Chapter 6 : Trust No One
The resounding and heavy footsteps that echoed through the forest was what woke her, and she didn't feel too pleasant about it. The heavy downpour was now a fine drizzle, which would have been unnoticeable if it wasn't for the ripples in the puddles of water on the ground.
Puddles of water, with traces of blood.
Shyvana groaned. Where there was an excruciating pain near her stomach earlier was now replaced by numbness. The back of her eyes hurt, and her head felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. She wanted to slip back into her sweet slumber, instead she jolted awake when she caught the suspicious sounds of clop, clop, clop, like that of a trotting horse. Shyvana inhaled sharply. She retreated back into her father's wings, and listened.
The ominous and rhythmic thud of the footsteps grew louder, piercing the thick silence around her.
She pressed her ear to the ground and counted. The footsteps sounded too heavy to belong to a human. Horses. About six to eight of them.
She stayed still and pulled her father's wing snugly around her body, and waited.
"... leads to here," A voice belonging to a young but mature man said. "I swear, there were two of them, writhing and tangled with each other in the skies,"
"Could be winged lizards, lad," this one sounded old, yet strong. "Probably terrified of the forest fire. That's what you see, aye," His answer earned a few chuckles from several other men.
"They were fighting!" the young man persisted. "It might even be the dragon that we were hunting!"
Shyvana's ear twitched in anger. Had these men been hunting for her father?
"Whatever it is," another man sighed. This man's voice was different than the other two. Where the others' voice had sounded tough, mature and battle-hardened, this one sounded more authoritative and confident, worthy of reverence and admiration among the group. "We should take a look at the fire. A forest as damp as this doesn't erupt in flames for no reasons. Something must have happened,"
The group grew silent after that. Shyvana could tell that they were almost near by the loudness of the horses' hooves. And she was startled when the heightened screams and whinnies of the horses punctured the unnatural silence, and yelps and shouts from the men trying to calm the frightened beasts.
They could smell the blood, Shyvana reasoned. She sniffed the air curiously, and winced as the coppery stench wafted through her nostrils.
"What had them so spooked?" one of the man cursed, the strain in his voice showed that he still struggled with his horse. She then heard the sound of a man dismounting his horse, and soft footsteps approaching the burnt and bloodstained part of the forest.
She forced herself to remain still, trying to calm her racing heart. The sound of the footsteps died, and she could hear the man gasp in horror and wonder.
"The boy was right," he said. "Prince! You have to see this!" he shouted with excitement and awe.
More footsteps. And this time, she could hear the clatter of armored boots. Armed. These men were armed.
"A carcass," the young lad inhaled sharply. "A dragon carcass," Whispers and mumbles came from the men.
"A Celestial dragon," the man with the powerful voice said. He must be the one the boy referred to as the 'prince'. "A rare species admired among the dragonkind. Yet it lies dead in a forest far from its homeland,"
"And killed by a dragon," another man added.
"Dragon spoils are hard to obtain," a man with a particularly cruel voice said, his voice filled with mirth. "Let alone a Celestial dragon. Imagine the weaponry we can craft with these materials,"
Shyvana's body tensed.
"What do you suggest, August?"
The man named August laughed wickedly. "Carve its hide and scales. Its horn will be useless though. We can have the best weapons and armor of Demacia forged out of these materials,"
The sharp sound of a blade drawn from its sheath rang through the air. And Shyvana's rage hit its peak. Her father had died painfully, and she would not have his body ravaged by these men, whoever they were.
She balled her hands into fiery fists, her gauntlets heating up like her boiling rage. Her anger lent her strength, and she hopped to her feet and jumped over her father's corpse to face the men, snarling with fury.
There were six of them, all dressed in battle-worn armor with various weapons. One of them stood out from the other five. He wore a suit of armor that shone like yellow gold, adorned with horns and claws and pelts of monsters she had known to belong to southern Valoran. His helm was shaped like a horned crown, with a single magnificent jewel in the middle. Strapped to his back was a splendidly forged lance, with silver tipped spikes and edges so sharp it could probably pierce armor of stones.
