Dreams, a league of legends fanfic | FanFiction
in love and/or lust with one another: Ashe and Tryndamere (pictured sibling's relationship and forced familial love as a way of contrasting. Ashe dumped Tryn because he could only last 5 seconds(五秒男) Volibear lore quotes, "he roused his tribe from complacency, revived their actually according to riot the Marc/Ashley connection is a coincidence. A poem about Tryndamere, the Barbarian King. It tells about his character, his relationship with Ashe and problems that his enemies are causing him. Based on .
As I linger a few steps behind, she watches with big, cold eyes. It is warm today, isn't it? His moustache and beard move in strange patterns, like a child drawing over a portrait. I told you she was real. It is frail and stiff but more honest than Tryndamere's bonhomie. Introductions over, Ashe claps her hands a little too eagerly. If they disapprove of my manners, I don't really care. The proprietor might be the fattest human being I have ever seen.
Typically, the sight would disgust me but I rather like the idea of this ball of lard stinking up the wallpaper of the well-heeled. I get myself another coffee to allay my exhaustion. Alcohol would just put me to sleep. By the time I come back, Ashe has broken the ice and all three are chatting without me. Tryndamere grabs his bottle with gusto. You not drinking yourself? Perhaps he's making a show of his maturity to Ashe? I let her answer this one.
Her eyes and mouth have that mournful cast I know all too well. She would rather see me every night and can't bear to say that everything's fine. With a strong sense of guilt and failure, I speak up.
She gives a sad little smile, grateful that I acknowledge her pain. I think we'd save more lives if we didn't exist. Climbers wouldn't take as many stupid risks. Rolling her eyes, Ashe smacks my arm.
I want to say that not all of us play games and have friends in high places but I hold my tongue. Anivia turns to Ashe.
I really don't get the appeal. You're always complaining about how hot you are. It's not that warm.
A Song of Ice and Warm Hearts, a league of legends fanfic | FanFiction
I would no sooner discard these than my name. Soon, I rest my head on folded arms and try to doze. As expected, I don't get away with it for long. Ashe prods me awake. I used to work shifts. Give her a break. I know you like to boss your partners around but you can save that for the bedroom.
Ashe ruffles my hair. Think I prefer the new Ashe. It is a dance I can only perform behind closed doors. Nonetheless, I recognise the commiseration of old soldiers bonding over shared trauma. I think I would sooner die than relate to Ashe as Tryndamere does now. Their words are the sound of defeat. Anivia is staring daggers at the road, aggressively uninvolved with their puerile banter. I suspect her nest must be a barren place.
Are you planning children? I hold her hand, silently conveying that it's all right to continue. I would rather keep our freedom, hire a nanny then leave the child to its own devices as early as possible to encourage self-reliance.
It's not your fault. You'll understand once you've been in your role longer. My shift partner, Voli, is a natural. He makes us all look bad. He orders me another coffee from a shockingly youthful waiter. I didn't think child labour was permitted in this country. Tryndamere calls the waiter a name that sounds like a running joke from a sitcom.
My tolerance for these gatherings is at an end. I can only bear them for so long before shutting down. Mercifully, Ashe understands and lets me be until it's time to go. As we stand up, Anivia extends her claw. He notices my attention. You could have put on a show about your relationship. The people are chattering, floating, glowing with a cold, dead light.
Felt like I was the only person screaming and everyone else was… like this. Ashe looks pensive and I have no words for her. She holds my arm as a sailor clings to driftwood. I draw her body to mine. Her hand touches my heart. At this hour, the streets are lit by a mystic orange glow. The buildings in the jewellery quarter are so high, that sunset comes early.
The horizon is a mile into the sky. Back at our apartment, I am too weary to sleep or do anything. I just sit on the couch, staring at the floor while Ashe potters about. It occurs to me that I should eat but my appetite is never reliable when I am tired or stressed. Ashe leaves the kitchen with more wine. That's the third glass today, and she fills to the brim. She sits next to me. She talks to everyone that way.
And you're so beautiful and charming that you could have anyone. I might be starting to cry. In all my years, I haven't cried enough to recognise the feeling, 'who could compromise for your happiness. I don't like it when she drinks. It feels like a barrier.
There's no one at my lodge who has the life that Ashe wants. Voli is deeply involved with his extended family but has no wife and children of his own. Udyr has four pets and is considering a fifth. He wanted a jackal for some reason.
Could you live with that? I want you to believe in me! Few things soothe me like the soft warmth of her mouth.
Poems Of Valoran, where poetry reigns supreme | Poems and Songs
It is like balm for my soul. Would you like to hear them? Despite my objections, my body shivers with guilty pleasure when I smell alcohol on her breath. It often means that she's drunk enough to be frisky.
I signal her to continue. When they look through one pair of eyes, they don't see each other. Why should you consider your lover when there's no need? If they don't challenge you, remind you that they're another wonderful person with thoughts of their own.
I could never forget that you exist, with your difficult personality So you don't want to now? I have one condition. Finally, I am woken up by hands exploring my body and a warm weight pressing into my back.
