In walked a lithe young man, faded blue jeans clinging to his skinny hips. His blonde hair was a ruffled mess. Beneath his heartbreakingly blue eyes were two smudged, red triangles - obviously warpaint of some kind. And perched on his head were a pair of goggles.

The crowd in the Mess Hall fell silent. There was a sharp clang when someone dropped their plate.

Then one of the Summoners cried out, "Ezreal? Is that you?"

The boy cast his eyes over the crowd, meeting the gaze of people who he had faced often on the battlefield, but never even spoken a word to. He recognized some of them. The woman with nine fox tails casually curling around her feet. The redheaded quickdraw; the brown haired sheriff of Piltover. It was like walking into a dream.

He was struck by hundreds of memories of killing these people, being killed by them, assisting them.

And in many cases, he had bested them. As he looked around, the crowd slowly returned to their earlier state, though the chatter was more muted.

The Summoner who had spoken rushed over to him and clapped him on the shoulder. He was a balding man dressed in flowing purple robes, and had piercing violet eyes.

"It really is you."

"Yes, I am Ezreal." He blinked several times. "I didn't realize how...real...this place would be."

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen these people so many times. I've watched them die and fight and now - now they're all just relaxing."

"It's part of the rules of the League. Oh! Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Zandred. I'm one of the top Summoners of the League."

"Pleased to meet you." Still Ezreal's eyes scanned the crowd. The blinking blue light on his glove fluttered uneasily, responding to his emotions. At any moment, he expected the champions to attack.

"They won't attack you, Ezreal. It's one of the rules, like I said. Everyone - even mortal enemies - is friends - or at least acquaintances - here. But enough about that. What brings you to Runeterra? It's a great honor to have one of our top warriors stop by at last."

"I've come to join the League full time. To join the other champions in living here."

"Why is that?"

"I've been summoned so frequently that there's no point in remaining in Piltover."

Zandred's eyes lit up. "Ahhh. Yes. Your win rate is quite high. You're one of the most sought after champions, in fact, used generally to fight for the highest cause."

Ezreal bowed his head. "I've realized this and thought the prudent thing was to move here."

"I can arrange that. Let me talk with the quartersmaster, to see where you may be able to stay." Zandred bowed from the waist and hurried away, leaving Ezreal standing near the double doors. And leaving him alone.

With a tiny swallow, Ezreal headed towards the two buffet bars, grabbing a plate. The Summoners sure didn't skimp. The two bars were bedecked with plump, colorful fruits and meats doused with exotic spices, as well as pastries and currants of all kinds. He grabbed two muffins and a glass of orange juice and looked for people to sit with.

Some champions he didn't even recognize, his encounters with them were so infrequent. There was a giant purple insect rapidly slurping away at a pile of sludge. Next to him, a small, dog-like alien contentedly picked his nose with a tiny claw. Ezreal shuddered from memories of that same alien's poison eating away at his flesh.

He passed over the table that obviously belonged to Noxus. He knew the names and faces and battle tactics of the people there. Swain. Darius. Katarina.

Definitely not people he wanted to be allied with.

The Freljordians gave him a nasty look as he walked by, most notably their warrior princess Ashe. He had bested her many, many times.

At last his eyes rested on a haven.

At a small table nestled in the back corner sat the friendliest looking people in the League. Ezreal recognized each of them, as they often laned with him. I don't even know their names, he thought. There's never any time to talk.

A purple humanoid unicorn leaned forward intently, biting into a starfruit. Next to her coiled a mermaid with glittering gold and blue scales. Across from her, a small yordle sat on a booster seat, occasionally feeding bits of butter to the glittering insect flitting around her. Next to her sat the mute champion. She looked strange without her huge harp-like instrument in front of her, Ezreal thought. I guess I'm really not going to get attacked.

"S'cuse me," a man behind him said. "Care to sit down with us?"

Ezreal whirled, spilling a little orange juice. The man's voice was deep and soothing. His hair was black and his eyes were a radiant green. "Well, if it isn't the great and powerful Ezreal. Look, ladies." The man sat his tray down. "You recognize me, don't you?"

"Y-yes. But I don't know any of your names -"

"Because you've been being summoned against your will. Well, I'm Taric. The unicorn is Soraka."

"Greetings, child."

"The woman in the flowing dress is Sona-" Sona obligingly lifted a small hand, smiling warmly. "The yordle is Lulu, and this is our newest addition, Nami, the Tidecaller."

"Hi, Ezreal." Nami beamed at him.

"I've fought with all of you before," Ezreal mused."You all are usually in lane with me."

Taric gestured for him to sit down, and he did so. "We're all supports for the carry - which happens to be you, in most cases."

Ezreal swallowed again, trying to wrap his brain around the strangeness of the situation. "So...you Guys are in the League only to heal and support people?"

