Chapter 20: Worthy
There was no warmth, no company, only cold silence, topped with a dreadful sense of loneliness. She had no idea how long she had walked, but walk she did, for it was the only thing she could do now.
She knew she was dead, she was sure of it. She felt herself giving in, her heartbeat slowing until it could beat no more. Then she was in a daze, and she knew she was near.
What she did not know was the journey after death. She expected something, an afterlife perhaps, but all that was left after death was nothingness. There was no heaven or hell, like those fables she always heard when she was a child. Bad kids were always punished in hell, she remembered. The good ones ascend to heaven, where food and wine are always bountiful, and the landscapes are often lush and beautiful.
Perhaps I belong nowhere, she thought morosely. I was forsaken in life. Now forsaken in death. It makes no difference.
She kept walking until she heard a long, soft whistle. It travelled from afar, and its sweet, melodious tones reached her ears. The morose and woe in her was lost for a moment when she heard the tune, replaced by curiosity and wonder. She approached the source of the sound, believing it to grow louder as she went closer to it.
Suddenly, her pinpricked vision widened, and she found herself standing among a forest of apple trees. "An orchard," the words tumbled out of her lips before she knew it, and she looked around in surprise, knowing that this place looked familiar somehow. The lush green grass swayed to the sweet, summer breeze. The air was filled with a tart smell, and the sweet scent of baked goods in the distant. An apple fell from a tree, landing on the soft cushion of green grass with a gentle thud. She turned to the trail, where it led down to the exit of the orchard, revealing a small cozy cottage just beyond the wooden fence.
The wooden gate was opened, and she went past it. All was silent save for the chirping of birds. The cottage remained still, freed of all activity around it. At one side of the fenced area, was a large plot of land, where all the crops grew. Peas, potato plants and gourds grew in abundance. She cocked her head with a confused stare – was there no one living here?
Then the whistle got louder, and when Shyvana looked out, she saw a figure approaching – a man, by the looks of it. Strong and sturdy, with a pile of firewood bundled together and dragged behind him; a woodcutter's axe resting on his broad, thick shoulders. The sun shone fiercely, and when the man came into her view, the sun's glare reflected off his golden skin, beads of sweat rolling down and soaking his dirty tunic and breeches.
His white hair was close cropped, and his beard occasionally trimmed. His impressive physique was not just for show, as he huffed and hurled the pile of wood upon one shoulder, then throwing them down into a baked clay well just beside the house. When he stood beneath the shadows of the house, only did Shyvana realize that his skin was truly golden, like a sheet of polished gold. When he turned around to wipe the sweat off his forehead, she saw how his eyes were two fiery ambers, just like hers.
Her father.
She approached him sceptically, not knowing what to say. But her father paid her no heed, as though she did not exist. Shyvana stood awkwardly and watched her father work through the pile of wood, throwing out the bad ones that were infested with damp fungus. He whistled as he worked, as though his only worry right now was to stock up for winter. He wasn't worried about his daughter, or the drake that was always after them. He sounded carefree, healthy and happy.
Shyvana blinked her tears away – it had been a long time since she had seen this side of her father: happy and free of worries.
The creak of the wooden door was what caught her attention. She turned abruptly, watching as a woman, very much pregnant, standing at the entrance of the cottage. The woman wore a coif and a loose yellow dress, befitting her glowing smile. She stood basked in the sun's warmth, her hands at her hips as she stretched languidly, her eyes closed and lips curled in a smile full of content. Her prominent stomach stood out, and Shyvana noticed her braided red hair beneath her coif, flowing down her back.
The more she watched, the sadder she got.
"Someone's early," her father chuckled. His deep, baritone voice sounded so young, and Shyvana longed to hear more of it. "I thought you would sleep the whole morning away. Do I smell egg tarts?"
The woman giggled. "If I don't wake up any earlier, who will tend to the crops? And yes, I baked them this morning. How fares the trade?"
"Splendidly," he remarked. He approached her. "Though walking around the market square with my cloak on was a little uncomfortable. How is our little child?" he knelt down and held her stomach, pressing his lips to the bulge. The woman laughed, her voice sweet and mellow to both Shyvana and her father's ears.
"She kicked this morning," she placed her hand over his, caressing her stomach together. "That's how I woke. Feisty little child, she is,"
He looked up at her with an arched brow, slightly confused. "'She'?"
The woman nodded. "A girl. With my hair and your eyes, our pride and joy,"
"But how do you know?"
She looked over her cottage, the billowing smoke from the chimney and the summer's bountiful harvest. A smile brightened up her face, and she simply said, "I just know it. And I've thought of her name,"
Her father's smile broadened, and he remained silent, wanting her to continue.
"Shyvana," she said. "Our child," The man stood and laughed with her, pressing their foreheads together. She did not seem to mind how sweaty he was, and they both shared a kiss, hands still pressed lovingly to her protruding stomach.
Her name – her mother's first gift for her.
Meanwhile, the half-dragon watched as her parents shared an intimate moment from a distance. Had death allowed her to revisit the past? She tried hard to hold back her tears, knowing how her mother would soon come to dislike the child, knowing she could never get what she wanted if she were to ever lay with her father. There was no happy ending.
