The ranger ran her fingers up and down the soft velvety pouch one more time, her mouth sliced into a downward frown as they rubbed its thin empty folds together, and she hastily placed it back under her bed: now that the Prince's ring was not encased within its luxurious layers, it served no purpose. As she threw the bag under her bunk bed and resumed the frantic packing of her belongings, she thought back to when she had first acquired the Prince's metallurgical promise. Her mind flickered to three years ago, not long after their forbidden embrace on the Demacian training grounds, and now navigated through the haze of swaying bodies, the tangy scent of sweat and the adrenaline that ceased to infuse her veins with sheer ecstasy: the skinny country underdog had achieved her ranger's colours today, the first Demacian woman to do so. The pomp and circumstance of the ceremony had certainly been a shock to the system, but having been plied with unlimited luxuries and unending compliments, a younger Quinn's world was her oyster...tonight, she shimmered like its freshwater pearl. The celebrations were bittersweet for her, however, as she knew that her brother should have her to revel in the celebrations. What wouldn't she give to have him slap his sister's back in appreciation and tell her he was proud of her...her throat had tightened and she left the festivities through the portabello doors of Lightshield Castle to wander dazedly into the cool evening breeze.
It had been the first time ever that she'd seen the interior of this hauntingly beautiful dwelling for herself. Caleb and herself speculated as children how its ivory towers would look from the inside: he used to tell his wide-eyed sister of the plush Frejyordian bearskins that adorned its stone floors, of the delectable feasts permanently set out throughout the castle for its inhabitants to pick at, and of the indoor sparring quarters where Demacia's finest congregated to test out legendary weaponry. Quinn's soft pink lips tilted into a nostalgic smile as she contemplated the reality - sadly, she had found none of those things. She didn't think that Caleb would have minded too much: the Lightshields' residence had pleasantly twisted her mind with its beauty, whose walls she stroked as she walked. As she continued through the immaculately sculptured shrubbery of the grounds, the young ranger was surprised to find an amateurish swing had been fixed to the dense branches of a weeping willow. She ran her fingers against its harsh rope and down to its hastily shaped wooden seat, gingerly testing its strength before sitting down on it and giggling to herself at the absurdity of the situation. Did the Lightshields have children come to stay? She kicked off the abrasive strappy silver sandals that stabbed into her heels and let herself swing gently to and fro, laughing almost hysterically as her inner child delighted in the liberating motion.
'Quinn?'
The Wings of Demacia gasped and crumpled to the floor in shock at being discovered on this child's swing. Mumbling a bashful apology, she looked up and her flesh flamed with mortification as her eyes met the Exemplar's: though she tried to scramble herself up, he took hold of her hand and helped to heave her back onto her feet. She thanked him and then ducked her head, staring at the soft emerald grass that tickled her bare feet. 'Your Highness?'
'What are you doing out here, all by yourself?' he asked, tilting his head curiously as he surveyed her dishevelled form.
'I...' she froze as she wracked her brains for a plausible explanation. 'I just needed...'
'To unwind?' the Prince offered, smiling at the crime scene. He ran the frayed blue rope between his strong fingertips as Quinn had done, swinging it slightly and then halting its ascent with one hand, grinning at the flustered ranger. 'That's not against the law. It's been a long day for you.'
'Yes...but the best day of my life, too,' Quinn added, her face still stained scarlet from Jarvan having caught her indulging in playtime. 'My Highness… I have no excuse. I was fascinated with the wonderful gardens you have here...some of the greenery reminds me of home.'
'Are you homesick, ranger?'
'Well...yes and no,' she answered truthfully, though she grinned as he motioned for her to sit back onto the swing. She obliged and carefully sat down upon the weathered oak, her eyes shining with gratitude as his offer informed her that her little swing was not shameful. 'I love my life here...it can be difficult, it can be demoralising when you're going through a rough patch..but it can also be exhilarating too, and very rewarding. Like today, for instance. I've dreamt about this moment for so long, to be able to call myself a ranger and serve alongside the Vanguard. I wanted it ever since I was a little girl, when I shot my first arrow with my brother. It's finally come true, and it still hasn't fully sunk in yet. But all of this...' she gestured towards the Prince's home, her brow furrowed with anxiety. 'This is simply all too much for a country girl like me. It is stunning, my Prince, but I admit I am somewhat intimidated by my responsibilities and surroundings. I miss my old cottage out in the back of beyond sometimes: when I was there, I could just relax and not worry too much about the next thing I'm about to put my foot into.'
