'I think that should just about do it, sire,' the royal tailor declared through the pins between his teeth, a silvery curl flopping over his clammy forehead as he stood back to admire his handiwork. The old man tilted his head curiously. 'What do you think?'

'Huh? Oh, wonderful work,' the Exemplar of Demacia muttered absent-mindedly, only vaguely aware of the tiredness snaking into his raised arms as he awkwardly dropped them to his side. He snapped back from his daydreaming and turned to survey the smart mess jacket, his flint eyes roaming appreciatively across the gold piping against the blue velvet in his crystal-cut mirror. 'Ah, you're a genius as always, my dear Laurent. Exactly how Luxanna envisioned it – she'll be very pleased with this. I still don't like you picking up the tab, though. The silk lining alone must be worth a fortune.'

'No matter, no matter,' the tailor enthused, waving his hand in dismissal. 'Accept it as a token of our family's hospitality. It is an honour to dress the future King of Demacia for one of the biggest days of his life! A tale to tell my grandchildren when I next see them.'

Jarvan smiled politely at the vivacious tailor, but something was incessantly niggling at the back of his head and it was starting to grate against his nerves. Was he anxious about this wedding? It was normal to be, surely, when marrying who may be at your side until your dying breath? The Prince's stomach began to quiver as he realised that prospect did not make him nervous, but it did not excite him, either. And that surely was a problem.

'Are you alright, Your Highness?' Laurent asked suddenly, peering at Jarvan's blanched face in mild concern. 'You look a bit pale. Have you been stood up for too long?'

'No…no, I'm fine, thank you,' he replied quietly. Seized with an urge to be alone with his thoughts, however, he feigned a headache and pressed one hand to his warm temple, looking up at the hovering tailor. 'Must be nerves. Sorry, could I just have a minute alone?'

'Of-of course, sire!' the tailor exclaimed, hastily bowing to Jarvan as he turned and slipped through the fitting room, closing the door gently behind him. The Prince sighed in relief and loosened his mess jacket, throwing open the fabulously stitched curtains surrounding the bay window, and he let the last of the twilight bleed into his skin. What was wrong with him? Why did each nerve jangle to attention all of a sudden? He gripped the marble barrier of the balcony tighter, his Adam's apple bobbling uncomfortably against his pulsing throat as he swallowed. His olive skin was slick with dread, the signature jet-black mane tickling the back of his neck uncomfortably, and that was when he heard a familiar soft cry in the distance. The Prince's ears flicked up in anticipation, eyes narrowing as he scoped the picturesque landscape, and his frantic heart flipped in his chest as a flash of indigo caught his eye.

'Valor?' he asked incredulously, and the magnificent bird of prey scrambled onto the balcony, rather unlike his usual graceful and contemptuous entry. 'What in the-'

The Demacian eagle gave a pained squawk and Jarvan automatically extended his right arm to let him hop onto his arm. He scrabbled around on the flimsy material, and the Exemplar swore he heard threads ripping, but he was too preoccupied by the bundle of vexed energy on his arm as he brought the bird into the fitting room. Once safely perched on a nearby desk, Valor extended out his talon for Jarvan to unhook the note attached to it; with a gastrological lurch, he recognised the Duchess' swirly blue writing and his fingers automatically moved faster to free it from the eagle's pouch. Smoothing out the note onto the desk, he bent over the scrappy document and started to chant the note under his breath as he read along:

"My noble Prince,

I am writing to you with the concerning news that the Wings of Demacia was captured by Noxian forces three days ago, and is currently being held under the orders of General Swain. I only found this out accidentally after trying to get into contact with her following a personal exchange last week. She is alive, but unable to mentally open up to me after being subjected to torture upon her capture. As Swain is a mind-binder like myself and Quinn – although you know that I am a draconic binder by nature – I can only sustain fleeting contact with her for her own safety. Her Ionian companion, Yasuo, was also taken when trying to defend her.