But she watched them, being happy for now. She did not know how long the vision would play out, or what will happen next. She glanced over the cottage and the orchard full of ripe, juicy apples, the distant horizon of green mountains and lazy sunrise, the small and quiet town not far from their home, now teeming with villagers who had just awoken – all enjoying the long summer that never seemed to end.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice spoke, and the half-dragon turned around. A man dressed in traditional robes stood a few feet behind her, a cowl that concealed his hair but not his white ashen beard that flowed down his chest. His white and gold robes stood out in the lush greenery, and the man took off his cowl, revealing grey, stormy eyes that was not fixed on Shyvana but the couple behind her.
"You can see me," Shyvana said rhetorically.
"Why else would I be talking to you?" the man, though elderly but still elegant and graceful in his gait, scoffed.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who owes his dear brother a debt. And I intend to repay it," he stopped when he was beside her, still looking at the half-dragon's parents. "Oh, how infatuated he was with that human girl. She was quite lovely, indeed, for a human's standard. I have watched this past of his a thousand times, but I still cannot understand how he could give up everything for her. For me, the price is too much,"
Shyvana could not understand, but she remained silent. As he spoke, she realized how familiar his voice was, but she could not tell when or where she had heard it before. The old man noticed her confusion, and spoke.
"Your father was the wisest and smartest among the rest of us. His purpose was to educate and advise so the species survives. Which was why he was gifted the ability to shift into any forms he desired, just so he could adapt to a civilization of any race or species, to teach them.
"We were both as old as time. Unlike terrestrial dragons, we live forever until we have served our purpose completely. And your father just threw it all away when he decided to reside with a human. We were made to serve, not to entertain our own desires and follies. Aurus Signum lost all his knowledge and memories of his own great deeds, and he was punished to forget even more as he aged. When you were born, he could only remember things that happened for the past century,"
Shyvana listened intently. The old man nodded approvingly, seeing how she did not interrupt even though she was trying very hard to understand.
"And they took his gift away," he spoke in sombre tunes. "Not all of it at once, but slowly. Until he could only shift between his dragon and human form. And now you see, he was trapped between his human and dragon form – his golden skin and amber eyes showed. Can you see how his gift was waning? To us, he lost everything. But to him, had he truly lost anything?"
The couple now entered the house, closing the door on them with a thud. Shyvana's eyes turned melancholic, but she had more questions than answers. She turned to the old stranger. "But who are they?"
He stared at her, and she found his grey eyes rather unnerving. "The ones who created us and everything else in Runeterra. No one knows who they are, yet everyone knows of their existence. Not even Celestial beings know who they truly are. But does it matter? This world is their game. We are just the pieces. They keep the ones who complied, and sacrificed the ones who disobeyed.
"But that does not matter," his gaze turned serious. "I am here to give you a message. And I have little time left. I need to fulfill my deal with your father,"
"What deal?"
"He gave me the knowledge of shapeshifting. But there was so much, so this is the only form I can take," he gestured to his human form. "In exchange, he wanted you to come to me. So come to Ionia, half-dragon. Come to Ionia and seek the Hirana Monastery. There you will find a man named Udyr, and he will do all the rest,"
"And why should I believe you?"
The old man's face twisted in anger, before he let forth a mocking laughter. "I imbued your broken body with strength and called forth a storm though a thousand leagues away, so that you can keep fighting on that ship. And you doubt me? Are you stupid, child?"
Her memories flickered back aboard the Dead Pool, when she laid dying after Gangplank had defeated her. She then understood why that voice sounded so familiar.
She shook her head. "But I am dead. The harpoon, I felt it,"
"Nonsense," the old man scoffed. "I thought you knew better, halfwit. If you were truly dead, I wouldn't be here, showing you this vision which I have watched a thousand times,"
Her eyes flared with anger. The old man was oblivious to her glare, and instead snorted with sarcasm.
"Remember. Find Udyr at the Hirana Monastery. Someone as stupid as you are can't forget an instruction as simple as that,"
"If I go to Ionia," she asked. "What then?"
"I'll teach you all you need to know, and see if you're a true dragon. Don't disappoint me, Shyvana," he lifted a hand sizzling with power, and Shyvana knew he was going to leave. But she was adamant, and wished to know more.
"At least tell me your name!" she shouted.
His hand gripped her forehead with force. His power burnt into her skull, scorching her skin as she screamed. A dull ache bloomed, before it flared into a throbbing headache, until it turned excruciating and unbearable.
"Ao Shin," he whispered, his voice dangerous and terrifying. "The Storm Dragon,"
And all went black.
She felt the need to gasp loudly when she was finally conscious. The searing headache was gone, but it was so painful it left her heart hammering hard against her chest. But she restrained, and all that left her lips was a soft whimper, nothing more.
Her eyes remained closed, but behind her lids her eyes rolled restlessly. She subtly moved her fingers – a sense of content bloomed in her when her fingers twitched in response. She knew she was lying down, her head resting on something soft. She could feel the gentle rocking of a boat, and she knew the prince and his company still hadn't reached land yet.