Ashe is far more fluent in sex than I am. She manages to bring me gently from sleep to readiness. Her body is heavenly and she knows how to move in all the most carnal ways. I quite like having her on top as it's the best way to enjoy all of her. Too much of her skin is beyond my reach when it's pressed into the mattress.
However, Ashe likes me to be aggressive and creative. I still feel awkward enacting her fantasies but she insists I'm getting there. Her imagination and libido far surpass mine so I have to work twice as hard. Tonight, I want to make that effort. Once we're sweaty and flushed beyond the point of dignity, I crawl over to her bedside cabinet. Ashe's eyes light up as I never do this of my own accord.
She had bought me a strap-on to use on her but I'd never got used to wearing it, partly due to inexperience and partly because I felt very exposed. I want a family with her and fucking her this way conjures the part of me that dearly wishes to make her pregnant.
The impossibility makes me fragile, not the best state of mind with which to dominate someone. To reward my initiative, Ashe meets me halfway.
She pushes me down and straddles my waist, sparing me the anxiety of finding her rhythm. I love how animated and expressive she is, revelling in her nature without the venal constraints of society. After she comes, we lie in each other's arms, the toy still inside her. I'm so comfortable that I'd forego peaking and embrace her forever. Ashe is too gracious to leave me be though and goes down with brisk affection. I focus hard on the pleasure so I can get back to holding her.
She rests in the crook of my shoulder. I love the way her hair cascades over my breast. I want more of you, not less. I won't give up on you even if… you don't believe in me.
Her fair skin is red with sorrow. You've always wanted to stay in darkness. What if my job and my friends are just too much bother? What if I can't let them go What brought this on? You know I love you. I don't know what's going on. Our bed is adrift in uncharted seas. I can't see the room. I don't know what to say. Why is it so hard to answer? All I have to do is tell her what's in my heart. The words catch in my throat.
I close my eyes. If I could only concentrate then… 'Don't go! It echoes and echoes. Don't give up on me! All I want to do is embrace the warmth of our love and ignore everything else. I feel so tired and her voice gets farther and farther away.
I can't stay awake… Rocks dig into my back. Purple clouds have shrouded the holy storm. In my arms, I hold Ashe's pillow case. Every vein in my body crawls and constricts. I can't lift my arms. I remember everything, our life together, and it has gone. I have nothing except this linen, that drop of blood, those locks of hair. My body is shutting down. It can't take the shock. I want to die. Volibear is at my side. He lifts me into a seating position and supports me wordlessly.
I do not cry, I wail. My whole body spasms, vomiting grief before an indifferent landscape. How am I fit to rule anything? Once I have recovered enough to hear, Volibear speaks. Losing an entire world built on your innermost heart is a mortal wound for some.
Do not be ashamed. But no one said it was going to be fun. X In the end it was all about propaganda. The King and Queen had to look like an ideal couple, at least to the public who knew little of the truth.
That was the reason why they'd decided to go on a Honeymoon, presenting theirselves as a normal pair of lovers who gladly followed the traditions of all weddings. So now they sat in a comfortable log cabin in the highest levels of the mountains, a fire burning in the cobblestone fireplace. The distance between them was large, with him being seated on the large red doublebed and her sitting on a hard sofa with a book in hand. Tryndamere seemed to be daydreaming; his legs crossed yet his eyes closed peacefully.
Ashe politely tried to make as little noise as possible as she turned a page, the calm crackle of the burning timber granting a peaceful atmosphere. The reason they wed. To be honest, she didn't really hate him that much. She just didn't have any real feelings for the man, his hobbies and pleasures usually contrasting hers. Here she was reading a deep and complex novel written by the greatest writer of Valoran, while he instead sat quietly in his own thought.
She'd always loved to read romance novels, often finding the conflicts of two lovers extremely interesting to observe. As a young girl she'd wished that she would star in her own story one day, with her own conflicts and a heroic boy that she loved. Yet fate was a cruel mistress, and she was forced to wed someone she didn't feel for. He was probably going through the same issue. He might've had a lover before. He might've kissed another woman. He may have slept with another woman.
He could've planned to wed another woman. But like her, he was commanded by his elders to marry someone he had never met, so the realm could be stable once again. She cast another look at the barbarian fellow, noticing how different he looked without his armour on.
His long raven hair was surprisingly well groomed and washed, and his scarred chest was firm despite the freezing weather. He had insisted that she sat close to the fire. He was either being a polite gentleman or a condescending fool. She had come up with her own theories for where his injuries could have originated, owing them to various battles he had lead many a soldier through. He had certainly earned his spurs on the battlefield, and she did respect that. Turning back to her book, she enjoyed another few pages before Tryndamere opened his eyes.
She didn't spare him a glance as she read on. Still, she was a dedicated fan and would read it through to the end. Tryndamere nodded with a smile, glad that she was occupied with something. Hope you enjoy the rest of it. He seemed to be doing some sort of meditating ritual, likely one of those unique to the Barbarians of the North.