I know that in the strict eyes of Demacian society, saving her life is now meaningless following her impeachment as the Wings of Demacia and the subsequent revoking of her citizenship. But I know that you hold her in higher esteem than your co-commanders, and thought it your right to know what has happened to her. I cannot afford to spare any men to rescue her at this moment in time, and know that the Free Demacian reinforcements in the southern provinces are also rather overstretched. Given her prior services to the Vanguard, and what a strikingly gifted and brilliant young woman she is, I beg you to use your leverage where possible to free her from the Noxians' clutches.

Gaen Na Kyri Vi Evil Vi Noxus!

Duchess Karma – Chief of the Ionian Elders, Director of the Kinkou"

Jarvan slumped forward over the desk, his heart hammering into the hysterical void of his chest as he re-read the horrific words again, his lips painfully tracing certain words. Captured? Noxians? Torture? His mind drowned in racing thoughts and pressed forward to his eyes, where tears began to trickle down his thin cheekbones as he crumpled the note in his hand, trying to force down the husky sobs that threatened to rip out of his chest. This was exactly what he had feared would happen to her as soon as she got a taste for independence; he was man enough to admit that he had been jealous of the relationship Quinn and that Yasuo rascal had struck up so quickly under his nose – and he kicked himself repeatedly with his hypocrisy – but part of his misgivings had also stemmed from the fact that, as Karma had warned him, that exile was a magnet for trouble. If he even got his hands on that Ionian scumbag for having put her in such a lethal position, he doubted that he could control what he did to him. He pressed his eyes closed against the stream of tears burning down his face, disturbing and grotesque visions of what those bastards could have done to her, and he barely heard the golden door knob jiggle in its lock behind him.

'Jarvan? Laurent's just sent me in – says you're not feeling well,' his childhood friend began, but he stopped short as he drank in the scene. Garen's azure eyes widened in shock as he saw the tears glistening on the Prince's face. The normal gravitas of the commander's voice faltered as he caught hold of Jarvan's hunched shoulders and turned to look at him.

'What's happened?' he asked bluntly, utterly stunned by the emotional Prince. 'Why are you crying? I've not seen you like this since your mother's funer-'

'Quinn,' the Exemplar responded hoarsely, clearing his throat messily as he pointed to Valor. 'The Noxians have got Quinn. Karma just sent me a note to inform me.'

'What do you mean, have 'got' her?' Garen asked, his normal hostility regarding the ranger melting away as he tried to bargain sense out of the Prince. 'Is she dead?'

'No,' Jarvan confirmed, trying to straighten out his voice. 'But they've been torturing her, Garen. She's an inmate under Swain's watch, for God knows what reason. She's hurt.'

The Captain's face tinged with green as his eyes flickered hastily between the solemn bird and shaken Prince, but his face crinkled apologetically. 'She's not our concern.'

'What do you mean she's not our concern?!' Jarvan exploded, spinning round to stare indignantly at Garen, tapped impatiently at the letter on the desk as Valor cawed furiously. 'That girl calls our land home! Doesn't that make her Demacian enough to help her? Why does she even have to be Demacian for us to show compassion?'

'Because we've more than enough to do ourselves than to waste time on non-citizens,' Garen explained shortly, though his crystal eyes twinged momentarily with shame and guilt as he tried to convince the prince. 'Thousands of our men may die in the coming months, Jarvan. We need to focus on Demacia, not one Demacian.'

'We are not yet at war, Garen' Jarvan snapped, drawing himself to his full height as he and the slightly shorter commander glared eye-to-eye. 'But Quinn is. She's fighting a war right now, a war ravaging her body and usurping her head. How on Runeterra can you let an innocent young woman perish in the evil hands of our foes after all she's done for this land?'

'Quite easily when she's a Noxian,' Garen spat finally, meeting his friend squarely in the eye. 'One drop of Demacian blood is worth a river full of Noxian. I refuse to spill anything for her, or to let even one of our noble countrymen be slain in the name of a halfling.'

'A halfling by birth, Crownguard, not by choice!' Jarvan bellowed, pacing angrily by the desk before raising his voice to those trying to get inside the fitting room. 'Go away!'

The curious scratching wilted away and Garen turned back to confront his friend, his handsome face blotched red with anger as he pointed an accusing finger at the Prince.