'Many are,' Jarvan shrugged, also looking up at the magnificent architecture and rubbing the back of his neck. 'You're not the first to be overwhelmed with the converging of normality and royalty, so don't worry Quinn. I am sorry that you miss your home, though - I understand how refreshing it is to seek sanctuary away from the pressures of life. Unfortunately, I only really get that on hunting trips or when I go for a wander in the grounds. This was my favourite spot as a boy.'
He smiled down at Quinn upon the swing and the gold dropped. 'This was your swing?'
'Yep,' he confirmed as he pulled back and laughed as he tugged softly on its supports. 'Took me several days to figure out how to tie the knot properly around it - my father chided me for spending all my time on this silly little swing, especially when it made me late for target practice. But I remembered seeing one in a tree of a peasant family's garden when my mother took me on an official engagement and I was fascinated with the concept. Pretty crap, isn't it?'
Quinn's mouth mouthed inaudible words as she tried to formulate a polite response and he chuckled again. 'It's okay, you're allowed to say it.'
'I think it's charming,' she countered, looping around in a circle with her feet. 'It shows great initiative for a little boy, my Prince. Not that I would expect anything less from you.'
'Smooth,' he laughed. 'I like that about you though, Quinn. As a Prince, you do tend to get a little sick of the sycophants that crawl up to my family and I. From you, though, I feel nothing but genuine compassion and good heartedness in your comments.'
'Don't mention it, my Prince,' she replied, before pushing herself up from the swing and grabbing her shoes. 'I suppose we best get back to the festivities, should we not?'
'No, I don't,' he said quietly, staring at the ranger with an unfathomable expression. 'I'm enjoying this conversation, aren't you?'
'Well…of course, my Prince,' Quinn giggled, bending down and clumsily strapping her shoes back onto her chilled feet. 'But I fear that Commander Crownguard would not enjoy it quite so much.'
Jarvan's inscrutable look thawed out and was replaced with pure curiosity. 'Oh?'
'Yeah. I mean…um…well, I don't know…it's not professional, is it? You shouldn't really be seen doing it by the others.'
Jarvan took several steps back, folding his arms as his thick dark eyebrows knitted together. 'Why? What have you heard?'
She gulped in a quick breath, scared that she had revealed too much. Her mind juggled the routes she could take before she decided on the truth. 'I heard what Garen said to you after…after what happened when we last trained together. I didn't mean to, I was trying to get my helmet-'
'Which bit?' he asked urgently, gently seizing each side of her arms. 'What did you hear, Quinn?'
The ranger nibbled her lip, shivering at his warm palms enveloping her skinny arms. She saw his eyes were widened with worry and she stuck to her honest intentions. 'That I was beneath you. That you should forget about me because I was a dirty little country girl, and you were had a worthier bloodline. But, more importantly, that you should stay away from me…'
Jarvan's breath caught in his throat as he considered his response. 'I am sorry Quinn…I'm sorry that you had to hear that. The Captain is a great man and my closest ally in the world, but I know that his choice of words is not always the most flattering. Yet…' he tailed off and gazed at her sadly, 'I have to agree with him that I was out of order. I think it was working in such a close space with a – let's face it - beautiful, talented and interesting girl,' he explained, sweeping his hand towards her and making her spine tingle. 'I just got over-excited and forgot myself. I just really, really wanted that to happen at the time, but please forgive me. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable.'
'Oh, no, I didn't feel uncomfortable-' Quinn started, before hesistating until the Prince's probing look encouraged her to continue. 'I-I didn't feel offended, my Prince. In fact, I…' she dropped her head down to the ground, scuffing a patch of grass with the toe of her heel like a child, and resigned herself to the truth.. 'I didn't mind it all. I liked it.'
