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Chapter 13: Drunk Man's Talk

When they entered the small fishing town, they had to stash away their armor and weapons, and wear their cowl so low that no one could chance a look upon their faces. Especially the prince's. By the time they had approached the town, the sun was awake, already mounting up the hills in the distant sea.

For the whole journey, the men fell silent, and did not talk to each other at all. They never asked about Kyvan's absence, but the prince's look of utter despair was enough to answer their questions on the missing Demacian soldier.

Even if they had managed to fire an explosive arrow at the demon and watch it explode, Shyvana knew that it escaped. Its body could not be found, as though it just vanished amidst the explosion. Or perhaps the explosion was so great it simply blew it into ashes? No, an implosion like that would only blast a body to bits, not strong enough to burn away all its flesh, skin and bones.

How would she know anyway? She never knew much about demons. And the only demons she had ever heard of were the notorious Darkins, and those were probably just children's tales used to scare them in their sleep.

She was now alone with the prince, who was still quiet and mourning for Kyvan, and they made their way down the Noxian harbour where ships and great vessels docked for supplies, relieving goods and preparing for their next voyage. Sailors and freight-loaders heaved crates and sacks of goods off the ships, while their captains stood upon the deck, eyes scanning the crowd in the harbour like the kings of the sea.

She turned to the end of the docks and noticed a small man who sat beneath the shade of a tent, white hair sprouted from his bald hair and lips fixed in a distasteful grimace. He had two armed men with him, mercenaries, no doubt, paid to protect him. The small man eyed the sailors carefully as burly men handed over a stack of documents, together with a small pouch of coins. He would look them over, stamp the documents, slit open the pouch as gold coins came tumbling out, then return them their documents.

"A tax collector," Jarvan whispered, noticing where she was looking. "Come, we have to hurry,"

"We're running out of time," the prince said solemnly. They were at the heart of the small, fishing town, with the sun already awake and fishermen and merchants up and about to begin the day. "We have to split up, you three will gather tales and stories around about the northern Noxian territory, Shyvana and I will try to book a passage to the northern harbour,"

"Sailors have loose tongues, aye," Lance muttered.

"How do we meet up?" August grunted.

"Tomorrow, at the hour of the rooster. We meet up at the back of the stables of the tavern, south of August's direction," they all nodded, but none of them turned their heads or pointed in that direction, lest others would see them and be curious of their motives. "If any of us had any message to inform, leave a note on the second teak tree from the right, just behind the brothel,"

Shyvana chanced a quick glance at the mentioned tree, and understood why Jarvan would choose that tree. The leaves were dense and covered the whole tree, with a hollowed hole in the centre, just large enough for a fist to fit through. Other trees looked the same, and no one would care to search for valuables hidden in the trunk.

"Lance and Alfie will head to the marketplace. August at taverns and whorehouses, drunk men and whores tend to speak without thinking," the men nodded at the prince's orders. "Shyvana and I will head to the harbour, and we'll look for the right ship to get us north,"

August frowned, as though he disapproved with the idea, but he said nothing.

"Stay at separate inns. Draw no attention. If any Noxian guards ever suspect a thing, blend in," the prince pulled his cowl forward. "Now, go,"

"Fresh oysters!" she was broken from her thoughts when a young boy pushing a cart called out. Inside the carts were hundreds of mussels and shellfishes, with a bottle of vinegar at the side. He was pushing it towards them, and looking at them curiously.

"Boy, over here," Jarvan called out with a wave of his hand, his fingers fiddling with a few coins. "I'll pay for two, with vinegar," the boy pried open the shells with a knife, and soaked the flesh within with some vinegar. Jarvan placed the coins in the boy's palm, and gave an oyster to Shyvana.

She looked at the raw meat with a disgusted frown, the strong sour smell of the vinegar filling her nose. Jarvan stared at her, amused, and slurped the flesh as though it tasted heavenly. Go on, he seemed to challenge her. She never liked her food raw.

And so she took small bites, wincing at the coldness of the oyster. She did not listen to what Jarvan was saying to the boy, who nodded his thanks when the boy pointed in the opposite direction, before pushing his cart away.

"What?" Shyvana snapped when Jarvan laughed at her. She hated it, the raw stench of the oyster and the sour smell of the vinegar.

