Nearly two years have passed... Two long years.

Jarvan stood tall, looking out over the vast deserts of Shurima. With their thirst for battle quenched and their hunger sated by strider meat grilled over an open fire, his men had bedded down for the evening, Jarvan Lightsheild IV taking his customary first watch. With a belly full of Shurima Strider, Jarvan needed time to clear his mind and let the hearty meal settle before he retired for the evening. He took a deep breath of cold night air into his lungs.

One does not breath the night air... one drinks it.

Jarvan had long ago learned a great appreciation for the cold and refreshing night air, using the time alone to think and reflect. He just let his mind roam, wandering where it pleased, not bothering to reel it back in less something undesirable came calling to his camp. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he took another deep breath of the chilly air, holding it in his chest before he exhaled it. Not that the excitement isn't welcome. He glanced over his shoulder and looked out over his men. Though perhaps we've have enough excitement for one day already. He chuckled to himself as his mind started to wander to memories further past. He glanced up at the sky and realized that the days were already starting to get colder. The long summer days were starting to shorten.

Has it really been two years? Jarvan sighed heavily, staring down at his hand

He had been struggling with his feelings about himself and his position for every day of the two years he had been searching the vastness of Valoran. What he was exactly searching for? Well, he hadn't found it yet, but he intended to keep searching until he did find it. He had long ago left behind the feelings that tied him to Demacia. He only let himself worry about himself and his men now. He tore his eyes from the vastness of the starry night sky to look his men over. Of the twelve he had chosen to accompany him on his journey of self-discovery, only 8 remained. They lay around the smoldering remains of their cooking fire, each one sleeping silently. The day had been just a rough as each day before hand. The men greeted sleep each evening as if it were a new bride and they had just returned from a long campaign against the Noxians.

The Noxians...

Jarvan scowled, his anger flaring at the thought of that bastard, Jericho Swain. The crotchety old man was a tactical genius and a maniacal bastard to boot. Even before he had journeyed to the war front with his father, King Jarvan Lightshield III, he had heard nightmarish tales from the maids who had attended to him as a boy. He had aspired to fight and defeat the famed tactician one day, believing the stories to be tales and that there was no way one man could be so cunning and dangerous. As he had grown, he had approached each day with gusto, striving to be the best. The fastest, the strongest, the first. He had often been so, but his best friend had always been there at his side. Garen Crownguard was his best friend growing up, and the two were inseparable. Everywhere Jarvan IV went, Garen was right there with him.

I wanted to stand out, I wanted to be a hero. Jarvan yawned, lowering himself to the ground and leaning back against a rock, laying his lance upon the ground as he cracked his neck. He rested his arms upon his knee, pulling it to his chest. I was careless and made a mistake though. Jarvan let his shoulders sink as he exhaled heavily, suddenly feeling a great weight upon his back. A mistake? I got an entire company of men killed.

Jarvan closed his eyes.

It had been a cold morning.

Jarvan shifted from foot to foot as he dropped to a kneel next to his scout, the man pulling the heavy brown cloak closer to himself as rain continued to pour down.

"Have they made any movements?" Jarvan asked quietly, keeping a low tone of voice but not whispering. "Any change in behaviors, signs we've been detected?" The scout looked out over the battlefield with a spyglass, watching as sentries roamed to and fro among the lines of tents.

"Negative, sir." The scout shrugged and smothered a yawn with his hand. "They bedded down last night and except for regular changing of the guard, the camp has been silent. The scout offered the spyglass to Jarvan and the prince accepted, peering through it. Tent after tent stretched out across the field, and fires smoked in regular interviews, extinguished by the heavy rains. At the far side of the camp, a large tent and several standards stood against the rain. Jarvan let a grin mark his face as he handed the man his spyglass back. He clapped him on the shoulder and then pushed himself up to his feet, ducking back down.

"Keep me appraised of any changes." Jarvan said, wiping some rain soaked locks of his jet black hair from his eyes. The scout nodded and lifted the spyglass to his face as he looked back out over the camp. Jarvan moved back down the hill amid the tall grass, struggling to stay low enough. He swept back into a small circle where the grass had been flattened, six men waiting for him there, each wearing a heavy cloak against the rain. "Are your men ready to neutralize the sentries, lieutenant?"