'Huh. Is that so?' Jarvan pondered thoughtfully: though he did not sound annoyed, she dared not to look him in the eye and kept her head drooped as he continued. 'Oh, Quinn…'
She looked up at the soft lull in his voice and found him stood with his arms outstretched. Though part of her was screaming to leave him alone if she valued her position, the more dominant half pleaded with her heart to feel him in her arms again. She had been unable to shake their sweet encounter from her daydreams and knew that she should not let this friendly gesture of affection ignite the hope that simmered in her soul. They watched one another for a moment to determine their respective actions until she succumbed and hugged him hard. He planted a gentle kiss on the top of her head and buried his nose into her soft locks.
'Quinn?'
'Yes, my Prince?'
'Jarvan,' he countered in mocking anger. 'Get it right, my girl.'
'Jarvan,' she giggled into his shoulder before he pulled her back to look at her: she noted, however, that it was more guarded than when he had looked at her during their training. He sighed and rubbed her shoulders, whilst she fanned her slender fingers across his biceps.
'If I had my way, Quinn, we would not have stopped. Well, maybe at a certain point we would have stopped,' he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows and eliciting a blush from Quinn. 'But we wouldn't have stopped exploring each other, finding out how we both thought, what our lives were like, how we were together. And now…' the Prince looked down sadly with his beryl eyes at the wide-eyed ranger, tucking a lock of her short hair behind one pointed ear. 'I don't know what we're going to do about this. Surely you must feel this ache to discover what we mean to each other.'
'Jarvan, is…is this a joke?' the ranger asked, her eyes popping and voice hoarse with surprise. She backed away warily, her voice quiet and scared. 'Are you leading me on or something?'
'No,' he said firmly, taking hold of her hand and kissing it gently. 'No, I'm not. I'm being deadly serious when I say that I…I have never felt this way about anyone else before, but I know that because of who we both are, duty comes before desire. Please know that I'm, well…I'm crazy about you, Quinn.'
The ranger ripped her hand from his desperate grasp and retreated to behind the trickling leaves of the weeping willow. 'No. I can't trust you, Jarvan. You didn't stick up for me with Garen – as soon as he suggested that you leave me alone, you stopped defending me. I know you're in a bad spot, but I don't believe that you're as serious about this as you purport to be, and I refuse to believe that the Prince of Demacia is genuinely interested in a dirty little marsh rat.' Her anger was throbbing through her vocal cords and salty tears stung her wary eyes as she continued. 'Either way, what does it matter? There's nothing that can be done. You're a Prince, and I'm a peasant,' she laughed bitterly, drowning in the ridiculousness of the situation. 'Ha! I don't feel as if this will end in a forbidden fairytale, so don't get my hopes up. We live in a world of duty and politics, of swords and decorum. This won't work, Jarvan, even if you do have feelings for me. Which I doubt you do.'
'I will prove it,' he snapped, drawing himself up to his full height. 'Look…' he fumbled within the neck of his dinner jacket, looking quite bizarre for a moment before drawing out a chain around his neck. He undid it and beckoned Quinn closer, with the latter forgetting her anger as she shuffled forward to look in his hand at the stunning silver chain that was snaked in his hand. On its end, there was a gorgeous diamond ring swinging on its support that glinted mysteriously in the moonlight. Quinn stumbled backwards and glared at Jarvan, her eyes flashing with fury and white skin stretched taut across the bones in her fest.
'What are you playing at, Jarvan?' she hissed, all of royal etiquette ebbing from her body as she confronted him one-on-one. 'Have you genuinely gone mad?'
'Yes, but not in the way you think I have, wifie, ' he countered sarcastically, seizing hold of her arm and spinning her away from him. She protested and was about to turn back round, but his strong arms locked around her as he fastened the necklace around her slender swan's neck. 'There. It's not a proposal, but this was my mother's. I want you to have it, Quinn. Take this as a sign that I am serious, please.'
Quinn opened her mouth to argue, but caught sight of the jewel sparking in the moonshine and was temporarily silence. 'It's beautiful,' was all she could whisper as she tenderly turned it between her fingers.
Satisfied that they now both had their hot tempers in check, Jarvan turned her gently to look at him and cupped her face in his hands. 'This is a promise, Quinn,' he breathed to her, sweeping his thumb against her flushed cheekbones. 'A promise that, whatever happens in the future, everything will work out in the end. There is something between us, that's undeniable. I've tried to fight it ever since I met you, but…sometimes there's things that being a Prince can't prepare you for.'
