Part two of the Rivelia story where Reben and 'relia meet during the Lunar Revel.
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It turned out that the place that Irelia wanted to visit was some kind of shrine built at the top of a hill overlooking the festival's grounds. Riven admired the tall decorative gates and the curved rooftops of the buildings as Irelia dragged her towards the altar.
The Blade Dancer looked extremely happy and hadn't stopped smiling since the two of them had arrived at their destination. Irelia was apparently feeling better too, since she had jumped down from Riven's arms, although the younger woman had insisted that she and Riven should hold hands while walking, just in case she suddenly lost her footing or suffered a dizzy spell.
The atmosphere at the shrine was serene, the buildings and the aged statues almost appearing to radiate a feeling of calm acceptance that put the foreign swordswoman at peace.
The surrounding area was refreshingly quiet too, compared to the busy streets and the shouting peddlers below, and Riven for one appreciated the absence of pantomiming performers and dazzling colors at every corner, the missing cacophony of cheering children and haggling adults that assaulted her ears wherever she went.
"Come on, the Kokoro Yasashi Oni is this way." Irelia tugged at her hand impatiently, and the foreigner followed her without a word of complaint. Paper lanterns and long pink ribbons were hanging from strings above their heads, and the people -mostly couples judging by their linked hands- hardly paid any attention to the two League champions as they approached the altar.
Riven awkwardly waited next to Irelia as the younger woman prayed silently, unsure if she was supposed to pray too, or if Irelia's gods would be angry at receiving the prayers of a former Noxian invader. There was a strange power in this land, and Riven didn't want to take her chances insulting one of the mysterious guardians of Ionia by invoking its name.
Thus, the pale swordswoman stood still beside the Blade Dancer, braving the blind glare of the two ancient statues that had been carved adjacent to the rectangular stone altar.
The forms of the peculiar creatures resembled a mixture of horned dogs and lions and they were covered in scales like giant serpents. Their stony expressions supervised the visitors as the Ionians respectfully expressed their gratitude for everyday boons granted to them by the land and voiced their pleas to the enshrined deity in hopes of receiving its protection.
The twin spirits or demons -whatever they were- looked formidable and the Exile certainly wouldn't want to face one of them in combat. Their postures spoke of tenseness, vigilance. There was an unmistakable intelligence dwelling in the blind orbs of the guardian beasts as they gazed back at the foreigner, an unnerving spark of life where it should have been nothing more than cold dusty stone.
Before realizing it, Riven found herself leaning slightly forward in order to examine the face of the closest shrine guardian from a better angle. She marveled at the gray beast's features, the deadly fangs that sprouted out from its open mouth, the detailed carvings of the prayer bead necklace that it wore proudly around its neck.
Then the damn thing winked at her, and Riven stepped back with a jolt. Irelia's carefree laughter graced the air as the Exile turned towards her companion with an ashen face.
Having been locked in a stare contest with the Ionian sculpture, the Noxian hadn't noticed Irelia finishing her prayer a few minutes ago, neither had she caught the mischievous glint in the Blade Dancer's eyes when she had found Riven inspecting the guardian beast, intently.
"What in the Void is this thing?" The Noxian breathed out, flabbergasted. She took another step away from the sentient construct just in case it decided to lunge at her. Almost wheezing from laughing so hard at the Exile's expense, Irelia intertwined their fingers once again, subtle hints of an amused smile remaining on her beaming face.
"The horned lion is a follower of the God that is living in this shrine," The Blade Dancer explained when she finally managed to recover from her bout of laughter, gently leading the swordswoman to a nearby bench while Riven kept shooting suspicious glances at the motionless statue.
"Contrary to what happens in other regions," The black-haired dancer continued as the two champions sat down on a bench overlooking the city's center, "The temples in Ionia aren't built around high concentrations of people, but they are erected around the favorite places of benevolent spirits that co-exist with us."
"You could have warned me about the statue being alive." Riven grumbled under her breath, brooding as she watched the festivities unfold at the main plaza below from their vantage point atop the hill.