"Well, sometimes we step outside of our role." Taric shrugged. "Soraka used to be a pretty good jungler."

"Taric's an okay top sometimes," Soraka added with raised eyebrows. "And I remember Nami being in mid lane for a while."

"But other than that," Nami said with a swish of her tail, "Yes, we heal and support."

Ezreal took a small bite of his muffin. Rich, fruity, delicious. It seemed to melt on his tongue. "The Summoners - they're really generous, aren't they?"

"Pffft. Wait until you see the rooms." Taric downed his glass of juice.

Sona nodded, and, pulling out a small pad of paper, scratched a quick note to Ez. If you come to the Support Quadrant, some of the rooms have hottubs.

"But – how does this work? Will they let me do that? I'm a carry."

Lulu snorted. "You've been one of the best for a long, long time, child. I figure they'll let you do whatever you want, now that they have you."

I don't really like the sound of that, Ez thought. Have me. Like they own me. He shook his head. "Do I get paid for this?"

Taric frowned. "What do you want to get paid in?"

"I - I don't know. It seems sort of directionless. Is there any point to fighting?"

The supports took a deep breath and looked at one another. Taric leaned forward and clasped Ezreal's thin shoulder. "Ez. Do you know anything about the League?"

"I know that they keep snatching me out of exploring to come kill people."

"Think of us like avatars. What we do is prevent nations from going to war. We're here to settle conflicts. We're like - I don't know - "

"Fighting diplomats," finished Soraka. She brushed a lock of golden hair from Ezreal's face. Her hand was cool and soothing; Ezreal realized his skin was flushed. "It's a tough job, but we must do it to preserve Runeterra. And so we do."

But you guys wanted to join the League and I didn't. Ezreal grimaced. I might as well get used to it. They've been pulling me away against my will for years now. It's not going to change any time soon.

He was about to say as much when Zandred tapped him on the shoulder. A woman dressed in identical robes accompanied him. She was easily six feet tall. Her high cheekbones defined her face, and her long blonde hair fell in a rippling cascade to her shoulders, offsetting her brilliant blue eyes.

"Ezreal," she said warmly. He stood up shakily and shook her hand.

"I am Merilyn, another Summoner who works at the League. It is a pleasure to meet you at last." To Ez's embarrassment, she bowed to him. His face grew even hotter as he awkwardly bowed back. "You are welcome to stay here. While you fight for us, your food, room and board will be covered. Most any wish you have will be fulfilled. You should also know that you have joined an extraordinarily selective group, an elite group of champions." Merrill's voice echoed throughout the dining hall. More than a few other champions were staring, some snarling, some smirking. Ez tried desperately to ignore them. "Do you accept our offer, Ezreal of Piltover?"

Ez blinked. Then he cleared his throat and tried to say "I do." What came out was, "I've been fighting for you for years. It's time for payback. Yes, I accept."

Marilyn clapped him on the shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards. "I like the fighting spirit in you. You'll need a lot of it for the days to come." She lowered her voice at last, and the dining-hall noise picked up again. "Zandred will see to your needs. Farewell." She glided off to join her fellow Summoners in their dining hall, leaving Ezreal to stare after her.

Zandred tapped him. "So, Ezreal. Let's get down to business. Who would you like to stay with? I know you're from Piltover, but do you have any other alliances? Demacian? Zuanian?...Noxian?"

"I'd like to stay with the supports, please."

Zandred's tufted eyebrows shot up. "Really? You don't wish to train and compete with the other carries? There are quite a few clustered around the Piltover/Freljordian area. They like to spar."

"No, thank you." I fight enough. "I think the company of the Supports would be best for my health." Zandred shot Taric a strange look, but bowed.

"As you wish. Follow me, please."

Ez turned around. "You guys coming?"

"Go get comfy," Soraka said, twirling a small banana between her fingers. "We'll be with you eventually."

Ez shrugged. He tried to stand up straight and square his shoulders as he marched back by the other champions from League. But he wished he had the Supports to protect him from the sneers and rude looks that followed him through the Dining Hall Door.

Regardless of his muddled feelings about the League, Ezreal knew one thing for sure: the grounds around the buildings were gorgeous. Jewel-toned flowers soaked up the sunlight. As he and Zandred headed towards the building for Supports, huge, old trees shaded their paths. In front of the Third Dormitory, where the Supports were housed, stood a glittering marble fountain in the shape of a giant hooded Summoner. The water trickled down its robes, splashing playfully into a square basin.

Ez whistled. "Nice digs."

"Upgrade from Piltover, eh?"

"I haven't spent much time there recently. Between exploring and being caught up here."

"True, true. Maybe when you retire from the League, you'll find new places to check out."

"You guys have a library?"

"We do." Zandred bowed his head. "It's full of ancient books. Probably the sort of thing you're into."