Quinn heaved in a heartbroken sigh as the memories watered down and she cursed herself for the moping faze that her mind had slipped into, attempting to squash the sadness with a mental reiteration of her inventory. Keys, arrows, money, documents…she physically checked the contents of the stitched satchel slung over her hip, her fingertips running over its gentle suede surface to feel the items beneath. Tracing the outline of the miniature clay yordle doll that her mother had sculptured for the baby Quinn, the range felt her heart tug towards the parents she never knew. Peeling back the section where her thick falconry glove ended and the hard Demacian armour began, she was calmed by the sight of Caleb's threaded bracelet clinging loyalty to her wrist. On the eve of such a perilous mission, it brought the daunted ranger some comfort and faith in her abilities to wear his woven love on her sleeve. She straightened up and cast one wistful glance at her quarters, sucking in another deep breath, before shutting the door on the past and finally setting out for ventures anew.
As she passed through the Vanguard's barracks, her eyes prickled with the memories of mucking in with the lads: the memories of towel chases, jovial pranks and throaty sing-songs danced and yelped around her as her boots clicked audibly on the polished wooden slats. She remembered walking in for the first time as a skinny little girl of eighteen, her cheeks flushed with the triumph of achieving her ranger's colours and becoming the first female ranger of the Vanguard. She braced herself firmly for a repeat of the sexist remarks uttered by her instructors all throughout her Guard training, her mouth as dry as the Shurima desert, but she was instead greeted warmly by one battle worn hand after the next and dazzled by the proud smiles of her new comrades as they accepted her into the Guard. Satisfied that she was suitably tough if she had managed to earn her colours, the men went easy with her initiation and she was fondly nicknamed 'Wings' by her closest confidants. For once, in her whole short, yet overwhelmingly chaotic life, she had felt as if she was no longer forcing her piece of the puzzle into an unfavourable slot: now she slipped in with ease and completed the picture of a Demacian army that was just, noble and tolerant. She had flinched when an order was barked at her as a mere rookie, but after she was awarded her colours, Quinn felt her heels automatically snap together and she was psyched at the prospect of fulfilling her next task.
Quinn could see the men sparring in the distance and she felt a jolt of regret surge through her chest…if Lux went back on her word, would she have to give up what she loved? Across the field from the barracks, she could see Garen thundering orders at his men and gesticulating menacingly with his sword as he demonstrated a new technique. Though the personalities of the brusque Captain and his resistant ranger often clanged against another like a blade on a shield, she could not supress her immense respect for his prowess as a military commander. Her vows to him relentlessly smacked her soul as she continued to wander away from the royal grounds, especially as she caught side of the Golden Round shimmering in the summer light: it was there that she had trembled in front of thousands nearly three years ago as she accepted her colours from Garen in exchange for exhaustless service. 'Repeat after me,' the Captain had boomed, slamming his hand to his polished chest plate and dropped his eyes to stare into hers. Quinn, squinting hard against the stunning sunshine, remembered how she felt the tendons in her knees shudder and her intestines tangle together, but she pressed her sweaty palm to her heart and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.
'I, Mistress Quinn, of the Demacian domain…'
'I, Mistress Quinn, of the Domacian demain…' Quinn gasped at her nervous spoonerism and squeezed her eyes shut together in frustration, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as the titters trickled from the audiences. She opened her eyes to see Garen heave an exasperated sigh before pointedly clearing his throat above the derisive laughter. 'Let us try again. I, Mistress Quinn, of the Demacian domain...'
'Hereby pledge my heart and sword, always, for Demacia,' she repeated after him, her eyes brimming with bittersweet tears as she was sworn into the Guard. 'To protect the faithful, to stand ready for the Vanguard, and to never yield in the distribution of justice.'
'As Captain of the Dauntless Vanguard, I bestow the title 'Wings of Demacia' upon you on the condition that you uphold its responsibilities with the utmost respect, pride and devotion,' her superior bargained, drawing back and glancing at Quinn for any hesitance on her part. She nodded fervently, her hand still shoved against her quivering heart, before stooping into an honourable bow. 'I will,' she replied simply, her radiant hazel eyes burning with the fire stoked by the Captain's patriotism. Yet, as the ranger now left her life behind in Demacia and stormed out of the city's boundaries, she could not ignore the twisting guilt of disobeying the vows through which her life had finally been given meaning.