The Exile saw men and women dressed in traditional outfits perform for the crowd, fighting against imaginary opponents on an elevated platform. The warriors span and jumped in the air, twisting their bodies in impossible ways as they fended off their invisible foes with wooden staffs and ornate spears.
The movements of the performers were fluid and swift, their footwork steady and precise, and as the warriors twirled about, leaped forward or crouched low to exploit an enemy's weakness in perfect sync, Riven couldn't help but feel that she wasn't watching a display of martial prowess but an elegant dance, a physical poem in the making.
"I'm sorry for letting the guardian startle you, I just couldn't resist teasing you when you were looking so serious and uptight." Irelia confessed, giving Riven's hand a small squeeze in apology. The Blade Dancer sighed when the older champion refused to talk to her, simply watching the monks' performance.
The Ionian woman frowned, looking down at their intertwined hands. Irelia felt bad for ruining the mood, especially since this was the first Lunar Revel that Riven had ever attended.
Berating herself inside her mind as she searched for a way to patch things up, the Ionian's gaze settled on the tiny, smooth cobblestones underneath her feet. The round pebbles had been used to pave a straight walkway from the shrine's entrance to the main altar, another circular path encircling the sacred grounds of the shrine.
The first time that Irelia had visited the temple with Lee Sin, she had been perplexed by the builders' insistence to only use the smallest pebbles possible to construct the walkways from the collection of cobblestones that they've had available. The young resistance member couldn't understand why the craftsmen would make an already arduous and time-consuming project even more difficult to complete.
Lee had smiled indulgently when Irelia had joked that the builders were probably old men that wanted to spend more time here in order to escape from the nagging of their wives. He however had a different opinion on the matter. The Blind Monk had told the young rebel that he believed that the size of the pebbles was a metaphor for Ionia.
The pebbles were small and inconsequential by themselves. They truly appeared to be insignificant in the eyes of outsiders, yet, much like the people of Ionia when united under a common cause the pebbles could transcend their original importance and create a new path where no such thing existed before.
"The builders wanted to show to travelers and pilgrims that if we join hands, all of us can pave the way to a better future." Lee had said with a knowing grin, and Irelia had flushed red at how conceited she must have sounded to the wise monk.
The Blade Dancer had tried to be a better person from that day forward, reining in her proud and self-assured attitude, and giving other people the benefit of the doubt when it came to their past mistakes.
Gradually, and through interacting with champions from various backgrounds inside the walls of the Institute of War, Irelia had learned that things weren't always what they seemed to be, and that Noxians weren't in fact ruthless Void-beasts in human clothing.
Her former enemies grieved and experienced joy, they laughed when they were happy and mourned the passing of their loved ones. They were decidedly human, no matter how much they desperately tried to portray themselves as unfeeling instruments of war.
There were exceptions to this rule of course. Vicious abominations that hailed from the distant militaristic empire, cunning lunatics that preyed on the innocent, Sions and Vladimirs to their Varuses and Jhins, but like in all cultures, those were few and far between. The majority of Noxian citizens were just poor vagabonds that joined the military in order to survive, like Riven.
Irelia grimaced at that last thought. Here she was, the shining example of the Ionian nobility and perseverance, making fun of a persecuted foreigner for not realizing that the spirits of her homeland rarely sough to harm the living without a good reason. Some paragon of virtue, she was…
"Have you ever heard of the Oni?" The Blade Dancer suddenly blurted out, surprising even herself when she realized that she had spoken.
Irelia wasn't sure that a conversation about Ionia's lore would pique the pale swordswoman's interest, but then again she had nothing to lose at this point. Riven would either hate her for being an insensitive jerk, or she would begrudgingly reply to her, even if only to acknowledge that Irelia was still sitting next to her and she was annoying her with her nonsense.
A noncommittal sound escaped from the older woman's throat, and although Riven didn't turn to look at Irelia the Blade Dancer was certain by the albino's carefully vacant expression and unblinking gaze that the Exile was listening to her despite pretending that she was avidly watching the monks' performance.