A man with a fiery red beard nodded at him, gesturing to the left and right of where the enemy camp was set up over the hill. "We've taken out all forward scouts, and we're ready to drop the sentries as soon as we move into the camp." Jarvan nodded, noting that the lieutenant had procured a bow of his own for the operation.

"Good. And the rest of the men?" Three other officers all nodded. The middle man jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"First, second and third platoons are ready to sweep through the camp neutralizing enemy soldiers." He paused a moment and then looked to the other officer on his right. "Some of the men were hesitant about executing sleeping men, but someone started a rumor that it's the Raven we're up against. They're jumpy but ready to go."

"When we pull this off, we'll be welcomed back as heroes." Jarvan said, gripping the man's shoulder confidently. "A few dead men won't bother anyone." The officer shifted from knee to knee, but nodded.

"You still insist upon taking the lead element straight up the middle?" A brown beard protruded from the cloak that spoke this time, and a frown settled on Jarvan's face.

"Problem with that Isaacs?" Jarvan said, hoping the man wouldn't challenge his authority.

"No sir." He said, shaking his head. "Just.. Something off about this whole situation." Jarvan shrugged and then put on a confident smile for his men.

"We've been presented with this perfect opportunity, and we're going to take it." He pulled out a pocket watch that he had been given by his grandfather and flipped it open. "We move in two minutes. Go." The men bowed and dispersed, fading into the grass as if they had never been there before, leaving Jarvan with Isaacs. Jarvan noticed the lieutenant had remained. "Something to say, LT?" The officer hesitated from a few moments and then shook his head.

"Is this really appropriate?" He glowered for a moment and then looked back to Jarvan. "I know you have a personal vendetta with Swain... but this seems excessive..." Jarvan chuckled softly, dismissing the man's premonitions and mentions to his past involvements with the Noxian.

"You worry to much, Isaacs." Jarvan said with a confident grin. "We'll be home before you know it."

"Sir." The man saluted and bowed and then swept backwards, disappearing into the high grass. Jarvan followed, heading towards where Fourth Platoon was waiting amid the grass. Jarvan nodded his greeting to the men and then waved them forward, moving as quiet as he could through the tall grass towards the edge of the flattened area where the enemy encampment began. Jarvan paused at the edge of the campsite, the nagging memory of his first meeting with Swain now settled deep in his mind.

"Damnit..." Jarvan muttered, shaking his head and trying to banish the nightmare.

"Everything alright, sire?" Jarvan turned to the voice, a young soldier, broad in the shoulders but still very young looked slightly worried. Jarvan took a brief moment to hide his troubled expression and replaced it with a cocky grin.

"Just anxious is all." Jarvan said softly. The soldier nodded excitedly, his hand tightening down around his sword. He examined his pocket watch and then nodded, waving his men forward. As he swept forward up out of the grass, the Noxian sentry that had been standing a handful of yards away looked as if he had seen a ghost, his eyes growing wide beneath his helmet and the terror evident in his face despite the cloth that hid his nose and mouth.

The sentry dropped with a gurgling noise as a crossbow bolt emerged from his throat. Jarvan looked left and right as he watched the rest of the sentries drop almost in unison.

Right on time.

Jarvan waved the men forward, sweeping towards the center of the camp and then up the main path towards the large tent that stood above the rest like a castle amid a village. Jarvan's heart pounded in his chest, but he pushed on quietly as Demacian soldiers clad in browns, tans and greens emerged from every side, sweeping in and beginning the slaughter.

"Caw!" The throaty croak of a raven broke Jarvan's concentration as he looked up and watched the black creature land upon the red and green Noxian standard.

"Very good, prince." A man began clapping. "You sprung the trap, just as I expected."

Jarvan's stomach twisted itself into a knot at the sound of the voice.

"You're too confident, Swain." Jarvan injected confidence into his voice in a failed attempt to cover his fear. "Your men are dead and you're cut off."

