Quinn's transition from sleep to consciousness was unpleasant. One moment she was vaguely aware of the pain in her body and the next she was slammed into a world where fire consumed her bones. Whatever Soraka had put in the red potion had taken the edge off her worst injuries, but her whole body felt like a giant infected wound. She was incredibly hot and uncomfortable in whatever clothes she was wearing- was that even her shirt? Probably not. Wait, where was she? This wasn't her quarters in Demacia. Those weren't the voices of Garen and the city guards, neither were her clothes regulation.
She tried to sit up and swing out of bed, but her arms and legs were dead weight. If she could just reach the glass jar on the bedside table, she could break it and use the shards as shivs. Maybe she could cut her captors' throats, grab Val, and get ou- wait. Val. Valor? Huh? Where was he?! Quinn redoubled her efforts to get out of bed, but all she managed to do was tumble onto the hard floor with a solid whap.
Instantly the voices outside the room stopped and footsteps approached the door. Oh, this was it. It was now or never. Could Quinn reach the jar in time to break it and make her escape? She could try.
The door swung open on Quinn's pitiful effort to claw her way over to the table. She was gasping on the floor from her initial fall and still locked in a fetal position.
"Ha ha, you are in motion of the most unusual kind."
Quinn knew that voice. From where? She couldn't seem to get her body to obey simple commands like turning to see who had entered. The light spilling from the open doorway revealed that she was in a room with two beds, a table, and a steady fire. The windows mounted on either side of the chimney were tightly shut and Quinn wanted to do nothing more than open them at fling herself outside. She would not die in such a disgraceful way, especially not on the floor.
"Val! I need eyes on 'em!" What she thought was her full voice was no more than a whisper. A hand rested on her back and it gently turned her over to reveal a familiar face. An unhappy one, but still familiar. "Val! Val!"
"Shhh. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Quinn." Soraka murmured. Suddenly everything made sense: the bed, the clothes, the fire- she was in Soraka's house. "Illaoi, mind her leg. She's feverish."
Whoever this Illaoi was did not have the same gentle touch as Soraka. Quinn cried out as she was tucked back into bed.
"Thank you. I'd prefer you wait elsewhere. Quinn will be fine." The meaning of Soraka's words were lost as Quinn plunged back into a world of invisible fire and pain.
Hours later Quinn woke. It was not as jarring or frightening as before; it was more like waking up underwater. She swam to the surface of consciousness and emerged slightly disoriented and very sick.
"Sit up. Slowly." A shadow sat on the end of the other bed in the room. Quinn did not need much light to tell whether it was Soraka or not, she was easily distinguishable from the horn on her forehead. The fire had died down since she had last been up and in the soft glow she could see that her friend was mending her Demacia issued uniform.
"There's a red potion by your hand. Unscrew it and drink it."
Quinn opened her mouth to object, but Soraka's eyes flashed dangerously in the gloom. "I said drink."
And she did. Quinn could not help but to make faces while she choked the syrupy potion down. She felt close to retching, but did not feel up to weathering the wrath of an angry healer. The star child had not become the best by letting her patients dictate what method of care they would be getting, she spoke and her words were obeyed. Soraka watched her like a hawk and did not speak until the bottle was finished.
"Good. You'll start to feel better in a few minutes. Those potions last about two hours, give or take a few minutes." Soraka put down her work and fed another log to the fire. She stood watching the flames in quiet reflection. When she spoke again it startled Quinn, "You owe me a favor."
"Huh? Was that, fuck..." Quinn coughed violently. "...Your favor?" The potion lingered in the back of her throat. It tasted too sweet to be called delicious and too foreign to be likable.
"Don't be dense, that was to make you feel better. Here, I'd like you to put your uniform on." Soraka handed the Demacian regalia to Quinn in exchange for the empty phial. There was a definite shaking in the hunter's fingers, but it was tolerable in comparison to the fire in her bones. Together the two women negotiated the costume over stiff joints and tender wounds, frequently pausing as fabric chaffed sensitive skin. When Soraka had stripped the clothes off her incapacitated patient it had been a mess of blood urine, and grime. With a great deal of elbow grease and determination the suit had taken on its original tint.
"You hardly ask for favors. What do you need?"
"It's not what I need, it's what Demacia sent you to do. It's time to hang up your bow and become a diplomat. You're going to speak with Tryndamere."
Quinn went through another series of bone crushing coughs before she was able to answer. Gods, her lungs were on fire. Did Soraka have something for that?
"What? Since when did you care about Tryndamere?"