'She's got you wrapped around her little finger to the point that you can't see what she is,' he growled. 'You can't see her for what she truly is – an arrogant, disrespectful, authority-hating, insolent little-'

'You,' Jarvan started pointedly, aggressing jabbing his own finger against Garen's chest, 'should accept the fact that there is Noxian blood in your family tree, whether you like it or not, and that she is not beneath you because of where she comes from. You are her cousin, and she is a Crownguard just as much as you are. Why can't you see that?'

'I can't see that because that branch is the enemy!' Garen roared, shoving Jarvan's hand away as Valor squawked in protest at his treatment of the prince. 'All those years you chased her, all those times you could have wrecked your family's reputation had I not intervened! And for what? Don't you see, Jarvan? I am protecting you. Your family. Your father, the King. Would your mother have wanted to see everything she worked for go down the drain?'

'Don't you dare assume what my mother did and didn't want!' Jarvan bellowed back, his cheeks flaring scarlet as Valor shifted protectively towards him. 'What my mother wanted was for me to be happy – unlike you, unlike my father. Unlike half the people in this godforsaken court!'

'What the hell is going on?' a gravelly voice thundered through the room, and the two men span to attention as the King of Demacia swept furiously into the room. Though Garen was careful to bow respectfully to the sovereign, Jarvan remained stony-faced during his father's entrance into the room, staring pointedly out the window and pressing his lips together.

'The Prince is insisting that we despatch a Demacian force to rescue the former Wings of Demacia,' the Captain explained through gritted teeth, irked by his friend's silence. 'Duchess Karma has informed him that she has been captured by the Noxians and is being held by Swain. I told him that she is not our concern, but-'

'Well, Crownguard's right,' the King responded gruffly, surveying his son with a disapproving eye. 'Why is an exiled traitor to the crown important to us?'

'She did nothing wrong,' Jarvan muttered, turning to stare coldly at his father. 'She fled with that Ionian scum when she thought her life was threatened. Is that a crime?'

'If she were truly innocent, she wouldn't have had to flee in the first place!' the King countered roughly, before his eye roved over the slit in Jarvan's jacket. 'For goodness' sake, son, what have you done to Laurent's handiwork?! That will cost a damn fortune to put right, and what a way to spit on his generosity! I didn't raise you to be so disrespectful.'

'I didn't ask to be raised by you,' Jarvan barbed back, though his eyes soon widened at the insult as his father's expression hardened. 'I…mean…sorry, Father…I just...'

Garen sucked in a tense breath and turned to Jarvan, his blue eyes blazing as ripped open his mouth, before the King silenced him with one raised hand and locked his son down with a death stare. 'I will let that comment fall aside as we've got more pressing issues to deal with. Crownguard, go fetch Laurent. We need to get that jacket patched up immediately.'

As Garen made to exit the room, Valor suddenly screeched and flew at Jarvan, who instinctively shielded his face from the razor-sharp talons, but whose skin remained intact as the eagle clawed and gauged at the handsome blue suit. Garen howled in protest, the King snarling curse words under his breath, but Jarvan started laughing wildly to himself as he realised the bird was trashing the suit and not himself. Following the savaging, he lifted his arms up to observe the tatters and could not contain the helpless laughter.

'Did Quinn tell you to do that?' he asked though his laughs to the smug bird, who cawed and hopped onto his shoulder, craning his neck to look menacingly at the advancing Garen, who took a brief step back and stared open-mouthed at his monarch.

'RIGHT!' The King roared, his sardonic manner cracking under the insolent display. He surged forward and swiped the bird from Jarvan's shoulder with an audible tear, and he squawked in pain as the monarch grasped him by the neck. Jarvan shouted out in protest, but the King yelled over the Prince's lament at Garen. 'Crownguard, your sword, please. I'm sick of watching this feathered freak hovering around our grounds. This might teach the girl and my delightful son a lesson in humility.'

'NO, Father-!' Jarvan began hoarsely, stepping forward to try and wrestle the squirming bird from the King's grasp. 'You can't – that's a Demacian eagle – do you realise how rare-'

'Crownguard, sword!' King Jarvan barked again, stretching a hand out to him without looking as he pinned down the suffocating Valor. Jarvan's breath hitched in his throat, but he saw his virtuous childhood friend flit across the Captain's eyes as Garen kept his hand wrapped on his sword. 'I – I can't let you kill an innocent animal, sire. We might need-'

'What?' the King asked abruptly, yanking up the bird in surprise as he stared at Garen incredulously. 'What the hell has happened to discipline in this place since I've been away?! When I give you an order, Crownguard, you answer to me! You are sworn unto me!'