Shyvana felt the urge to reach for her stomach, to feel the harpoon where it pierced her back and through her abdomen. She felt it, she was sure of it. Yet, now she laid there, painless and only a little exhausted. The half-dragon heard the wind whipping, and felt the boat rocking more violently. Oddly, she felt no chill. Only warmth.
A hand rested on her forehead, warm and gentle. It stroked gently, fingers running through her hair. She was about to open her eyes, until someone spoke. That voice she recognized, and its owner who was always hateful and condescending.
"Oh, prince," August lamented. His voice was without contempt or sarcasm, only woe. "You are madly in love, are you not?"
A soft sigh. "That is a strong word, August. I'm not ready for that,"
"You know what she is," August said.
"I do,"
"Not just a commoner or a lowlife, but a half-breed,"
"That I know too,"
"Yet you're besotted with her," a slight shifting sound of fabric scraping against wood. Oars still rowed. "From the day you've met her, you've always find her intriguing,"
The prince said nothing.
"You wanted to take her back to Demacia, and it's not just because she's a boon to the military, yes?"
Shyvana's eyelid twitched.
Jarvan did not speak for a long time. "Yes," he admitted, and Shyvana could imagine him looking anywhere but August's eyes, his head hung low in shame.
"Jarvan, my lord," August warned, but it sounded more like a plea. "A prince marries not for love,"
"But for duty," Jarvan finished.
"Remember your duty to the crown, prince. You are the Exemplar of Demacia. If our shining example can't choose his duty over his desires, what would his people think? You are already betrothed to Lady Luxanna Crownguard,"
"An agreement that was made three years after I was born," Jarvan said spitefully. "Lux wouldn't want it either. She's just a child,"
"A child, yes," August agreed. "A prodigious child that was forced into the College. Just like how every other child was forced into the military before they became soldiers. 'Loyalty to the crown before everything else', have you forgotten?"
"I have not," Jarvan protested. "Which is why I am going home, right after I keep my promise to her," his hand caressed her cheek, and she found it rather endearing.
What August said though, strangely, the news did not surprise her. It wasn't enough to enrage her or make her weep, but Shyvana could not shake off an odd feeling that conjured inside her when she heard that news.
The odd feeling which something inside her just withered a little.
She did not remember falling asleep, but when she woke again she opened her eyes without hesitation. The sun's glare met her, and she squinted her eyes as she hastily lifted a hand, shielding her eyes against the light. She yawned.
The half-dragon waited for the dark spots obscuring her vision to slowly fade away, then she looked up. Jarvan sat cross-legged, with her head on his lap and his head lolling to one side, sound asleep. His chest rose and fell with slow, rhythmic breathing. Shyvana could only imagine how uncomfortable his position must be.
She was about to reach out to nudge his hand, until she noticed a stunning golden cloak that covered her. It took her a while to realize it was her own cloak with her father's golden hide, glimmering with thousands of scales. Baffled, she smoothed a hand over the beautiful cloak, her mouth slightly agape with wonder.
Opposite her, Lance rowed, but his back was to her so he did not realize she was awake.
"Jarvan," she nudged his hand weakly. The prince only groaned in his sleep, so the half-dragon shook his hand harder. "Jarvan," she called again.
This time, the prince woke, his eyes still bleary with sleep. He stretched his arms and sighed as his back popped, before looking down and seeing Shyvana staring back at him. His eyes shot wide open, before his lips broke into a grin.
"You're awake," he sounded grateful, and quickly reached for his waterskin. He uncorked it and lifted her head slightly, dipping the skin so she could drink. Shyvana accepted without another word of complaint, letting him help her for once.
Once she was done, she saw how he rubbed his back unconsciously. That movement was very subtle, but she realized how tired he must have been. Then she remembered how he cradled her head in his lap. Were his legs numb as well?
"You look exhausted. Have you been sitting like that for the entire night?" she asked, her voice still weak and soft as a whisper, but the prince heard nonetheless.
"Well, a little," he shifted slightly, but he was careful not to move her head too much. "How do you feel? You've been asleep for two days,"
She frowned. "Two days?"
"Aye. I don't know how far away we are from land, but Lance says we're close," the prince drank from his skin as well. "We just have to believe him,"
She did not speak again, watching Jarvan as he looked over the horizon with the sunlight gleaming in his dark hair. His beard was even shaggier than before, and she saw the dark circles beneath his eyes, his blue eyes which spoke of weariness and lethargy. His hand unknowingly stroked her hair, but he did not seem to notice it. Surprisingly, Shyvana did not mind that contact.
"Did you sew the cloak?" she asked. Jarvan blinked quickly as he snapped into attention, their eyes locked onto each other.
"Aye. Your handicraft is shit," he chuckled lightly. "So I fixed it,"
Shyvana shared his humour, and even smiled a little. Perhaps she was too tired to return a snide comment.
"How am I still alive?" she asked. "I couldn't have survived that wound, you and I know that,"
"You were dead," his voice broke slightly as he said that. "Remember the Marai we saved?"
She nodded.
"A whole flock of them surrounded us. The leader thanked us, and they used water magic on you. I didn't think it was possible, but well, here you are – alive and well. There's bound to be a scar, though,"
"It's fine," she sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm not complaining,"
"Prince!" Alfie suddenly called out, his voice filled with excitement. "I see land!"