"Listen to me." Soraka roughly pulled the final touches over Quinn's head. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you what needs to be done. Please, it's not much." She added in a softer tone. Her eyes were ringed with melancholia and what looked like exhaustion, but it was hard to tell in the wavering light coming from the fireplace.
"Well, the least I can do is show people how badass I am."
"Thank you." A smile stole over Soraka's lips, but she quickly hid it. "Come."
Valor was waiting for Quinn in the front room of the house. Soraka must have installed a perch for him while they had been away for the past few months. It warmed Quinn to see the value their friendship in this simple gesture, but it served as a heart-wrenching reminder of how alone and highly disliked Soraka was by the locals of Frostheld. No one kept close company with birds so far north; therefore the only usage would come during her infrequent visits with Val.
"Oh, do you like it?" The tiredness slipped from Soraka's shoulders when she saw Quinn admiring her new addition. "Braum did it a few weeks ago. He also left a few poro snacks for Val, but I told him those were designed only for poros and not birds. He left it anyways."
"Well, I'll have to thank him when I see him." Quinn lifted her arm and was joined by her companion a moment later.
Three more bottles of that mysterious red potion were pressed into Quinn's hand. "You're not to take more than two in at least three hours. Too much will make you sick, especially on an empty stomach."
"Understood."
They nodded to one another and went their separate ways.
Open air markets were wildly different from the pilfering and bartering Bilgewater called trade. Here in Frostheld it was a subdued and tame event in comparison. Though it may have been Illaoi's present company that dissuaded a brighter atmosphere.
"You're not going to tell me, huh?" Nunu and Willump were following closely on Illaoi's heels. The boy had caught sight of her rich skin color among the paler patrons and fastened onto her like a leech. Nothing seemed to excite Willump more than a snack or sweet of some sort, therefore Nunu had come down to the market to buy a treat they could both enjoy. Illaoi would have thought he was only there to bother her with the way he was whittling down her patience.
"Hmph, you and Quinn are so secretive," He prattled on loudly in the way that young children were known to do. Illaoi noticed the sharp head turns at the mention of Quinn and quickly decided to avoid all topics dealing with her or Sejuani. Especially Sejuani.
"Have you tried barbecue before, child? It is better than any secret."
"Barbecue? I don't even know what that is. Is it something we can eat?" Nagakabouros was to be thanked for the boy's eagerness to please and short attention span. From time to time Illaoi caught him trying to imitate her swagger or carry an imaginary weight on his shoulder like her relic, the Eye of God. This time he was trying to imagine what food she could possibly be talking about.
She was about to answer when a new voice chimed in: "Of course, boy! I see you make friend with good taste."
A tall, robust man stepped towards the party with his arms full of sweets. He wore pants and a cloak, but no other forms of protection against the elements. It was a pity his food senses were keen but his environmental awareness lacking.
"Braum," He beamed at Illaoi and would have offered a hand if it were not full of desserts. Instead he bobbed his head which Illaoi preferred over a sticky greeting.
"I am Illaoi. I did not think cuisine from the Southern Isles could reach so far, Northman."
"A friend travels between here and southern isles. Gragas, you know him? Big? Round? Shaped like barrel?"
Illaoi cracked a smile and laughed. "Yes, he's a riot!"
"Good friend." Braum radiated enjoyment from every pore.
"He's my friend too." Nunu piped up. He felt forgotten during the adult's exchange and deemed it necessary to prove his relevance.
"A friend of Freljord and little ram." Braum winked at Nunu. "I have task for you. Find me most yummy poro snack and I give you and yeti reward."
"Got it." Nunu scampered off to Illaoi's delight. She hastily covered her sigh of relief with a cough.
It was a fine day for the unforgiving climate. The sun was a welcome change to the overcast skies and it kicked Illaoi's spirit into a high mood. Her well-being had not been broken by the grueling march and after a full night's rest it was time to begin again. Nagakabouros had not turned the compass on a new quarry and Freljord was a good place to explore. A man played a polka for the children sitting at his feet, two women haggled over the price of fresh fish, and life went on.
Illaoi would have felt more in tune with the activities going on had it not been for the hushed whispers and odd looks. It was hard to tell if the dissonance stemmed from her appearance in their city or if the issue had started long before she and Quinn arrived. Beating the answer out of the locals was not the best course of action, so she refrained from doing just that. Instead she dusted off a skill she hadn't used in a long time: the art of prying.
"Braum, tell me, what makes a baddie here in Freljord? Bilgewater has her own demons, but what lurks here?"