"The boy said there is one ship from Bilgewater heading to the northern harbour, taken charge by a man called Markus. Heard he is a greedy man, and loves things that could cost a fortune," Jarvan started walking towards the harbour. "Don't like oysters?"

"I don't like my food raw,"

"That's a pity. Fresh oysters are a true delicacy,"

"We're not here to enjoy some fresh seafood," she growled. "Where will we get the gold, if that's what he wants?"

The mirth in his voice was gone in an instant. "I don't know. Strike a deal perhaps. Maybe we can work on their ship on the way to the north?"

"A prince doing the rough jobs of a sailor?" Shyvana smirked. "That's a sight to behold,"

"I can tie knots faster than you blink," the prince said haughtily, making his way to the ship, its name Seafarer painted in large white letters across the hull of the ship. Its mast stood proudly with its sails withdrawn, its massive anchor dropped to the sea. The main deck teemed with activity – young boys sewing nets, a tall gaunt lad counting the stocks while a few burly men carried goods out of the belly of the ship. Sailors rolled barrels and casks down an inclined plank, while a shirtless, tanned man stood near the port, yelling orders at the other men while chewing basil leaves.

"Good day, sir," Jarvan approached him and greeted with a nod. Shyvana pulled her cowl over her face, hoping the shade would hide her unusual skin and eye colour. The tanned man stopped and glared at them, seeing them as nothing but hindrance.

"What is it?" the man barked, spittle of chewed basil spewing from his mouth.

"Captain Markus, is it not?" Jarvan smiled politely despite the captain's rudeness. "I heard that your ship is heading to the north, do you mind if my men and I take a passage upon your vessel?"

"Sorry, ain't pickin' up passengers," Markus drew a knife, pretending to nick his dirty nails with the tip of the blade. "Not unless you've got gold,"

"Please, we really have to get to the north,"

"You can walk there for all I care," Markus said nonchalantly, hitting one of his sailors on the head when a cask nearly tumbled into the sea. "The road to the north ain't easy. Full of pirates and such, huntin' for merchants like me. I ain't doin' this for free, while you travellers eat my food and drink my rum,"

Jarvan's lips were pulled taut, frustration clearly written on his face. "We can work on your ship. Rowing oars, weighing anchor –"

"I have enough men for those jobs, I ain't goin' to need some lackeys like you on my ship,"

Shyvana could feel her patience running out. Her eye twitched with irritation, her hands itching to strangle the hell out of the sailor. It took a lot of effort to keep her rage in check.

Even Jarvan seemed to have run out of ideas, his eyes fixed in a scowl as he thought of something to offer. Markus scoffed rudely, sheathing his knife and turned away from them. The prince panicked, and blurted out in desperation.

"I have something better than gold!"

That caught the sailor's attention, and he whirled around, though his gaze remained annoyed and somewhat unconvinced. Jarvan fished within his tunic, before holding something out before the captain's eyes. Even the sailors who were busy rolling casks and carrying crates stopped to look, some tiptoeing to see what Jarvan had to offer.

In his palm was a gleaming blue jewel, finely cut and well-polished, a work of pure artistic craftsmanship. Its brilliance was almost blinding, capturing and encasing the afternoon rays, hundreds of facets reflecting the light off the surface.

Irritation vanished on Markus' face, replaced by wonder and awe. The gem may be small, only about half the size of Jarvan's palm, but just a chip off the gem could be sold for thousands of gold, if not millions.

"The Demacian sapphire," Jarvan's voice was low, smiling when he noticed the captain's hungry gaze. "Rare and owned only by the nobility and royalty of Demacia. It is said that the Crown Prince himself has one encrusted in his crown,"

Markus stared at Jarvan sceptically. "How do I know that this ain't a forgery? Even so, how does a mere traveller like you come across such a rare gem?"

"I am a collector," Jarvan said smoothly. Even the half-dragon was surprised at how well he could tell a lie. "I go from auctions to auctions across the world to collect rare items. And I'm in a hurry to head to the next auction north of Noxus. Allow my companions and I to board your ship, with two quarters for lodgings along the voyage, and this sapphire is yours,"

"Auctions you say?" Markus narrowed his eyes. "An odd bidder ain't you? A bidder without gold,"

"There are other ways at an auction," Jarvan said dangerously. His patience wore thin, and he was trying very hard not to wring the captain's meaty neck. "I thought you Bilgewatians know better,"

Finally, Markus said nothing.

