Unofficial short fan-fiction - [Bard] One Winter's Catch
##NOTE: THIS IS NOT OFFICIAL LEAGUE CANON! I AM SIMPLY POSTING ONE OF MY OWN FAN-FICTION STORIES ABOUT BARD. I'M NOT EVEN ON THE NARRATIVE TEAM :) I'LL STOP SHOUTING NOW!
http://i.imgur.com/Y8K6fqw.jpg
Soundtrack: http://youtubedoubler.com/eMAT (I recommend turning the volume down on the login screen music.)
#One Winter's Catch
Yes it’s true - my grandmother met the Bard once - when she was long haired and young. It was many years ago and life was terribly hard for our village - and we were sure we would die of a winter that had forgotten how to end.
It was a bitter cold morning - tiny puddles fractured at her step as my grandmother walked to the lake to spend her day fishing. Other food was hard to find and the plants would not wake. The cold bit at her hands, though she wrapped them in wool and she was wearing all of the clothes she owned all at once. Even as she lay in her bed as death called to her, many years later, she said she never wished such a cold on anyone else.
She sculled her coracle to the middle of the lake - where the early mist made it feel like she was alone in a cloud - and settled in with rod and net. After a few peaceful minutes, the cloud parted and she saw another fisherman in a too-small vessel - wrapped as she was against the cold and almost spherical. This was surprising. She did not recognise him, but she called out a greeting and she remembered he returned it kindly.
Suddenly, her lure twitched! Once. Twice. Three times and splash! She hauled a fish into her arms. It was a good fish - a bigger fish than she’d seen recently, with a rainbow flash upon its belly. It was as long as my forearm, and fat as summers-end.
When she was settled again, she looked over at the other fisherman - and he held up a fish even bigger than hers! It was almost as long as my full arm and sparkled in the pale sunlight like stars! She hollered a congratulations - but in her secret heart she was jealous that he’d hooked a bigger fish than she. She decided she’s show him how our village could fish better than that, and settled in for a long day.
And so it was - they sat, alone together, and fished for the day. The timorous sun rose and fell and no fish would show themselves for hours at a time. By even-time, my grandmother tells that she considered giving up - the fish were not showing. She glanced up just in time to see the first star rise when suddenly a stirring! Her lure twitched - once, twice, three times and SPLASH! She pulled a monster of a fish into her tiny boat! So big it was that she almost tipped into the water with it!
Exhausted, she knew that she would have won the envy of the other fisherman - and she would have fed the village for a week! But when she looked over - her fishing companion held upon his lap an even bigger fish. She had heard stories of such a fish - but it almost obscured his whole boat, it was so fat and shiny.
My grandmother, stubborn as all grandmothers eventually are, would not have this! Though the sun was down she called out to the fisherman and challenged him! The next thing they caught, she said, whoever had the biggest catch would be the winner and must claim the other the superior fisher!
Every time she told us this story, his reply was different. Sometimes he said “I accept your challenge, pretty girl!” Other times he said “You are courageous and I will match your skill with honor!” When I asked her about this, as a child, she eventually told me she could never remember the words he used - only that she was sure he was pleased with her challenge and had accepted.
And so they sat - as the sky unfolded its beauty, and the silks of the heavens painted stories in far away tapestries. But as beautiful as the night was - deadly too in that winter. Her toes which had hurt for hours, now burned - a very bad sign, she knew. The mist, their constant companion, started to thin and the lake was so still that she felt like she was falling into the sky on all sides, and the huge, brilliant, moon now looking down upon her twin in the waters.
Suddenly, there was a twitch on her lure. This was it! It twitched once. It twitched twice! Finally it twitched three times! But all that was on the end of her line was a little wooden box, no bigger than your fist. She heard splashing from the other fisherman - and for the first time she saw him struggle with his catch - he pulled and hauled and struggled and fought! She couldn’t see what his catch could be at first, but when she followed the line it was with a gasp that she saw what he was drawing near - the reflection of the very moon itself!
It was impossible! But he pulled and struggled until finally he leaned over the edge and pulled the moon out of the water! It was as big as a large coracle itself and glowed so bright! He picked it up like it was a feather and held it aloft, looking to my grandmother.
And she looked down at the tiny little box. The very moon from the sky compared to a teeny tiny box. He had clearly won. She was about to call her congratulations, when something told her to open the tiny box in her lap.
Do you think she should have opened it?
The little box was old, and wet and had a tiny latch. She held it in one hand, while her wrapped fingers struggled with that latch. It felt warm - but she told herself it was probably the cold sickness settling into her hands.
Finally the latch clicked and she carefully… carefully… creaked the hinge until… SPLASH!
A huge flash of light hit her and she fell out of the coracle! The water would surely kill her, and she thrashed and gasped, even as her eyes struggled to see once more. Her hands made contact with something she hoped was the overturned boat and she pulled herself to the air.
What she saw amazed her. Can you guess? All about her was the singing of birds and the splashing of fish - all in the beautiful daytime! The sun, brighter than she remembered it, filled the world with warmth and love and spring sang all around her. She felt strong hands pull her into a boat, even as she wondered. When she looked up, it was the masked face of the Bard that looked down upon her - and she knew he was pleased. He handed her the empty little wooden box, and daintily stepped upon the edge of the coracle - not tilting it even a little bit. Then he bowed, once, and leapt to the skies above like the sparks above this very campfire.
She would show me the little wooden box now - the box that she told us all had held the sun of spring captive for too long. She’d say that Bard had helped her find it, and save the village from an endless winter. She’d tell us that that year was a bountiful harvest with the best fish and the richest fields. Mostly, though, she’d tell us how she beat Bard in a fishing contest - because surely the only catch greater than the beautiful moon, is the glorious sun.
What did you think? Looking for critique and criticism (I can take it!) Also - did it spur any ideas for other campfire Bard tall-tales? Lastly, a reminder that this is fan-fiction from a player (me) **not **official canon lore from Riot. Just something I did for fun in my spare time
LIES
: I-put-the-steam-in-steamy-fanfic-
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