"The Oni is an evil spirit that resides in the highest mountaintops of Ionia. They are said to be taller than most men, with eyes that are red like freshly-spilled blood and hair in the color of ash and snow. Long pointy horns sprout out from their heads, and some people say that an Oni's horn is the source of their power." Irelia recounted the descriptions that she had heard from the stories of her late O-ma, gesturing with her hands excitedly, pretending that her fingers were horns and curved fangs hanging out of her mouth.
Riven hid her smile with a prolonged yawn as she watched the younger woman make a fool of herself from the corner of her eye. The Exile wasn't angry with Irelia anymore, but the troublesome war hero didn't have to know this, Riven mused.
"I couldn't help but notice that these evil spirits look like me from how you described them," The Noxian commented, feigning indignation, "You wouldn't be saying all that stuff just to insult me, would you? I can simply leave if you don't want me here." Riven pretended that she was about to stand up.
"No!" Irelia yelped, panicking. The Blade Dancer gripped the swordswoman's hand in both of her own, attempting to keep the other champion in place, "You are nothing like the evil Oni of legend! They are ugly and cruel, and y-you are kind and strong, and prettier than the cherry trees in Karma's garden when they bloom!"
Riven blinked, feeling the same heat from when Irelia had complimented her appearance in the tea place rapidly settle on her pale cheeks once again. With her plan to tease the Ionian for laughing at her backfiring on her, the Noxian inhaled sharply, caught off-guard by the younger woman's offhanded response.
As an exile and an orphan before that, Riven was used to being treated like a nuisance by others. She was seen as an outsider from the standpoint of the enemies of Noxus and was considered a filthy traitor by her own countrymen's standards.
Getting insulted for her bloody past on the street, or being ignored as strangers conspicuously tried to avoid her, was the reality of Riven's world until she had made up her mind to attend this blasted celebration. People weren't usually comparing her to flowers. They weren't calling her pretty and beautiful, and her former enemies certainly weren't stroking her knuckles to appease her, like the Blade Dancer was doing right now.
Riven struggled to come up with something to say to keep the conversation going while Irelia was staring at her all misty-eyed and remorseful-looking.
'Damn it', The Exile cursed quietly inside her head, 'Why do the Ionians insist on talking about their feelings and solving their differences through dialogue instead of stabbing the ones that wronged them like normal people?'
If they were in Noxus and the Blade Dancer was one of them, Irelia would never had admitted being at fault, and Riven wouldn't have to console her.
'How does one help someone feel better after an argument, anyway?' Riven mused agitatedly, racing against time and praying that the woman in front of her wouldn't start crying over a single remark that merely implied that Irelia didn't enjoy her company.
Most arguments in Noxus escalated into duels and fights to the death, in Ionia, however, Riven wasn't sure if the guilty party was supposed to plant a tree, offer the other person a cup of tea in apology, or do something equally bizarre.
Was it okay to brush off Irelia's sincere apology? Should she just clasp her shoulder and say that they were fine, or did the two of them have to paint a vase together and mediate alongside the Shojin monks to let bygones be bygones? What was the correct procedure for forgiving someone in this blasted island?!
"The reason that I started talking to you about the Oni was because this temple is dedicated to an Oni that fell in love with a shrine maiden and fought against its own kind to protect the one it held dear," Irelia sniffled, lowering her gaze and wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve.
Frozen in shock by the sudden turn of events while the sensation of a ghostly hand promptly gripped her heart and squeezed it tightly, Riven winced at the unforeseen result of her blunder. She never could have thought that the strong-willed and defiant Blade Dancer would be reduced to tears because of one stupid joke that had missed its mark.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset," Irelia hiccupped behind her sleeve as she spoke in a shaky tone of voice, "Ahri said that the shrine is magical and that it helps people grow closer, and I wanted to know you better and spend more time with you, but now I ruined everything and you… you hate me now!" The Ionian gasped mournfully as if it physically hurt her to admit that the Noxian disliked her.
"I don't hate you," Riven mumbled uncomfortably, averting her eyes from the crying Ionian. The invisible hand inside her chest was currently twisting her throbbing heart in its cold, merciless grasp, pulling at the beating organ under her skin with the purpose of tearing it out from the prison of the Exile's ribcage.
