ASHE
Ashe released a soft groan as she began to rise from her slumber, awakening to find a rather huge arm laying across her chest. She turned to find her bloodsworn laying face down on the bed beside her, snoring loudly like a sleeping yeti.
She gave a much more audible groan as she tried to lift her husband's arm off of her, but the attempt was similar to that of lifting a giant log by herself; it was futile. Once she realised that removing the man's arm was nigh impossible, she rolled her eyes in exasperation and began to wriggle her body to escape from her husband's hold. But in doing so, she was moving closer and closer to the edge of the wooden bed.
"Why… are… you… like… this… Tryndamere…?" Ashe grunted as she continued to wriggle away from her bloodsworn husband, getting closer to the edge of the bed. She was given a snort in response, the barbarian still in the deep clutches of sleep.
Ashe took in a breath before putting in every ounce of energy she had in making out from underneath her husband's arm with one last push. With a final heave, she finally made it out from under the big man's arm. However, her joy was short lived and quickly turned to surprised horror as she quickly realised how much of her body was not resting on the firm foundation of the bed. The iceborn archer gave a surprised yelp as she fell off the bed, landing on the wooden floor in a heap.
As soon as she fell off the bed, Tryndamere finally moved his arm, murmuring sleepily. Ashe shot her husband a glare as she got off from the floor, rubbing her forearms and elbows, which had taken the brunt of the impact when she fell on the hard surface of the floor. She didn't bother trying to wake her husband up to chew him out for his lack of awareness, for she knew that when Tryndamere slept, it was extremely difficult to rouse him from his slumber, save for the sound of conflict. As such, the Avarosan queen opted to wash up and get ready for the day ahead.
She walked over to the cupboard that stood by the bead, opened a drawer and withdrew some clothes, a simple shirt and pants with some brassiere, and made for the simple washroom that was connected to the room through another door.
Once she was in, she closed the door behind her and locked it. She set the clothes on one side and took up the wooden tub, about twice as large as her entire body, dragging it to the far corner away from the door. She picked up one of the buckets that was completely filled with water, pouring its contents into the tub. It took two buckets to fill the tub up to a level that made it acceptable for the archer to have a quick bath.
She took off her nightclothes and folded them neatly, placing them next to the door in a pile before gingerly stepping into the wooden tub. The water chilled her body, making her shiver a little, but the cold wasn't overwhelming. She cupped her hands together, aiming to scoop some water to wash her hair, but when she tried to raise her arms to wet her hair, a sharp pain flashed across her left arm, and she instantly let out a near inaudible cry, letting the water in her hands fall back down with the tub with a soft splash.
Taking in a shuddering breath, Ashe raised her left arm and craned her neck to look at it, wincing at the dried gashes that met her gaze. She didn't have to worry about the scratches being infected now, but the pain of the wounds made Ashe feel like a knife was being driven in and out of her arm repeatedly.
Ashe looked at the ugly gashes a moment longer. She had no doubt that they would scar, and serve as a harsh reminder for letting one's guard down in a place such as the Freljord. Ashe took in another deep breath and cupped her hands in the water, this time slowly and gingerly raising her hands so that the pain wouldn't be as intense as before. Her wounds protested her actions by sending another wave of ticklish stings through her entire arm, but this time, Ashe grit her teeth together and endured it, succeeding in pouring some of the water onto her head. Taking a shaky breath, she cupped her hands together again and steeled herself to repeat the process.
By the time she was done washing her hair, she heard a grumble and the creak of floorboards that told her Tryndamere was awake and moving. A small smile spread across her face as she dressed in the shirt and pants and walked to the bathroom door, opening it to find her husband leaning on a table, a hand to his temples. "See why I told you to go easy on the ale last night?"
Her husband grumbled incoherently as Ashe walked up to give him a kiss on the cheek. "Trust me, I'm not trusting Gunnar with my drinks next time." He groaned and nearly doubled over. "I swear, the man slips something in my drink every time he has the chance."
"Well, he's the village prankster for a reason. That's why you keep him around and put up with him." Ashe chuckled and walked off to the clothes stand where her leather armour hung, pulling her cowl off one of the wooden supporters. "Get ready. The others are likely waiting for their next hunt."
Tryndamere only responded with a groan as he stumbled to the bathroom for his washup.
[[[[[]]]]]]
Ashe gingerly raised the piece of meat to her mouth with her right arm, praying to the gods above that her left arm would not give and drop the wooden plate she was holding in front of the people around her. Many Avarosans had already inquired about the wounds she had sustained yesterday, and she didn't need the concern over her health to increase tenfold, especially with the winter coming and more hunts needing to be carried out.