Jarvan turned to the direction Alfie was pointing, and his eyes widened in awe. Ahead of them, the sea was teeming with activity. Hundreds of merchant ships and trading galleys were docked at the harbour. People walked to and fro on the dock, and even from here, they could hear the buzz of the assemblage of merchants and sailors screaming from their ships.
"We have arrived," Jarvan marvelled.
They docked at the busy harbour, but far enough from all the ships and sailors just so they could avoid attention. Jarvan's men climbed out of the boat quickly, retrieving their rations and stolen supplies. Jarvan helped the half-dragon out, who protested and insisted she could walk on her own, though there was still a slight limp in her stride.
"Where the hell are we?" August growled.
"I don't know," Lance sheathed his swords at his hips. "But this place is busy and crowded, it's a good sign,"
Jarvan kicked a pebble aimlessly. "We have to know where we are, and how far we are from the Ironspike Mountains. If the drake passed through here, surely the townspeople had seen him,"
"If the drake passed through here," Shyvana said. "He would have razed this town to the ground,"
"Still, we can get tales and gossips from the sailors. And stock up supplies, not to mention my swords need a little sharpening," Lance drew one of his swords, and purposely nicked the edge with his fingers. He grunted with disapproval.
"Perhaps," August agreed, for once. "What if we're on Noxian soil?"
"Then I suggest we be careful," Jarvan removed his armour pieces, arranged them nicely in a sack and wrapped them up. He took out a cloak and wrapped himself with it, once again dressed in commoner's tunic and breeches. "Shyvana and I will have to find a way to sneak into the town, she's bloody all over. She'll attract everyone like moths to a fire,"
"When do we meet up?" August asked.
"First light," Jarvan spoke with a voice that echoed his superiority. "Two days from now,"
All his men looked at him, puzzled.
"After that shitstorm we faced out in the sea, we deserve a bit of a rest. I don't know, spend some time drinking at taverns, or go to the pleasure houses. Just give yourself a break," he said. "Still, don't forget what you're supposed to do. Get me stories that are happening all around Valoran, as much as you can,"
The three men nodded and made off without another word. Jarvan noticed how August looked back at Shyvana with a suspicious glare, but still left them to themselves in the end.
The prince looked back at the half-dragon. "How do you feel?"
Shyvana simply dismissed his concern with a half-hearted wave, and scoffed. "I can walk, thank you very much. Though I would appreciate it if you stop doting over me like I am some damsel in distress,"
"You just got impaled by a harpoon," he shrugged. "Anyway, you look extremely uncomfortable in those bloodied rags, you need a change,"
"And a bath," Shyvana added. "I really need a bath,"
Together they made their way past the harbour, avoiding gazes of occasional passers-by. Shyvana kept her beautiful, golden cloak away, afraid that she may attract the eyes of greedy raiders looking for an opportunity to strike. There was another way into the town, a trail which anyone hardly uses except dogs and badgers. In the distance, a lonely bell rang, and a longhorn sounded, signalling the departure of a ship at the harbour.
The town was small but picturesque – the buildings were of simple yet elegant architecture, painted with soft and gentle hues. Pleasure houses stood out exceedingly with their exaggerating tapestries and flamboyantly coloured beams, with young courtesans at the bright red doors batting their eyelashes to any sailors or wanderers that may pass by. In the centre was the market square, where there were no shop lots but pitched tents and laid out mats instead for merchants from the west and east alike, selling their wares and goods, exotic herbs and spices, beautifully forged arms and all assortments of odds and trinkets. As they passed, Jarvan could hear all kinds of accents and languages, and people dressed in all sorts of outfits from all around Valoran. A small town, yet with such a congested trading hub, the prince had no idea how come he had never heard of this place.
Jarvan purchased a simple tunic and a pair of roughspun breeches for the half-dragon. Shyvana changed promptly, discarding the bloodied rags at a nearby tree and emerged, with a common, black cloak covering her from head to toe, and a cowl that concealed all but her lips.
"Where do we go first? The market square?" she asked. The prince nodded.
"We need to purchase a map. This place is crowded, sure we can get a rough idea of where we are,"
"All I can see are casks of wine and ale," she looked at a wine merchant, who was promoting and pouring cups of wine for his customers to taste.
"We'll have plenty of time for that later," Jarvan took hold of her hand, and together they went deep into the heart of the square. The hot stench of manure and sweat, mixed with scents of herbs and spices wafted about the square. The half-dragon wrinkled her nose, and promptly shut off her draconic senses. Jarvan weaved through the crowd gracefully, whereas she was lagging behind and bumping against passers-by who cursed. She breathed hard, struggling to follow up.
Fortunately, Jarvan noticed that she couldn't catch up, and he quickly pulled her aside, away from the crowd. Shyvana gasped for air, bowing down with her hands on her knees. Jarvan took out his waterskin and gave it to her. He saw how her face was distorted hideously in pain, her hands clutched tightly.
"You're not fine," he chided. "Where does it hurt?"
