text: \ &#x200B; Even though it was Nunu who sat on top of Willump, the Notai boy’s head was so heavy with thought that he wondered if they’d switched places while walking along the small trail through the forest. He’d prepared himself to join Quinn on her mission, swallowed his fear and looked the ranger-knight in the eyes, even said that it was impossible without a legendary sword. The only thing he hadn’t done was say it outright that he would help her, but she should’ve been able to pick up his clues. When Jax and Quinn had been stumped on those pieces of black wood and he gave them the answer, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride swelling his heart, before it shrunk and tightened as he remembered his mother. Nunu shook off the headache like Willump shook water off his fur. His mission was to bring Darragh back to Uwendale, after that... There were so many things to do. Braum could still be alive, he must be. The mighty Iceborn might’ve escaped from the rebels and tended his wounds just like Jax had done. Perhaps Willump could track down Braum by scent. The mages in the mountain were preparing for battle, duped by Fareed and the man named Kynon. If what Quinn said was true, he should go back and tell Cara and the others the truth. The masks of Kindred also piqued Nunu’s curiosity. There’d been legendary artifacts in the Freljordian tales, like Ornn’s tools and Avarosa’s bow, but it’s the first time he’d heard of masks which mimicked the abilities of the Eternal Hunters, and not only two masks but three. The strange dream in the world of eternal winter resurfaced into his mind; the bird with the beaked mask, the still shape of Lamb, the leering grin of Wolf. *Where will you run?* He banged his head against one of Willump’s horns. His best friend let out a questioning grunt. “What should I do, Willump?” Nunu asked. The yeti crunched on a handful of pebbles on the road. His face was serious and his footsteps thumped heavy across the ground as he thought of the question. After what felt like an eternity, Willump shrugged. “Thanks,” Nunu said in a dry tone. He turned to the weaponsmith walking a few paces in front of them. Darragh had been quiet since they left the glade, striding ahead and occasionally rustling shrubs and leaves to warn the Freljordians of some inconveniences like low branches, tree roots, and slippery moss. “Aren’t you worried?” Nunu shouted. Darragh’s back replied with silence. Nunu ushered Willump to walk beside the man. “Don’t you want to help Quinn?” The man’s brown eyes flicked once towards the boy, before returning back to the trail. “I *am* helping her.” “But how do you *know* that you’re helping her?” Nunu insisted. “What if she’s way over her head?” He thought for a moment. “We can still turn around. Willump can find them, he already complained twice how much Jax smelled.” “No.” “That easy?” Nunu asked. “Who said it’s easy?” The weaponsmith’s hands were bundled into fists. “I’m torn by each choice. Nothing seems right.” “But you decided so quickly.” Darragh looked up at Nunu. “Do you know what it means when you struggle to make a decision?” The Notai boy scrunched his face in concentration. “That I’m indecisive?” “It means that you care, but also that you don’t know what you care about the most.” “I care about everything!” Nunu blurted out. “No one cares about everything.” The weaponsmith walked ahead, leaving Nunu with more questions than he started with. \*\*\*\*\* Fences welcomed them as the forest thinned out. The boards were old and weathered, and would probably crumble if Willump sneezed on them. Past it were fields of grass and wheat, swaying against the wind, and a road crammed with wagons and carriages, rolling away from a settlement blocked by wooden walls. Sheep grazed a sloped range of grass, extending to jagged bare stone peaks which looked like a miniature version of the giant mountain range towering behind. From this side, the mountain range looked like a towering wall separating Freljord and Demacia. It shimmered like gray ice against the setting sun and reminded Nunu of the bridge to the Frostguard citadel, where one misstep would lead to an endless fall. The looming cliffs hadn’t looked as daunting when he’d seen it from Thawing Glade in Freljord, where he’d met Braum after a howling night of cold. The crack of wood followed by a meek whine, pulled Nunu back to see Willump fail to climb over the fence. “It’s alright,” Darragh said, picking up the planks. “About time someone broke these old things. Gives us a reason to make something new and better.” “That’s just silly,” Nunu said. “If you know they’re no good, then why haven’t you done anything to it already?” Darragh patted the dirt off from the splintered boards, his eyes tracing the cracked grooves and rusted nails. “Because they’ve always been there.” A shout made them turn