"Hmph, baddie is strong word for weak people. Frostheld has none, but Winter's Claw has one." They were walking by stalls with no intent in buying, just admiring. Braum leaned in and lowered his voice before continuing. "Sejuani is what you call baddie. A cold heart beats in her chest." He straightened up once more and took the lead.
"You have met this woman, no?" A flock of children parted to let Illaoi through. They paused their game of tackle to admire her commanding presence and to wish on a star that they would someday be as powerful as she.
"Yes. I tried to reason with her, but she is stubborn like Agatha. Cow back home." Braum added after seeing confusion cross Illaoi's face. "Her actions hurt many. Rumor say that Ashe is dead. May be from warrior who forgot wisdom come from head, not hand."
Illaoi had little to say to that. Just a few blocks away the culprit of many a crime slept fitfully. The priestess knew Nagakabouros did not operate under the laws of good or evil, she moved and that was enough. However, Illaoi was still human and though her faith was indomitable, her heart occasionally fell back into the trenches of right and wrong, good and bad, criminal and victim.
Luckily Nunu and Willump entered the scene with armfuls of round snacks. From the crumbs on his face he may have sampled a few sweets, you know, just to make sure they weren't poisoned or anything like that. You could never be too careful.
"I couldn't choose, so I bought them all. And tried one. Okay, it was two. Nope, three. A few more than three, that's all I'm saying."
"You can never be too sure, little ram. Braum thanks you." The large man bent to retrieve the food and by the time he stood up Illaoi was nowhere to be seen. What a pity. No matter, he still had a hungry boy and a yeti. "Nunu, how would you like to try barbecue?"
Quinn felt like a prisoner of war sitting at the far end of the table. Tryndamere had called her to a meeting as soon as she entered the citadel. He was never Quinn's first pick to be Ashe's husband and he was definitely her last preference to be king of anything, but life was kinda shitty in that you didn't get what you wanted.
Right now she wanted to be anywhere but in a room surrounded by people who didn't like her. This must be how Soraka feels everyday, Quinn thought glumly. Every word out of Tryndamere's mouth seemed to be directed at her, despite his audience of a dozen other residents.
"We take one step forward and two steps back when we open our gates to supposed allies are always conveniently too late to help. It goes to show that our affairs are our own and need to be settled by eliminating threats. There's no reason to keep up the illusion of peace when there's warmongers among us." Tryndamere locked eyes with Quinn. "Ashe was the one who trusted anyone who walked through Frostheld, but I am not going to be as naive as her. In this time of her her absence... while we search for her. I think it's time we look for a culprit instead of a body. I trust all of you and that's why you're here with me, but it's not as easy to trust the ones coming from beyond our walls."
"What is our next course of action, Tryndamere?" The man who spoke up was one of the king's friends. After the culling of Tryndamere's tribe, the crazed soon-to-be-king went berserk and tried to take on this man's clan by himself. Holm, the ambassador sitting at the table, had successfully diverted the hard feelings into a plan to get even with whoever had committed this crime. His ability to be unruffled had won him his life that day and a seat at the king's table for the following years.
"It's no secret that Sejuani and Lissandra are still vying for the throne, but I know that ice witch is too smart to assault a kingdom as powerful as ours. She's had centuries to attack yet remains as a bottom feeder. That barbarian grows more desperate and unpredictable the longer we let her play 'princess' with her savages. The bad blood between she and Ashe is spreading- Sejuani had the peace offerings to be burned." Tryndamere was speaking about a caravan of wheat, animal products, and precious medicine Ashe had sent as a means for negotiating an audience with Sejuani. A conference never came of it. Winter's Claw stole the horses, set fire to the supplies, and sent Ashe's messengers back with the message, 'We fight while cowards talk'.
That stunt had happened less than a year ago, but where Ashe had let it go Tryndamere had rallied around it and painted the stubborn princess out to be a tyrant governed by rage. Quinn knew this was not true. She didn't see eye to eye with Sejuani, but she knew that she trusted only her strength and wanted her tribe to hold the same values. By allowing Tryndamere to demonize her only made Quinn's job harder. It was time she did the job she was sent to do.
"Are you saying Ashe is missing?"
"That's right, you weren't here. Demacia is good at sending help too late." Tryndamere snapped. The other heads at the table looked away and found a sudden interest in the hanging tapestries. The figureheads present were afraid of the king to some degree.
Fucking mouth breathers, all of them. Quinn hated people who could not think for themselves.
"It's hard to get news from a closed city. Please, enlighten me."
"That feral woman and her mongrel had part in sinking Ashe's ship. She was only a few miles out from shore." The king eyed the outsider with contempt. "I don't suppose you were aware Ashe was on her way to Demacia."
