak and oppose me, they deserve their chosen role. Your troops kill just as eagerly. They don't replace our dead with new seed.'

'If you consider that a gift, you should open your legs to your people and spare mine!'

'Why should I, when I'm better placed on the battlefield? I am a warrior. The "barbarians" you decry give me the respect I have earnt. I can have more of an impact without a child weighing me down.'

Her aggression dissipates. Leaning back, she removes her cowl. 'It's funny.' She's not laughing or smiling. 'You've been… so quiet. We began to wonder if, because of your injuries, you were found a new purpose… replacing a… broken Sejuani with a new Sejuani.'

'You thought I was…?'

'Pregnant.' Ashe looks away. She's worried that she's touched a nerve. 'Well… Anivia, Braum and Gragas did… only Tryndamere wasn't convinced.'

I'm stunned. Have our claws been so blunt? I would have achieved more through… motherhood. Our maps would be no different, and I'd… have a child. Every time I consider the possibility, my brain stalls. 'What about you?'

'I…' she blurts out, 'a part of me hoped it was true.' Betrayal hits me like a frozen club. How could she want me to begin a family without her? Could anyone hate themselves that much or did I… presume the depths of her love? She continues. 'Perhaps if you… had a son or a daughter, you'd think twice before killing ours.'

'It doesn't work,' I say quietly. 'My fiercest raiders are parents many times over.' The berserk Olaf has more children than he can rightly count. He remembers names. He just has a blind spot for numbers. The once-calm Volibear is unhappily childless but ever since I fell, crying into his arms, paternal rage has clouded his judgement. Would it make a difference whether I magically fathered or birthed a child? How would I change? 'Perhaps I should have been… repurposed.'

'You don't want that…'

'Who cares if it's what I deserve?'

Ashe glares. 'Do you know what I've come to really hate about you, Sejuani?'

'Go on.'

'You accept imaginary pain to justify hurting others. If you were forced to bear a stranger's child, you wouldn't accept it. You would swear bloody vengeance upon this whole world.'

'Would you?'

'I…' She hesitates. 'Well, yes, but I'd have to make sure the babe was all right and…'

'Exactly. You can think beyond yourself. So can I.'

'The problem is, you think beyond everyone. People say there's nothing in your heart, a void in your soul.' Rumours are true for once. 'I've… stupidly convinced myself that you have beauty inside and you run away from it. Even saying it like that I… believe.' Looking around the cave, she murmurs in wonder. 'These lights.'

'An accident of nature. Those are true ice deposits. I can… charge them.'

Ashe blinks. 'You can…what? I never suspected you were conjuring all that frost. I thought it was your weapon!'

'Half and half.'

'You're a mage?'

'Sort of… well… yes. My talent was inhibited when I was a girl to prepare me for leadership.'

'How cruel.' Ashe mourns a forsaken past, full of beautiful patterns like she's viewing now. 'You could have become…'

'Another Lissandra?'

'They limited your potential! How can you accept your constraints while deploring mine?'

'You don't appreciate how magic enslaves people,' I say. 'Despite all the controversy about shadows, forbidden tomes and necromancy, the most volatile mages are elementalists, Brand, Lissandra, Vladimir…'

'Volibear?' She's trying to blindside me on a subject she knows nothing about. Of course, the whole universe demands her interference, capable or not.

'He's a priest. Look, Ashe, I can still use magic. I just can't feel it. I'm spared its control. You know how to lip-read?' She nods. 'If you speak a language but lose your hearing, you can still follow a conversation.'

'Do you know if it's reversible?'

'I've more important things to consider.'

She grimaces at my nonchalance. 'The world's missing out. You're an artist.'

'I feel the same regarding your prowess in war.'

'My talent is a greater curse than your magic.' She roughly disentangles her load. 'You can provide a romantic welcome. The only thing I can give you… is death.' Two white foxes hit the ground. One has a clean puncture wound above its jugular. The second animal was pinned through the belly then finished with a second smile beneath its jaw.

'They're very fat. Well spotted.'

'One of their cubs went exploring on his own, gave away their location. I killed both parents. They had three more cubs, hardly worth the pelts. I… couldn't watch them starve. I took six lives to preserve my own, a whole family.'