"You succeeded in killing a few Demacian prisoners and leading a company of men directly into a trap." Swain hobbled forward out of his tent, letting the flaps fall back as four heavily armored Noxian troops emerged, each as big as Jarvan, towering over the crotchety old man. Jarvan watched a sneer appear in the man's eyes, glee sparkling in the red orbs as he watched Jarvan squirm. "If you'd have bothered to pay attention, you would have noticed that the men stationed as sentries were gagged and chained to the spot." He shrugged with some effort as a look of horror overwhelmed Jarvan's face. "And you see, little boy, I'm not here with just a company of men... I have a whole battalion of troops here." He snapped his finger as the Raven landed upon his shoulder and turned its head to the side, revealing a startling row of three eyes that blinked in unison at Jarvan. One of the men that had emerged from the tent behind Isaacs raised a horn to his mouth and blew into it, a deep and menacing tone resounding. The world seemed to burst into life as on every side of the camp dark green and golden armor emerged from behind trees, amid grass, behind rocks, as if they were appearing from thin air.

"To arms men!" Jarvan shouted, but Swain simply cocked his head back and let a forced and twisted laugh escape his lips.

"What men?" Swain said, gesturing with one finger to behind Jarvan. Jarvan turned slowly, and watched as Pikes went up, heads clad in Demacian helm upon each. Jarvan dropped to his knees as he felt as if his spirit had been sapped. One man stood behind him, the same young man who had asked if he had been alright early, stared up at him in fear as a Noxian soldier kicked his knees out from under him and bowed him down. A second Noxian raised and ax up above his head. The dropping of the ax was swift and easy in motion, the cleaving ring of the ax causing Jarvan to double over and spill his breakfast upon the ground. A soldier bound his arms and forced him to his knees as Swain hobbled forward and plucked the pocket watch that hung from a pocket on Jarvan's belt. He examined it for a moment and then palmed it with a grin, hobbling back to where he had stood before as Jarvan struggled against his captors.

"Captain, I want twelve survivors." Swain ordered as he spun about to face Jarvan. One of the hulking men nodded and moved off to collect some remaining prisoners. "We're going to need someone to tell the tale of your miserable failure."

"You're a sick bastard." Jarvan spat at the ground in front of him, and Swain chuckled, clapping.

"Good, fighting spirit is good." He crooned, a smile dancing in his red eyes. "But you didn't think I'd be so stupid to let you get the jump on me?" He shrugged, his raven shifting on his shoulder and cawing at Jarvan. "The early bird guts the worm... and you've been in my talons since you arrived on this battlefield." Swain waved someone forward, a disgustingly fat man who jiggled with every step he took. His arm had been cut off just below the elbow and it had been replaced with a jagged ax head.

"This is the Noxian butcher, Urgot." Swain said with a cruel smile. "I believe you've seen him at work before? He's been looking forward to this." Swain turned towards where the captain had produced twelve Demacian soldiers, many of them badly injured. "Bring them closer!" Swain snarled, looking back to Jarvan. "They get to carry the tale of how I executed the Exemplar of Demacia back to their home." Guards kicked the men to their knees, grabbing them by their hair and forcing them to stare at their prince as Urgot approached. The man, his face misshapen and deformed by war licked his lips in anticipation. Someone cuffed him on the back of the head, pushing him down to present his neck.

Rain poured down over him as Jarvan looked up at Swain, the man staring back with malice in his eyes.

"You may kill me... go ahead and do it." Jarvan snarled, anger flaring within his heart. "You'll do nothing but make a martyr out of me! You may break my body, but my beliefs, my ideal... they hold the strength of thousands! There is only one truth, and you will find it at the point of my lance!"

"A pity then, really." Swain said, shrugging. "Kill him."

With a boot upon his back, holding him in place, the ax swung upwards into the air.

As Jarvan closed his eyes, accepting his fate and willing the images of Swain's face from his mind, he waited for the blow that would end him finally, his years of fighting and following in his father's footsteps only leading him in circles, like a puppy chasing its tail.

…

"Prince Jarvan! Prince Jarvan!"