"I hope you find what you're looking for. However, if you're trying to accuse me of undermining a pact you could barely uphold, then you'll have to do better than that. Demacia is working with all of Freljord, not just Frostheld. I'm not bound to you, Ashe, Sejuani, or Lissandra. When you and everyone get your shit together we'll be gone, just like you've always wanted." Quinn wondered if she had gone too far. It was one thing to provoke Tryndamere with Ashe present, but who knew what this unstable man would do without his even-tempered partner. Quinn's head was beginning to hurt. Soraka's potion must be wearing off.
"You're on thin ice, I'd watch your step."
"If I watch any closer I'd become like you-"
Tryndamere had had enough. His chair hit the ground. Some of his guests gasped, others grunted in surprise. Tryndamere's fingers were wrapped around Quinn's throat.
"Get a hold of yourself, Tryndamere! Tryndamere!" Holm was pulling the king's hands away from the ambassador's neck. He understood the ramifications of harming their chances of receiving outside help.
Quinn was scrabbling against the chair, desperately trying to gain leverage on Tryndamere's hands. The edges of the room were beginning to grow fuzzy. Her movements were sluggish in comparison to her usual awareness. It was awful! She felt like prey! She should never have agreed to help Soraka. She should never have come. She should never have left Demacia. She should never have gotten on Illaoi's ship-
Tryndamere let go.
All the blood rushed back into her head and threatened to sweep her under a black wave. Quinn fought it and took a dry heave over the side of her chair. No one took notice in the din of the shouting match. Those who supported the king's desire to solve their problems with internal resources went up against those who preferred to have Demacia and other forces help settle the power skirmish.
It was too much for Quinn. She fumbled for the potions and drank them with little regard to Soraka's warning.
Tryndamere had strode away from the table with Holm in his ear. Tryndamere did not appear to be listening. He was a bad-tempered man. Holm broke away and went to Quinn's aide.
"He's not in his right mind, Quinn. Let us reconvene in a few days."
"No need. I'll be sure to let Demacia know Frostheld no longer needs our assistance."
Holm looked crest fallen. He had been on the side pining for Demacia's help. His tribe would be dismayed at this news. "I'm disappointed, though I wish you'd reconsider."
"I'll see myself out."
Quinn stumbled more than stormed out of the room. She thought the red potion would have helped her vision grow clearer, but if anything it was making it worse. When she reached the foyer her vision was so bad the guard was little more than a gray blob.
"Val, to me." Quinn slurred. Oh gods, why did she sound like that? What was happening? Perhaps taking all three potions wasn't a good idea… Shit. Soraka better not find out, she'd kill her.
That was the last coherent thought she had for a long time.
Illaoi did not know where she was. She spent the last few hours following no particular route, turning down whatever street looked interesting and tried to get a feel for life in Freljord. It appeared that Avarosa was a guiding spirit for this city's residents. If Illaoi stayed long enough, Nagakabouros would illuminate each person's path and they would be in motion.
As of late Nagakabouros had been quiet. This was not unusual in any way. The mother did not thrive on frequent petitions or dependent behavior; she was a strong god who called for strong disciples. The least Illaoi could do was focus her mind so she would be ready to answer the call to action.
The familiar weight of the Eye of God kept her connected with Nagakabouros, even when she was terribly lost... which she was. The uniform buildings did not help distinguish a dead end from a connecting street. Freljord was pretty and so was Frostheld, but the recurring theme of stone, snow, and ice was growing old.
Illaoi backtracked down a road she was sure she had gone down. Damn, this didn't look like something she had seen. More closed doors... oh, but that looked kinda familiar. A pillar with the symbol of Avarosa stuck out past a building. It was connected to a statue of the former queen and that statue was near the castle. Ha! Not lost after all!
She emerged within sight of the castle steps. Damn, how did she miss that giant piece of stone? And when did the queen relax her standards enough to let vagrants and their pets sleep outside?
Hang on. What was that blue thing hopping around?
Oh no. Please don't be that big ass chicken, Illaoi prayed. Anything was better than that bird.
Her god must have missed her prayer.
Valor hopped out of Illaoi's way just as she set her relic down. He pecked at her hand and the priestess assumed it was his weird way of thanking her.
"Bird, we can't keep meeting like this."
She scooped the unconscious Quinn up and started walking to the apothecary's shop. There was no doubt about it: Soraka was going to kill them.
a/n: I know this chapter was all filler. It'll pick up again in chapter 7! I think I just needed a break from the story, my mind was getting fried.
Would you guys prefer to have longer chapters (5-8k) or shorter ones (2-4k)?