"I don't hate you." The pale swordswoman repeated once more, a little louder this time, but her words were lost in the solemn litany of the Blade Dancer's hiccupping, the Ionian war hero's quivering body being partially obscured behind the fabric of Irelia's kimono.
Riven raised a reluctant hand as if to comfort her companion, her scarred digits twitching involuntary when they were about to come into contact with the Blade Dancer. Only for her hesitant appendage to abruptly stop, hovering uselessly in mid-air. A short second later, the Exile allowed the hand to fall back to her lap, her agitated fingertips painfully digging into the fabric of her weathered clothes.
Who was she kidding? Riven had no idea of how to comfort people. Nobody had ever tried helping her as a starving orphan that lived on the streets, or as a poor, homeless cadet while she had been attending one of Noxus' many military academies.
Frustrated at her own inability to calm down the younger champion, Riven bit at her bottom lip, her crimson eyes scanning the sacred grounds for a familiar face, someone that Irelia would be able to rely on to put her heart at ease: A wise monk, a scholar that spent their free time copying ancient texts in some dusty library, a kind seamstress… anyone really.
Riven, with her dark history of violence and her guilty conscience that was weighted down by the sins that she had committed during the war, was the least qualified person to console the Ionian hero. She had no right interacting with the bright symbol of the country that she had at one point set out to destroy under the orders of a megalomaniac tyrant.
Alas, the shrine appeared to be deserted with the exception of Irelia, herself and the glaring guardian statues. The few visitors that the Exile had seen praying to the horned deity earlier that night had headed down to the main plaza to hear Karma's closing speech and enjoy the spectacle of the annual fireworks that would signal the end of the Lunar Revel.
"I don't despise you Irelia. In fact, I kind of like you to be honest," Riven admitted under the soft light cast by the paper lanterns above them, eliciting a quick intake of breath from the crying woman beside her, "You fight with honor for what you believe in. You are incredibly strong, yet you show no contempt for those that are weaker than you. You are proud of who you are, the rightful hero of your people." The Noxian muttered those last words with a certain deep-rooted bitterness, an undertone of old shameful jealousy resounding in the slight tremble of her voice.
Irelia sniffled one last time, wiping off the tears from her eyes to shyly glance at the brooding woman next to her. The fair complexion of Riven's frowning visage was shadowed by doubt and regret as the foreigner stared out into the distance. The Blade Dancer could feel the lone hand inside her grasp slowly balling into a fist, the pale appendage shaking like a stone during an earthquake at the magnitude of the Noxian's inner turmoil.
"You're everything that I've ever wanted to be, you're strong, honorable, kind. Your countrymen revere you and trust in your judgment, while I'm just a relic of a dark era, a discarded tool that has lost its usefulness. A shamed warrior that has lost its edge," The Exile whispered pensively after a few moments of quiet self-reflection, all of Riven's initially smoldering fury suddenly vanishing at the harsh realization of how low she had fallen since she had first joined the Noxian military.
"Why would you care about the opinion of a shunned nobody, a forgotten pariah without a home?" She asked gently, her melancholic gaze slipping back to the bowing monks below that made way so that Karma could take the stage and deliver her speech.
A foreboding silence stretched in the sacred grounds after the foreign swordswoman's utterance of those words, the cumbersome burden of shame and failure that was nestled deep in the heart of the solitary Exile, now bare for the Blade Dancer to witness in all of its terrible glory.
It's been years since Noxus had dubbed Riven a traitor and a deserter to hide the festering corruption, the moral sickness that infested the very walls of the Noxian High-Command. For Riven, it felt like a lifetime since the entire world had opted to use the bitter albino as its personal scapegoat.
"That's not how we do things here. We don't turn a blind eye to our past, we embrace it and learn from our mistakes," Irelia said resolutely, her tone abruptly angry and heated, a stark contrast to the Ionian's previously subdued and shaken demeanor, "The god of this shrine, the gentle Oni that once lived here, it isn't worshipped because of its eventual benevolence and its ability to do good, but because it wholeheartedly denied its innate potential for evil after falling in love with the shrine maiden."
