Staring morosely at the assortment of celebratory garments that had been unceremoniously dumped in her hands, the tanned Noxian exile can only blink in confusion. Seconds pass by in silence as Riven waits patiently for the terrible punchline to the smiling Summoner's joke. Yet the moments slip by and the robed man's mischievous smirk doesn't falter at all. An all-devouring pit of infinite dread suddenly splits open inside Riven's stomach, uncertainty bleeding in as the dishonored soldier's maroon orbs shift for a second time towards the bundle of clothes held in her scarred fingers. Merry and intricate, the many little bells that are attached to the red and white coat via silver thread shine serenely in the warm light of the empty hall. The black boots underneath the crimson garb are polished, looking brand new and oh-so comfortable. Riven's gaze stumbles upon the fake beard that completes the Snowdown costume.

A frown climbs up the tense features of the battle-hardened swordswoman, a narrowed glare is sent the Summoner's way.

"This must be a mistake." The snow-haired defector grits out between her teeth, "I never agreed to participate in this week's celebrations, much less don a ridiculous outfit for the benefit of the Institute."

"You have, however, agreed to lend us your sword to punish injustice, and you still struggle to find a purpose in maintaining the fragile semblance of peace that we are enjoying." The old Summoner drawls. "Is strengthening the bonds of rivaling nations undeserving of your time, Exile? Do you find the task of serving as a peacekeeper for all of Valoran through appeasing its leaders below you, just because this time the fighting is done with smiles and gifts instead of snarls and meaningless bloodshed?"

"If this task is as important as you claim it to be, then it should be left in the hands of tried diplomats and capable wordsmiths." The snow-haired warrior responds, unconvinced. "Charging a mere soldier with upholding your 'peace' certainly seems foolish to me. I'd imagine such actions look even worse when examined by keener, more accomplished eyes."

The Summoner and Riven continue their staredown, the Exile however is mildly surprised when the hooded man in front of her only grins harder at her sharp rebuttal.

"You are correct," hums the old Summoner, a twinkle of mischief flickering inside the mage's faded green eyes. "Both sycophants and royalty would make a... slicker Saint Snow that you, Riven. Emilia Leblanc or Queen Ashe could easily replace you. Braum has a knack for befriending even the most hostile of warlords, and Sona's kindness has a calming effect on those around her."

"So, you see," Riven is quick to agree with the elderly wizard "Any one of those people could do a better job than I, and successfully achieve your grand goals."

"Perhaps, but that won't showcase the progress we have made for the betterment of Runeterra, or reveal how far you've come after exiling yourself and leaving Noxus." The elderly mage replies evenly. "Nobody will bat an eye if Braum is the one to wears the Saint Snow suit, or Ashe, or Sona. Yet the message we want to send out by giving you the costume is that everyone has some good in them, and that even soldiers that have experienced terrible things can overcome their losses and find a nobler purpose, in time."

As the Exile contemplates the old Summoner's words, the snow-haired swordswoman starts noticing the genuine, almost fatherly care hinted behind the wrinkled face of the elderly wizard. Riven's thoughtful stare shifts quietly to the bundle of clothing that she still holds in her hands. The Exiles frown softens, her shoulders relax, considerably.

"Riven, giving you this 'ridiculous suit' as you called it, isn't the Institute's way to humiliate you, or make light of your warrior's spirit. It is a less than subtle nod to your work as a person and League champion. A sign that we Summoners acknowledge your inner struggle and trust you enough to include you in our plans for world peace. You can refuse our offer if you feel that this duty won't serve our mutual goals."

The Exile glances once more at the persistent Summoner. She searches his face for any signs of deceitfulness. She finds none.

With the strange outfit held at her chest level, the betrayed warrior makes up her mind.

0000

'Twas an hour of songs, merriment and bright scarlet lamps

'Twas a night where no children should fear or cry

Jinx and Garen amongst the Institutes youngest champs

Where wrapping ribbons around Maokai

"Could you stop doing that?" Groaned the grumpy, spelled tree, despite using a gnarly arm to help Annie reach his branches. Most residents of the Institute ignored the cursed tree's protests as they murmured the Snowdown carols or settled down on chairs and stools next to their friends and loved ones. The familiar harsh lights of the mess hall having been replaced for the occasion with floating spheres that cast a warm orange glow, the tables having been dragged closer to the hearth as snow descended gracefully outside.

"We can't have a Snowdown without a Snowdown tree, silly!" Scolded Jinx while balancing painted paper plates on top of Maokai's head. The Loose Cannon's tongue was peeking out of the side of her mouth as Jinx tried to concentrate in her work. Standing a few meters bellow and behind her, Nunu and Amumu were supplying Garen with ribbons and decorations to give to the cyan-colored Zaunite.

