Reprise – Chapter 3

I sit with my back against our chamber door. We listen to her scream, terrified and alone.

Volibear stands apart, refusing to share my vigil. He's here at Sejuani's behest, not mine. She's trapped in a waking nightmare for which I'm responsible, and he's aided me beyond forgiveness.

Tryndamere storms in but I see through his aggression. He's only here to plead. 'Why are you still out here? Don't give in to her fucking pride, Ashe. Do you know how many things can go wrong with childbirth?'

I say flatly, 'She might die.'

'How can you be so…?' He urges Volibear. 'Talk some sense into her, old man! You should be the voice of reason here, not me.'

His words crack with empathy. 'Do you think Sejuani cares for reason?' He can hardly breathe. The smell is choking him. 'She is losing her identity in there. Force would only scatter what remains. Let her die on her feet.'

'She's dying on her back!' says Tryndamere. 'And there's no such thing as a good death. No matter what she loses, I'm sure that stubborn mare could recover, but she needs life to do so.'

A stranger's words leave my mouth. 'Tryndamere, she knows her limits, and we have to respect them for our alliance to work.'

'You don't believe that. She's the type who goes in first, and warriors like that only survive as long as their backup.' I don't answer. We've performed this dance too many times. He'll cave. 'You second-guess everyone. Why choose now to break the habit of a lifetime?'

'I'll break every habit she desires to be the woman she deserves.'

'You're denying yourself. That ain't healthy. You of all people should know that.' He doesn't have to mention Quinn by name.

What is there to deny? I'm so far gone due to stress and fear, that all I can feel is a distant grey hum, running through my temples. I gaze through Tryndamere to a point somewhere beyond, a grey star in a grey sky. 'I know that I'm often wrong. Sejuani might prove that again.'

'She can't prove anything! What's going on in there has nothing to do with her strength or will. She could be tough as my boots. All of that conditioning won't unravel her tubes if they're knotted.'

I wish I knew enough about childbirth to disagree but recent events had left me too numb to learn. I'd crushed two thirds of the Freljord with mechanical savagery, and shed all compassion to do so.

The slaughter began with a miracle, or a technicality disguised as one.

Anivia's egg could restore only via rebirth. The cryophoenix herself could fulfil this by perishing to hatch again. Humans could use its magic to experience their life anew but they could not reproduce themselves into the future.

However, due to Volibear's conduction and Sejuani's connection to the beyond, she and I had met inside the cryophoenix egg. The process now had two lives with which to create a third. The egg had been fertilised. Sejuani reclaimed her soul but, instead of waking up in the past, she moved on by carrying our child.

She took this poorly. Sejuani had never accepted her body. She didn't eat. She didn't leave her quarters. Instead, she spent long hours peering into the dark as if she could expel her mind by staring hard enough.

When she finally told me this, I recalled Sarah's account of her pregnancy. Are these experiences widespread, or are such tales drawn to me as their rightful home?

Sejuani could have escaped her female cage. Instead, she chose life. Accompanied by Volibear, she crossed into my territory, hornless and unarmed.

I showed no mercy.

Capturing them both, I led an all-out assault on their scattered forces. I razed their settlements. Anyone who didn't surrender was made to watch as I murdered their families before them. I didn't want any children to survive and seek vengeance upon me. Kalista's army was large enough.

I carried the Frost Queen's Claim and executed prisoners myself. I looked each victim in the eye and felt their blood run over my hands. If I were to unite this land, I had to be the scion of more than Avarosa. My legacy would include that of the warlike Serylda and the wicked Lissandra. The Winter's Claw, and even the Ursine, would know fear.

Tryndamere knew what I was doing and why. He shielded me from concerned allies who might have staged an intervention. Perhaps he would have spared me this trial had the power fell to him, but he didn't patronise me. He allowed me to carry the burden as a warrior, not his wife.

Olaf gathered the bulk of resistance and attempted a counterattack. He might well have achieved something had he not been so easily manipulated. I challenged him to single combat then signalled my archers to fill him with arrows. I grabbed his axes and screamed at his allies that this wasn't a game, and rules wouldn't save anyone from my wrath. His raiders charged right into one of Gragas' explosive casks.

The last, heroic stand of the Winter's Claw would go down in history as a farce.