"Tomorrow morning, before the last light of the lighthouse goes out," Markus pointed to a distant lighthouse at one end of the shore, the stark white tower standing out on a rocky cliff. "Come back here with your companions. I hope there ain't too many of them,"

When he reached out for the sapphire greedily, Jarvan pulled back his hand. The captain glared at the prince, one hand absently reaching for his dagger. "I thought we had a deal!" he growled. The prince's face was hard as stone, betraying no emotions.

"I did," Jarvan said flatly. "Only when we have boarded the ship. If I give you the jewel now, you may leave without us tomorrow,"

The captain let off a disgruntled snort. The ball of his thumb ran back and forth on his dagger's hilt, as he spat out a glob of basil leaves into the sea. "Your wish. Be punctual. I ain't got all day on the morrow," with that he walked away, and the sailors hurriedly resumed their work, pretending to not notice a thing.

Making sure the captain walked far from earshot, Shyvana looked at Jarvan. Where earlier he was confident and optimistic, now he seemed lost, his face a look of being trapped in the distant past. She knew where he got the sapphire from, and she understood why he seemed to regret his choices now.

"You promised him your crown's jewel," it was more of a statement than a question. "You don't have to, maybe there are other ships heading the same way. Maybe they are easier to bargain,"

The prince turned and stared at the Seafarer, his lips pressed in a thin, firm line. He was never one to regret the decisions his made, but when he did it was because he had no other choice. But the prince was nothing if not decisive, and was usually adamant with the choices he made. He had promised the captain the Demacian jewel, the one and only symbol encrusted in his crown to deem him as the royal prince of his homeland, and he would give it to him, as mentioned in the deal he struck.

Losing it would mean losing his identity. But after all he was far away from home, almost long enough to forget that he was once a prince. One way or another, he had lost a part of who he was before he departed the gates of Demacia.

"No," Jarvan's voice was strong and firm. "My decision is final. We board the Seafarer tomorrow. I'll leave the others a message," He tucked the jewel back into his pack, where his lance, wrapped in rolls of cloth, and other essentials were stored. The prince turned his back on the Seafarer, and made his way back to the small, quiet town.

The half-dragon followed close behind. She couldn't help but feel guilty, as though it was partly her fault that the prince had to give up the jewel. As if she had not caused enough tragedy to the homeless prince already, again she had to make him lose parts of himself.

The moment she felt it, she resented those feelings. She is a half-dragon, and dragons feel no remorse. A fearsome warrior is a warrior devoid of feelings, and at this moment she couldn't allow herself to be soft.

Jarvan seemed to know what she was thinking, for he looked over his shoulder and flashed a wide grin. "It's alright. You can make it up to me later. You still owe me ale, remember?"

Sometimes, she hated the cheeky side of Jarvan IV.

He laughed heartily when he saw how bitter her expression was. "We have a whole night. What other ways better to spend it than a good tankard of ale?"

Shyvana scoffed. Together, they headed off to the nearest inn to the port for temporary lodgings. The sailors and other sea merchants still hustled around the port, loading and unloading freight. As they walked out of the harbour, Shyvana couldn't help but feel a chill running down her spine, as though she was being watched closely. Absently, she pulled her hood forward, slumping her shoulders and lowering her head to blend in with the crowd.

Jarvan seemed oblivious to it. The half-dragon chanced a risky glance over her shoulder, and she was met with the keen stare of the shrewd tiny man, the tax collector flanked by two mercenaries. She quickly turned away, hoping that she was only being paranoid.

The Gold Digger inn wasn't crowded, and there were only one or few merchants and sailors, sipping their ale with their heads ducked low. These are the lives of merchants and travellers, Shyvana mused. She knew how miserable it felt to miss a home, or not having one at all.

After Jarvan paid for their rooms for a night, they went to the farthest corner of the inn, where they would attract the least attention, and ordered meat and mead for two. A young girl, probably at the cusp of womanhood, came forth carrying a pitcher of ale, curtseying before filling their tankards. Her bright and optimistic features were the exact opposite of the depressing inn.

And of course, Shyvana grumbled, before placing a bag of gold upon the table. The girl said her thanks, and strutted away.