Content to watch the small gang of troublemakers pester the ancient treant, the rest of the Institute's residents were either enjoying their meals, or conversing around the fireplace.

Suddenly, the great oaken door of the chamber opens with a loud creaking noise. Cold gusts of wind breach the sanctuary of the mess hall, garnering the curious glances of the champions that had been enjoying their late dinner. Nunu, the person closest to the dimly-lit entrance turns around to inspect the newcomer, the pretty orb of ice that he had been holding in his grasp completely forgotten for now.

The little boy turns around, yet he only comes face to face with a pair of sturdy black boots and a trouser of vibrant red color. Perplexed and with his youthful curiosity piqued, the little Eskimo allows his gaze to wander higher, travelling across an abundance of jolly red and hems of white fur intermingled with gold and silver. Examining the bearded face of the silent newcomer alongside his friends, a sudden spark of realization flares within the hearts of the little troublemakers.

Nunu's scrutinizing eyes are the first ones to widen in shock upon recognizing the bearded face that graced every Snowdown sweater and Snowdown card ever. Jinx is the first one to jump into Riven's arms with a shrill cry of immense joy.

"Saint Snow!" The second oldest member of the troublemakers' gang grins as she wraps her limbs around a deadpan Riven. The frozen orb, abruptly falling from the little Eskimo's hand, cracks the floor, before Nunu also jumps on top of Riven with a giggle and a beaming smile. The adults in the gargantuan room chuckle at the sight and return back to their meals as shouts of joy mix with the pleasant sound of the crackling fire.

0000

"What do we say, Garen?" Lux sing-songs. The petite light mage pokes the distracted juggernaut in the ribs, momentary drawing her brother's attention from his new action figure. The Might of Demacia blinks in confusion for a second, before Garen notices that his bearded benefactor is still there, watching him. An extremely sincere, apologetic expression quickly replaces the juggernaut's former ecstatic one.

"Oh, I am sorry. Thank you for the gift, Saint Snow! Have a great Snowdown." Riven simply nods, having somehow grown accustomed to the silent persona of Saint Snow, still stubbornly refusing to laugh exaggeratedly despite the Summoners' many( less than) subtle gestures.

"And what do we say, Irelia?" Karma repeats quietly from next to the dead-inside Exile. Nodding her head, as if in silent preparation of an important deed, the free-spirited Blade Dancer bows to one knee in front of the disguised swordswoman.

"It is an honor to receive this rag doll by you, esteemed Saint Snow. I vow to treasure it forever and use it wisely, and to make my ancestors proud. Many filthy Noxians will find their end in the colorful fabrics of the-"

"Thank you, Irelia. That will suffice, why don't you go back to beheading gingerbreads with Zed and Akali?"

"They are Noxian gingerbreads, they had it coming!" Hisses the Blade Dancer.

The wise duchess sighs as she watches her fellow Ionian walk away, stomping her feet on the ground like a misbehaving child. When Irelia is finally out of earshot Karma turns around to smile apologetically at Riven.

"I apologize for Irelia... She is going through her rebellious phase." The serene duchess suddenly grimaces as she remembers another Ionian that had sprinkled their heartfelt thank you's to Saint Snow with promises of violence against Noxians and cowardly invaders. "As is Master Yi..." The Ionian woman muses halfheartedly "And Yasuo... Zed... Varus... Xayah... I am still not sure about Akali's allegiance..."

Saint Snow takes one good look at Karma and then shoves a tanned hand into her diminishing Sack-of-Awesome-Gifts. Out of the magical container, a dark shape is brought into the light. The Ionian Elder sighs when Riven produces for her a sealed bottle of strong black rum.

"Thank you, Riven." Karma mouths absentmindedly as she accepts the entirely unwelcome gift. Being a nondrinker her whole life, the elegant duchess is uncertain as to what to do with the received bottle of Bilge spirit, when a cacophony coming from the Ionian table demands the Elder's immediate attention. Karma frowns when she spots Ahri attempting to part other champions from their Snowdown presents, charms and fox-fire flying everywhere as people grab their gifts and dive under the tables.

The enlightened woman doesn't even realize when she uncorks the bottle and takes a big swing out of the foul-tasting liquid. Saint Snow crosses her hands in front of chest and congratulates herself on delivering another well-thought present. Riven then abruptly realizes that she gave the same gift to Annie.

With a mighty shrug and determined footsteps, the detached Exile shoves a pink tiara into Gangplank's waiting hands and then leaves the mess hall. She can't save Snowdown if the police tows her sleigh.