Chapter Text
Jayce has lost track of time.
It happens often these days — the blazing sun being his only guide — but today is different. The heat pushes down on him mercilessly, as it always does, and his lower back aches something fierce from the long ride, but what he would normally overlook now means danger.
He’s ambushed in the blink of an eye.
He hadn’t seen them coming. One minute he’s reaching down into the pouch at his side for a drink and the next he’s on the ground, ears ringing through a raging headache. He should’ve known bandits would be roaming this area. He did know, distantly. But he, ever the fool, decided to try his luck and hurry through the pass towards the next town anyway.
He remembers shouting, and hands on his back — likely taking whatever possessions they could find. He tried to fight back, fists flailing towards the blurry figures, but exhaustion pooled in his bones and the concussion slowed him down. He managed to get a few solid punches in, to his credit, but was clearly outnumbered.
One of the men kicked at his left leg and he crumpled like a ragdoll, dust in his mouth and rocks digging into his skin. It was pathetic, to be reduced to nothing but a man groveling at their feet. Luckily, none of them had found his journal, tucked deeply against his skin. Small mercies, he tells himself.
In the end, the men rode off in the distance with not only his supplies and his horse but his dignity.
Jayce sighs, dragging his feet forward despite the agony travelling across his knee. He’s lost track of how long it’s been since the ambush; judging by the sun’s lazy descent towards the horizon, it must be nearing mid-afternoon at least. He’d estimated around five hours by horseback until he reached Prescott, but, well…
Clearly that won’t work now.
Jayce curses under his breath, stumbling over a rock and catching himself clumsily on his good knee. This is going to be a long day.
— — • • — — • — — — • — • — — — • — — — • • • — — — — • — — • • •
It’s been over two hours of walking and Jayce can barely feel his feet.
He feels like he’s losing his mind.
There’s a man off in the distance, not far from him, standing stark against the Arizona landscape. It’s the first sign of life he’s seen for miles. The man is holding what appears to be a knife in one hand and a rag in the other, swiping it over the blade with the confidence of someone who’d done it a million times before. He’s sitting perched on a rock, two horses laid beside him, resting. One of which looks just like—
“Rio?!”
The man startles, gripping the handle of the knife closer to his chest. They make eye contact.
Jayce stumbles forward, legs weak and skull still throbbing from the attack, and dares to get closer. The man before him tenses, still watching him.
“Why—“ Jayce gasps, now only about ten feet away. “Why do you have my horse?!”
“Ah.” The strange man draws the word out as though tasting it, leaning back on the rock like a cat stretching its legs. It reminds Jayce of the people he grew up with, swirling wine in fancy glasses, seemingly unbothered by the bitter taste of their own lies.
Closer now, Jayce notices the chilling gold of the man’s eyes first — like a set of amber blades all aimed towards him. He’s wearing a simple shirt and vest, blood red sleeves against dusty black, devoid of a cravat entirely.
“I found her wandering a few miles back, figured she’d been a victim of an attack,” he says, an unfamiliar accent curling around his words like smoke. “Am I to believe this is correct?”
Jayce rubs the back of his neck, strangely sheepish. “Yes.” He pauses, unsure if the man is telling the truth. He could be a part of the bandit group, prepared to strike again at a moment’s notice. “Am I to believe you’re telling the truth?”
The man raises a single eyebrow, glancing over at the horses. “I suppose you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
“Yeah?” Jayce mirrors his expression, a challenge of sorts. “Then give me back my horse.”
“Such hostility.” The man wrinkles his nose in distaste. “You may have her back. I am not in the business of stealing horses from passing travelers.”
As if hearing his words, Rio trots over to him and nuzzles softly into his chest. She always was a kind soul, Jayce thinks. He can’t help but smile, petting her in earnest.
“Hey, girl,” he whispers into her neck, “did you miss me?”
She snorts in response, nuzzling in even closer. Jayce chuckles, turning away from her for a moment to peer over at the mysterious man — who is now watching the light glint on his blade, transfixed.
Jayce isn’t known as an awkward man — far from it, honestly — but deep down, he never quite knew what to do with himself in social settings. It was a secret he’d been forced to keep to his grave — after all, Piltover’s golden boy can’t be a nervous wreck. But, here, out in the open, mouth parched and skin blazing from the heat and the long walk, he finds himself unable to care.
“You uh…” he pauses, trying to find the words, “you out here alone?
The man snaps his gaze up, eyes piercing. Jayce can see the moment his metaphorical hackles raise. “What? Wishing to steal from the poor cripple?”
Cripple? Jayce’s brow furrows in confusion. “What? No, I—“
“If you think me incapable of handling myself, you’re sorely mistaken.” The words are cold, almost painfully so, but Jayce sees them for what they really are: a defense mechanism.
“I mean no trouble, really.” He holds up his hands to prove his point, rough and calloused and still a bit bloody from the fall. “I just… well, it ain’t every day I come across another traveler. Let alone ‘round these parts.”
The man considers him for a moment, eyes narrowing. Jayce half expects him to jump up and slit his throat with that very knife, if only to get rid of a potential threat. Jayce wouldn’t entirely blame him; you learn to trust nothing when survival is cruel.
“Are you headed to Prescott?” The man asks suddenly.
Jayce blinks in surprise. “I— yes?”
“I’m in need of some supplies; Prescott is the closest town.” He says, as though that explains the question entirely.
“Right.” Jayce draws out the word, eyes narrowing in confusion. “And… why are you—“
“Would you like to accompany me?”
What?
Whatever Jayce was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.
“I— I beg pardon?” He sputters, watching the man haul himself to his feet.
One of his legs twists inward at the knee, ankle bending at an almost unnatural angle. The man stretches out, unbothered and unhurried, tucking the knife into his vest. He reaches lazily behind the rock and brings forward a carefully polished cane — something that, given the circumstances, seems out of place — and leans heavily against it.
“You look like a man on his last leg.” He says, eyeing him. “Take the offer or don’t, I do not care, but you won’t last much longer without it.”
He steps up to the second horse, a light-colored mustang with an equally pale mane, and hauls himself over the side with a grunt. His eyebrows furrow as he settles into the saddle, something akin to a grimace, but otherwise displays no emotion.
Jayce glances back at Rio, considering the offer. His throat is impossibly dry, skin burning from sun, a thick sheen of sweat sticking the vest to his undershirt in a way that makes him want to claw it off entirely. What else does he have to lose, he thinks?
He hops onto his own saddle, reaching down towards the bag still clipped to her side and taking a hefty swig from the canteen. Water trails down his chin and he swipes clumsily at it, appearances be damned. Glancing over at the other man, he sighs. In the end, it’s curiosity that wins.
“Alright,” he says, voice cautious, “I’ll bite. But if you try anything, I ain’t hesitating, understood?”
The man beside him looks down, unimpressed, clearly noting the lack of weapons on him, but nods slowly. “The feeling is mutual.”
And just like that, he flicks his reins and they’re off.