Jarvan sat across the table, his forehead creased as he tried to decipher the coded message Lance and Alfie had left at the teak tree.

"Guardian's Sea at risk, many Noxian galleys attacked by Bilgewater pirates," Jarvan mumbled, loud enough for Shyvana to hear. "High Command is a mess. Kalamanda at the brink of war, security in Noxus tightened. Doesn't sound good,"

"Nothing has ever been good since you met me," Shyvana said matter-of-factly, and took a swig of ale. She winced. The ale tasted like horse piss.

"You fight like a beast, at least we have a dragon on our side," Jarvan said hopefully, but instantly regretted it when he saw the bitter frown on her face.

"Is that an insult?" she spat.

"I didn't mean it that way," he coughed into his fist. "It's just… There were so many chances where you could run away, you could ditch us in the desert, or when the river demon attacked…"

Shyvana raised a brow questioningly.

"… And yet you didn't. You are ferocious in battle. And we're still alive because of you,"

"You flatter me, prince," the half-dragon laughed humourlessly. "Two of your men died, because my quest led you into a monster's nest, and I walked us right into a demon's maw. And you're thankful of me?"

"Horace went down on his own, we wouldn't have known what was underneath that abandoned village. Kyvan sacrificed himself because he swore an oath to me," his eyes glittered with guilt and grief. "My misleading caused them their lives, it was my fault as much as yours,"

The half-dragon pursed her lips. Beneath the gloomy light of the inn, only her golden eyes shone, her face concealed by the darkness of the hood. "And here we are, two sorry person huddling in a corner, sipping ale in a miserable, broody place,"

Jarvan only smiled, sadly.

They continued drinking, and the young girl kept refilling their tankards with ale. It got to the point when Shyvana had enough of the uncomfortable silence, and how gloomy the prince looked.

"You promised to tell me what happened after you left the military," she said suddenly. Jarvan looked up, his face flushed from the multiple mugs of ale he had had. Even Shyvana could feel her face burning, too.

"Ah yes," he sipped his ale. "Not the moment I was most proud of,"

Shyvana was quiet, as she listened to his tale.

"When I was out of the military, I began thirsting for glory, for battle," he began. "I was often told to lead small skirmishes against Noxian camps in the outskirts of Demacia. Piece of cake. The foot soldiers were no challenge, and their camps' defence was weak as a paper fort. My father would sometimes bring me along to attend diplomatic meetings with officers and envoys from other city-states, but that's not where my interest lays. I kept looking for chances, hoping to strike hard and true at the heart of Noxus, against my arch-nemesis, Jericho Swain.

"I'd never seen my mother once I was released from the military. It hurt to know that she never came once to see me, but I'd never made the move to visit her either. I was too busy killing Noxians, becoming the hero I had always wanted to be.

"Then one day came, when one of the troops from the Rangers were captured and slain by Noxian assassins. A few badly injured survivors managed to make it back to Demacia, their faces battered and full of fear, muttering like madmen, 'Swain is here. Swain is here'.

"I was haughty, and begged my father to allow me to lead the troops to attack Swain's camp. My father tried to convince me that it could be a trap, a ploy woven by the infamous tactician. He suggested we wait. But I was impatient.

"At night, I led fifty men and headed out to Swain's camp without my father's notice. I remembered how proud I felt, as though I was sure I could take down the Master Tactician so easily. The camp wasn't well-protected. When we were there, we killed the guards, and burnt the supplies. We thought the whole camp was asleep, and proceeded to raze their camp to the ground, until we heard the thundering hooves of the horses.

"From all directions, soldiers and cavalry in green and red headed to the camp from all directions. There was only one exit, the way we came from, and panicked, we ran towards it. But an odd mist shrouded us, and when I looked to the crates of supplies we burnt, I realized those weren't rations, but bottles of green liquid, releasing a hissing smoke as it reacted with heat. One by one, we all toppled to the floor, our minds being put to sleep. And the last thing I saw was the cane and yellow-green robe of my nemesis.

"When I woke, all my men had been killed, their flayed corpses nailed to stakes. I was forced to my knees with my limbs bound, in front of the man whom I loathed and hated. It was all a trick, I realized, a ploy Swain had masterfully put together, to lure me into his trap. And I was too stupid and arrogant to realize that.

