1 - Fiora, Jarvan IV
The eyes that appeared out of the Great Barrier were never that grey.
Before his proud visage had been marred with the dishonor of defeat, before his stalwart honor had been hassled by the horrors of humiliation, before his unchecked confidence had been thwarted by the unpredictability of warfare, he dreamed of fairytale promises of conquest and glory, of golden aegises and silver sabers, of knights and lords mounting their stallions and riding out to battle to triumph over their enemies in an all-encompassing blaze of victory.
The scribe would choose to begin his narrative with the first campaign of the modern era, an age denoted by the time the youngest Lightshield turned eighteen and subsequently deemed fit to lead a battalion of soldiers against the kingdom's sworn enemy, the city-state of Noxus. However, the ink of the quill ran deeper than that, rewinding the sands of time one year before.
He never believed that clothes made the man. On the contrary, the more effort put into preparing his appearance before a court appointment, the more nervous he became. Sighing to himself, he wished, not for the first time, that he could receive members of the nobility in his casual attire and leave the frills, jewels, and robes out of the way. He understood the etiquette which everyone expected of him, however, and no matter how new the upcoming knight may have been to the royal guard, if they had proven adequate to serve as his personal knight-at-arms, then it was his burden to treat him with the respect he deserved and the respect which a Lightshield would be prepared to offer.
Chiding himself for his uneasiness as he began his descent down the spiral staircase of the palace, he stopped for a minute to adjust the strings of his shirt. Why do you have to be nervous when you're only meeting the new knight? They wouldn't be different from any of the others you've come across before. Careful not to accidentally undo the knot which was holding the collar together, he mused that the strict standards at which the nobility wore dress shirts probably led to his jitters, further wondering how people could move so freely under the constraints of such inhibiting clothing.
In order to take his mind off the upcoming encounter, he posed a question to the man walking alongside him. "Can you tell me anything more about this new knight, Count Riddell?"
The count, a fairly stout man in his late forties with a thick mustache and a jovial demeanor, mulled over his knowledge before coming up with an answer. "I'm afraid the records do not hold anything substantial about them, my prince. The baron of Defienne has only reported of the new recruit's incredible skill with the blade, with top of the class marks in every commonly used type of sword. Other than this unusual proficiency, their resumé looks fairly unremarkable. One has to wonder about what classified information the Lightshield inner circle possesses which would drive to them to such a choice, but I suppose that secret lies with the Council of Arbiters."
Count Riddell continued drabbling on about a couple of aristocratic matters which he honestly found trivial and downright boring, but his patience was soon rewarded when they reached the end of the staircase and made their way down the velvet carpet, parting ways with a cordial handshake and a typical Demacian farewell before he continued his solitary journey into the room where his knight-at-arms was waiting to finally meet him. A couple of last minute ponderings entered his mind, most of them quite silly given the swiftly encroaching time of arrival. What if I'm taller than him? What if I mispronounce their name? What if they refuse to work with me? He was careful to specify 'with' rather than 'for' - he did not consider himself an employer who contracted a bodyguard for the sole purpose of requiring protection. Such a cowardly act would be typical of a weak noble who could not fend for themselves. The power of a knight-at-arms allowed for a prince to begin their military career alongside an equal, or someone of higher skill than them, able to mentor and guide them through the demanding toll the way of the soldier imposed. His knight would act as the elder brother he never had, he hoped.
The surveyor of the grounds stood at the doorway expectantly, straightening up when the prince walked near. Before he would come face-to-face with his knight, there was some archaic ritual to perform. In the days of the first king, it would have included an offering of blood, typically done by wounding himself with a broken sword, but the constraints of modernity immensely watered down the process, and only an incantation consisting of reciting a few lines remained.
He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself. The surveyor signalled him to step forward, coming within a couple of paces of the door. "Speak your intent, Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth."
"Heed my words. My will creates your crusade, and your sword creates my destiny. If you hear the empire's call and obey its justice and reason, then accept my contract. I hereby swear that I shall be all the good in the world, that I shall defeat all evil in the world. And let no wicked mind cloud thine eyes with the fog of malice and chaos, as I keep thine spirit away from the cage of madness. By the seventh heaven clad in the scarlet vows of power, come forth from your bindings, Knight of Knights."
A weight seemed to lift from his shoulders as he finished the ritual, turning the knob of the door and entering the room. For all his preparation and the solemn monologue he had delivered to calm his sense, he could not help but jump slightly in surprise.
Rising from a kneeling position, which he had presumed they were waiting in the whole time, stood a distinctively feminine face adorned by medium-length black hair, a single streak of red showing a rebellious side to the otherwise stately countenance. She was clad in the typical armor of Demacian knights, mostly silver with the colors of blue and gold displayed on the forearms. A matching silver scabbard hung at her waist as his mind wandered back to what Count Riddell had mentioned. Incredible skill with the blade. Is this really my knight? I have never once heard of a woman serving as a knight in Demacia's entire history, let alone for the royal family. Maybe this is a mistake-
"I ask of you," his knight spoke softly, "are you my master?"
A/N: are you sick of my non-Trinity stories yet? I was really bored and I googled that 100 theme thing on deviantart because I needed an excuse to make yet another document with all of my short ideas on there, but there's a difference with this one. With each theme I write I may or may not create an entirely new pair of characters to depict, or I may continue on from old story lines. So this will be very disjointed, but at the start of each chapter I'll tell you what's going on.
I also ripped off super super super hard from Fate/Zero at the end but I had the soundtrack in my head when I wrote this pls no hate