Others were more tenacious. Once I reached the heart of Sejuani's territory, her remaining people had forsaken their lands and taken refuge in the mountains. I had no way of hunting them down without great risk. I surmised Udyr had rallied the survivors to prevent them falling on my blade. Every pointless death was one less person to fight the Watchers. He was doing me a favour.

Tryndamere was eager to invade and match wits with the best skirmisher in the Freljord, but I couldn't let the boys have their fun with so much at stake. For now, my conquest was over.

The Ursine were not fundamentally opposed. They had merely doubted my strength. Only Volibear had grave moral objections to my leadership, and he was in my dungeon.

I returned to Sejuani and relayed her defeat in spiralling detail. My poise crumbled until I disgorged all the traumas I'd inflicted with a bloodless howl. She listened, a mere woman, taller than average and five months pregnant. I don't know when it happened, but I found myself on the floor, clutching at her feet as if they were all the comfort I deserved.

Sejuani took responsibility, of course. By her account, she'd led her people to the brink and left them dependent. If they'd been urged to think for themselves, or if she'd established a stronger chain of command, fewer people would have died. If not me, then some other predator would have sensed weakness. But I was strong. I would create and protect what she could not.

She wasn't giving me what I needed.

I grabbed her by the collar and spat in her face. I'd slaughtered her kin and I wanted to see her grieve. I wanted her to weep like a child for the people I'd erased from history. She owed me that satisfaction for dirtying my hands with their innards.

Her convulsions were strong enough that I feared a miscarriage. In retrospect, her body was too pitiless to grant her the soothing title, "failure as a woman". Once her lamentations peaked, I forced her to look at me then told her I was responsible.

She lashed out.

I was on my back, nose bloody, lips torn and throat bruised. Her hands were on my shoulders. I saw no bestial rage in her eyes, only cold fury. She drew back and punched me twice more.

I whimpered for her to kiss me.

Sejuani leant back and listened four times before delivering me. Her mouth was soft, but her actions were not. All the pain and ecstasy merged into a cacophony of sweet emptiness until I surfaced, aching. The floor was cool and wet underneath my bare hips. I felt the chill dungeon air on my skin where she'd rent my clothes.

Apart from me, Sejuani sat, fully dressed, knees drawn up to her growing belly. Her face was a touch red, but otherwise composed. I asked if she felt better.

She felt calmer but not better.

Climbing to my feet, I asked whether she was going to keep the child. She nodded. We shared an understanding that we could thrash out the details another time. We could wait until the blood was dry.

The ease with which everyone accepted our magical pregnancy was remarkable. Fate intervening to stop a war, by combining two poles of the Freljord, made sense to people. Commoners spoke as if they had seen this coming. I was baffled. I recalled a time when I was the dreamer, persuading others of my vision.

Had I been channelling someone else for twenty-five years? I could see no bridge between Ashe then and Ashe now. Perhaps I'd crawled out of her skin and worn it as a cloak. Sejuani saw continuation, as did Volibear. Their observations only heightened my discord.

Tryndamere noticed the bewilderment with which I contemplated my hands. I didn't need the reminder but I was grateful that he cared.

Yet my struggle was nothing compared to Sejuani's. At least my body felt like a suitable machine, performing suitable chores. At worst, it was unfamiliar, not a torture device.

We listen to her roar like a dragon as the mountains part. Silence creeps into the room. Tryndamere and I exchange worried glances while Volibear lifts his nose in anticipation. He says, 'I can hear two mouths breathing.'

My heart races. Our future is in that room and I can't imagine its form. Tryndamere helps me to stand. 'Are you all right, Ashe? What's it like, being a dad?'

'If you call me that again, I'm going to slap you.' Pressing my cheek against the door, I whisper, 'Come on, Sejuani. Say something.' I can't knock. She has to let me in.

After a tense wait, she announces, clear as a gjallarhorn, 'Ashe, I'm done. You may come.' A pause. 'If Tryndamere's there, send him away.'

He mutters, 'Guess we've got the old Sejuani back.' He really wants to see the child.

I wouldn't be so hasty. Her existence is a string of deaths, literal and figurative. I grasp the handle and catch Volibear's gaze. He breaks our connection. 'She called for you, not me.'

I say, 'Don't make excuses. You're better than that.'

'Am I? She must escape my shadow, which is all I can offer at this time.'

'Even if you're not happy, Sejuani deserves to see you! Your grandchild deserves to see you!'