Her left arm trembled slightly, and with each passing second, Ashe's own worry grew. The pain in her arm from earlier had subsided slightly, but there was still a dull, almost numb sensation in her arm. Sighing, she quickly turned to a place to sit. She found an unoccupied log and made a beeline for it, quickly taking a seat and placing the plate beside her.
She took another breath and looked at the snow for a moment to recompose herself. She looked to the side and watched as her fellow Avarosans bustled and mingled, everyone seemingly carefree and unburdened by any weight whatsoever.
Because they don't have the loads of leadership on their shoulders, Ashe thought somewhat bitterly, her gaze trailing down to the True Ice bow that was currently slung over her shoulder. Since her childhood, she never wanted to be a leader. She never wanted to be a warmother like her mother was. However, the fateful trip for Avarosa's weapon was what had spared her from meeting the same fate as her previous tribespeople, so that was something to be grateful for.
However, Ashe would now and forever yearn for the day when she could finally step down from the pedestal, to give the role of the fearless and flawless leader to someone else who could be just as, if not more than, capable of leading as she was. She was honestly quite exhausted from having to make the decisions, especially the hard ones, and she was particularly sick of the lies. Lies to reinforce the belief that she was Avarosa incarnate, that she was the saviour the Freljord needed, and that she would eventually unite it under one banner.
Her train of thought was abruptly derailed at the sound of someone sitting next to her, and she turned to find Halfdan settling down on the empty space of the log beside her, setting his walking stick on his lap. "Your thoughts are so loud that they're making a cacophony." Halfdan said somewhat grumpily. Ashe didn't take it to heart.
"If I didn't think, then how would the people go about their day then?" Ashe hadn't meant to sound angry, but some of the lingering bitterness had managed to stow themselves away in her voice as she spoke.
Halfdan raised a brow, but chose not to comment about it, instead saying, "You're right about that."
The two sat in silence for a moment longer, then Ashe opened her mouth to speak.
"I just-"
Before Ashe could finish that sentence, a cry sounded out, and the two looked up to find an Avarosan scout rushing up to them.
"Warmother!" The scout cried out. "There's a wildfire!"
At the mention of that, Ashe and Halfdan looked up to find smoke, barely visible in the current daylight, emanating from a distant part of the woods. Alarmed at the prospect of losing their main material source, Ashe quickly barked out orders to her Avarosans to allocate the fire and extinguish it.
She took a step forward to join the fire extinguishing party, but Halfdan placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey there," he called out as Ashe turned to look at him. "What did I say about the wounded arm?"
Ashe gently brushed Halfdan's hand off her shoulder, giving the elderly man one of those smiles she had learned to master whenever she needed to quell some doubters. "What kind of warmother would I be if I sent people out to a hazard while staying behind, where it's safe?"
Halfdan opened his mouth to respond, but Tryndamere appeared behind Ashe. "Don't worry your old head about her, Halfdan," the Barbarian King spoke in his guttural voice stoically, placing an arm around Ashe. "I'll protect her." Before Halfdan could argue his case, Tryndamere gently pulled Ashe away to join the fire extinguishing party.
As they walked off, Ashe looked up at her husband with a sceptical look. "Weren't you just suffering from a hangover?"
Tryndamere looked down at his wife, giving the iceborn a small smile that was barely visible. "Turns out the bumbling pear of a man who came by last year really is a great master brewer. Sif gave me some of the healing drinks she saved from his visit. Worked like a charm for the headache."
Ashe smirked at her husband's words and lightly elbowed him in the ribs with her good arm as she remembered the wonderful sentiments Tryndamere had privately confided in her about the man they were discussing. "That should teach you to appreciate others more, regardless of how they look."
Tryndamere groaned and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Don't remind me." He said as the royal couple neared the party. "Anyway, just stay behind me, and try to avoid any conflict as much as possible."
Ashe huffed. She wasn't the type to sit idly by as her people went out to risk their lives, but she was already allowed to go on this trip with her wounded arm still being in relatively critical condition, so she supposed she would have to follow along with what her husband told her to do.
She shouldered her bow, the chill of its True Ice seeping through the furs and fabric of her leather armour. She looked up at her husband with a raised brow. Whenever Tryndamere said that he would protect her, his way of 'protection' was offering himself up as a meat shield for Ashe and her Avarosans to hide behind. It always worried Ashe whenever the hulking man had to endure devastating blows that would normally kill or cripple an ordinary person and try to shrug it off later when it was clear that his wounds needed urgent tending to.
"This time, try to dodge what's being thrown at you, okay?"
Tryndamere laughed again, his smile making his features soften. Most, save for a select few, Ashe included, could never see the barbarian loosen up as often as he did around the warmother. "Then what's the point of my boasting about being unkillable?"