to see four armored men inching closer. Two had their swords drawn while the other pair had crossbows pointed at Willump. Their eyes stared nervously through helmets either too big or too small for their heads. “Easy now,” Darragh said, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m Darragh, a weaponsmith from Uwendale. These two here saved me from the mages.” “Name yourselves!” The bravest of them shouted at the Freljordians, a lanky man with a few missing teeths. The sight of the crossbows made Nunu squirm. He gripped the horns of of his friend to calm his nerves. “I’m Nunu,” he said slowly, “and this is Willump. Say hi, Willump.” The yeti grunted. One of the crossbowmen yelped and a bolt zipped past. Nunu screamed. “Don’t fire!” Darragh shouted. “Don’t fire! We’re friends!” A roar tore through the field, bending the grass and shaking the ground as Willump charged at the group of men, fangs bared and claws glimmering. They tried to run, but fear took hold of their legs and they stumbled to the ground. “Stop!” Another boy appeared, putting himself in front of the crumbled men. His face was round and pale with fright, matching his tousled hair in color. He had his hands raised, palms forward. “Stop, please. They’re sorry!” A gray animal poked out from the boy’s head, its paws mimicking the boy’s motion. The sight must’ve confused Willump, because the yeti dug his heels in the dirt and slid to a halt, staring at the small duo. “Thank you.” The boy breathed out a sigh of relief. His legs gave up and he plopped onto the grass. “What were you thinking?” He snapped at the armored men behind him. “That monster threatened me!” “No, that happened *after* you almost shot our friend here. Now go back and tell the others that all is good and we don’t need any reinforcement. Barrett, since you’re so awfully quick with pulling the trigger, you have the honor to report to the warden about this. Don’t forget to say that you almost shot her husband’s savior.” Nunu blinked. The boy was older, but still looked to be half the age of the meek adults. It was so strange seeing a youngster chew out grown men. He wasn’t wearing any armor either, only a simple tunic and leggings under a hooded cloak. “You’re a ranger?” Nunu asked. The boy turned to him with a smile and tugged on an emblem of a bird sewn into the hood. “Barely,” he said. “I’m Adam, and this is Dash.” The animal on top of the boy’s head squealed. “He’s a raccoon.” “I’m Nunu and this is Willump. He’s a yeti.” “Nice to meet you, Nunu and Willump. Can you help me up? My legs are still a bit wobbly.” Darragh came forward just as Nunu climbed down from Willump’s head. They both hefted the boy up from the ground. “Adam?” the weaponsmith said slowly. “You’re a bit... different.” “I think the ranger-knight might’ve had something to do with that.” Adam glanced around before leaning closer and whispered, “Is she... you know, tracking down her prey?” Darragh’s jaw clenched again, hesitating to say anything. Nunu on the other hand, had no problem. “She’s with Jax and searching for the bad guy.” “I knew it!” Adam said in a triumphant tone. “You don’t think she’s a criminal?” Darragh asked. “Criminal?” The fair-haired boy looked almost insulted by the notion. “I’m not that gullible, mister Darragh. Let’s go back to Uwendale, I’m sure you have a lot to tell the warden.” They patrolled alongside Adam to the main road packed with wagons and carts. Nunu could now see the people, all with weary faces and suspicious eyes, their gazes flickered from his snowcap with giant fox ears to the large white shape of Willump. He was glad that he hadn’t put on his orange cloak, that would’ve pulled even more attention. Instead, he’d rolled the cloak into a bundle together with his gloves and wrapped it around one of Willump’s horns. He followed the long trail of wagons with his sight and landed on Uwendale. The village wasn’t anything grand like the Frostguard citadel. The stockade seemed tall and sturdy and he noticed a few figures walking on top of the wall, but the open gates revealed simple huts of wood and straw, not as different to the homes back in Freljord. “Did all these people live here?” he asked. “Many came for the Slayer’s Festival.” A festival. In a land filled with greens and crops, where sheep could graze the fields without any worries of an eternal winter. From what Nunu had seen, Demacia was a beautiful land with verdant green and nice-smelling flowers. The sun was warm and the wind was kind. So why were all these people’s faces so sad and bleak as if their hearts were frozen? “You don’t look like them,” Nunu said bluntly. “Hmm?” Adam turned around with a quizzical expression. “Are you a hero?” Nunu continued, “Do you have a title like Quinn? Is that why the other soldiers listen to you?” “A hero? I wish.” The ranger chuckled. “Maybe if I was a hero, Demacia’s