Work Text:
For more than months after his death, Xin Zhao thought about him every day. After long days accompanying prince Jarvan to his duties, pacing through the long, majestic halls, guarding tall doors, he would rest; And think, over and over again. Thoughts of his friend; His generosity, his unconditional kindness; His openness to others, even if they came directly from the enemy. Thinking back on his king, it made him feel desolate to no end, waves of sadness overwhelming him every day. It was not something he chose to do, or wanted to. It was bothersome, but Xin could not fault himself for it.
'You're grieving', many had told him, 'Let it happen. It's part of the process.' This process, it hurt, and it took long, and it took all of Xin's energy from him, until his prince had to ask him whether he was resting enough. Whenever the seneschal wasn't falling asleep, he would daydream, unfocused by the memories of what once was. He was getting less effective at his very own job, failing the prince how he had failed the prince's father. Pitiful, he'd say if his past self saw him. He could brave slavery, he could brave waves of soldiers and kill them- but this is where he fell.
-
Sometimes Xin would visit the royal library, when his duties were taken over by other members of Jarvan's guard. Well-needed moments of respite, he could rest. He would, always finding his way to this specific place. He'd sit on one of the big, comfortable chairs, set at the warmest, finest spot in the library. Usually, Xin would sit on the smaller one, more fitting for his stature- so he did again, as if nothing had changed. He'd read alone, where once there were two. The warmth of the hearth reminding him of the warmth of their love.
"My lord," He had once called out, out of pure normalcy. It was a night like all the others, where he would read until he forgot the world around him existed. For years, decades he would do this, though always with company. Now, he was alone. When no answer came, reality hit him again, his heart sinking back to the ground at the sight of the big, empty chair across from his own. So, he pushed it, until it was set far enough away from the warm nook next to the hearth. His king was gone, and it was time to move on.
A day later, he put it back in its original spot, the carpet still dented from where it stood before. Back in its original place, the nook felt full again, as it was supposed to be. Xin couldn't help it: He did not want to be alone- the big chair, empty or not, gave him a little more peace. A reminder, of who once sat in that chair. After that day, he would never again touch the chair, let alone move it. It was there, and it would stay there, a peaceful constant in what felt like a world going by too fast for Xin to handle.
The chair was a reminder of the talks he had with the king. He was but a servant, but the king was warm to him, courteous despite their difference in class. An immigrant from Noxus- originally from Ionia, but king Jarvan treated him like a friend. Together, they would commune with each other, on the topic of books, politics, the arts, even the weather. The king would teach him about Demacia, its culture, and would stay eternally patient. Even when Xin struggled to learn the Demacian language, used to speaking only Ionian and Va-Nox, the king taught him. Word by word, book by book- Until Xin could be just as enthusiastic about Demacian literature as he was.
Eventually, when king Jarvan struggled with raising his son, he would come to Xin Zhao. He would ask him for advice, for his wise words: And Xin would deliver, speaking anecdotes of Ionian myths and legends, speaking of the stories his very own family would tell him. His advice was to Jarvan like a fresh breeze, a completely different way to look upon life. When Xin started to completely integrate into Demacian society, fitting its standards and taking over its values, he too became a trusted member of Demacian court, the Seneschal of Demacia, and a close friend of Jarvan's.
These library meetings would always be a secret, a place where Jarvan and Xin could be closer, more informal, more affectionate. They would last for hours, with no one but them two knowing of how this time was spent. In this library, in this nook beside the hearth's warmth: They were no longer king and servant, they were friends, lovers, partners to the bitter end.
-
Perhaps, one day, he could sit and commune here with the prince. His desolation, the pure loneliness he felt in this library- it could be cared for, pushed away, just like that. He could forget about the king, and let his only son fill his place. The chair would be a little too big for the young prince: Who was strong, but nowhere near the stature of the king- but that was fine. Anything to fill up the emptiness. Besides, the prince was wonderful to Xin, more impulsive but just as kind as his father was.
The two were so strikingly similar, as if they were twins from another generation. It made sense: The king had taught his son everything he knew. As his only parent, he was a wonderful one. Probably the best prince Jarvan could have wished for. Guiding the prince every step of his life, and never giving up on him; Even when Jarvan seemed completely lost, the king himself went out with the vanguard, and recovered his son from the arms of the Noxians. He would yell, of course- He had much to be angry for, with his only son so impulsive and brash- but they would never stay angry for long. The two couldn't be angry for long; They loved each other to no end, braving the world together like they were the only ones left.
When the king died, Jarvan was the one who suffered most. His mother was but the paintings on the wall, but his father was everything to him. A mentor, a beacon in the dark, a father he could always lean on if something were to go wrong. Xin Zhao could hurt, but his nephew was the one he had to support, and take care of, through these trying times. Perhaps these library meetings could help the prince also, besides being a relief for Xin.
Oh, but no- Xin could not ask that of his prince. These library meetings were never supposed to happen, let alone asked for. Forlornly, he looked a final time upon the empty chair, completely flawless in months of no use. The maids had taken care of it, but there was nothing left to clean but dust settling with its disuse . No one would touch it. Empty, for the rest of time.
-
Even months later, this 'process' his acquaintances spoke of, kept going. Perhaps one day, Xin could love again, and live life to its fullest. Perhaps one day, Xin could serve the prince like he had his father- With all his energy, and happily so. But for now, he grieved the loss of his only true friend, the first and last person he ever truly loved. And he would live with that, as that was how loss was supposed to be.