The Blade Dancer growled in anger then, huffing at the jumbled mass of people that were listening attentively to Karma's speech. The Ionian snarled at the crowd, riled up on the Exile's behalf for the great injustice that the older woman had to suffer through. Irelia's mesmerizing eyes were glinting in outrage, and the Ionian hero's prominent pout was enough to bring a tiny smile to Riven's face despite the ever-present weight of her past burdening her damaged soul.
"If Noxus is so stupid that it cannot comprehend the real value of the treasure that it is throwing away by turning its back on you, then it didn't deserve you in the first place!" The Blade Dancer declared, her visage a delightful red color, scowling in the most adorable way that the pale swordswoman had ever seen, "Why, we ought to marry you to one of our champions and steal you away from that horrible nation! That'll show them!" Irelia grumbled, still glaring at the gathered crowd below, failing to notice the albino blushing furiously next to her.
"I-I wouldn't go that far," Riven murmured hastily, her cheeks feeling uncomfortably hot as the Exile retrieved her clammy hand from the younger woman's grasp, running her fingers across her ivory hair to conceal the sight of her beet red face, "Besides who would want to marry someone like me?" She added with a bout of self-condescending laughter, her features safely hidden behind the shadow of her raised hand.
"I would!-" Irelia said. The Blade Dancer almost shouted it, before her eyes suddenly widened and a jittery torrent of scrambled words shot out of her mouth, "I-I mean, I'm sure that I would be able to find you someone agreeable if you desired to marry one of us. An Ionian champion, I mean. Not that I would be offended if you misunderstood that last part of my sentence! I would be incredibly flattered if you considered me an acceptable marriage candidate. You are very beautiful, especially when you smile after a victory, and your eyes are just… Arghhh, I hate Ahri." Irelia muttered hiding her face behind her hands. Riven quickly nodded her head in agreement, her pale visage a canvas of red and pink hues.
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"Your master plan doesn't seem to be going well," Wukong observed as he watched the two League champions from a distance while sitting on the rooftop of a nearby building along with his scheming companion. The Monkey King tilted his head in confusion when both the Exile and the Blade Dancer proceeded to cover their faces, speaking in quiet tones and averting their gazes from one another.
"I told Irelia to wear the white hair ornament that accentuates her eyes, but the idiot wouldn't listen to me. If she had only followed my advice, Riven would have already fallen for her." Ahri whispered under her breath, absentmindedly chewing on a painted fingernail as she watched her hopeless friend wiggle sideways on her seat amidst talking really fast behind her palms.
'No, don't touch your face you damn idiot! You are going to ruin your makeup! Let Riven see how cute you look when you blush, you stupid fool! Arrgh, you missed the perfect chance to kiss her there! Seriously, can you do anything on your own?!' Ahri mentally chastised her dear friend while watching the fumbling maiden ignore all-of-the-go-signals that the Noxian sent to her whilst hiding behind the sleeves of her kimono. Ahri wanted to facepalm at her friend's idiocy.
Riven for her part, appeared to be handling Irelia's almost-confession better than the actual Blade Dancer. The Exile was alternating between staring off into the distance, awkwardly coughing into her fist and sparing nervous glances at the other champion every few seconds when she thought that she could get away with it without Irelia noticing it. Ahri just knew that the Exile was interested by the way the albino's gaze lingered on Irelia's blushing face and how squirmy the big bad Noxian acted as she attempted to appear unfazed and collected next to the Blade Dancer.
"Those two complement one another," Shen said in his monotonous voice, the ninja's huge silhouette casting a long shadow over the backs of the conspiring Vastaya, "Alone they are lost and anxious, in need of guidance. Together they shall find peace and help preserve the balance. Their union shall let the wounds caused by our warring nations heal and bridge the gap between our worlds. The faster they realize that the richer their lives will become and Valoran will change for the better."
"Plus, they look good together!" Ahri shout-whispered, smiling while leaning forward to prop her chin on her palm, her bushy tails swooshing behind her. Shen and Wukong hummed in agreement.