Everything about this man was impressive, let it be his gait, his posture or the way he carried himself. As though he was born to lead an army into war.
They all looked at her, eyes and mouths wide with bewilderment. It quickly faded and the men went rigid, drawing their weapons and aiming them at her. All except the man in the golden armor, who only stood with a stoic expression. His men formed a defensive ring around him, weapons raised and ready to fend off any threats.
"Who are you?" he asked. His face betrayed no emotion, his eyes meeting her disdainful glare.
"Someone you don't want to mess with," Shyvana simply said. "Leave,"
"The real question, my prince, is what she is," the man named August twirled a knife in one hand and held a bludgeon in another. "Look at her, how can she be human?"
The man named August was but a poor-looking man, his face full of scars. A particularly long scar stretched from his forehead down his cheek which split his lips, and one eye was entirely white. He had shaved away half of his hair, showing off the prominent burns and old scars on his shaved head. Even his hands and neck was criss-crossed with little white gashes and long, thin scratches.
The men remained passive, even though she noticed that some of them tightened their grip on their weapons.
"She is the half-dragon," August said proudly. "The stories are real,"
"Leave!" Shyvana roared. Some of the men jumped, some took a fearful step backwards.
The prince only stood forward, urging his men to step back. He flexed his fingers and held Shyvana's gaze. He ignored August's disapproving stare. "I will ask again. Who are you? What business do you have here?"
Shyvana did not answer. She could feel her strength starting to fade. She looked down and was shocked to see her hands trembling with exhaustion, not fear. She could feel something warm and wet trickling down her stomach. Blood. Her wounds did not heal at all, and after such exertion, they only worsened.
Still, her amber eyes burnt with anger. Within her was a maelstrom of emotions - anger, grief, hatred and remorse. If she was going to die today, she will burn down these men with her last breath. None of them will lay a finger on her father's corpse.
However, the prince seemed to have noticed her sudden shift in demeanour. His forehead creased in a frown. "You're hurt,"
"Why do you care?" her feet was already swaying back and forth, she could collapse at any moment.
"We mean no harm," he raised his hands in a placating manner. "Let us help you,"
"I don't need help. I need you to leave my father alone!"
"The other dragon killed him, no?"
Shyvana breathed hard. She was finding it difficult to even stand steadily. Her vision was already swirling, and what the prince said only made her feel nauseous. However, her chest burnt with raw anger, a desire to hunt down the drake and slaughter him like a stray dog.
It was then that she realized she was also angry because she was now in a poor condition. Alone and wounded, there was nothing she could do but lay huddled in a corner and starve to death.
"Why do you care?" she simply said with a small voice. She looked down at the ground in grief, almost wishing that the men would do her a favor to end her life there and then. She could not fight the drake, not in her current condition.
"Don't you want to avenge your father?"
That question made her curious, and she looked up at the prince warily.
"We have heard of you, half-dragon," the prince continued. "Smallfolk spoke of a black dragon going after a half-breed, tearing towns and villages apart when they failed to hand her over. We have decided to put an end to it for the good of mankind, but I have always dismissed the stories of the half-dragon as a hoax. Well, until you appeared,"
Shyvana remained staring at him.
"Aren't you going to go after your father's murderer?" he quickly averted her gaze towards the dead dragon, before meeting her eyes again.
She blinked once, twice, noting the uneasy silence in the air. His men still did not lower their weapons, but she couldn't help but feel curious about the prince's motives. "What is it that you want?" she squinted at him.
"An enemy of my enemy is my friend," the prince said. "We can fight the dragon together. You can journey with us, you won't survive if you're alone with that wound. Let us aid you for now. After we have defeated him, we will part ways and never meet again,"
She couldn't help but feel suspicious. "And why should I trust you?"