"Nothing," she wheezed, her breathing rapid and shallow. One hand pressed against her stomach. "Just… a little breathless," her hand squeezed her knee and stomach tightly, and she suddenly retched, coughing up blood. "Fuck," Before she toppled forward, the prince caught her, leaning her weight against himself.
Jarvan held her as she limped towards a tree. "The Marai's magic could only do so much. You're probably bleeding from the inside as we are speaking. You need to rest. I'm taking you to the nearest inn,"
"Just a minute," she wheezed, leaning against the tree trunk. Her eyes were closed. "A minute. I'll be fine,"
"Like hell you are," Jarvan cursed, and carried her with her arm across his shoulders. They limped towards the nearest inn which was away from the hubbub of the town. They reached a poor-looking building that resembled an inn, the faded signboard looking as though it had seen better days. Even the door looked like it was about to fall off its hinges, and inside there was no one but the innkeeper. But Jarvan could not complain much – the last thing they needed was attention.
The innkeeper was a middle-aged man, his face stoic as he wiped the inside of his tankards aimlessly. Jarvan could not see the point, since none of the tables were occupied. Most of the candles were already burnt to stubs, and the place was so run down that the prince was surprised this place could still survive.
"Welcome," the man said flatly, not even bothering to look up from his tankards.
"A room for tonight, please," Jarvan said hurriedly. Shyvana shifted in and out of consciousness, and she started breaking out in cold sweat. "And will you please draw a hot bath? I'll pay,"
"That will cost fifty silver pieces,"
Jarvan pulled out his coin purse, the one that Lance had 'taken' from Gangplank's ship. He tossed it to the innkeeper, and he still did not look up when the purse thudded heavily against the countertop.
"Keep the change," Jarvan mumbled. The old man finally looked up, only to call his son – a young lad dressed in dirty rags, running out and showing the prince his room. The boy looked up at Shyvana curiously, but asked no questions and simply exited the room.
He carried her over to the bed, laying her down. "Shyvana," he called out, which she answered with a weak grunt. "I've ordered a bath, can you stand?"
"I need wine," she croaked, ignoring his question. The boy earlier came in with a large wooden tub, and filled it with steaming hot water. He then exited the room again, this time closing the door behind him. Jarvan looked at the half-dragon, laying on the bed with her face pale as paper. He sighed, and helped her remove her garments.
"Hah," Shyvana mocked. "A highborn prince helps a lowly commoner with her bath, how fitting,"
"Careful," Jarvan warned. "I'm the only one who can help you here," he helped her step into the tub of steaming water, trying his best not to look at her in her nude body. Slowly, he helped her sit, and when she did, she let off a contented sigh.
"Shyvana, don't fall asleep," he pulled a stool over and sat. The half-dragon paid him no heed, her chin just slightly above the surface of the water.
"I'm tired," she whispered. "And the pain…"
He sat beside her, and his concern only grew. "Does it hurt anywhere else?" he asked. But before he could get an answer, sounds of tables and chairs breaking rang the entire inn. A man shouted, followed by a loud explosion. Then, even more shouting.
"Wait here," he told her, which she replied with a grunt. The prince reached for his lance, wrapped in rolls of linen, before heading towards the door. He opened the door a little, peeping through the small gap.
"Goddammit!" the innkeeper yelled. "How many times are you going to run that crazy experiment?! Right under my roof!"
"I paid for the damages, you old cunt!" the sound came from next door. Knowing there was no threat, Jarvan opened the door and stepped out of his room. "And I paid more than you deserve! No one stays in this shithouse anymore!"
"That's because you chased all my customers away!"
"Friends," the prince leaned his lance against the wall, and lifted both hands, placating them. "Perhaps we can calm down a little? A friend of mine needs to rest, I'm sure we can come to an agreement,"
"An agreement where he leaves my inn!" the innkeeper growled, pointing an accusing figure at the man in the room, whom Jarvan had yet to see. "He's been here for a month! Renting my room for his studies and ridiculous experiments! Every time I tell him to leave, he threatens to blow the roof off my inn!"
"You're overreacting, cunt. It's just a door!" the man kicked a shard of what's left of the broken door, blackened and smoking on the floor. Finally, he walked out of his room, and Jarvan could see the smoke emerging from the inside. But what surprised him was the multitude of tomes, scrolls and books that laid in heaps within the room. In the corner was a small desk littered with tubes and apparatus, and an alembic which colourful chemicals flowed.
"Can't believe a sodden place like this attracted a customer," the man mumbled. "You lost, lad?"
It took him a while to realize he was talking to him, and the prince turned to him. The man was dressed in black mage's robes, his long scrawny beard reaching his chest. Even under the dim light, Jarvan noticed something strange about his skin tones, and he saw whorls and runes tattooed to his skin, from his face to his neck to his hands. Beneath the hood, Jarvan saw his eyes, and he was taken aback when he only saw the whites of his eyes, as though he had no pupils.
"No," he stammered, trying to recollect himself. "My friend was sick, so I came to the nearest inn,"
"Sick?" the man pulled at his beard. "Plagued by an ailment of some sort? A cold? Fever?"
"Badly wounded," Jarvan said simply. "Internal bleeding, most probably. She's very weak right now, she can barely talk,"
"Nothing a good elixir can't fix," the man entered his room again. "Come in,"
The innkeeper fumed, his face red with anger. "You're leaving, at this instance!"
