a/n: Hey, I'm Liz and this is my first work of fanfic. I'm enjoying this experience. I actually suck at League, so I enjoy writing rather than playing.
Disclaimer: League of legends, paraphernalia relating to gameplay, and whatever else falls between belongs to RIOT games!
The Freljord was not a place where the damned went to be forgiven. It was not a place for the young to thrive. It birthed winds cold enough to remind her inhabitants that she was not a force to be overcome, but endured. However, she did have mercy on the fallen souls, and creatures who chose to stay in her destructive embrace. For their dedication to whatever vice led them, the mighty arms of the Freljord buried the dead so the living may persist against all odds.
Today was another day in which the mother of the mountain ranges would bury her still children. Men and women bearing tattoos and markings of Winter's Claw lay under the velvet sky, their faces turned to the stars they would never see again. Light spilled from the waxing moon and pooled in the recesses of the tribe's stronghold. Burned structures, broken axes, and fragments of ice and rock poked dangerously through the churned snow, their use no longer apparent. An unattended fire burned low, a sentinel to the carnage the mountains allowed to happen. Like the hushed wind, it too waited for the last member of the tribe to fall.
It was no longer a matter of if; but when.
Sejuani was dying.
Five hours prior to the collapse of her people, Sejuani struggled to hide her annoyance in the face of her tactitians. A man the height and girth of Willump, Nunu's abomination, thrust his finger at a channel between Glaser Port and Gelid Vortex. He traced his thick finger along the blue swirl indicating water and stopped at the base of a mountain. Sejuani could see in his grim face and rigid posture that he fervently believed that he was pointing out the next place of attack from Ashe and Tryndamere, but intuition told her otherwise.
"I cannot see other routes she would take at this time of year," He began. It was the same argument he had been using for the past four days and Sejuani was tired of it.
"I will not risk our success on your blindness." She turned the map so it was facing her and studied it hard. After three days and four sleepless nights she was in no mood to listen to those who opposed her. In the corner of the hut sat one of the few remaining village elders. She was scarcely over 60, but already felt the weight of the mountain on her aging bones. She knew the land would claim her body sooner rather than later; just as the wind would always blow, the water would never run, and the Winter's Claw would remain strong. In her heart she believed in these absolutes and repeated them to anyone who would spare a moment to hear her wisdom. It was today that the older woman would begin to falter in her belief.
A tense moment passed over the table as the leader of the tribe wiped a hand across her face. If she didn't leave she would punch Hoskk so hard he would have an out of body experience.
Without another word, Sejuani threw on her furs and left the hut.
A mild wind played with her short hair, nibbling tentatively at her clothes before giving up and finding a poorly dressed tribesman to prey upon. Around her buzzed the daily life of Winter's Claw: women cleaning and curing the hides of caribou and rabbits while men sat in circles as they sewed pelts and mended clothes. What was absent were the squeals of children and the merry laughter of babies bouncing on their parent's knee. Between frost and the threat of war that stalling prospective mothers, there were fewer than 20 children in the tribe. Sejuani was no sentimental woman. She knew it spelled disaster for her people if children were not in their foreseeable future.
"Good hunting," One of the stable hands nodded in the leader's direction. She returned the greeting with an icy stare that was neither friendly nor unfriendly in nature. Sejuani spared few fond thoughts and kind words on the humans in her life. They were content to treat her with respect and a formal word here and there, knowing she only heard the war drums and not their voices. Men and women left her to the company of her boar, content in knowing the two would lead them to eventual victory over their enemies.
The stable housed Bristle and ten horses, precious spoils from a raid on one of Ashe's convoy. Sejuani paid them little mind and went straight for her trusted companion. She stroked his ears to the rhythm of his heavy breaths. She was too wrapped up in her angry thoughts to hear the visitor enter the stable.
"Sejuani." It was the woman elder. She addressed the princess in a low tone as to not invoke the wrath behind the eyes of the leader. Her effort was not in vain. Sejuani stepped from her boar and lowered her head in the customary sign of respect to one who had fought the cold for longer than 60 years.
"Nettik."
Snatches of conversations could be heard through the thin walls of the leather bound walls. A woman was expressing her dislike of the stitch work someone had done, another laughed loudly at an unheard joke, and life just seemed to carry on outside the fog of Sejuani's mind.
"I have words from the mountain, perhaps from the gods," Nettik stepped toward Bristle with her hand extended. He was happy to have the attention and pushed his wet snout against her open palm. She knew the princess believed only in strength, initiative, and what she could cut down with her bola, but Nettik had once been like her too: bigger and badder than the perceived gods, more enlightened than the Freljord herself, and angry enough to continue the crusade in her heart. She was old now and the gods had cut her down to size, the Freljord had punished her for her pride, and the fire that lit her heart was long dead.
"Deeds, not words." Sejuani's manners were wearing thin and she made very little effort to conceal her sigh of irritation.
"Spoken like the true ruler of the Freljord." Here she leaned against the strong beam supporting the tent. "The plans you have laid will fail." She held up a hand. "You make mistakes from anger- with that same passion you set the course for conquest and lead the Claw to minor victories, but that will not happen today. The wind is not in your favor and I fear it is going to desert us in our time of need."
"Living in fear is not living at all. I will not blindly lead anyone into a pass with no exit," It was hard to not shout at the old woman. Where she saw a good plan, Sejuani only saw defeat.
"You see through a glass dimly."
"I see through the eyes of the warriors before me." She spat viciously. "I was born for conquest."
And she believed it.