"Because you will die if you don't,"
Shyvana lowered her gauntlets, and his men lowered their weapons. She tried to resist the urge to hiss in pain or clutch her wounded stomach, glaring at the prince angrily. She will let them help her, she will join them on their quest to hunt the drake. But putting her trust in a human was the last thing she would ever do.
She had made that mistake before, and it would never happen again.
It was already nightfall by the time they had set up camp somewhere not too far from the devastated forest. The entire trip had been spent in awkward silence, with her traveling at the rear of the group on a black stallion. The men occasionally threw wary glances over their shoulders, and she returned their glances with a hateful glare.
Yes, you better be cautious, Shyvana mused. I will kill all of you once I see any signs of betrayal.
Shyvana climbed up a tree and watched as they set up camp, and she was surprised at how cooperative and progressive the men worked. The prince would shout orders while pitching tents himself. Some of the men would go around gathering resources and hunt, some other would remain to help the prince with the defenses of the camp. It wasn't long before the camp was completely set up, with a nice fire going in the middle of the camp.
Shyvana leaned her head against the tree trunk as she laid her tired legs across the thick branches. Until someone below called out.
"My lady!" it was the young lad with black hair and handsome green eyes. He cupped his hands around his mouth, calling out to her. "My lady, the prince asks if your wound needs to be attended!"
Shyvana gingerly touched her wounded side and frowned. She had torn a piece of her cloak and wrapped it around her stomach like a bandage. She knew how to tend to a wound, she just didn't have the thread and needle to deal with it right now. She swung her legs off her branch and threw herself off the top of the tree, landing gracefully in front of the boy. He jumped, shock clearly written on his face.
"H-h-he's in the tent," he stuttered. Shyvana would have laughed if only the wound wasn't so excruciating. She strutted towards the tent, her mind screaming in pain every step she took. She ignored the boy and hastened her pace.
"My lady-"
She whirled around suddenly. He stopped and stepped back in fear.
"Shyvana,"
"Wh-what?"
"My name," she said. "Use it," she turned around and continued her way to the tent, paying no heed to the boy's stupefied expression.
He stood there with his mouth dropped open with shock, before shouting again. "I'm Alfie!"
Shyvana only entered the tent without throwing him a single glance.
Prince Jarvan IV sat in his tent, tending to a bowl of wine heated in a brazier. As he poked the glowing heap of coal in the brazier with a branch, he couldn't help but wonder about the half-dragon he had met earlier.
Fierce, aye, he chuckled. Fierce, yet loyal.
She must have been hidden under her father's corpse and heard what they all said. He wouldn't blame her for her anger. If he were her, he wouldn't allow anyone to do further harm to his father's body. Such loyalty has never been seen before, not even in Demacia.
Thinking of his home always saddened him. Thinking of Demacia would bring up his family, his good friend, Garen and the citizens who loved him as much as they loved themselves. He would think of his father, the king who was so regal and intimidating, that he could instill fear in each and every man throughout Demacia. He would think of his sweet, lady mother, Queen Catherine, who only cried and embraced him when he returned safe from Swain's capture. He would think of his lifelong friend, Garen, the brave, young Captain of the formidable Dauntless Vanguard, who saved his life by gallantly cleaving the enemy into two.
Impressed, he may be, but the prince couldn't help but feel jealous of Garen. When they returned to Demacia, the people had cheered and applauded. But he noticed that they all had their eyes on Garen. Even his father, who only threw him a shameful glance, patted Garen on his shoulder for his impressive display of bravery and prowess.
How was his father not ashamed? He led a whole company of men to their death. He came home not as a man full of glory and pride, but as a man with his tail tucked between his legs.
Which is why I must make things right, Jarvan thought. I will show King Jarvan that I am no mere child, that I can lead my men to victory as well. Once I bring back the head of the dragon, father will be proud again.
