Fanfic: Draven/Ezreal Dual Botlane
Slight bara and yaoi implications, if that's what you read stories for. :P
Guaranteed connection between two human spirits, which is what I write for.
We share the same tall grass.
He knows how to make a campfire. He doesn't know how to cook.
"What is your dream?" I ask him. "For when you return home." Perhaps he will study how to baste a bird and turn the spit.
He twists his face from the flames and looks at me with contempt. "Is this how you question your prisoners before you kill them?"
Clearly, he has not seen my shows, but he does know about me, so my heart feels all roses and smiles and such.
"You are hardly my prisoner," I tell him. "Entertain me, or humor me, if you will, because you're ruining the food." I stand up. "So sit over there, keep vigilant, and I'll cook the bird. Now, your dreams. Or do you truly have none?"
"I can't remember the last time I dreamt well, or slept well," he says.
I wonder if that ugly headband actually allows him to see anything.
"Let me explain something to you, darling boy," I say. "If you were really my prisoner, you'd be kept in the dungeon beneath the arena. Bread. Water. Twice a day, if the warden is routine. And you'd be chained to the wall, so eventually you'd be sitting in your bread and water, and you'd smell your humanity and your filth. Now, those without dreams, as you can imagine, suffer and die in their cages. Only the strongest ones meet me on the stage of life and death."
I glare at him, and for the first time, I believe he is aware of my presence and my power.
"You would not make it to the glorious arena," I say. "You, who has no dreams, no desires, and no hope. You would die, forgettable and alone, in a Noxian jail cell."
The bird is cooking nicely. Luckily, the shopkeep had sugar and tomatoes. So we're getting caramelized meat tonight.
"You're right about me," he says at last. "I have no dreams and no hope. I had love once, but that is gone now. All I have left is this," and he points to his left arm. "I wonder if my skin has fallen off, and if I'm just meat and bones in there. I haven't checked, for in truth, I cannot take it off."
He pauses for a moment. "It was the last thing my parents wanted to capture. An ancient treasure from a Shuriman tomb. My parents either failed or died or both, because it is I who have it now. But I would trade it gladly - all my magic, all my learning, all my studies and fortune - to see my mother and father one last time. But it's a bargain I can never make, and the one I desire the most. How cruel, that I found a precious jewel at the expense of my parents, and I profit every day from their blood and their misery. I am indeed a wasteful and a prodigal child. So lock me in your prison, Noxian. I would welcome it. I, whose arm is already held prisoner, whose dreams are buried deep in an unnavigable tomb ... I would gladly die unnoticed, unworthy, and unloved, than be a spectacle in your mockery of human ambition."
The meat is done. And so I bring it to him.
"Look at my weapons," I tell him, "as you have fittingly described your own. My axes are fierce, and they are magical, if only because I make them so. I know that when I twirl them and when I send them out, my axes always return. So will your parents return, if they have not returned already."
He stares at me.
I tear bird meat from bird bone, and then I give him my final word - the last line of soliloquy, the ending, the denouement. The moment when the eyes of my victim glaze with the realization of what it means to be mortal, and how they can know death, in all its splendor and all its elegance:
"Would that glove of yours work, were it attached to unliving flesh, as you claim?"