Ez smiled slightly. The idea of thousands of weathered old pages pleased him. Maybe he would have some downtime to sit by the fountain and flip through them. Maybe with some of the good food from the buffet.

"Do you guys have room service?"

Zandred snorted. "We can, though we recommend you meet with other champions."

"I noticed that most of the champs sat with people they were allied with."

"And?"

"I'm not allied with anyone."

Zandred looked surprised. "Really? Perhaps that will change."

"I doubt it...I'm kind of a loner." And lonely, Ezreal thought. He stroked the blue light on his glove. The loneliness was part of what drove him to seek the League out at last. That, and the increasing amount of time he was summoned. Sometimes it seemed he were in Hell.

Zandred broke through his reverie. "Do you mind having a roommate?"

"Mm? No, not terribly. Depends on who it is."

"The only person without a roommate right now...let me check." From the folds of his robes Zandred pulled a small notebook, flipping through it rapidly. "Ah. Michael."

"Who?"

"He's not a champion, but he's close to being one."

"Can I meet him first?" God forbid I get roomed with someone evil like Katarina or someone like Tryndamere.

"He's generally out this time of day - heaven knows where. But if you don't like him, don't worry. We'll figure something out. Here we are." Zandred swished up a flight of marble stairs. Ezreal's tired legs led to him imagining he were at the top of them and he appeared next to Zandred in a flash of sparkling gold. A few stray sparks fell to the ground.

"Wha - No powers! That would break the truce in no time!" Zandred hissed. His purple eyes blazed as he threw himself in front of Ezreal and spread his arms, hoping no one had seen.

"Huh?"

"You can't use magic when you're not on Summoner's Rift."

"Are you serious?" Ezreal's tired blue eyes grew even more overcast. His shoulders slumped. "Magic...I use it all the time. Sometimes I can't help it."

"If the other champions ever see you use it, they'll probably respond accordingly."

"And what?" Ezreal threw his head back and laughed. "And they get hurt?"

Zandred shook his head. "The injuries here are permanent. Not like on the Rift. If you burn someone's hand off here, it stays gone."

"...Oh."

"Can you see why that might be a problem when we have both Demacians and Noxians in the same room, hm? One false move and suddenly the master tactician of Noxus is gone. Another false move, and the sheriff of Piltover is blown away."

"How do you keep them from killing one another?"

Zandred started to answer, then thought better of it. He liked Ezreal. It was hard not to, with his glittering blue eyes, his golden hair, his jaunty "who gives a shit" attitude. He was so different from the other Champions that were almost...pretentious. Still, no one knew Ezreal that well. And it wouldn't do good to tell him just how the Summoners kept people from killing one another.

He was a powerful young man. A powerful young man with unguessable motives.

"How do we do it? That's for us to know and you to not worry about, my good man."

Ezreal shrugged. "As long as they don't come after me, I'm fine."

"Good. Let's go in, shall we?"

The double doors led to a spacious hallway supported by pillars. "I noticed you guys like marble," Ez commented. He looked at the ceiling. It was covered with a fleur-de-lis design in blue and black. Luscious rugs covered the floor. Redwood doors led off the hallway. A large, carved statue stood in the middle, engraved with the words "The Void." Examining it, Ezreal could make out a pattern of tiny carved skulls, almost invisible to the naked eye. Only his years of training in examining artifacts allowed him to see them.

"You keep the creatures from the Void next to the Supports?"

"Only the Supports are patient and kind enough to deal with the troubled souls from the Void. It works out quite well, actually. I've even seen Soraka leading Kog'Maw around on a leash."

Ez snickered. "That's funny."

"Viktor stays over here too. He and Kassadin get on quite well."

"Who is Viktor? An almost-champ like Darian?"

Zandred had to muffle a laugh. "No, he's a champion. Not a very busy one, though."

"Ah."

Zandred led Ezreal to another pair of double doors. These ones were carved with intricate scrolling, and the Latin words "Tranquillitas. Veritas. Amamus."

"Peace, Truth, Love," Ezreal mused to himself. "Truth is an interesting word choice."

"I don't blame you for wanting to stay with the Supports," Zandred confessed. "They are some of the kindest people I've met." He pushed open the doors, and Ezreal's eyes widened.

He felt as if he were stepping into a forest on a warm spring day. A tree grew in the middle of the room, its large branches reaching towards the sun. A few flowers bloomed around it, and a massive window revealed a pavilion right outside the hall. Screw the statue, Ezreal thought. THAT'S where I'm going to be reading.

"Do the rooms really come with hottubs?" Ezreal asked when he could talk again.

"They do. Also, there's an indoor pool through that door," Zandred said, gesturing to Ezreal's right. "Your room will be right this way." He and Ezreal passed beneath the enormous tree. A small leaf fell into Ezreal's hair, and he brushed it out, eyes still wide with wonder.