His thoughts were interrupted when the flap of the tent opened, and the half-dragon walked in.
She looked paler than she had been a few hours earlier. Her blue-grey skin was lighter, and her cloak was drenched in mud and blood. Her red hair was a tangled mess, and her face was hard as stone. Yet in her eyes a dim fire burnt. A fire that sparkled with fury and defiance that lusted for revenge. Jarvan couldn't help but shiver.
He noticed that her knees were shaking. She plopped down on the floor and crossed her legs. They only stared at each other, not knowing what to say. The awkward silence grew thicker and thicker in the air.
"Just hand over the needle and thread," she began. "I can tend to my own wounds,"
Jarvan raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure? The wound could have festered. Maybe you would like me to-"
"No,"
He reached for a bag containing needles, thread and a few rolls of bandages. He sat down beside her and ignored her angry glare.
"Show me your wound," he said quietly.
"Give me the needle, I can do this alone,"
He sighed. "What if the wound is infected?"
"That's none of your business,"
"You could die,"
"Maybe, still I don't see why you should care,"
"Because I promised you that I will help you,"
She pursed her lips, a frown prominent on her face. He thought he saw a flicker of emotion across her face earlier. What was it? Astonishment?
Still her hand clutched her stomach, refusing to show him her wound.
"Are you always this stubborn?"
"I don't trust humans," she said matter-of-factly, her gaze shifted to the other side of the tent. "You humans make promises, and you always break them,"
"Funny because you are still half-human,"
"I wished I wasn't," she retorted.
He was startled by her response. "You don't have to trust me," he simply said. "You don't have to trust any of us. I don't know what happened to you or your father or why that dragon is after you. But what I do know is that if that wound is infected and you're not treating it properly, you are going to die. And your father, will die in vain,"
The half-dragon said nothing, but he could see sadness and grief in her eyes. She was still mourning for her father.
"You can choose to die today, or die on the day you slay your father's killer,"
After what seemed like a long while, the half-dragon reluctantly pulled back her cloak. She lifted the hem of her bloodstained tunic gingerly, revealing the long gash that was still caked with dark blood and mud. The wound was still dripping blood, and pus oozed from the edges of the wound. Some parts of her flesh had gone black, and must be removed before the infection spread further.
"Your wound has gone bad," he went to the brazier and obtained a bowl of mulled wine. "I have to cut away the rotten parts of your flesh. I hope you can endure it,"
The half-dragon snorted. "You underestimate me,"
He drew his dagger, and jumped back when he saw her body stiffen. Jarvan placed the dagger over the hot coals, one hand raised in a calm gesture to show that he meant no harm. She relaxed again, and he proceeded with threading the needle.
When the dagger was glowing white-hot, he held the hilt of the dagger carefully, gesturing her to lie down. He had heard the legends that only dragonfire could truly burn through a dragon's hide, but he was not so sure about a half-dragon.
She laid down on the ground, displaying the horrible wound he was about to tend to. Before the edge of his steaming dagger could touch her festered wound, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. He yelped as heat flowed through his vambrace, blisters rising on his wrist
"Don't you dare try anything funny," her voice grew dangerous, like the deep rumble of an agitated beast. "I'll know,"
He only nodded, looking frantically at her hand and the sparks that danced across her gauntlet. She released her grip and he moved the dagger closer to the wound, sinking its edge slightly into the side of the rotten flesh.
A few drops of blood beaded at the tip of his dagger, and she hissed. The heat of the dagger caused the wound to steam, parts of rotting flesh falling away as he gently ran the flat of the blade across the deep gash. He could tell from the way she gritted her teeth that the pain was excruciating. And he thought of an idea to help her with the pain.
"So," he started. "You haven't told me your name,"
She screwed her eyes shut as he continued cutting away her flesh. She did not seem to hear him.