With his sheer rage on the battlefield being a great contrast to his calmness outside of it, she could only assume that this was mandatory to suppress his rage. His jaw twitched for a moment as a feeling seized him, a loud cough indicating that something was troubling him. It was likely the resurfacing of a memory in his past, the decimation of his kin being a possible candidate.
She looked at him curiously but not really worryingly as he shrugged his shoulders and returned to his meditation. He spared a quick glance in her direction and smiled in embarrassment. The novel was reaching its absurd climax, where the male lead is forced to try and scare off a ferocious bear that is attempting to kill his partner. While stories like this did occur in the Freljord from time to time, she couldn't help but find it ridiculous: No one could scare off a bear of these wastes unless they had the divine will of the king behind them.
Skipping a few pages forward to the epilogue, she audibly scoffed at the ending. He was secretly the son of the king? Slamming the book closed unceremoniously, she reached down to tuck it under the sofa, leant back and rested her hands on her lap lazily. With her book finished, there was nothing else she could really do, save for talk to Tryndamere.
Exploring the Love Stories of League of Legends
But there simply wasn't anything she wished to discuss with him. She had never seen him read a good book before, nor involve himself in the practice of archery important to her people. There was nothing between them that they could build a relationship on. And they had tried. Out in public; in the eyes of the people, they did all they could to appear as a normal, happy couple.
They'd danced together in the twilight moon, surrounded by soft, fluffy snow freshly settled on the ground. They'd ridden horses together, exploring the vast wastes side-by-side. And now they lived under the same roof, seemingly living a loving life as they dealt with the affairs of a united Freljord. All of it was false. Noticing that the fire was getting lower, Ashe pivoted from her position and stretched over to grab some stacked timber.
She fed the flames rather noisily, much to Tryndamere's annoyance. Ashe sat back in place, dusting her hands clear of wood scrapings and dirt.
Tryndamere nodded slowly in understanding and got back to his rest. Why didn't that become a conversation? They could never hold a full conversation, no matter how hard they tried. Even when they left it open for further contributions, they would either reply bluntly or not answer at all.
They were both socially capable; political talks and debates ruling their lives over combat as leaders of warrior tribes. In this new age of diplomacy, even the most barbaric clans such as Tryndamere's needed such skills. What she'd give to return to simpler times. She couldn't help but recall those chanting girls at their wedding, dreaming that one day they could be a queen or princess and wed their own loving gentleman. Oh, how wrong they were.
She'd give away her bow, her books, her looks and her riches, all of it. To be a normal girl. With nothing left to do, she let her eyes wander to Tryndamere once more. He hadn't moved a muscle, his breaths having quickly diminished from deep inhalations to silent sighs. She couldn't even tell if he was breathing anymore, his body having reached a moment of peace and tranquility. It was an interesting deviation from his usual self, as he often acted as a charismatic and brave soldier in public for the entertainment of his people.
She stared into space for a while, trying to embrace his ritual and find her own peace. However, no matter how hard she tried her fears and anxiety continuously tugged at her mind, preventing her from resting and consolidating them. Giving up barely seconds after she had started, she flopped down on the sofa to try and get some sleep.
Tryndamere had insisted that she have the bed to herself, but she had politely declined.
She wasn't some sort of weak flower, and she didn't need his management. The fire continued to crackle ever more quietly as its fuel died away. Ashe considered tossing more logs into it, but decided against it when she heard another sound. It was coming from across the room, and since the only life-forms there at the moment were her, her husband and a family of mice that seemed to be housed in the rafters, it was a safe bet that Tryndamere was the source of it. He still sat still, yet his throat wobbled as he hummed skilfully.
It was often said that the Northern Barbarians were masters of vocal music, some orchestras having no actual instruments save for their tongues, hands and necks. It was a tune Ashe couldn't help but recognise; a simple melody that was rooted in poetry. Her mind scoured through the thick haze of her memory in search for its name, until at last she recalled. Tryndamere raised his eyebrow as he opened an eye, an intrigued smirk growing as locked eyes with her confidently.
She nodded gently, rising from her chair and fixing her creased garments. It was funny, but for some reason this simple exchange was enough to keep Ashe interested. She hadn't sung for many years, her tutor being her mother who had passed away long ago.
She longed to try her hand at it once again, and if Tryndamere knew of it? They had something in common. He held on to deep notes for unbelievable periods of time, his strength comparable to that of a ten-man choir.
Eventually he lowered to a gentle hum, opening the way for her lyrics. Tryndamere looked as if he was about to go off tune, surprised by her skill and beautiful singing voice. He expertly hid an intake of breath as he continued his backing, a short pause in the lyrics existing for the vocalist to regain their own composure. With a smile she continued, amused by his deep singing voice. He grinned at this opportunity, their words managing to meld together rather tunefully much to his surprise.
Ashe held her hands together, trying her hardest to remember the closing line of this section. Tryndamere clapped his hands in pride, applauding her recollection. She would usually only sing the first stanza of the tune, but the full poem actually consisted of three. She was having fun however. Funnily enough, this was probably the closest the two had ever been to each other when out of the public's eye.