'The storm leaves no trace but… ash.' How unfortunate. I steal everything from him, even his ancient wisdom. 'Dig your future. The ground is yours and yours alone.'

Tryndamere says, 'Volibear's lost his girl to womanhood, and there's been no ceremony to ease the blow.'

'She was never mine to lose.' Volibear pads away.

'But you feel otherwise.' Tryndamere follows with an outstretched arm. 'Come on. Let's go tell Anivia. She's been sick with worry.' He gives me the thumbs up. I should leave the "male" problems to him. He has more experience. I'm still figuring out how to be… not-a-father. I don't have the language for this. Besides, Anivia had fallen ill of late. I hope that's not due to her part in our conception.

Everything recedes. I must cross the threshold alone. Volibear was on to something. This feels right somehow.

The smell of blood and earth is overpowering. I breathe in, thirsty for communion. All these impressions are fleeting. I must record them. Sejuani sits up, at ease in her own gore. Her eyes are sunken but she looks well. To her breast, she clutches our child like a sack of provisions.

I inch closer as if nearing a mirage. An invisible smile colours her words. 'It's real, Ashe. Don't worry. She can't bite.'

'She?'

'Did you expect anything else? We're both women, of a sort.'

'We couldn't assume anything. How many children… are…?' My words trail off. Underneath the slickness of the womb, our daughter has skin the colour of bright snow, feathered with shimmering blue down. Flaps of skin join her arms to her sides. I'm startled enough that I black out for a second.

Sejuani's unconcerned. 'Her egg was from a cryophoenix. It's… wonderful. She could fly one day, Ashe. This girl could fly.'

Something in me breaks at Sejuani's tone. I throw my arms around them both. I would sacrifice the world to hear her speak like that again. I would see it burn.

As I nestle in the crook of her shoulder, I see our child's face for the first time. She watches me silently, human except for her prodigious eyebrows and shining pupils. Recognition grips my heart. This is my daughter, and she will inherit my pain and ferocity.

But she will have the guidance I never had, and I see the prelude of Sejuani's curious bone structure and subtle underbite. There is hope.

Sejuani toys with my hair. 'She's a runt, like I was. The challenges will come thick and fast. We must arm her. Between us, we can train her to ride and hunt. I suppose Tryndamere can teach her swordplay, so long as he doesn't impart anything else.'

'I'm glad you're involving him.'

'He's too good an asset, and I respect his might and devotion… but he's no leader, not like you.' She kisses my head. 'Anivia can handle any signs of magic. I'll be surprised if there aren't any.'

'You're enjoying this.'

'I am. I have my sense back and a focus which should outlive me. If this is the maternal instinct women speak of, it's welcome.'

I notice the slip. '"Women"?'

'I'm your woman, Ashe, not everyone's. Only you've earnt that privilege.' She returns my challenge. 'I know your mind. You're worried this experience has broken me.'

'Yes.'

Her jaw tenses while she looks into our daughter's eyes. 'The strain was bearable, and I didn't soil myself. There's no dignity in war, but I'm glad I retained some.'

'How are you feeling?'

Her words are less confident. 'I never wanted this. All my life, I'd fought this role. Now I fear the world has been proven right. They will claim I was never a chieftain but a mother, whose protests to the contrary were the fantasies of a child.'

'You're above what others say.'

'Am I? They're in my head, Ashe, and I'm one of them.' She sighs. 'What softens the blow is that our daughter is more than human. It will be easier to consider this trial as my own rather than a woman's. I didn't succumb to flesh but… something else.'

'I wish I could have taken your place.'

'No, I'd have felt helpless, uninvolved and suspicious of our daughter. It was better this way. Besides, I am your vanguard.'

Her declaration is romantic yet I look over my belly and feel the kick of a premonition. I'll never give birth. 'As long as you're fine with that.'

'I am. You needn't worry for my sake. I'm well and I have a campaign to lead.' Sejuani chooses her next battle. 'What of her name? Are you still enamoured with "Serylda"?'

'Or Seryldóttir. By accepting your people's matriarch as an Avarosan, we could heal the past.' Avarosa's cool hand brushes mine. She approves.

'We can't heal the past or know the future. The present is all we have.'