"I'm… Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth," he said again, this time slightly louder. She opened her eyes and looked at him with a frown. "The Crown Prince of Demacia, just as my men had addressed me earlier,"
She took a few deep breaths through her mouth. "What is a prince doing here, so far from home?" she asked.
Well at least she responded, he mused. "I am looking for… something," he answered awkwardly. "And unless I have found it, I don't plan to return home,"
"Demacia," she whispered in wonder. Her face may be contorted in pain, but Jarvan could see that the mention of his home reminded her of something from her past. "I was told that it is a city of righteousness and just,"
"It is," he chuckled. "Tell me about your home,"
At this point she was in too much pain to care about being cautious. "I do not have a home," she gasped. "Not anymore,"
There was a little more, and Jarvan tried to speed up his treatment. He accidentally drove the blade deeper, earning a warning hiss from the half-dragon. He dropped his head apologetically, slowly chipping away the bad flesh. She sighed as she continued.
"My father and I travelled. Never stayed in one place," her voice was strained. "Then the drake came, we had no choice but to seek refuge in the Great Barrier,"
"The drake?" he asked curiously, keeping his eyes on the wound. A little bit more to cut away.
"A smaller dragon," she paused for a while. "Faster and more cunning. He was hunting for me, my father was just a hindrance for him to get rid of,"
By the time he pulled away the dagger from her wound, the blade was stained with blood and black, rotten flesh. Her wound was now the colour of bright pink and red, having removed most of the infected flesh. Jarvan dumped the dagger into a basin of water, before threading the needle and dipping the needle into the bowl of hot wine.
He reached into his pack and threw a flask at her. She caught it in the air and looked at him oddly. "It's moonshine. Strong stuff, but helps with the pain,"
She removed the cork and downed half of the substance instantly. He was surprised that she did not even choke from the drink. Half of his men could mostly stand one or two cups before collapsing to the ground drunk, let alone half a flask. A strong drinker, this one, he couldn't help but smile.
"Moonshine? I thought this stuff is illegal," she asked.
"In Demacia, maybe," he poured a little wine on her wound. She did not react in pain, only staring at him curiously. "But I am far from home, and I'm not going back soon anyway. No one would care,"
"You said you were looking for something," her eye twitched when he pierced the needle into her flesh. "What is so important that a prince has to come to the Great Barrier to search for it himself?"
"Answers," he replied.
She said nothing, watching as he worked the needle with deft fingers.
"Well, 'atonement' would be more appropriate. But," he shifted uncomfortably. "I don't really know what I am searching for. My men and I traversed far from the city we took pride in, fighting and slaying monsters and malevolent beings just so I could find answers. Each time I defeated them, I felt no different. I expected change, and I was disappointed when I found none. So I came to the Great Barrier, seeking for more challenge,"
He was halfway done stitching her wound. The half-dragon barely made a noise, even though he noticed that she dug her nails into her thighs, almost drawing blood. "The monsters here were stronger, cleverer and fiercer. Yet each time they drop dead at my feet, I feel as empty as ever. True, I grew stronger, more experienced, still I can't feel satisfied. There is something I'm supposed to have as a prince, and yet I don't. I can feel it. But I can't tell what it is,"
The half-dragon looked at him with an expression close to pity. She chuckled. "Turns out the prince is just a lost man,"
He met her gaze pleadingly as he snipped the thread, making sure that the stitches had completely sealed the wound. He must have stared at her looking like a lost puppy, because the half-dragon laughed when she caught him staring at her.
"Don't look at me," her voice grew solemn. "I'm no philosopher. Just a survivor,"
"You said the drake was hunting for you. Why?" he avoided her gaze, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment.
"Are you blind or what?" he was shocked when her tone became malicious. "I'm a half-dragon. What makes you think that mixing a human and a dragon's blood is a good idea? I am nothing but a freak in everyone's eyes,"
Jarvan looked at her sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know,"
She did not hide her surprise, as though she did not expect him to apologize. When she spoke, anger and contempt were still evident in her words. "Don't say you're sorry. Humans are never sorry for what they did,"
"What makes you hate humans so much?"