"Oh please," the man simply dismissed his warning. "I can simply blow your rooftop into bits with just a lift of my finger, now if you will excuse me. Go help yourself with those pisswater of yours which you call mead,"
Before the innkeeper could argue further, the man lifted a hand swirling with blue magic and chanted. The broken pieces of the door floated and patched itself, before returning to its former shape and attaching itself back to its hinges. Jarvan watched in awe, then the man took off his hood and sighed.
"You're a mage," Jarvan muttered reverently.
"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm the master of the arcane arts," the man puffed his chest haughtily, before heading over to his alembic and drawing the liquid in the tubes. "It's just time-reversal magic, and it would probably wear off in an hour. Worry not, it's more than enough time for me to brew an elixir and conjure a door for that son of a cunt,"
The prince glanced at the herbs and ingredients gathered in a shelf nearby, right below a shelf full of books and almanacs. "I thought alchemy is for the healers and herbalists,"
The mage snorted. "Who said mages can't practise alchemy? Alchemy itself is a mythical art, and magic is combination of science, art and all things mythical. Ask any alchemists, and they would say a little bit of mana energy is needed to brew any sorts of potions. Besides, study alchemy and you can make your own moonshine!"
Jarvan chuckled.
The mage lighted a few candles, brightening the dark room. "That friend of yours," he turned to the prince. "She's half-human, is she?"
The prince's eyes widened, and he quickly reached for his lance. "How do you know? Who are you?"
"A high-levelled mage, lad. I can tell from your auras, and she reeks of something beastly," the mage laughed when he saw how the prince bristled in anger. "Worry not, in their eyes, I'm not human either," he took off his hood, revealing the bald head of a middle-aged man. Jarvan saw how his tattoos covered even his head, and his skin was a dark sheen of blue, almost close to purple.
The prince did not say anything, he simply stared in shock.
"My name is Ryze," the old man reached for a tome nearby, and flipped through the pages rapidly. "Master of the arcane arts,"
"Jarvan," the prince introduced himself.
"Now before I forget," Ryze snapped the tome shut and approached his ingredient shelf. He plucked a few berries and took down the pestle and mortar, then proceeded to crush the berries with skilled hands. "You said your friend was bleeding internally, right?"
"That's what I think, she coughed up blood,"
Ryze nodded, then scraped the paste and placed it in a crucible. He snapped his finger, and a small flame ignited on the bottom of the crucible, heating the paste inside. "You aren't from around here, are you?"
"No," Jarvan answered, not saying any further.
Ryze chuckled, he then worked on his alembic, distilling mixtures and combining concoctions. "I presume you're a traveller then? Or a sellsword? If you're leaving anytime soon, don't head north. It's dangerous territory out there,"
"And why would that be?"
"Few days ago, the townspeople had a good scare. Said a giant creature flew past. A dragon or some sort," he shrugged. "I didn't know, I was holed up in this room for days, studying my latest research. Still, best that you be careful if you wish to head north, traveller,"
"A dragon?" the prince's eyes widened with interest.
"That's what they said," Ryze pulled out a flask filled with red liquid. He stoppered it with a rubber cork, and handed it to Jarvan. "Let her drink this. She will feel extremely exhausted after it, but once she's done taking a nap, she should be up and running,"
"Thank you, Ryze. How much is it?"
Ryze scoffed. "How much? Son, I'm not some village herbalist. Take it as a gift. I can be extraordinarily generous sometimes. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to conjure a stupid door before the magic wears off,"
When Jarvan got back to the room, the tub was empty save for the water which had gone cold. The half-dragon laid on the bed, her eyes shut and her lips pale. She did not even bother to dress herself, instead wrapping herself snugly with a towel.
He sat at the edge of the bed and shook her gently. Calling her name a few times, she finally woke, her eyes looking around the room until she finally met Jarvan's.
"You were gone for quite a while," she murmured. "I thought you got kidnapped again. I wanted to look for you, but I was too tired for that,"
"Good thing you didn't, you would make the wound worse," he slid an arm under her neck and pulled her up. Her skin was covered in a sheen of cold sweat, and Jarvan noticed how her head was lolling about. He quickly removed the cork of the flask, and placed the mouth to her pale lips.
"Drink," he whispered. "You'll sleep after this, and you'll feel better,"
It took her a while to finish the whole flask, but drank she did, and she fell into a deep and sound sleep. Jarvan went to the privy and soaked a piece of rag, pressing it against her forehead. He was temporarily assured by the gentle rise and fall of her chest, knowing she would recuperate soon.
The prince sat by the bed, watching her until he felt the need to do something instead of sitting idly. He reached for his lance and used it like a cane, and before he exited the room, he took one last glance at the half-dragon. Sighing, he shut the door behind him, and headed to the market square.
The afternoon was blazing hot, with the sun was at its peak. It wasn't long before the prince was covered in a sheen of sweat, as he weaved through the crowd. He approached a travelling caravan and purchased a map and a compass, then headed to other caravans and tents to buy rations and medical supplies. Satisfied, the prince was about to leave when something caught his eye.