"His executioner stepped forth. I believe his name was Urgot, and he was an enormous man, thrice the size of Swain, with scars and stitched skin all over his body. The axe he wielded was almost as huge as he was, and he only held it with one hand. When he was about to execute me, a miracle happened.

"Horsemen raced towards the Noxians, and leading them was my childhood best friend, Garen Crownguard, the Captain of the fear-inspiring Dauntless Vanguard. Their roars and cries of battle were seismic, and I was both awestruck and ashamed. Garen gallantly cleaved Urgot into two, his brave comrades cutting mercilessly through the Noxian ranks, forcing Swain to retreat.

"When I returned to Demacia, with Garen and the Dauntless Vanguard, the townspeople and smallfolk were cheering, but I could see where their stares were. All were calling for Garen's name, for his gallantry and vigour in battle. I failed where Garen succeeded. And my pride was wounded that day," Jarvan stopped, and took a quick swig of ale.

Shyvana's stare was intense, though her gaze were filled with pity, not contempt. "And your father?" she asked.

"Ashamed of me," his hold around his tankard tightened. "He did not even look at me, and when he did, his gaze was full of shame. I was envious of all the attention Garen got, even though he had saved me. I nearly died, and no one cared,"

Shyvana said nothing.

"That night my mother came to see me," he said. "I thought she came to spite me, like others did, even if they did it behind my back. I refused her entry, but she entered my chambers anyway, and I was surprised to see her cry. She pulled me into a hug, saying how sorry she was. That's when I feel guilty. Guilty for being arrogant. Guilty for not listening to my father. Guilty for being jealous of my best friend, where instead I should have been grateful. It should have been me apologizing, not her. That night I felt like a little boy again, within my mother's desperate clutches.

"That was when I swore to myself that I will leave Demacia, to seek atonement, along with twelve men. I vowed to never return until I find myself worthy as the prince of Demacia again. I left in the middle of the night, and before that I left a note for my mother,"

"A note?" Shyvana asked.

"About how sorry I am. That I don't deserve her love and respect,"

"She loves you very much," her voice was hollow, distant, like her mind was trapped somewhere in an unpleasant horde of memories.

"What kind of mother doesn't love her children?" Jarvan said.

My mother doesn't, her mind echoed, and her lips curled into a grimace. She forced herself not to think of her, pushing the bitter memories away, yet it kept coming back.

"Let it out," Jarvan said. It surprised her, as though he saw the frustration on her face. "If you bottle it up, it won't do you well. The night is still young, and we have plenty of ale,"

Shyvana brought the tankard to her lips, trying to swallow the bile in her throat. She had never talked about her mother before, except with her father. And at normal circumstances, she wouldn't have told the prince, but the ale muddled her mind, and the words just came tumbling out of her mouth.

"I had a home once," she said, her eyes fixed on her drink. "With my mother and father. My father rarely lets me out of the house, I hardly know why. All I know was I was different from other people, and so was my father. We were very happy together, and I could see how much my father loved her.

"My mother… She was like yours. She sang to me every night when I was two. They were too poor to buy a crib, so every night she cradled me to sleep. I remember everything about her, how soothing the rhythm of her heartbeat was, how soft and loving her caresses were. And in the morning, I would wake up, sandwiched in between my father and mother. Sometimes she would take me to the market, to see the pretty stones and jewels that merchants from all of Valoran brought, or to the forest of apple trees behind our house, picking ripe apples. She always let me have the best ones,"

Jarvan was surprised at how emotional her words were. It was the ale talking, he knew, but he made no mention of it. It was the first, and possibly the last time Shyvana would ever show her vulnerable side to anyone.

"Then one day, she just… chased me out of the house," she said then, her voice sounding so hurt he wished he could comfort her. "My father was away, and she told me to follow him. She just said she didn't want me anymore, I don't understand. What did I do wrong?"

He decided to change the subject – her father, the only one whom she knew will always love her. "Your father… He raised you since then?"

"More than that," she chuckled. "He taught me how to survive, how to fight. That was before we were being hunted by the drake. There was something he told me though, one night when we were at the Kumungu plains,"

"Something inspiring?" he joked.

She continued. "He said, no matter how bad the skies are, dawn will always come. The skies will clear then, and no sadness lasts forever," she laughed bitterly, and Jarvan thought he saw something glittering in the half-dragon's eyes. Tears?