It had taken two hours for Sejuani to regain her composure. She had stormed off to her tent which overlooked the camp. From there she could see her tribe and remind herself why she was the rightful heir to the Freljord- why she would win the power skirmish and stand and the true victor. However, no amount of well laid plans could account for the anger or stress accompanying her ambition. Sejuani knew her recent irritability stemmed from the lack of sleep over the last few days. With the threat of war so close, how could one possibly waste time dreaming? Not she. The past leaders of Winter's Claw were honorable and proud warriors cut from the face of the mountain and tempered by the winds which blasted the frozen land. As their present leader she would uphold tradition and drive a stake through the hearts of her enemies.
The sun was beginning its rapid decent over the jagged hills. There was less than an hour of daylight left; activities took on a feverish pace as men focused more on work than fun and women scraped and beat furs faster.
From a mile beyond the gates of their settlement a dot plodded steadily through the snow. Sejuani had no worry for few knew of her tribe's whereabouts and those that did feared her wrath more than the promise of reward.
She was given a wide berth as she descended and walked through the camp. It was a respectful distance, though many were aware she was in no mood to talk and obliged her by moving away. A few nodded and murmured greetings of 'good hunting' and 'hello' to which she did cursorily nodded.
Sejuani waited for the arrival of news, good or bad, outside the informal gates of her village. The defenses of the Winter's Claw were not easily detectable in the way of overt measures. Fools like Ashe and Tryndamere relied on walls and cities to protect their way of life, but here a skilled warrior would provide more protection than a wall. They would not hide behind another shield.
The messenger greeted the princess and proceeded to relay what information he had gathered. "I am stationed near Glaserport and word has reached that Ashe is in Demacia. A ship was seen leaving "
"Good." Glaserport was a day's walk from her territory, an important area to watch in the event of an attack from one of the other contenders for command of the Freljord. "Take word back that five are to remain at each post." He nodded and turned to depart when Sejuani called out. Nettik's words were gnawing in the back of her mind. "You are to stay- all of you. Do not return until I tell you."
The mental fatigue was beginning to catch up- it had to be if she was considering the ravings of an old woman to be an omen.
The messenger left and took her hopes on his broad shoulders.
She had fallen asleep? When? How?
Cold had settled into her joints and caused them to stiffen uncomfortably. A much needed stretch would cure that, but there was no time. Something wrong was looming overhead.
Sejuani pushed through the opening in her living quarters and fell into the shadow of the night. The sickle moon threw her light over the white snow, drunkenly weaving in and around the territory of the Winter's Wrath. Torches lit with whale fat were warm rubies against the pearly snow.
"Sejuani, good hunting." A mug of cider was thrust into her hands by a smiling bundle of furs. She accepted the drink yet did not lift the mug to her lips.
She ticked back the days in her head. Snowdown was not for another month, Oktoberfest had passed scarcely a week ago, and the other minor holidays were recognized by the few who remembered why they were celebrated. "Tell me the occasion."
"A ship was sunk off shore and it had the symbol of Avarosa. Ashe is gone." The bundled figure produced a grating laugh and wandered off to mingle with other rosy-cheeked individuals.
Sejuani did not know what to feel. A tendril of unease gripped her stomach as she watched her people sharing a moment of success. The orange light from the torches cast menacing shadows across faces, structures, and brows. Suddenly she needed to get away. Now.
Strong hands patted her back and called out praise as she escaped into the unblemished snow of the deserted lands. The wind had cleared the tracks of the visitor and it seemed as if the night was a time to reset so the next day may bring greater news of conquest.
The stars regarded the earth with cold curiosity; content to see how little a warm body meant in the grand scheme of the universe. The planets would rotate through space, seasons would come and go, and no one would care for the people of Winter's Claw.
But Sejuani would.
She looked down at the ale mug and caught sight of her reflection. It shook then went black. Sejuani threw the iron as if she had been bitten. What the fuck just happened?
"To what do I owe this pleasure...?" The wind carried an familiar voice to the ears of Sejuani. "Why do you not look as if you're having FUN?" The lights in the village blew out.
"Hello sister," a ghostly blue claw materialized, heralding the arrival of an ageless evil. Lissandra burst forth from the snow in a spray of black ice. "It's so good to see you." Sarcasm dripped from her words like honey.
"Talk is cheap."
"You're right, barbarian. I am here to take what is mine."
"Then you have come just in time to claim your death. It is long overdue." Sejuani felt for a bola which was not there.
"I could cut you a bargain and let you die now like our dear sister, or I could let you watch your savages die." The Ice Witch laughed cruelly. "On second thought, I've already made up my mind. Kneel!"
The far away stars bore witness to the attack which Lissandra had orchestrated masterfully. They saw the troll king end lives indiscriminately with his frozen club and marveled at how the blind Witch razed a proud lineage with an army of twisted creatures. Another set of eyes drank the sight in and allowed a dark evil to begin brewing in her heart. An evil which was known to corrupt.
Time meant nothing as the shouts and curses dropped out of their chorus one by one. A thin cry rang out, signaling the end of more than just a battle, but the extinction of a whole tribe.
"And now for the finale." Sejuani was caught up in a tomb of black ice and lifted several meters above her ruined home. Lissandra was terribly pleased with her handiwork: with her sisters out of the way, the Freljord would descend into whatever chaos she fancied. Now all that was left was to seal the deal.
"It's a pity you won't be around to see how much fun I can have. Trundle," The Ice Witch propelled herself away from the tomb on a river of black ice. "Break it."
The grotesque troll obliged and Sejuani fell down, down, down until she could fall no further. A hand made of broken ice shards had caught her in its palm.
"Your death serves a greater purpose." The palm closed around her and the last sound to cut the Freljord was a muffled sob.