"I'm serious this time," Ashe spoke as the two began to lead the party out of the camp, both now speaking to each other in hushed tones in order for their conversation to be heard by no one else but themselves. "I can't keep everyone in check if you're constantly out of action due to having to recuperate from your wounds, especially your barbarians."
Tryndamere sighed and relented. "Very well then." He said, looking at the forest before them.
"Let's move out!" Ashe called out to the party behind them, and the Avarosans rallied together, hailing their warmother.
….
The woman grunted as she tore through the branches that stood in her way, racing through the thicket of trees with no intention of stopping. In the little pack she carried on her back, Willow yelped as she was bounced up and down from the woman's rapid movements.
The woman dared a glance behind her. To her dismay, the hunters from earlier were still on her tail. "Stay back!" She warned, though she had no intention of lobbing another ball of fire at them after the previous fiasco she caused. "I'll make sure to burn one of you this time!"
The hunters must have sensed her bluff, for one of them cackled as they continued their pursuit of the ginger woman.
"I'm warning you!" The woman cried out, turning back to check how far (or close) she was from the hunters.
That was a mistake. The instant she took her eyes away from where she was going, her foot slipped, and she found herself rolling down a small hill, stopping only when she collided with a tree stump, her thigh taking the brunt of the impact.
Gasping in pain, the woman struggled to her feet as the hunters reached the edge of the hill she just tumbled down. Judging by how steep the hill's slope actually was and how gingerly they were getting down from the edge, it would take them approximately three minutes to get to where she was.
Three minutes would have to do. The woman pressed her non-gauntleted hand against her thigh, and she instantly felt heat seep through the relatively thick layer of her pants. In the next instant, she felt the pain in her thigh subside enough for her to run without limping.
She heard Willow let out a worried murmur from the pack, and turned to face the poro. "All will be fine." She tried to say reassuringly, but her expression betrayed her fear and anxiety of the situation.
She heard a triumphant cry, and looked up to see one of the hunters take a leap at her.
ASHE
"Dear Avarosa…" One of Ashe's maidens, she was sure it was Thrya, whispered as the Avarosan party neared the site of the fire. Ashe took one look at the fire and had to admit that it was worse than she expected. The flames licked up everything in its way, spreading up the trees like a parasite.
"It's too dangerous for us to enter." Ashe said quietly as she stared up at the flames. They were so intense, she could feel like she was getting burned despite standing a rather good distance from the pyre.
She had slung her bow over her shoulder on the journey, but now she felt moisture spreading over the back of her cape. She reached behind her to touch the cold surface of her bow, and felt something wet. She pulled her hand back and found… water?
What?
Alarmed, Ashe reached behind her and hurriedly unslung her bow from her shoulder. The quick movement caused a jolt of pain to flare through her left arm, but she ignored it in favour of the concern coursing through her mind.
Tryndamere looked down at his wife, quickly taking note of the iceborn's distraught expression. "What's wrong?" He asked, trying to get a look at what the archer was looking down at.
Ashe looked up at Tryndamere. "My bow," she said, cerulean eyes flashing with worry. "It's melting."
….
The woman huddled herself into a ball, trying to keep her breathing steady in the cramped space she was currently in. In her pack, Willow whimpered and tried to poke her head out from the bag's flap, but the woman quickly pushed the poro back down as gently as she could. The two were currently in the hollow of a tree, which was miraculously and strangely conveniently big and spacious enough for the woman to fit in if she huddled herself up into a ball.
The hiding spot was greatly appreciated, but also greatly uncomfortable. The longer the woman stayed in this position, the stronger the strain she felt at the back of her neck. It would cramp up soon.
However, that was only the smaller part of her problems. As she sat there, hugging her knees to her chest, a voice began to speak out in her head. A voice she had hoped not to hear anymore since she was twelve.
Well, a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, didn't you? The voice, husky and containing a great amount of malice and condensation, spoke aloud in the woman's head. So much for not being an incarnate of me.
Shut up, you. The woman responded, though she was sure she didn't come off quite as assertive as she wanted to sound.
Child, The voice spoke again, talking in a sing-song voice to further mock her. When are you going to stop being so childish about accepting who you truly are? You've tried again and again to deny what the meaning of your existence is, and again and again, you've gained nothing. The village shunned you the first chance they got, everyone you encounter will treat you with nothing but scorn and spite. You'll forever be reminded that you're nothing but my vessel.