"He lied," her voice shook. "He left me too. He told me I should go to Ionia. We quarrelled over that, I don't want to leave him, the drake will kill him. He will. I snapped at him, yelled at him, and walked away from him. When I came back, he was attacked," her fists were clenched tightly. "And he died horribly. No sadness lasts forever? Misfortune just kept coming, grief is my shadow. Everywhere I go, death follows. And you still think I'm a boon to your company?"

The prince did not say a thing. Their words were already a slur, and Jarvan had no idea how much time had passed. His heart ached for the half-dragon, but there were no words to comfort her. His plight seemed minor compared to hers. This woman had run and hidden for her entire life, and when the only person she relied on was ripped away from her, she could only curse at the gods for such an ill fate.

Shyvana heaved a shaky breath. "I was a mistake. I should have never been born,"

"What if I say you're not?" he said without thinking. He didn't even know why he was saying that, all he knew was that he wanted the half-dragon to know that she was not alone, and everyone was born with a purpose.

Her head snapped to the prince, her glare was fiery and full of hatred and anger, her teeth baring. The prince couldn't help but flinch. "Then you're a fool, prince. Do you not see this? I'm not someone you should mingle with, every time I told you to leave me be and take your men away, you never listened. What good is a half-dragon to you? Look what happened to those who are around me. I am cursed. Don't you see? Or are you blind?"

Oddly, his anger flared as well, and he found himself snapping at the half-dragon. "Is hatred all you see in everything? I've been trying to show you that not all men are selfish. I didn't leave you because I think you deserve to live, or at least die peacefully, not being ripped to shreds by a fucking purple monster. I helped you because no one ever showed you kindness, and I wanted to show you that. Perhaps you are just as blind as I am!"

His reply surprised her, but her anger did not diminish. She slammed a fist on the table, and if everyone including the innkeeper hadn't retired for the night, she would have attracted their attention instantly. Her gauntlet nearly snapped the table into half, and her tankard fell to the stone floor with a loud clunk!

"Fuck you and your kindness," she growled, though she faltered in her steps as the effects of the drink took place. "You are just showing me your pity, I don't fucking need it. A dragon has no need for kindness or love,"

Jarvan's eyes glowed with fury as well. He stood to full height, his incredible physique obviously dwarfing hers. Shyvana noticed how his fists were shaking with anger at his sides, and how his jaw was clenched tightly. She thought the prince was going to hit her, or at least yell at her that she can go kill the drake herself.

He grabbed her face with both hands, and pressed his lips firmly against hers.

It caught her off guard, and her hood fell back when he pulled her to him, revealing her mane of red hair. Her hands struggled feebly against him, trying to push him away, but the ale weakened her, and soon she was overcome by the prince's fiery passion and gave in.

Somehow it felt right, as though her heart had been longing for him since he fought with her. Was that why she felt guilt, pity and other emotions for this man, while she was cold to the others?

He only kept kissing her, her gauntleted hands soon wrapped around his neck. At that moment they didn't care if they had feelings for each other or not. All they knew was that they wanted each other. Jarvan ran a hand down her back, and pushed her firmly against the wall.

When he pulled back from the kiss, gasping for breath, his smile was devious and smug. "I paid for two rooms. Which one?"

"The nearest one," she replied, and they were locked in a kiss again, stumbling through corridors and pressed against the walls.

All the way, Jarvan kept pressing kisses to her neck and cheeks. "Dragons need no love?" he muttered heatedly. "I'll show how wrong you are," he almost barged into the room when he unlocked the door, and quickly slammed Shyvana against the door roughly when they were behind the closed door.

His hand was going to rip her cloak away, until he saw her flinching, as though shying away from him. He stopped what he was doing, and even in his drunken stupor, Jarvan knew how wrong it was to bed a woman without her consent. His heart dropped, and he pulled back from the half-dragon, suddenly ashamed of himself.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. "I… I shouldn't have – "

The half-dragon's gaze was clouded with lust, and she grinned impishly. "Again," she simply said, and pulled him into a kiss again.

Together, they made their way to the bed.

Once again, please leave a review, so that I can learn my mistakes if there are any. I hope you guys enjoy the story so far. Thank you if you do!