A laid out mat with hundreds of baits on display, and skilfully crafted fishing rods. As though attracted, he approached the trader, inspecting the rods on sale.
Fishing. It brought back fond memories of when he was just a child. Garen, Jarvan and Lux would always run to the lake near Sherwood Forest just outside Demacia, where most of the soldiers went for field training. They would bring along their best rods and baits, and sit by the lake, fishing for hours.
Those were the days, the peace and quiet, he mused. "Good day, sir. How much for a rod?"
"Ten coppers," the trader answered jovially. "Carved and crafted from the finest wood, and strung with the finest thread. Fifteen coppers for both the rod and the baits,"
"I'll have two," Jarvan handed over the coins, and the trader thanked him, giving him two rods and two dozens of baits. The prince then heard the call of the wine merchant, and headed over to buy two flagons, asking the wine merchant for the strongest stuff he had.
By the time he returned to the shabby inn, the sun was already setting. The crowd in the market began to disperse, leaving the traders and merchants packing up their caravans and rolling up their tents, ready to call it a day. When the prince entered the inn, the innkeeper was nowhere to be found, but his son swept the floor, oblivious to his presence. The door to Ryze's room was locked, and Jarvan swore he heard the hum of magical energy. But he paid it no heed and headed to his room.
When he entered the room, Shyvana was already awake and dressed, sitting in a corner and running a whetstone down the edge of her gauntlets. She looked up briefly, and saw all the goods that the prince had purchased.
"Someone's gone shopping," she looked back at her gauntlet and continued grinding her gauntlets. "For a moment I thought you've left me here to starve to death,"
Jarvan could not tell if she was being sarcastic or being serious, so he cleared his throat and changed the subject. "You hungry? Looks like you just got up, how do you feel?"
She nodded. "A little confused, disoriented. Took me a full minute to remember where I was, but I feel invigorated. What did you give me?"
"Does that matter? You're better now," he took out the fishing rods and then turned to her. "Ever gone fishing?"
The half-dragon then stared at him blankly, before narrowing her eyes. "For survival, yes, but usually I prefer a spear. It's much faster," she crossed her arms. "Why, have you used up all your coins? That we have to hunt for our own rations?"
"No," he chuckled, and strummed the string on the rod. "I mean fishing as a hobby. Ever done it?"
Shyvana shook her head.
The prince smiled. "Come with me. Got you some wine, too,"
"Screw this hobby of yours, Jarvan IV," the half-dragon cursed as she reeled in her fishing line, her face distorted in anger as she lost her bait again. The prince only laughed at her, knowing patience was never her virtue. He looked at his basket – two longfins, one deepwater bass and five salmon. It was a good catch.
"Patience, Shyvana," he advised. "The fish can feel your anger,"
"Don't you fuck with me, prince," she snorted, tied another bait, and casted the fishing line out into the sea again. She laid down the rod at the edge of the boat, leaning her back against the side of the ship and taking a sip from her skin of wine. She gave off a relief sigh, enjoying the wine and cool air. "Say, Jarvan. What's the first thing you will do once you get home?"
The prince looked at her, surprised at her question. He thought deeply, before answering. "I don't know. I haven't seen Demacia for so long. I wonder what it looks like now. Are the spires still tall and white? Are the buildings still pristine and elegant, or the palace golden and formidable? Is the plaza at the Commons still filled with auspicious events and extravagant activities?"
"Sounds like those kingdoms in the fables," she commented. "Those stories they tell you when you were a child,"
"It's a magical place," he smiled. "You will love it there, really,"
The half-dragon looked away from the prince's blue eyes, her mind shifting to the moments where she met the old stranger, the one who claimed to be her father's sibling. What was his name? Ao Shin? Then she remembered her father's plea moments before he died.
"Before my father died," she shifted uncomfortably. "He wished that I would run to Ionia, to seek peace there. He never wanted me to seek vengeance. It was more of a personal vendetta, really,"
She waited for the prince to say something. But he only prodded her to go on.
"Maybe after we slew the drake, I might decide to head to Ionia. For some peace and quiet,"
"Peace and quiet," Jarvan echoed. "Doesn't sound like you, half-dragon, or the kind of life you would enjoy living in,"
"A boring life is better than a tormented one,"
The prince said nothing. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull croaked in sadness. Shyvana did not want to meet his gaze, for fear that she might give in to his advances, his wish for her to follow him back to Demacia. Part of her was afraid, for she knew she would never be accepted as a Demacian. More so, she did not want to be a distraction to the prince – he had his own duty to fulfil.
A prince marries not for love, but for duty, she remembered what August said. He was already betrothed. To… what was her name again?
"I want you to come back with me," Jarvan whispered sadly. "But I respect your decision. I can't force you,"
The half-dragon heard the despair in his voice, but she said nothing to comfort him. Because she would give in, oh, she would.
"But you're always welcome to Demacia," he looked at her, with his handsome smile and eyes glittering with hope. "When I go home, I'll tell them everything. The story of a half-dragon, who lost everything except her anger and hatred, and how determined she was to hunt down her father's murderer. I'll tell them, how I met you, how bravely you fought, and what a faithful companion you were. There were many chances where you could have left us, but you didn't,"
Shyvana laughed mirthlessly. "Maybe it's because I want to use you for my vengeance? Have you ever thought of that?"