I don't understand how an experienced ranger like Ashe holds on to remorse. You can respect your game, yes, but weeping every time is empty masochism. Your tears don't spare lives. 'They also lived off creatures that made wrong turns. Your pity is unwarranted.'

'You think we're the same… as animals?'

'We're all the same to the Freljord. Human… fox… boar… the only real tribes are the quick and the dead. I have more time for Bristle than I do for snivelling fools.'

A primal twitch warps her face. However civilised she may be, the wilderness creeps, little by little. She must have been here a long time. Could any of us deal with Ashe, unchained? 'You sound like her, bonding with animals.'

There's only one kind of relation who provokes that emphasis. 'Are you talking about your ex-lover?'

'Yes, but you can't sound like her. She brought out the worst in me.'

Jealousy catches like phlegm. I can deal with people knowing Ashe carnally, but the thought of them rousing uncharted depths really stings. 'How?'

'So many reasons… but you're safe, because you're not like her.' Those words feel more like a plea than a statement. Ashe's arm coils back. 'She cares for the dead, while you'd have no trouble with this.' Launching her sack with the force of a ballista, she knocks the wind out of me. The load is heavy, hot and wet. Recovering, I steel my resolve and untie the string with slow, careful movements.

I peer into the darkness… and touch noses with the severed head of a polar bear.

My scream is hard enough to rip all the veins out of my bruised and weary heart. All the little fragments of my composure rain like sand across my lungs.

I can see the bone structure isn't ursine. I've spent enough time with them to recognise the broad, expressive mouth and high brow. Despite our pretence, we are creatures of instinct. Fear gallops where truth walks, and I was confronted with the spectre of a dead Volibear.

The kill is fresh and disgusting. One eye is a bloody mess. A ragged flap of neck sways like the hem of a skirt. Ashe's grip was clearly shaking when she claimed her prize. The creature was probably majestic in life but now its anger seems comical, pathetic. Our hunters prefer the claws.

While I'm shaking with emotion, Ashe looks utterly spent. 'How do you cope?' she whispers. 'You're this paragon of cruelty, laden with self-denial, mercy, devotion, forgiveness… qualities that all of my kin profess, but seldom attain. I've watched so many false tears well at our gatherings, while yours fall unbidden. You scorn us with your cold, ugly sermons, while expressing warmth. How do you cope?'

I scour my cheek raw. Does biology never tire of betrayal? 'Everyone struggles to master themselves and live by their creed. Why should I break when others endure?'

'Because you're denying your humanity!'

'You deny ours!' My temper frays. I'm reeling from her stunt with the polar bear's head. 'You go on like I'm some lost orphan, running with wolves, and all I need is rescue by a "proper" family. No! The Winter's Claw are people, good people! We mourn our losses, fall in love, raise our children. What we don't tell them is how they should act. We do not revere strength because we lack intelligence or instruction. We know that a powerful chieftain benefits everyone, while a performer who can show the right emotion at the right time only benefits!'

'If your tribe are so tolerant of "wrong" emotions, why do you suppress them?'

'I don't! You know, all too well, how to separate feelings and principles. Just look at your marriage!' A very sore point. How does Runeterra make such a political game of intimate relationships? 'I can oppose your nation while admiring your person. I can lead a charge while emptying my bowels in fear. Why do conflicting impulses have to be such a problem?'

Ashe looks into space. 'I… know from experience that you can't live as two people,' she says. 'You can try but… eventually, you will crack.'

'Everyone contains multitudes. We can't resolve them all. Conflict is inevitable… within and without.'

'I'm sick of battles.'

'Then you should aim to win, rather than suffer well.'

Ashe weighs my response like a new blade. 'Against whom? Self-doubt… or you?'

'Both.'

'You don't want that.' She muses. 'You'd sooner die.'

'Perhaps, but if you keep worrying about what I want, you'll never know peace. It will have to come at my expense, whether you like it or not.'

'I see.' Her loaded stare bores into me. I recall my teenage experience, claiming a woman as my prize after a long hunt. I couldn't even bring myself to undress fully, let alone come. I felt so miserable that I never had sex again. To this day, I've not shared an orgasm with anyone but myself. Ashe finally speaks. 'I'm going to have a bath then take a nap. You have two chances to make your decision.'

