A.N.: This took a long time to write, partially because my exams started and my priorities shifted towards studying a lot - I need to scrape together at least 70% in everything to get a scholarship next semester, so I've been up to my eyeballs in books and notes.
I will try to keep updating and I have an ever growing list of champions I want to include, but I'm not sure how often I will succeed.
Finding Jericho Swain's room was easy, just as Darius said and Jarvan faced no other surprise encounters with half-naked warriors and almost-vampires with a bad sense of humor.
He knocked politely and almost immediately heard the sound of the lock opening and the door creaking ajar, which he took as an invitation.
The door opened to a simple living room, looking just like Jarvan's on the other side of the floor, so he gathered that the rooms are mirrored in the two corridors.
If that theory was correct, then the doors to the left lead to the bedroom and a small study and those on the right to a bathroom and an even smaller kitchen – just big enough to make some tea or throw together a sandwich. The living room was deserted, but he caught sight of dark wings flying to the study.
"Swain? Er… Good morning?" he called out, not sure how to proceed. He was brought up not to barge into other people's personal space - mostly due to his mother's influence - but he felt rather lost, standing all alone there. "Anybody here?"
There was a dull thud and the bedroom door opened to reveal the master tactician.
"You?! How the hell did you get in? I'd swear I locked the door." The Noxian looked like someone who didn't sleep much, dark rings under his eyes, his hair disheveled and freed from its usual binding and his scarred mouth twisted into a frown. He was clearly displeased to find an unexpected visitor in his room.
"Someone unlocked the door and let me in. "Jarvan had no reason to lie. It seemed to be the right choice, because Swain lost some of his hostile air and sighed.
"It must have been Beatrice. She'll drive me crazy one day. Well, sit, if you are already here. I'll be with you momentarily. As soon as I find where that hellspawn hid my other boot…," the last part was grumbled under his breath, but it was still just loud enough that Jarvan caught it. And indeed as the tactician hobbled away he was missing his right footwear.
The prince swept some sand off the couch, made himself comfortable and looked around the room to occupy himself.
Most of the place was tidy, nothing much to see, but the coffee table was covered in heavy tomes, maps and the prince spotted two empty coffee cups among the papers – one of them had a straw in it.
Despite the rumours, Jarvan wasn't actually an idiot. He checked, just to be sure, but he wasn't surprised to see that they were history books and maps of battles fought long ago. If Lux were in his place, she would be seriously disappointed that they weren't ancient tomes on Forbidden Magycks or some equally romantic nonsense.
There was a 'caw' coming from the direction of a tall bookcase and the prince looked up to see Beatrice watching him with far too many unsettlingly intelligent eyes.
She had Swain's boot in her claws and seemed to have a high time removing the bootlace and tying it again in various knots.
"Now, is that the way to behave?" Jarvan asked in his best disapproving voice. "You gave him a lot of trouble you know."
"Caw!"
"Do be a lady and give that back to him. Go!"
"Caw." She sounded disappointed, but did as asked.
A few minutes later Swain returned, finally in possession of both of his boots, Beatrice sulking on the perch on his shoulder. He didn't have the scarf over his face as he usual did, so Jarvan could take a closer look at the ghastly scar. It looked like a very deep cut, from the chin across the mouth and ended just below the nose.
The man did have, however, Jarvan's lance. The Demacian put the book down he was immersed in and stood to take it.
"Thank you. Does she do this often?" he asked, feeling a bit bold. One of Swain's eyebrows twitched in annoyance and he leaned over to pick up the book Jarvan was reading.
"Thankfully, no. I'm seldom forced to lock her up in such a small space. She grows bored easily."
I was little wonder then why the man was so irritable this morning. It was no secret that the Noxian valued his crow a lot, so it stood to reason that he wouldn't let her out in the raging storm or let her roam the halls of the Institute alone. As the Institute of War didn't have an aviary, much less one as impressive as the one in the Noxian palace – Quinn had often talked about wanting to visit it one day and held it in high esteem as the One Thing Noxians Did Right – Beatrice was limited to Swain's quarters for the night. From the tactician's tired look, she entertained herself by annoying her master all night.
Jarvan was a cat-person, much like his mother, so he felt he could relate.
"The prince of Demacia reading Noxian history," Swain commented and his scratchy voice brought Jarvan back to the here and now. "How did you find it?" he asked, walking over to a bookcase and putting the tome away.
"Refreshingly honest," Jarvan admitted and saw a flicker of something – maybe surprise? Doubt? It was gone too quickly to tell – pass over the Noxian's face, so he decided to elaborate.