No, Cyra thought. You're wrong. I saved a person yesterday, I am capable-
Do you really think saving one person will change the opinions of countless others? The voice mocked. Besides, if you, by some inhumane miracle, met that person for the second time, who's to say she won't shoot you dead when she finds out what you really are? After all…
The gauntlet you're wearing is bright enough to stand out in the shadows, but your hair isn't, is it?
Cyra's blood ran cold at the realisation. She and the white-haired woman had locked eyes the previous day after she had driven the bear off. The woman was obviously an iceborn given her white hair, blue eyes, and the fact that she was carrying a bow made of True Ice. But Cyra had been wearing the gauntlet yesterday, and though it was definitely visible in the shadow of the trees she was standing in, her hair wasn't.
Yes, the voice spoke again, its tone mocking and condescending as ever. She's probably figured it out by now. You're not an iceborn, and yet you could touch True Ice, even wear it, without perishing like some poor bastard. What will she do if she finds you again?
Cyra didn't respond, for she heard the snap of a branch nearby, followed by disgruntled murmuring. The hunters were near again.
Good, the voice said with sick glee. Try and engulf them in embers once more. You're surrounded by wood this time, you can kill them properly.
No, Cyra responded, her voice filled with desperation this time as she pressed a hand over her mouth to keep herself from making any noise. I just wanted them to go away!
And look at where you are now. The voice responded, void of any sympathy or compassion. You felt something at that moment, didn't you? Something that made you want to lash out and burn them all. And you embraced it, that's why you burned down your home, didn't you?
"Shut up, shut up." Cyra's mind, clouded in a haze of grief and distress, didn't register that her hand had left its position on her mouth, and her lips were parting to speak out loud. Upon realising what she was doing, she bit her bottom lip to stop herself from talking any more. Her teeth tore the thin skin of her bottom lip, drawing blood. The voice, however, kept speaking.
Don't lie to yourself any longer, child. It said, its tone turning deadly serious, the change scaring Cyra slightly. You enjoyed unleashing yourself, didn't you? You enjoyed the brief look of fear in those hunters' eyes before they took up their axes and spears against you, didn't you? For all your talk of wanting to be loved, you relish in being feared. You relish in causing destruction and death to others around you, because you are-
"Shut up!"
A brief flare of white-hot fury had overcame Cyra, but the flare soon died down in her, giving way to a strong sense of fearful dread as she realised what she had done.
One of the hunters took a step closer to the tree she was hiding in, evidenced by how the sound of the snow being crushed under his boots gradually got louder with each passing step. He let out a low, whistling whistle to his fellow hunters, and though Cyra couldn't see him, she could hear the sound of his blade being unsheathed from the hunter's belt.
Soon, other footsteps began to sound out as the other two hunters began to approach the tree. They all cackled, one of them pulling his axe out and tapping it against the tree trunk in a taunting manner.
Go on, the voice said, still entirely serious. Show them why they should fear you, child.
Cyra screwed her eyes shut and tucked her head behind her knees instead. If I die today, she thought, her voice carrying some level of spite in it. It will be to defy your very desire and existence.
A hand shot through the hole of the hollow and grabbed ahold of Cyra's arm, its grip firm and unrelenting. Cyra willed herself not to scream. Enjoy looking for another infant to curse, svaag.
Just as Cyra felt herself getting roughly pulled out of the hollow, however, a loud burp caused everyone to cease their actions.
"Who are you?" One of the hunters questioned gruffly, though the one holding onto Cyra went through with pulling Cyra out of the hollow. Cyra landed roughly on the ground, her knees and stomach bearing the brunt of the impact. However, her arm was let go, and she joined the hunters in gazing at the newcomer.
Cyra wanted to look away immediately and vomit.
Standing before them was one of the largest men Cyra had seen in her life. Large in the sense that he was tall, yes, but also unbelievably and comically fat and overweight.
He was bald, and the only hair he had was the long and thick facial hair that was tied together and braided relatively neatly. The beard was a rather bright orange and it briefly reminded Cyra of the embers of fire, but what really caught Cyra's disgusted fascination was the fact that the man was wearing nothing but a loincloth, thus exposing a lot of his sweaty, oily flesh for the entire world to see. He wasn't even wearing shoes to cover his large feet.
What further piqued Cyra's fascination was the rather large barrel tucked under the man's armpit. Was he a brewer of some kind? And what did those tattoos on his forehead and arms mean? And why on Runeterra were his arms bound by rope?
The man burped again and wiped his bearded mouth with the back of his hand. "Name's Gragas," he said, his speech slightly slurred from the effect of what was undoubtedly liquor. "Fancy a drink?"
A/N - Just a heads up, I have a bad habit of editing chapters after completing and publishing them, so there may or may not be changes in the previous chapters that you haven't read yet.
Sorry not sorry :p