This conversation fails every time. Sejuani offers nothing and refuses everything. 'What about Volitia? The name suggests willpower, and it would be nice to honour…'

'Volibear wouldn't appreciate that.' Her voice grows quiet. 'You've noticed, haven't you? Volibear's drifting away, piece by piece, and I'd rather not leash him to us.'

'He won't abandon you, surely?'

'Neither would he hold me back, especially from choices he wouldn't make, which is growing harder now you're in my life. Honestly, I think you're the one keeping him here, not me.'

'Why?'

'You still challenge him. I can only tempt him to settle, and he will never settle.'

I can speak only for myself. 'I don't want to lose him.'

'Neither do I but we lose everything in the end. He's not a young man.' She tightens her embrace. I should be the one comforting her but this is a pattern we've yet to break. 'If he leaves without a word, it won't be for lack of care. Trust me.'

'Trust you? I did leave you to give birth alone despite everyone's better judgement.' I nip her earlobe. 'I know it's a stressful decision but we have to name our daughter, and I'm the only one making suggestions.'

'You're trying too hard, and I think auspicious names are dangerous. What if she chooses a different life? What if she doesn't inherit your throne?'

'Our throne.'

Sejuani ignores my correction. 'If we can't build a country where our own daughter can be free then what is the point?' She strokes our newborn's down. 'What if she prefers to be our son? Who are we to shackle them to a name as good as a lie?'

'Those are fine concerns, but we need something for the records. Our affairs won't organise themselves.'

'How like you to prioritise your desk.'

'You're just as bad. Your tribe's new weapons had serial numbers. Did you think I wouldn't notice?' I prod our daughter's nose, encouraging her to laugh with me. I get a smile. She's taking my side. 'Look, I'm happy to have a naming ceremony when she comes of age, and she can pick another one, but you'll have to persuade Anivia. She'll insist on a precedent.'

'I don't know how you put up with her.'

'Be nice. We owe her a lot, and she's been very accommodating.' Tryndamere had played a vital role in keeping Anivia on side. Ever the traditionalist, she felt better knowing I had a "strong king to protect our land". However, I drew the line at her addressing Sejuani as my "duchess". That was a day I'd sooner forget. 'I wonder if she names her eggs before they hatch. She might have a solution.'

'Eggs? What would you name an egg, Shelly? Shell…?' Her eyes glimmer. 'Skaljō…' The child meets her gaze in acknowledgement. 'Yes, a name to be cast aside without regret.'

'I didn't realise you knew the old tongue.' With a sound like crystals forming, our daughter breathes an "ah" syllable. Sejuani's transfixed. 'You're sticking with that, aren't you?'

'Skaljō,' she says. 'I'm… your mother, and…' a tear falls down her face. 'One day, you are going to fly.' Sejuani cries with her whole body. I hold her and shower her with kisses while Skaljō watches, learning from my actions.

I feel our minds touch. You are not me.

No.

She is not you.

No

So how do "we" become?

"We" is only becoming, never to end.

"I"… is it the same?

Yes, it is a shell, always hatching. Every "I" is always hatching, only becoming.

A shell… Skaljō.

Skaljō.

While I am ash, the end of all becoming. Where can I go from here?

They use ash to melt ice.

Was that her? The thought ripples. I am Ashe, the marauder who sows chaos, who turns the world inside-out, who changes warlords into nurses, who… melts ice into water.

So that was it all along.

Thank you, Skaljō. We may never share a mother's tenderness but we have a connection of our own.

Am I your father?

Sejuani draws her close. Tiny hands and a toothless mouth grasp for purchase. The contact is like a branding iron. With a swallowed cry, Sejuani looks between my face and breasts, as though begging me to do something.

Her naked horror disturbs me. I say, as gently as possible, 'I'm not lactating, Sejuani. She has to feed.' And I suspect our daughter may be a fussy eater.

'I don't know if I can.'

She's been through the worst so it's odd to see her fall at this trench but, even before this trial, her chest was over-sensitive to the point of agony. Trauma is resurfacing, and I'm responsible. 'We'll get through this. I'll fetch a midwife. Are you okay with that?' She nods frantically. Her moments of need are precious, and Sejuani prefers that I treasure them without guilt. Our exchanges of power may never be healthy but we navigate them as one.

Even if it all comes undone, I will keep walking. I will preserve the memories of those I fail so long as my blood flows, and longer if I can. Perhaps I will follow Volibear into the mists of time.

But I have not failed yet.