'That may be the case, sire, but-'

'Oh fine, whatever! I'll do it myself!' his commander snapped, but Valor sunk his talons into his hand and gauged painful wounds into his hand as he yelped and let go. He flew back over to Jarvan, who ruffled his neck softly and then turned to glare at his father.

'I refuse to budge on this one, Father,' he affirmed, his hand lingering on Valor's feathery chest. 'You've pushed me away from her one too many times. Now she may struggle with horrific memories for the rest of her life because we've let this go on too long. No more. She belongs here. She's Demacian. And if you won't retrieve her, then I will.'

'Jarvan, the wedding-!' Garen began harshly, but Jarvan ignored him as he barged past, knocking the files out of his arms and nearly having Lux bounce off his polished breastplate as she came skidding into the room.

'What's going on, Jarvan?' she asked tersely, staring up at her beau with wide eyes. 'I heard you were unwell, but then there was talk of an argument and then…oh…Garen? Your Highness?'

Jarvan heaved in a sigh, taking a brief glance at the thunderous face on his best friend's face as he predicted what was coming next, and the Prince leaned forward to look directly into the quizzical Lux's eyes. 'I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, Luxanna. But this is a sham between us. Locking ourselves into a fake marriage and throwing away the key won't get more bearable over time.'

'Whuh…what are you saying?!' the Lady stuttered, her sapphire eyes flitting manically between Jarvan's grave face and that of her fuming brother. 'What do you mean?'

'The wedding's off. The engagement's off. This-' he added, gesticulating between himself and the crestfallen mage, 'is over. I want out. Soon enough, you'd be wanting out too.'

'No, Jarvan!' Lux began to whimper, her crystal eyes misting over as she stared up at him. Her eyes flickered to the indigo bird still perched on his shoulder, and suddenly her fresh stream of tears hardened to ice. 'It's…her, isn't it?'

Jarvan opened the door, surveying the hostile scene feeling more composed and complete than he had felt for many years, and he heaved in a heavy breath just before he stepped out of the door. 'Yes.' Hand paused on the handle, he finally admitted, to himself and to his audience, what had weighed on his heart all along. 'It's always been her.'

He slammed the door shut behind him, his heart not once faltering as he heard Lux crying noisily on the other side, and let out a powerful blast of air out of his lungs as he focussed on the task ahead. If he took Lissus, he might just reach Noxus before nightfall the next day… what would he feed him with though? Jarvan pushed the practicalities out of his mind as he thudded down the ornate marble staircase towards the castle's main entrance, ignoring the accusatory stares from his painted ancestors whilst he flung himself down each flight of stairs. He simply swept his arms aside as the guards caught sight of the Prince, and their hands scrabbled on the big brass locks to pull open the chunky, old doors for their superior. Jarvan curtly nodded his thanks to them, powering forwards like a whirlwind as he strolled across the wooden drawbridge. He paused briefly, peeling off the ruined suit from his broad chest, and he dropped it at his feet whilst stood in a thin, long-sleeve shirt and breaches, with his mother's ring twinkling around his neck. The Prince turned back to the bewildered exterior guards, their eyes widened and thick jaws sloping open as they watched the royal strip down, and jolted to attention as he hollered to them.

'Tell Laurent he can have anything of mine in payment,' he shouted over his shoulder as he strode towards the stables, barely hearing their wobbly responses as he pressed on.

He swore when there was no sign of Whisper, knowing he would struggle to mount the magnificent beast without assistance, but his sour mood quickly softened. The stallion whinnied upon a rare sighting of his master and dipped his head, his feet trampling eagerly on the ground. Jarvan patted his muscular neck, running his fingers through the coarse dark hairs of his chestnut steed, and grinned to himself. 'It's been a while, boy.'