"Our historians go to great lengths to justify Demacia's every move and decision; even the worst mistakes. For all of Noxus' conquests and political backstabbing, you never tried too hard to present yourself as something you were not or make excuses. The Ionian invasion was a massacre that went too far; good riddance that Darkwill got assassinated before he could declare war on Freljord and march the army to their frozen death and nobody is quite sure what happened in Kalamandra, even those who were there." He made a dismissive gesture. "If this was a Demacian book, third of it would be empty praise, another third justification for Demacia's decisions and maybe a few actual facts on the side."
"You are extremely critical with your historians," Swain remarked as he started to pack away the rest of the books. If he was surprised, he didn't show it.
"I stand by Demacia's values," Jarvan said firmly, setting his lance aside to help folding a map. When Swain stayed silent he went on, both helping and speaking. "But I have spent enough time in foreign lands that I'm no longer blind to its faults. We hide our failings behind big ideas and twisted words until even we forget how to decipher them. No wonder Azir came to you for information instead of us."
The revelation that Jarvan figured out who visited him last night seemed to annoy the Noxian a great deal.
"The emperor needs to learn how to be more discrete about his presence. Was it the sand that gave him away?" Swain asked, sweeping some of it off the table.
"Partially. And I don't know many others who need a crash course in history and drink their coffee through a straw."
"Impressive, a Demacian royal who uses his brain as well as his muscles." Jarvan was about to complain, but Swain went on. "If you had been present, maybe the Shuriman delegation's audience with your King wouldn't have ended in a disaster."
The prince resisted the urge to avert his eyes in embarrassment at the mention of the incident. He will not show weakness when Swain was watching his reactions like a hawk.
"You have heard of it."
"It was hard not to. If portion of what my sources say is true, then it must have been a truly spectacular train wreck of a meeting." He spoke nonchalantly, but his eyes never left Jarvan, searching for reaction. "I trust the Queen had made reparations?"
"Mother wrote them an official apology and invited them to the Champion's Ball next month to apologize in person," the prince answered defensively.
Most would agree that Jarvan III. was a military genius. His diplomatic skills however were often hindered by his traditionalistic upbringing, his temper and his sheer stubbornness. When the King of Demacia stumbled upon the rocky road of international diplomacy, his Queen pawed the way with grace, elegance, charm and, when the occasion called for it, blunt honesty.
In simple terms, the apology letter pretty much read: My husband can be a pig-headed idiot at times. Please ignore whatever he said. I would be happy to discuss a trade agreement if you're still willing to talk to us. We are throwing a party next month to celebrate the champions of the League and I know for certain that my husband will not come. Please attend if you can. Dancing is optional, dressing up is not. Bring as many companions as you want - the more the merrier. P.S.: If you decide to attend, please bring Skarner. He's the only person who can put up with Taric for a whole evening.
The Queen of Demacia was, all things considered, a very remarkable lady, at least in her son's view. Curiously enough, Swain seemed to share Jarvan IV.'s opinion on the matter; the Noxian couldn't stand Jarvan III., but he held the Queen of Demacia in high esteem.
"The Queenhas always been a sensible woman," he remarked. "I will direct Azir to you when he asks about modern ballroom etiquette and protocol. That way, you can't accuse Noxus of exploiting his lack of knowledge and manipulating him in our favor."
"You'd better not try!" Jarvan warned, but lost most of the effect due to his loudly growling stomach; an acute reminder that he still didn't get around to eat his breakfast.
To add insult to injury, Swain laughed at the prince's predicament, but Jarvan was too distracted to really take offense. The laugh had properly showed off the caster's teeth, revealing why he wore the scarf most of the time: in line with the scar running across the lower half of his face he had teeth unmatched to the rest, hideous fangs that would fit Renekton's maw better than a human mouth. They stood awkwardly, asymmetrically in the top and bottom which only reinforced the bizarre look.
It looked like healing magic gone wrong. Whatever injured the tactician, it had knocked some of his teeth out and the injury was fixed crudely, with this horrific patchwork.
"It seems it's time for a morning bite. I planned to get some breakfast after you are gone, but we might as well go together. We are sharing a table anyway."
Jarvan thought about the offer. It would not be fortunate if one of his peers saw them going to the mess together – especially if that person was Garen or Xin Zhao. On the other hand, it was true that they were forced to share a table anyway as part of the summoners' ongoing effort to get the champions to get on with each other. Jarvan saw no real drawback in the deal, if they can sneak past the Demacians.
As it turned out, Swain had a solution for that and after leaving his room, he lead them down a narrow staircase that ended on the far end of the neutral mages' quarters on the ground floor. It was a usually calm, mostly deserted area according to the Noxian; out of the way where nobody went unless they actually lived there or went for the rare visit to one of the eccentric mages.
It was definitely an oddity to see Renekton and Sivir eavesdropping at one of the doors in the most stereotypical way possible, with their ears at the door.
