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Stress creates the most elegant dances.
In the times where Ionia struggles to defend themselves, Irelia’s blades are a constant, circling her, calming her.
(Long ago, she realized that the symbol of her family is no longer hers. All her people watch the broken pieces in battle, and reunite beneath them. The fate of her land all stems from the shattered crest, and the ancient tradition that lives within her. She swears to carry it on. For Ionia, this burden. )
She feels the way the metal shirks from touching her hands, the way it twists with each breath she takes. A cautious swipe of her fingers causes the delicate line of shards to follow, cutting a path through the air.
Where many would find beauty, she sees only death.
Bringing them back to rest by her side, she pauses, turning her head towards the door. Few come to visit her directly, though her doors never remain locked. (some have asked whether or not she worries about Noxans invading her home as she sleeps, but if they ever breach the Placidium into the homes that lie beyond, it will not matter whether or not her doors are locked. They will die.)
“Hello?” She calls, her blades ready but half-unwilling. The intruder’s footsteps rest outside the open doorway of her room, before a dark-haired head, circled with a bright gem of green, pops through.
Irelia’s laughter is welcome, tension disappearing from her body. “Karma!”
It feels like only a few days ago in which the second Placidium battle took place, in which so many more of their people died. Really, it was months ago - and in those months, Irelia has not journeyed to the Lasting Altar, nor has Karma come to Ionia City, not even to attend conventions (instead speaking through proxy, and Irelia admires her ability to keep her hands off … most of the time).
“You worried me,” Irelia admits, guiding her shards with pointed fingers towards the satchel where they make their home. “I thought I would have to fight.”
To this, Karma scoffs, a welcome sound. “As if you would win.”
That is the Karma only Irelia knows.
(Few have probably seen the religious leader laugh or banter, and even fewer have probably seen it done casually. To anyone else, it would likely be an honour, but to Irelia, it’s just Karma. Her Karma.)
(Her faith runs deep, certainly, but the Xan daughter knows, perhaps better than anyone, that to lead at an age when you are not ready is horrifically taxing. They are both figureheads to revolutions they did not ask for, and though they may be formal around their followers, they can fall apart near each other.)
“Don’t get arrogant. I’ve got tricks up my sleeve too, you know.” The words are spoken with a grin, even as she slings the bag of blades over her shoulder. “Did you need something?”
“No, actually.” Karma’s words are melodious, cascading over Irelia to settle on her senses. “I… well, I figured it could not hurt to come visit you. It’s been a while, after all.” To be left alone with grief is what they both needed. Irelia has her dances, and Karma has - well, the previous Karmas, to speak with, to spend her time with. Where some might seek comfort in their lover’s arms, the two of them recognize that separation is probably ideal.
Their preferences and coping mechanisms aside, having two incredibly important Ionians near each other all the time would probably do nothing for the safety of the nation.
(These battles are so different from the ones she fought when she was fourteen. She was so young, so naive - she sees her faults now, her errors. She could have prevented so many deaths. But now, with the second round of Noxan invasion, she can try to correct what faults she had in the past. This conflict will be longer, she knows. It will be drawn-out. Somedays, she forgets they are even at war. Now, she is harshly aware of it. If not for war, maybe she would see Karma more.)
(Still, leaders don’t reminisce. She scolds herself, silently.)
“We could - just walk around, if you want?” Irelia offers, extending a hand. The way Karma takes it wordlessly is enough, and a smile drifts across her lips.
“Sure.”
The two of them exit the modest estate of Xan, and for a brief moment, Irelia is once more stunned by the beauty of their nation. She wonders if it’ll ever go away - but it probably won’t. Even though she’s known these stone paths and open walkways all her life, she still marvels at it each time she leaves her house. A quick glance at the woman beside her tells her that they both feel the same way - this is a home worth fighting for.
(She would give it up for Karma, though. Karma is the only one she'd ever give it up for.)
Her strides are slow, taking her time. Her lover walks alongside her, the twist of green magic shining in the soft, evening light.
Then, quietly, that magic glows. “Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we had lost?”
Irelia’s head snaps up, turning towards where Karma stares, watching over the people going about their lives in the village. It’s all familiar faces, like the children all gathering around one of the many older folks, listening to the tall tales with bright smiles and huge imaginations. It brings a smile to her face, even if she feels a pang of jealousy - she was never allowed such a carefree life.
Still, that is why she fights. Children like this should not know pain or war. They are too young.
Though she was the exception to such a rule (and though she hates it - all she's ever wanted was a normal life, where her dances are just that, dances), she would never wish such a position upon someone else. Death isn't pretty, and she would never dare say it is, but if she must take to give, she will.
Clean scents fill her nose. Air unpolluted, which swirls around their island. Clean but unfiltered, strong but kind. There is a balance to achieve in all things, and Ionia is keenly aware of it. No outsider could ever understand just how alive the land here is. The energy is not overwhelming, but it has a presence that nothing else can match up to.
A world where Noxus took this from her would have been a world where nothing was right again. They would take the delicate structure of Ionia and crush it under their fists. Irelia finds her hand tensing, ready to call her blades to her - caught in the illusion - before relaxing.
The answer, now, comes to her easily. “No, I don’t.” She would never have allowed Ionia to become such a place. “Let’s not think about such things, my love.”
Even though Karma’s mind is clearly somewhere else, she at least turns away from the horizon, to look Irelia in the eye. “No?”
It’s phrased as a question, the tone so gentle and confused it makes Irelia laugh again, as clear as the expanses of broken ocean that cut across their archipelago. “No,” She says, smile coming to rest on her face. “No, I’ve never thought of what might happen if Noxans were our rulers. We would never let that happen, anyway.”
Walk interrupted, she uses their connected hands to pull Karma close, closer, pressing their foreheads together. Under Ionian sunlight, on Ionian soil, after all their wars have been fought, they will start once more.