Jarvan awoke with a start, someone shaking his shoulder. He sat up with noticeable effort as sweat poured off his face. A blinding headache pounded in his head as he grunted and waved the man off, leaning forwards and breathing deeply.

"Prince Jarvan, are you alright?" He looked up to the face of Isaacs, an uncharacteristic frown showing beneath his brown mustache.

"I'm fine." Jarvan grunted, closing his eyes and running his hands over his face. "Status."

"The men are are just peachy." Isaacs said quietly, sitting back on one knee and crossing his arms over his chest. "I got up for my guard duty, and you looked like you were having a nightmare, sire." Isaacs produced a soft sided canteen and Jarvan accepted, his throat dry. He took a long gulp of water and then handed it back to Isaacs.

"Thanks." Jarvan grunted, shaking the disorientation off. The sky was still dark. "I guess I dosed off..."

"That's not like you, sir." Isaacs said with a frown. "Why don't you get some rest?" Jarvan pushed himself up to his feet and shook his head.

"Go back to bed Isaacs." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in, the cold air stinging his lungs. "I won't be able to sleep after that." The man opened his mouth to protest but Jarvan fitted him with a glare that silenced his protests.

"Is that an order?" He said definitely, looking up at the prince. Jarvan nodded and the man sighed in exasperation.

"Yes, sir." He grunted and stalked off, stopping to glance back at the prince. Jarvan waved him on and then shook his head, looking up at the night sky.

Why now, of all times? He took a deep breath and then looked out over the rolling desert sands. I haven't had that nightmare since I was in Demacia. He shuddered as he exhaled running a hand over his face and wiping the sweat upon his tunic.

The blade never came.

A ruckus had erupted from the rear of the formation that Swain had erected to keep his prize from escaping. The Noxians, collectively eying the prince of Demacia and eagerly awaiting his head to fall, had made a mistake of their own in leaving a small section of their flank exposed to a heavily forested section of trees. Taking advantage of this, Garen and his force had managed to move and bore down upon the Noxian troops, ripping Swain's battalion asunder and driving a pincer attack straight through the enemy lines. Garen drove his forces hard and fast straight into the heart of Swain forces, where Garen himself immediately brought his sword down in a hammer blow on the High Noxian Executioner. As the already piece-meal man fell to the ground, Garen struck the binding chains that kept Jarvan retrained and tossed him his lance. Jarvan and the twelve men, reeling in surprise, were swept away by Garen and the Vanguard, as they made a hasty retreat, leaving the Noxians in confusion.

Tucked away in the safety of Garen's Vanguard, Jarvan looked back on himself and how foolish he had been, now having to accept the shame of his foolishness. He had lost his entire company and he had nearly lost his life by his own bravado driven judgment. As the mixture of emotions ran through him, gratitude, sadness, surprise... he came to the realization that he was a failure in everyone's eyes. Everything he thought he had achieved in life had just as easily been accomplished by his long time companion. Even in his resigned state expecting death, Garen had been there. He had successfully done what Jarvan had tried and failed at: dealing a blow to Swain's pride.

Jarvan sighed heavily as he leaned upon his lance, looking over the sand in the desert moon light. It wasn't an easy journey after that either. He hung his head for a few moments. I was a fool and I still continued to make mistakes...

Feelings of disgust and resentment had clouded Jarvan's mind over the months following his defeat at the hands of Swain. Where Jarvan could only see his failure, Garen was lauded as a hero and celebrated. Everywhere Jarvan went he was forced to look at Garen's success and his own failure, and as nightmares about his own death mounted, Jarvan decided he could take no more of it. One evening Jarvan had decided that he alone would have to prove that he was not a failure to his country and in his own mind and he would do so on his own terms. Under the veil of night, Jarvan gathered the twelve remaining members of his shattered company and he asked each one if they would accompany him on a journey to find his redemption. With the twelve men in tow, he set out through the northern rends of Valoran, battling with bandits, outlaws and the horrendous monsters that were found throughout the land.