"What is going on here?" Swain asked when they were about to pass the Shurimans. They were an unlikely duo, just like Jarvan and Swain themselves. They looked at the stone faced Noxian with the guilty expression of kids who got caught stealing from the cookie jar.
Before those two could explain why they were eavesdropping at the door, muffled shouting could be heard – whoever was arguing inside finally got loud enough that he could be heard outside.
This being the mages quarters, argument between the residents was never a good thing – disagreements between casters had a tendency to end with a very deep crater where a building used to stand – so the newcomers took upon themselves to elbow some room by the door, just in case things got bad enough that they need to separate the arguing parties before things exploded.
Jarvan pressed his ear to door alongside Swain and after some careful listening recognized the shouting voice as Azir. If he concentrated, he could even make out his words.
"A necessary experiment!? You blew up the capital!"
"…" The prince couldn't hear what the other person said, but there was a pause while he spoke.
"The explosion evaporated everyone and everything in a twenty kilometre radius!" The emperor sounded upset and Jarvan couldn't really blame him for it.
"…"
"I don't care if it was unplanned! It decimated the capital and caused the decline of the Empire!"
"…"
"Saying sorry doesn't make things right! You don't even mean it!"
There was another pause, longer this time. It gave Jarvan a bad feeling, so when Beatrice gave a warning caw, he pushed himself away from the door without thinking and so did the others. Lucky timing, because the next moment the door came flying off its hinges and Azir stormed out and stomped down the corridor. In his blind rage, he didn't notice the eavesdroppers gathered by the door.
Sivir was the first to peek into the room to check for further damage, they were all looking inside to check if everything was all right soon enough. The room was almost completely empty but for a tall bookcase with old tomes and a chair, possibly for guests, that clearly saw little use. No bed, no other furniture, no decoration.
In the middle was Xerath, with the pieces of his sarcophagus closed around his core; Jarvan wasn't sure if it was a defensive state, or the Magus Ascendant was simply sulking.
"Everything all right, boss?" Renekton asked, pushing his maw inside over the heads of everybody else.
"I'm not your boss," snapped Xerath. There was a pause, then "Yes. Leave me!"
Sivir, Swain and Jarvan exchanged silent glances. Renekton just stared ahead with murderous eyes. "We'll be on our way then."
"Just a moment, Sivir."
The Battle Mistress stiffened, ready to face the consequences.
"Tell Azir that I will join the team as a mid laner, if he can act reasonably and leave the past where it belongs."
There was a vaguely threatening tone to mage's voice. Sivir quickly nodded her agreement and all of the humans made a beeline for the safety of the main hall.
"What was that all about?" Jarvan asked curiosity getting the better of him.
"Something to do with how Azir died and Xerath ascended," Sivir said. "I'm not sure about the details, but I need to find Azir before he does something reckless." She looked the two men up and down, calculating, "Not a word of this to anyone, understood?"
"Naturally. We don't want to be involved in Shurima's inside conflicts," Swain said smoothly and Jarvan nodded along.
"Good. Go back on your word and I'm murdering you both in your sleep," the mercenary threatened before hurrying up the stairs to find her wayward Emperor.
People started to filter into the hall, heading to the mess to get breakfast and the two men quickly followed them before someone decided to ask what they were doing there together.
Still, even as they took seat at their table, Jarvan couldn't help to think about the Shurimans. The desert nation had already much on their plate trying to rebuild economy and their capital, the last thing they needed was a conflict between two of their ascended.
Beatrice hopped over to his shoulder and lightly tugged on his ear. That was a different worry for a different way and if Sivir inherited her stubbornness from Azir's line of her ancestors, then the emperor's going to make things work, one way or another.
A.N.: And a few things about off-hand remarks here, because AU worldbuilding!
Swain got an axe to the face. Quite literally. The blow broke out some of his teeth and shattered his jaw. Beatrice patched him up and saved his life, but a demon crow isn't exactly an expert on teeth, so the result was a bit hit and miss.
The disastrous meeting between Jarvan III. and Azir was mostly thanks to the latter's reluctance to reinforce Demacia's laws in his country. After all, roughly 70% of the population is bandits and it would be impossible to imprison or execute all of them as per Demacian law dictates. And it would have made it impossible for Sivir to inherit anything if he ever grew tired of being Emperor, thus breaking the royal bloodline. Not going to happen under Azir's watch.
Xerath's lore here is a mixture of old and new - he was friends with Azir and eventually stole his ascension with horrible consequences, but his motivations were that of the old Xerath: expand his knowledge and power and find a way survive the toll all that arcane energy was taking on him. He honestly didn't expect the ritual to go out with a boom.
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