She sniggered. "I don't hate them. I just don't trust them anymore. If there is one thing I learnt from the years I spent with mankind, it is to trust no one. They don't mean everything they say," There was sadness in her eyes, but it was gone just as quick as it came.
She stood up and prepared to leave. Jarvan panicked. "You will tear open your wounds. It would be best if you stay and rest in this tent,"
The half-dragon turned back and frowned at him. "No, I'd rather not. It would be better if I sleep on a tree,"
Jarvan thought she was just jesting, until he saw how serious she actually was. He gave her a puzzled look, "I just treated your wound, what makes you think I would stab you in your sleep?"
"You might be a good man, I don't know," she shrugged. "But your men might not. Sleeping on a tree keeps me vigilant. Plus, I doubt that your men can climb up the tree before I rip them from limb to limb," with that, she turned away and shambled towards the opening of the tent. He saw a flask in the half-dragon's grasp, and his heart sank.
"Wait, my moonshine!"
"It's illegal, anyway," the half-dragon looked back with an impish grin. "I'll take this moonshine, as a token of your sincerity, perhaps?" she laughed.
He could only whine piteously as she took a quick swig from the flask, grinning at him deviously. That moonshine had cost him several pieces of gold, and he had thought of saving it for later.
"Oh, by the way, Prince Jarvan," his name sounded weird on her tongue, and he only frowned at her. "My name's Shyvana, the Half-Dragon," she performed an exaggerated bow before exiting the tent.
Aye, she's fierce, his frown only deepened as he mourned for the loss of his favourite drink. Not to mention feisty as well.
August was taking the first watch when everyone had retired to rest. The prince strode towards the fire pit, the flames reduced to dying embers. Prince Jarvan sat down opposite him, briefly distracted when he heard the faint rustle of leaves on a tree nearby. He paid it no heed, however, and took out a whetstone to hone his lance.
He could tell that August was staring at him, wanting to say something.
"My prince," he whispered. "You don't intend to let the half-dragon stay with us, do you,"
Jarvan looked up from his lance and frowned. "Is there a problem?"
"That half-blood is an abomination, she's barely even human or dragon," August pursed his lips, his scar stretched taut. "Her coming means ill-omen for us all,"
"You're being superstitious, August," Jarvan chuckled.
"I'm being cautious, my prince. She may be half-human, but she's also half-dragon. She has bestial instincts. You never know what's on her mind,"
The smile on Jarvan's face died, and he leaned forward a little, the dying fire casting an eerie glow upon his face. "We don't know where our target is right now. She knows more about the dragon than us, or the drake as she called it. She can lead us to it,"
August remained doubtful.
"Haven't you seen her power today? That wound could have left anyone weak and unconscious, yet she could stand and fight and walk. She's called the half-dragon for a reason. If I can gain her trust, she will lend us her power. If possible, I might even recruit her into the Demacian military. She will be a great boon to my father's army,"
"You're being nice to her to use her," August tutted. "Prince, you're cunning,"
"Perhaps I am," Jarvan did not share his smile. "I will do everything I can to make my father proud again, and killing this drake will be a start,"
"What makes you think she'll trust you?"
"She owed me,"
August raised an eyebrow. "How?"
She took my moonshine. "I treated her wounds. Or she would have died,"
"Well, I hope you're right then. If the half-beast knows that you're using her for your own benefits," he shuddered. "I don't think I want to know the consequences,"
Jarvan only smiled. He knew he should feel proud of himself, yet he felt guilt gnawing at him from the inside. As though whatever he was going to do was wrong.
Perhaps he should be genuine to her, even if she was only half a human?
Jarvan pushed the thought away. He would worry about it when the time comes.
Please review :) It would be hard to update as frequent as before, school has just started for me. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story so far. More to come!