Wings would’ve told me about her secret plan. The warden said that the ranger-knight was on the run, but I knew it was just another lie.” There was something sad in Adam’s smile. “And the soldiers listen to the warden. They only bear with me because they know the warden likes to send me on errands.” “How is she?” Darragh asked in a low voice. Adam’s smile thinned for a moment, before turning gentle. “She’ll feel much better after she knows that you’re safe.” A horn sounded in the air, like a soft drawn out wail. All the civilians tilted their heads towards the sound. The horses flinched and flared their noses. The ranger’s expression froze. “No...” Soon, other horns joined, holding a continuous tone. Nunu looked down at the ground. He’d felt something. The forest rumbled. “Run!” Adam shouted. “Run back to Uwendale!” As the families jumped off their carts and ran through the grass, Nunu glimpsed movement from the forest opening in the distance. “Nunu move!” Willump hoisted the Notai boy up on his head and ran. Screams and cries surrounded him as a herd of animals tore through the old fences and rushed past the fields. Wolves sprinted alongside boars and elks, mowing down wagons and tackling armored guards to the ground. The yeti slowed his feet as leathery wingbeats flapped above. In the sky, a flock of wyverns passed through, casting long shadows over the fleeing civilians. Nunu stared at one particular wyvern, larger than the rest, where he spotted two figures on its back. One of them wore a green cloak. It was too soon. It hadn’t even been a full day. A snarl alerted him of a growling wolf, staring at him. He pulled out *Svellsongur* and wielded it as a sword, gritting his teeth. “Come on then.” Alongside him, the guards formed a line, facing the wild animals while giving the travelers time to retreat back to the settlement. The wolf bared its fang and seemed to leap, only to stop at the last moment. A noise to Nunu’s side made him turn to see another wolf, already in the air and about to strike him. Willump swatted the wolf like a fly, while Nunu dumped a pile of snow onto the first one. A scream made him turn to see Darragh with a family of three, flanked by two boars. The weaponsmith and the father made loud noises to draw the animals’ attention, while the mother and son tried to escape. But the sudden movement caught one of the boar’s attention and pursued the parent and child instead. The son tried to chuck a doll against the beast, before the mother picked him up and ran. Nunu steered Willump towards them, when the world turned upside down and the yeti crashed onto the grass with a groan. His bundle with his cloak and gloves plopped next to him. A beast almost twice the size of a cart towered over them. It was like a giant bull, with long razor-horns crowning its head. Darragh had called it a tuskvore. A clatter of bolts thumped onto the beast but its hide was too thick. Reinforcement from the village hurried forward, bolstering the line of defense. Nunu looked back to see how far the civilians had run, but they were standing in the field, staring at the wyverns circling around Uwendale. To make things worse, masked undead had joined the fray, fighting against Uwendale’s troops. Their moves weren’t as rabid either, instead they were coordinated and drove back the soldiers with maces, axes, and swords. Willump stumbled back on his legs. This time, Nunu decided to stand next to his friend as the enemies came crashing in waves. His heart thumped hard against his chest. His mind raced, unable to keep up with his hands, swinging at a wolf, then a masked man, then to a boar. Each strike with *Svellsongur* brought out howls of pain. He was doing it, he was saving people. A large masked undead clashed swords against Adam. Nunu took the opportunity to swing *Svellsongur* at the undead’s head, but it noticed at the last moment and tilted its head, merely catching a glancing blow. It was still enough for *Svellsongur*, as ice began to form, spreading past the wood and latching onto hair and skin. Kynon must’ve upgraded the undead, because it retreated with a yell and tore the mask off, stopping the ice from spreading. Nunu braced himself for a second attack when the undead looked at him. He stopped. “Alby?” The rebel squinted his eyes, his bulbous nose flaring with a hard exhale. “Nunu?” An arrow hit Alby on the chest and the man fell to the grass. Nunu screamed. He hurried to his friend, kneeling beside and staring in disbelief at the rising and sinking chest, the warm-hued flesh, the eyes blinking with life. Alby wasn’t an undead. Alby was alive. Adam was about to sink his sword into the mage rebel, when Nunu threw his own body atop. “Stop!” Nunu pleaded. “Please, he’s a friend!” “They’re enemies, Nunu,” Adam said. “They attacked us first.” Alby spat a bloody clump on the grass and glared at