Time for a Darius-centric chapter because I'm frustrated at the ridiculous comic that was published and I want to write him how I see him. Bite me.
Also, anyone who tries to say he's not a good husband is wrong.
When Darius reached the steps of his shared home with his blood-bound, he found it soundly quiet. It was calm; even though the street was still alive, and the houses surrounding the stand-alone forge were still coming and going, the home was calm. Even as people ducked out of his way, bowing or nodding or even, in some cases, kneeling for half a moment in respect, he paid them no mind.
He was quite ready to retire for the day. The exhaustion had set in, and as strong as he was, even he had to rest. Or so his wife insisted. Her insistence was silent to many, yet he knew better than to ignore her; general he may be, she had the right and the quickness to grab him by the ear.
The door was heavy, thick enough to halt a fire for a time if one broke out. The thud of it opening was satisfying, though not as much as it was satisfying to hear the door close behind him as he stepped inside the small home. It was decorated in a mix of traditional Freljordian and Noxian design; weapons hung from the walls, furs acting as padding to refrain from damage. Furs from his wife's hunts kept the walls from losing the heat inside their home, and his own trophies- helms, cowls, and flags from the places he had been and aided Noxus in conquering.
The soft light from the living room was barely visible from the entrance, but it told him that a fire was going within, and it told him that it was his wife's doing and not his beloved daughter's. As talented as she was, she was still learning, and her fire resulted in smoke more often than not.
His armor came off with a practiced hand, left on the rack they had placed there ages ago to ensure a lack of damage or clutter. His body felt lighter, his heart felt less restrained as he rounded the corner to see the living room. The sight before him was one for sore eyes; his wife, Carryn, resting in the rocking chair he always occupied when home, and his daughter laid across the loveseat near the fire. It was a sight worth fighting to come home for.
Carefully, he found his way to his wife's seat without making the noise that would inevitably wake his exhausted child; he lifted her gently, so as to not wake her if she was indeed sleeping, and sat where she'd been sitting only to place her in his lap. He could feel her body relax against his chest, and cast a quiet glance downward. Her raven black hair had barely shifted, but the blue of her eyes were now staring back at him. They always reminded him of something not quite ice yet not quite water.
She's getting stronger. The tracing was easy to track against his arm; he was used to the feel, he was used to the translation. Ever since she had gone deaf, she had learned how to properly communicate to him during the moments they were close, and the gentle tracing of letters against his skin was easy for him to remember.
She will handle it, Carryn. She is Noxian.
She bears Freljord blood as well, Darius. Her fire has never known what it is to be cold. If she does not temper it here-
His eyes closed. The last place he wanted her to go was the Freljord, alone- they would not be able to go with her. His duty was here, to Noxus, and her mother's was to Noxus' forges now. She would be alone, in the cold, for who knows how long until her flames were tempered out and controlled. Yet, he knew that if her fire should overcome her control, then far more than she would burn for it.
I fear for her, Darius. But she is older than I was when I tempered mine, and she is stronger than I ever was at her age. We may not have a choice.
Where would she go?
Where she needed.
The feeling of grief without loss settled over his heart as his wife looked toward their daughter- adopted by him, with a father his wife had long since forced away. He would never deny she was strong, and only gaining strength with each passing challenge placed in front of her. She was Noxian to the bone, yet he knew Carryn had a valid point.
Then let us hope her fire can temper itself.
It will, Darius. One way or another. She is our child, after all, regardless of the name she bears here. She is stronger than any of us have ever given her credit.
There was a soft noise that he could barely identify as one of her laughs, a tired one that he'd often heard when he'd come home from a campaign. Her head fell against his chest, and he leaned his own against the back of his chair. Out of habit, his leg had begun rocking them; he was ready to sleep, and deal with the world in the morning. This was what kept him on the front; the desire to keep this safe within Noxus' borders, the want to make sure the peace within the borders would always stay so that this would be possible.
A gentle, calloused hand lifted to gently brush through Carryn's hair as he felt her slip into sleep once more. His eyes stayed focused on the fire in the hearth until it had burned to embers, until his eyes were too heavy to remain open. He feared the day he would wake and this would no longer be, the day he lost all he loved. It was the one thing he would admit he feared.