He shook his hand, and held her chin with the tips of his fingers, turning her to face him. She saw the tears in his eyes, but he did not let them fall. "I'll tell them, how she taught me that everyone deserves kindness, not just our own race; how she taught me to love, and to fight for those that matters. I'll tell them, even if you're angry and hateful with the wrath of a dragon, deep inside, you're just as human as anyone of us. I'll tell all of them, my queen mother and my father, the king; Garen and his sweet sister, Lux; Lady Lestara and her dearest daughter; all the noble families and the councillors of Demacia; my tutor, Xin Zhao; and all the people of Demacia. I'll tell them, so when you're at the front gates, they won't see you as a half-dragon or a threat. They will see you as the legendary hero who fought gallantly with their prince, and all of Demacia will take you with their open arms,"
She did not realize she was crying, until she felt her wet cheeks. The prince's breath, so close to hers, their noses almost touching, and she could only see the despair growing in him. Somehow she knew what he was thinking. Somehow he could tell that one day they will part ways, and may never meet again. She wanted to speak, but all that came from her lips was a shaky sob.
"I am not worthy," she croaked, her shoulders shaking. Jarvan had never seen her cry, not like this, and she hated showing him how vulnerable she could be. But the prince said nothing, and only took her in his arms in a silent embrace. They both said nothing for quite some time, only the whistle of the breeze and quiet sloshing as the waves hit the keel of their boat. He pressed his lips to her hair, her forehead, kissing her gently. But the half-dragon only remained silent.
"Are we all?" the prince asked. "Are we all worthy, just because we fight for a cause we deem noble and just, while the others struggle to live? Does life only punish the unworthy ones and reward the worthies? To the world, none is worthy, not you, not I, not anyone else. But in my eyes, you are, and you always will,"
She finally looked up to him, searching his eyes for any signs of falsehood and lies. How could a man love so desperately? She simply could not understand. But she knew what he said was true – he would always have faith in her. For some unfathomable reasons, she felt fear. Fear that she might disappoint him and crush his hopes for her.
"Shyvana," his voice was a whisper. "I want…"
"Please do not tell me what you want," she inhaled sharply. "For I might not be able to give it to you, and I do not want to upset you,"
"I only want to give you something you've always yearned for," he kissed her forehead chastely, his hands holding both sides of her head. "Love. Belonging. Protection. Home,"
"What if I die? What will happen to you? Perhaps you will move on, aye, you have to," she leaned into his touch, releasing a shuddering breath. "I cannot know what happens tomorrow. There are so many things I am afraid of, and I fear what the future brings. I know you'll live on after I die, yes. But if you were killed, I can't bear to live guiltless for the rest of my life,"
"Then don't think about it. For now, we live. Now, just the both of us. Nothing else, just us," their foreheads touched, and Jarvan waited for her silent reply. He only hugged her tighter, sharing their warmth amidst the cool night air.
The half-dragon shuddered, then she took the initiative and leaned in to kiss Jarvan full on the lips. The prince understood, and pressed to her tightly, locking their lips together. Their teeth clicked, their tongues tied together. And they shut themselves from the outside world. There were only both of them, breaths becoming shallower and their passionate heat growing stronger. When Shyvana pulled back to catch her breath, the prince lowered his head and pressed kisses to her neck, her collarbone, her shoulders. Their hands started groping for each other – her fingers fumbling on his cloak, his hands prying off her gauntlets.
As he peeled off her gauntlets, a thought came to his mind. Will she protest? Will she feel threatened? But that worry dissolved in his mind when she only helped him take off her gauntlets. As he took them off, he was peeling away the cold, hard layer that surfaced her heart. Next, they helped each other undress, Shyvana nearly tearing his tunic apart with her nails.
And now he finally saw her, this time without being drunk. Beneath the stars, she was a wondrous sight – the curves and contours of her body outlined by the moonlight, and she was both rough and soft at the right places. Jarvan could see the scars that marred her body, a few that he could identify but several others that were new to him. Underneath those clothes and coldness, was a woman hurt too many times, and so she used anger and hatred to cover her misery.
He sat there, petrified, drinking in the sight of her nudity, and released a breath he did not know he was holding all this while.
Shyvana, however, felt insecure under the prince's electrifying gaze, and shamefully she wrapped her arms around her breasts, covering herself. The wine did not make her bold, and she was suddenly ashamed of herself and conscious of her own identity. But Jarvan held both her arms, and gently but firmly pulled them away.
"Please," he whispered. "You're beautiful. There's no need to hide," He held her shoulders, and slowly pushed her down, until she laid flat on her back, with the prince on top of her. They looked into each other's eyes – his blue met her golden ones. Jarvan then took her hand, and kissed the back of her palm lovingly.
"Can I?" he asked, caressing her cheek gently. He only wanted to love her, but if she did not want this, he would understand.
"Yes," she murmured, the word just a movement of her lips. But the prince understood nonetheless, and kissed her full lips tenderly.
He moved his hips, and they became one.