The Lightshield Dynasty

Chapter I – The Death of a King

The name of Lightshield breaths fire of patriotism into the hearts of all Demacians. My father stood at the head of this nation, and with his standard of Gold and Blue, erected the greatest nation in all of Valoran, where justice above all else is sought for, where strength and valor were respected and honored, where buildings of marble, intricate in design and a spectacle to behold, were raised. Demacia was beautiful, its people united, its King just and right, and its air royal and fair.

My father, King Jarvan Lightshield, the first of his name, stood true to the name of his house. Lightshield, to protect that which is good, to protect the light, from all those evil and unjust, all those vile and corrupt, to fend off the darkness. He had enemies, of course, but there was only ever one true enemy in his eyes, in the eyes of the nation. Noxus.

Even in his age, a man of seven and fifty years, he stood tall and muscled. The statues of his likeness, with all their chiseled features, could not compare to his grandeur and his might. He led the country, he was their King. As much as a father could respect a son, to see him as a man rather than child, I looked at my father and saw his conviction, saw his righteous glory and saw the man that he was. He was my father, but, more than that, he was my King, a man I would forever respect and strive to be, a man a nation would respect, a man a nation would never forget.

At my birth, he gave me his own name. Now, how could I possibly surmount the name of Jarvan Lightshield? I strived to be him, I was honorable, respectable, but I was never him, Never Jarvan Lightshield, but I was content with that, content with the fear of failing his name. I could never amount to a fraction of the man my father was. But then again, no one could. But there was one thing I could do. I could be King, I could be Jarvan Lightshield, the second of his name, and stand in glory of Gold and Blue and lead the nation not in my name but the name of my father, of the beloved Jarvan Lightshield, and we as a whole will strive to his see his vision of righteousness. A world, just and right, a world of good and peace.

But, sadly, peace was far from our sight, a war loomed over Demacia. At his age of seven and fifty, he took to the fields with solders, with his countrymen, with all of Demacia at his back, and they rode into battle, galloping atop of mighty warhorses that towered over most men, with steel in hand and the standard of gold and blue flying high, singing songs of inspiration to all those who called themselves "Demacian", giving them pride and strength. But more than the flag of Demacia, was the King himself, riding vanguard, leading his men. He once said, no King should ever expect his men to fight for him when he himself would not fight for his men.

Noxus was outnumbered, ten Demacians for every Noxian. They were pushed back to their gates, but war is war, and war is unpredictable. In war, both sides suffer casualties. The Noxians lost their general, a warmonger named Sion, a man who only saw red with a bloodlust unmatched by any man, beast or demon. The world was a better place without him walking the earth…but, both sides had sustained losses…

All of Demacia was quiet, hushed as the solders marched back from victory, but upon each of their faces a grim expression. I was tasked with the defense of the city, so I had stayed in Demacia while our armies marched out to Noxus under the command of my father. I remember the day Jarvan Lightshield, the first of his name, came home, not as my King, but as my father.

Women hushed their children, holding in their sobs, not allowing themselves even a whimper as the children worriedly pulling on their skirts, unaware of what happened, their fathers hung their heads and tightened their fists, the children seeing, for the first, and most likely the last time, the image of their father crying. I stood in the city square, the only sound to be heard the flapping of flags. The large fountain, whose water flowed crystal, ceased to flow, the surface of it reflecting my image to me as if it were a mirror, the water cold as ice and still as stone.

Many residents were crowding around the square, and those who couldn't fit found other positions to take audience, whether it be on the sides of the main road leading to the gate, from the windows of the buildings made from white stone and dark wood, peeping from the alleys, all were present. The silence was deafening, the air of Demacia weighted, but still, as I knew what was to come, I stood as my father did, tall, with strong firm shoulders, awaiting for the blow that would strike not only me but all of Demacia.

The ranks stood in the entrance of the square, a single man stepping forward. In his hand, he held high the lance my father used on the fields, crimson gleaming on its blade and the Demacian standard, torn and red with blood, flying high. As I stepped toward him, his gaze fell to the ground, his face twisted in pain as I saw tears fall to where his gaze was set. His hands tightened even more around the lance. He fell to one knee so suddenly it hurt, holding out the lance horizontally.

"My King," he said. He could not look me in the eye. He was the head general, the man who rode beside my father, the man who failed him. How could he look me in the eye? The blame was on him, and although I held no ill feelings to him, he was subject to the blame and feelings he held for himself. I gripped the lance, taking it in my hands.

Raising it high, I brought it down with great strength, burying it in the ground, breaking the pavement and cracking the earth, the flag high and proud, showing signs of blue and gold and crimson. The general looked up, surprised by the action. A slight murmur ran through the sea of people gathered, but they hushed as I spoke.

"Today, Demacia has been victorious in its struggle against Noxus!" I roared, my words echoing throughout all of the city-state. "Today, we mourn for the fallen, for the brave men who died for justice and order! Today, we mourn for the soldiers! For our fellow men! For all the Demacians who could not return to be with us today! Today, we mourn for Jarvan Lightshield, First of His Name and King of Demacia!"

The crowds exploded with shouts and cries, all cheering, "Demacia! Demacia!" and when those cries died out, they were only replaced with louder, more deafening cheers of "LONG LIVE THE KING!"

They looked to me as their King now. My presence would invoke patriotism in their hearts, set ablaze their spirits with the fire of righteousness, just as my father's had. They looked to me, Jarvan Lightshield, the Second of His Name and King of Demacia.

And I looked to them, I saw their sobbing faces, not as a prince anymore, but as a king.

And I ran.