the ranger. “Demacia’s council attack’d us long before we made our move.” Hearing his slurred voice again, Nunu was certain that it was Alby, the real Alby, not someone mind-controlled by a cursed mask. Realization dawned on him as he looked around at the other masked undead fighting against Uwendale’s troops. They didn’t move with beast-like movements like those who chased him across the forest. They were like the soldiers, swinging weapons at their opponents while doing their best to protect their vital parts. They could all be hurt. They could all die. The earth thundered underneath Nunu’s feet. He turned to see the tuskvore plowing through the wagons, sending carts flying and wheels rolling. His heart stopped when he saw the mother and son hiding underneath one of the carts, holding each other with their eyes closed. It sounded like a tree came crashing down when the tuskvore clashed with the yeti. The two beasts pushed each other and wrestled for dominance. The tuskvore distracted Adam and Alby took the opportunity to grab the dropped sword and stab the ranger-boy, but Nunu was faster with *Svellsongur*. The legendary weapon broke the no-name blade. “Stop!” Nunu screamed, pointing his weapon at Alby. “Just stop!” “I dun’ wan’ to hurt you, Nunu.” “I don’t want to hurt *you,* Alby!” “How can you side with them?” The man’s face was twisted in anger. “The mageseekers would’ve thrown me into their cellars and forced me to swallow poison, jus’ ‘cus of *this*.” He snapped his fingers and sparks flickered in the air. “Am I evil ‘cus I don’t need a tinderbox to light a fire?” Nunu bit his tongue. He didn’t have the answer to Demacia’s problem, he was from Freljord. He didn’t have any profound wisdom to share, he was just a boy. In the distance, the wyvern swarmed Uwendale’s walls, rising high up in the sky to avoid the arrows, then diving for attacks. Around Nunu, the militia fought against the rebels with the same ferocity as the wild beasts next to them. Their motivations might’ve been different but their screams of pain sounded the same. *Svellsongur* felt cold in his palm. With one swing, he could defeat an enemy. Adam brushed off Nunu and charged at the larger mage. The ranger and the rebel grappled each other, rolling on the grass for advantage. At the end, Alby gained the upper hand with his size and with a strong right, he glazed over Adam’s eyes. He was about to punch another when a raccoon bit him on the nose. He yelled and grabbed the animal by the tail, about to slam it to the ground, when Nunu charged him with a shoulder, sending them both tumbling. The mage drew a ragged breath as he crawled up on his legs. His eyes locked onto the trembling Notai. “Go on then. Swing tha’ weapon of yours.” Nunu shook his head. Blood dribbled out from the lips of Alby, his face softening into a hopeless smile. “Then run away. It’s alright to run.” Nunu shook his head again. Something whistled past Nunu. Alby’s smile stiffened as another bolt punctured the man’s chest. A dozen paces away, a crossbowman reloaded his crossbow while another took aim at Alby. The crossbows fired. The bolt struck ice. The wall glittered like glass, separating the soldiers from Nunu and Alby. The Notai hurried to his fallen friend, clutching a cold hand, shaking a still body, calling a name no one claimed. He didn’t know what he should do, which choice was the best. He didn’t want anyone to be hurt but he had to swing *Svellsongur* to defeat his enemy. How else was he going to win? *Depends on what your goal is*. The ranger-knight with the scowling face had said it as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world. She didn’t have any legendary sword, her fists couldn’t shatter stone. She said that she won not by killing Kynon but by stopping the war. “Willump!” His shrill voice was a faint sliver amidst the cacophony of battle. But the yeti would’ve heard the call from a mile away. Willump roared, summoning his strength to push away the tuskvore, before rushing to the Notai’s aid, sweeping the boy up on his head. The wind chilled the wet stains on Nunu’s cheeks. He wiped his eyes and stared across the battlefield, of men and women falling, and lives seeping into the soil. He grabbed onto Willump’s horns, noticing that his friend had his own set of battle scars with the tuskvore, from broken horn parts, gashes of red across the white fur, and a panting breath fogging up the air. *No one cares about everything.* There might've been some truth in what Darragh had said, but when it came to tell a story, truth would always play the second fiddle. He steered Willump to pick up his bundle of clothes. The bright orange cloak fluttered as the yeti ran through the battlefield. The gloves squeezed his hands and stopped his fingers from trembling. He looked at *Svellsongur,* his named weapon which had broken several times over their adventures. A sword to cleave foes down the middle. *The hero doesn’t make the story. It’s the story that makes the hero.