It had been easy at first, only having to deal with the small time bandits and petty criminals who wandered the settled portions of northern Valoran. With much disgust, Jarvan continued to cut them down, only doing so because it gave him something to do. He had journeyed as far north as the Freljords and as far east as Noxus itself. He had fought with many a champion, each boasting their strength, but soon, Jarvan grew tired of these petty foes. He couldn't stand the slaughter of weak monsters and the many boastful men who challenged him over and over.

Three months having passed in their journey already, Jarvan and his men were growing tired of their current conquests. They had journeyed into the small, sleepy mining town of Kalamanda, north of the Mogron Pass. There, they had heard of the tales of what lay below the Great Barrier. An old prospector had crowded one of the many small tables at the back of the pub they were eating at. He overheard their griping and offered to tell them a tale of the mysteries that lay below the Great Barrier. He told stories of mighty beasts that had been found to roam the plains and devoured even great men like they were nothing more than breakfast. With the prospect of such a challenge before him, Jarvan and his men had immediately set out, bound for the Great Barrier.

Their excitement had given them swift feet and it wasn't long before they had arrived at the Gap of Mogron. A mighty desert stretched out before them, with ruined stone pillars and buildings reaching out from under the sand like sharks in the sea. In the far off distance, a massive storm swirled above the sands, purple lightning arcing down upon the ground like the sinewy fingers of a malevolent god toying with his creations below. As they peered out into the vastness of the Shurima desert, a sound had echoed out from the mountains above them. Swooping down from the cliffs like a massive bird of prey, a mighty dragon had descended upon them like a god descending from heaven to deliver his judgment upon them.

With his glistening talons extended, he descended upon them, crashing into the formation of thirteen. The dragon had spewed flames, catching Reynolds, Jarvan's sergeant, by surprise. The man was a black outline against the multi-thousand degree heat for only a few seconds before he disintegrated to nothing. As the dragon beat its enormous wings, letting the stream of fire die away, only dust and steam from the vaporized man was left. His armor clattered away on the hard stone, as two more of his men were lifted away in the dragon's talons. One was cast against the jagged rocks at the base of the cliffs, falling into them from several hundred feet. The sound of his impact was sickening and carried all too well on the empty wind of the Shurima desert. Jarvan watched in horror as the other was lifted away into the stone jungle of the jagged cliffs of the Great Barrier, His screams of terror echoing around them like a mad man taunting them to go on.

They had only passed through the great barrier and Jarvan had already lost three men. His blind ambition had yet again struck its toll like the bell of a church ringing its mourning tone for the dead and the gone. As his men struggled to their feet, Jarvan could only roll onto his back and stare into the sky, wondering just what the gods had against him. He could only laugh at the irony of it all. A boy born into nobility, asking god why he was so cruel. If he wished, Jarvan could return to his home with nary a consequence. He would eventually inherit the throne regardless, but he would never be able to deal with himself if he did. Even if everyone forgot about his foolishness, he would never be able to forget his own mistakes.

Jarvan had struggled to his feet, and in turn, he met the eyes of each and every one of his troupe.

"I won't promise that you'll return from this journey..." He said, with solemn eyes and a determined heart,"...and I can't promise that I'll return, but I won't force any man to accompany me into this hell. Only the foolish, the damned, and the determined have journeyed beyond this point." He paused, snorting at the irony. "At this point, I believe I am a mix of all three. I'm going though, and if you wish to follow me, then pick yourself up and fall in. I'm not going to fall victim to my own mind, and I refuse to fall victim to this world."

With that, Jarvan turned and stepped forth through the breach. As he stepped out into the desert a mighty gust of wind struck him, nearly bowling him over. As he tumbled over, he was caught by the hands of his Lieutenant, Isaacs, one firmly grasping his arm, the other white knuckled on the collar of his breast plate. Once the Lieutenant had hauled the prince to his feet, he saluted Jarvan proudly.

"We're right behind you, sir." The Lieutenant had said firmly, a hard but determined smile on his face. The remainder of his men stood there behind him as well, their weapons at their sides, each nodding at the prince, each ready to face the danger with their swords held high and their spirits held higher.

A grimace tugged at Jarvan's face as his first memories of Shurima played through his mind as he looked out over the sands.