Lissus snorted and happily accepted his harness, wriggling happily each time Jarvan scratched his back or patted his neck, and the Prince paused for a second as he considered what to take with him. He knew that if he was going to be riding into the bowels of Noxus, no weapon would save him; he had to outwit them. Feeling naked with the lack of protection, he disregarded the creeping discomfort prickling at his neck and then pulled away from his prepared steed. Jarvan squinted as he looked across the stable, trying to find something to prop himself up onto Lissus. He cursed frantically under his breath as he came up short, before the idea of using one of the water barrels outside hit him; if he could not bring an object over to the horse, then he would just bring the horse to the object.

'Come on, boy,' he grunted under his breath, tugging at the reins against the powerful beast. He was relieved as Lissus took the hint and trotted obediently behind him.

Jarvan knew there was only so much time until his father or Garen would try and come reason with him, so he pressed on with his task as he stroked Lissus' mane and led his out of the stable doors. As soon as he had made it, however, he bumped into solid muscle and jumped in panic. The figure, too, stirred out of surprise, but his face soon turned serious.

'There you are, Your Highness,' the Seneschal commented, holding several of the Prince's possessions bunched up in his arms, before he wandered over to Lissus and began attaching them on the saddle's pouch. 'I figured you would need some supplies for where you're heading.'

'Whuh-w…what? How do you know where I'm going?' Jarvan asked bemusedly, watching as Xin filled up the satchel with pieces of bread, a flask of wine and rosy, dappled apples.

'You shouted it loud enough for the whole castle to hear, Sir,' Xin replied, a rare line of amusement creasing into his manly face. 'It did not take much detective work to know where you had gone.'

Jarvan's throat tightened at the Seneschal's offering, but he blinked hard and assisted him with stocking the pouch, his heart strumming with adrenaline. 'Thank you.'

'Go get her back from the Noxians. That's all I ask,' Xin muttered darkly, sealing up the pouch as his eyes narrowed. 'Get her out before it's too late.'

Jarvan gave a determined nod, unable to speak, and he watched as Xin stooped down to offer out his hands to the Prince. He understood that the Seneschal was going to help bunk him up onto Lissus and he clapped one hand onto Xin's back, tucking his boot into his hands. Heaving up onto the restless Lissus, he brushed his clothes down and he got re-accustomed to his horse's power. His heart tightened as he remembered a time when he had given Quinn a tiny, private tour of the ground on the back of a younger Lissus after one of their training sessions, and he still could hear her hearty laugh drift around his shoulders. He loved that she was a horsewoman herself, and he missed her hair whipping against his neck and heavy, excited breath tickle his ears. God, he had been scolded by Garen for that one. His chest twinged now as he recalled the memory whilst looking down into Xin's dark, determined eyes. He saw the fire and conflict raging in his eyes, and he knew that the Seneschal loved her just as much as he did. His companion broke off the gaze, stood back and ran his rough fingers over the leathery straps of Lissus' harness, but Jarvan leant down and opened up the flat of his palm to the Seneschal.

'Sorry, Sir, what do you want handing?' Xin asked absent-mindedly, before pausing to stare up at Jarvan after he did not respond. 'My Prince?'

'Xin, come on,' the Prince implored, offering his hand once more. 'Let's bring her home. Together.'

The bodyguard stared up at the Prince, wondering if he had lost his mind, but the earnest gleam in Jarvan's eyes told him he was entirely serious. He looked around towards the castle, his mouth twitching, and the Prince rolled his eyes. 'We'll deal with my father when we get back. Come on. I know how much she means to you.'

The Seneshal croaked awkwardly as he cleared his throat, unsure as to how he should express his emotions, but he simply grasped hold of Jarvan's wrist and the strong Prince heaved him onto Lissus' back. He slipped off his breastplate, dropping it onto the ground, and turned back to perch behind the Prince. 'Sir, are you sure about this?'

'I've never been surer about anything in my life,' he muttered toughly. 'Ready?'

'More ready than I'll ever be,' came the low response, and he suddenly kneaded his knees into Lissus' flanks. With a passionate whinney, the steed recoiled into the air and then charged forwards towards the castle gates. Green grass blurred against the ivory walls of the castle and adrenaline thundered in their veins as they broke out from the royal grounds.