* He could see the Iceborn glinting eyes and smiling mustache. *And what kind of tale is this, story-teller?* One where a sword would be useless because there were no enemies to cleave. Nunu drew a deep breath and placed his lips on the end of *Svellsongur*. He breathed life into the reed and the flute sang out. The heavy thumps from Willump turned to muffled as his feet stepped on snow, piling higher and higher, covering the grass and reaching up to the knees. When Willump passed some masked mages, Nunu played another tune and ice suddenly appeared underneath and the mages slipped and fell into powder snow. The animals found themselves attacking snowmen and staring up at the white dust fluttering down from the sky. The song wasn’t one from his mother’s wide collection, but one he’d thought up when he’d been nestled in Willump’s fur while the harsh wind howled outside. It was one he’d polished when a weathered village in north Freljord had welcomed him and Willump to their home, even offering the last of their grains to hear some stories over a crackling fire. A song he’d finished when Braum comforted him even though the Iceborn had been beaten down by all the different kinds of hardships they’d encountered over the journey. The landscape changed to one Nunu had known all his life. He could see the white lands of Freljord and taste the fresh air just by closing his eyes. He could hear his mother’s laughter, feel her hands ruffling his hair and see the glistening stars against the blackest skies. He could remember the rush of excitement as a bald Iceborn, a furry monster, and a small boy rode on a shield-turned-sled down the mountains. This was his song to Freljord, where one could walk through the coldest nights and meet people with the warmest hearts. As the song swelled, Willump began to laugh, humming along to Nunu’s tune with a deep booming voice. The yeti rolled up a snowball, making it bigger and bigger, steering it towards the warriors who were still fighting and flattening some to the ground while mashing others into the growing white sphere. It was good that Willump had so many hands, while he used a pair to roll the snowball, he used the other pair to fling snowballs across the field, splattering onto Uwendale’s crossbowmen who tried to aim at the mages. A roar challenged the boy and his yeti. The tuskvore knocked down snowmen blocking its path. It crushed the walls of ice Nunu had erected. The beast reared its front leg and aimed its horns. Nunu continued playing, almost in a teasing manner, while Willump released the growing snowball and turned his attention to the new playmate. The yeti clapped his hands and smiled widely. The tuskvore trampled across, spewing snow to the sides. Its horns gleamed with sharpness. It didn’t expect the boy to jump off and the yeti to ram back with massive reindeer horns. They slammed their crowns against each other. Once, twice. The clash like thunder in the dark sky. As Nunu’s song reached its climax, Willump bellowed a deafening roar and dove under the tuskvore, flinging the beast into the largest pile of snow. The Notai boy dropped his flute and fell to his knees. With it, the landscape of Freljord began to thaw. Melting and revealing still green grass, budding wheat, and brown soil. Bodies lay scattered on the ground. Some in armor, others wearing masks. There were corpses of animals too, felled by arrows and spears. But they were few compared to the ones who still stood. The rebels and Uwendale’s citizens had stopped fighting. Their eyes locked onto the Notai boy, their jaws slack and arms limp. He found Darragh’s face among the crowd, with bulging eyes and open mouth as if he’d just heard an outrageous story. A new weariness pulled over Nunu. His eyelids felt leaden and his knees begged him to fold. He almost listened to them if it weren’t for Willump’s wet nose nustling his cheek and rough tongue licking him all over the face. “You stink, Willump,” Nunu groaned. The yeti scoffed and then burst into a big smile. Nunu searched on the ground and found *Svellsongur* once again broken. He picked up the pieces and closed his eyes, but when he opened it again, the pieces remained apart. His best friend grunted in a worried tone. “Not yet, Willump.” Nunu looked towards Uwendale, at the wyverns picking apart the village like vultures on a carcass. “There’s still some adventure left to do.” &#x200B; \ ***DISCLAIMER*** ***‘The Tales We Tell’ is a non-profit work of fan fiction, based on the game League of Legends.*** ***I do not own League of Legends or any of its material. League of Legends is created and owned by Riot Games Inc. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of League of Legends belong to Riot Games Inc.