The capital was just as he remembered. Extravagant in its architecture, but far too garish for his tastes.
"Pfft, what is this? Some sort of art project gone wrong?" Jarvan looked down at Shyvana, pacing along next to his horse, as was usual by now.
"Believe me, if I could change it, I would," he grunted.
"So what should I do when we get there? Pretend to be a menacing beast, growl when people look at me?" Shyvana mimed a clawing motion with her hand.
"Just stay quiet and follow my lead."
As they approached the city limits, Jarvan and his men unfurled their flags, bearing the bright blue and yellow of Demacia. Wordlessly, he handed his lance to her. She gave him a questioning look, but accepted the lance.
They were close to the gate now, the great yellow block, looking so very out of place, as if it had been stolen from another city and placed there without regard to its the surroundings. Jarvan chuckled as Shyvana grimaced at the sight.
Finally, somebody who mirrored his sentiments was wasn't afraid to voice their opinion. Most were inclined to praise the city, its gate, with unfounded flattery. Extravagant. Monumental, they'd say. Hogwash, he knew, for most outsiders couldn't stand the sight of the city. He had lived there his entire life, and even he wasn't used to it. Only the palace really embodied the "shining beacon of hope," as they called it. Everything else was juxtaposed into a disorganized mess. It was almost as if the builders and architects had planned it that way, as if they were meaning to—
"Were they trying to blind enemies? Put so many colors and shapes together in an ugly mish-mash so that nobody would ever be tempted to conquer or even enter this ugly city?" Shyvana interrupted his thoughts.
"Perhaps," Jarvan chuckled.
She was a good match, perfect for the position he wanted to grant her when they arrived at the palace. Boy would she be surprised. He could almost see the look on her face.
Truthfully, first and only thing he wanted to do upon return to the palace was to hop in his fluffy down-covered bed and sleep. But he couldn't. He had things to take care of first. Things he would have rather delegated to others, but couldn't as they were his "duty." Jarvan rubbed his temples.
First things first. He had to designate a position to the newest addition to his military, the Half Dragon. His men, the two who were left, had long gone their way, and for the past hour, it had just been the two of them delighting each other's company. By delight, he meant an uncomfortable silence. The palace was a myriad of twists and turns, plenty of hidden corridors and dead ends. It was no wonder assassins were rarely sighted in these halls, one could spend their entire lives drudging around the servant's quarters. Had he not been living there his entire life, he was quite sure he would be wearing the same look of abject confusion his follower was presently wearing. Apparently she was not trained in the art of masking her emotions.
Jarvan made a mental note never to send her on a covert mission. She would be as useful a spy as a cat with a tassel. They trudged past several groups of guards before stopping in front of a very large, very heavy oak door, simply adorned with inlaid gold. Jarvan nodded at the single guard, and waited as the door swung open with a resounding creak.
"We're here," he said to no one in particular. He bit back a laugh as he watched Shyvana's face. For some time now, she had been wearing a glum expression, one that he had not seen even when he had held her captive. Now, she wore a look of pure confusion. They were in the Coronation Hall. It was obvious that his partner had never been in, much less seen one. The room was lined with pews like a cathedral, with flying buttresses and tapestries of velvet; the back wall illuminated by the last light of the day, cast from an intricate stained glass portrait just above the wooden doors. In the center stood a stage, backed by three thrones, one for each member of the royal family. The place served as a multipurpose chamber, and it was here that they often met with the townsfolk.
"Come," said Jarvan, motioning to the stage, "kneel in front of the stairs."
As Shyvana took her place, he reached behind one of the thrones and drew a sword from behind one of the chairs. "Just a formality," stated Jarvan, as he stood above her, and raised the sword above his head with both hands.