'Are you asking me to sleep with you?'

She laughs. 'No… no, that door's been wide open from the start.' Her smile fades.

'Then…'

'You've made it enough times already.' She begins taking off her clothes. I turn out of respect, earning a harsh reply. 'This is for your benefit as well. If you won't fuck me, the least you can do is look.' I force myself to comply, meeting Ashe's gaze while she pulls down her britches. When she notices I'm avoiding her figure, she halts her movements. 'Are you shy? Do The Winter's Claw have any time or place for modesty?'

'Well… not really.' The truth is complex, and I have issues apart from convention. I can't explain while confronted with Ashe's bare thighs.

'Then what's wrong?'

'You deserve more than to be viewed like an object.'

'I would like to be viewed as a woman.' She bears down upon me, her groin, a mere tongue's length away. My pulse rocks through my skull. I crave to gorge on her essence, inhale so deeply that all else vanishes. 'Can't you see my flaws… my dimples, dry skin, ugly stretch marks? I haven't shaved my legs for a month. You could scour pots with them. I reek from wearing one set of clothes… all the bile and blood from countless kills, absorbed into my flesh. Am I still a goddess?'

Luckily, my tired eyes filter those wonderfully human details through a glossy haze. 'Always. Even if you kneel to serve a terrible cause, you will always be a goddess.'

'Perhaps I feel the same about you… giving praise at the feet of a dirty, vicious whore that opposes your way of life. You can do better.' Something falls over my head. One cup of Ashe's bra fits like a mask. In soft, woven darkness, faintly damp and stiff from wear, I listen to her voice. 'Perhaps I hate you? Does it even occur to you that I have feelings, while you love my cruel deeds from afar? Should I hate you?'

'If that's what I deserve.' I fold her bra in my hands, and see her dip into the stream. Her slender, winnowed legs, built for precision rather than strength, end in a dramatic arch, full, high and feminine. Her smooth delicate waist appears even smaller beneath her wide breasts. They are proud with colour, an expanse of creamy tones with large, dark areolas. Her arms and shoulders are a temple of raw strength, the base of a triangle driving into the ground. She naturally has the shape I wanted as a child.

Ashe rests her arms over the bank, watching me. 'I'm defenceless.' Her fingers tense into claws. 'I've taken advantage of people… sexually, politically… do you suppose Tryndamere granted legitimacy to my rule because he shared my vision or because he'd lost his tribe? Do you think young, innocent girls, despairing for the warm touch of a woman, can refuse the cold embrace of Queen Ashe?'

'You are never defenceless.'

'And you are so very wrong.' Ashe rests her cheek on folded arms. 'I've been exposed in… just about every way you can think.'

'And you're alive.'

'Is that really my doing… or yours?' With a deep, theatrical sigh of contentment, she closes her eyes as if going to sleep. 'I left you my knife.'

The strange, long-handled weapon lies before me. 'Good, if someone attacks, they will face my wrath.'

'You shouldn't wait. If you know someone's dangerous, you should kill them before they kill you.'

'I can defend myself.'

'I hope so… I really do.'

We don't speak until Ashe rises from the stream, her blonde hair, dark and heavy. She gathers all of the kindling and animal carcasses into one massive pyre. The blaze is overwhelming, far too strong for the small cavern. I ask, 'what are you doing?'

'I should wash and wax my clothes before they split. If I don't run a fire, they'll take forever to dry.'

'But…' something's not right, 'all of your supplies?'

'I can get more.'

Soon, I grow dizzy. Writhing in discomfort, I'm forced to remove layers before I pass out. Ashe dumbly potters about, ignoring me. There's active aggression in her silence, like she's made a conscious decision to block out my suffering. I'm down to my long underwear. Perspiration drenches my forehead. I can feel every place where skin rubs on skin, between my fingers, my armpits, my buttocks. The heat aggravates my sprain. I barely notice the passage of time. Uneasy thoughts blur as the cave shimmers. I journey though skies under rock, and as I finally come to land, Ashe dozes by the fire, still naked. I see every notch in her spine, a dozen ways to conquer the Freljord. One deep thrust and it's all over.

The sublime landscape of her torso rises… then falls… rises… then…