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“Our forces are moving northward in an effort to contain this threat from the Freljord. We have just reason to believe that the mage-traitor is among them as well.” To punctuate her words, Tianna Crownguard pushed the wooden banner of Demacia up on the map, placing it just where the border to the two regions was.
Jarvan IV nodded his head at this, looking to the other gentleman in the room. “Eldred, would it be possible to dispatch a mageseeker detachment to aid the Dauntless in this regard? If there are going to be magic users we would be best to have a counterattack.”
A grunt from the elder man, face half-obscured by a metallic mask. He moved to take another wooden token from the board and move it to the north. “I can send a small force with the Dauntless but nothing more. My apologies, prin— King.”
Jarvan grunted. It was still not a title he was used to, even if it was a title he did not hold yet. “It’s alright. With any luck we’ll route these mages in time to circle back to Demacia and keep the peace. It shouldn’t be more than a fortnight.”
“And the Dragonguard?”
The room itself seemed to grow hotter at the entrance of Shyvana. Jarvan gave a weary smile to the woman. Neither Eldred nor Tianna had much love for the woman, their eyes peering at the half-breed as she held her crimson helmet beneath her arm. “The Dragonguard should remain at the borders,” Tianna interjected.
“Far and away from the capital,” Eldred added.
Draconic eyes glared between the two, Shyvana not needing any sort of instinct to know their thoughts. “While I may not share quite the enthusiasm as the Crownguards here, it would be best to keep the Dragonguard on the lookout. You are, after all, our defense against those beasts.” Jarvan smiled, a tired and weary look, before looking back to the two at the table. “But I assume you did not come here for orders?”
Standing at attention and bowing her head, Shyvana grunted in affirmation. “I wish to speak with you in private, if that is quite alright?”
A derisive snort came from Eldred. “We’re in the middle of a war council, half-blood. You recognize that this is not—”
“At ease, Mageseeker Supreme. We can take a moment to reconvene and break for a bit,” Jarvan commanded. “After all, we could all do for some sunlight. We’re not Noxians cowering in an iron fortress, plotting how to end the world.”
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A secluded balcony, far from the suffocating war room, was just what Jarvan needed. A cool breeze blew against his face as he sighed in comfort. The sun’s warmth touched against him, albeit it was not the warmest thing upon this alabaster outcropping. “Helmet off,” Shyvana commanded.
“Ana, we’re in public. I can’t—”
“Helmet. Off.”
WIth a sigh of defeat, Jarvan placed one hand on each side of the golden helmet as he lifted it, matching Shyvana’s stance by placing it beneath his arm. One violet hand came to his face, squeezing his cheeks as clawed fingers turned his neck. The dragon’s eyes narrowed, peering.
“You haven’t been shaving and it looks like you aged ten years.” Shyvana let his face go, his cheeks red from the sheer heat her body put forth. “I imagine the last time you’ve eaten was yesterday?”
“Yesterday and a half or so,” Jarvan corrected. “It’s been strenuous times, Ana. I’m glad I was able to see you.” One hand came to Shyvana’s, the two holding hands for a brief moment. “Now what is it that has you worried? I don’t imagine the dragons are conspiring?”
A hand came to her chest as Shyvana took a deep breath, exhaling. She looked to Jarvan, the two at equal height, as she nodded. “We should speak about Demacia’s treatment of mages.”
All at once, the jovial expression Jarvan had dissipated. “And where is this newfound curiosity coming from?”
“It has always been there,” Shyvana retorted. “But recently it has gotten worse. I also never knew the...extent...of mage treatment.” Serpentine eyes narrowed as Shyvana looked to Jarvan. “But you’re king now. You can make changes.”
One finger came to each temple. Jarvan rubbed his head as he exhaled every bit of air in his body. “One, I am not king. Not yet, anyways. The council must approve of me.”
“And why would they not appro—”
“Two, I have no desire to give mages leniency.”
He had been around her for years and only a handful of times seen her stoic expression falter. This was one of those times. Shyvana stared, taking a step back. “Jarvan, you cannot be serious. These people suffer.”
“These people killed my father!”
“After they had been imprisoned and tortured for years! Do you not see how Demacia’s treatment of mages could escalate to open revolt!?”
Jarvan turned, slamming his hands on the balcony’s handrail. “These people are sick, Ana! Sick from their magic. Sick from the words of some homicidal revolutionary burrowing into their minds, turning proud and noble Demacians against their kingdom!”
Silence. It was an eternity until Shyvana spoke. “...So then I am sick too?”
Jarvan bolted upright, turning to Shyvana. “No, Ana, you’re different.” He moved to take her hand only for Shyvana to slap it away. He blinked, eyes wide. “No no, Ana, you’re nothing like them.”
“Aren’t I!?” She snarled, the balcony feeling hotter by the moment. “Am I not just a beast with tainted blood, put in red armor and paraded around Demacia as a weapon? Or perhaps you saw my sickness as something you could exploit!?”
Jarvan stumbled backwards. “There was nothing of the sort! I don’t use people like that, you know this.”
“And you play me for the fool now? I heard of what happened in Brooksward!” She grit her teeth, incisors growing longer as she clenched her fists. “Once more, you hired that disgusting Zaunite. And for what!? You already betrayed your honor once yet you do this again!?”
Jarvan now stood upright, glaring back at Shyvana. “He killed my father, Ana!”
“And you helped kill my mother!”
“That was different!”
“And how different was it, hm!?” Shyvana howled. Jarvan looked over the balcony, a few wandering eyes from the palace below looking up at them. “A being who wanted to see me suffer, to kill me for what I was, and you came to my rescue!” Steam rose from her eyes, Shyvana’s lips quivering between tearful frown and enraged snarling. “What happened to that Jarvan? What happened to the man who would pick up the downtrodden and promise them a Demacia where they’d be accepted!?”
Mouth agape, Jarvan attempted to respond. He was enraged that she’d compare his late father to the beast that was her mother. He was hurt that she’d turn her back on him. And most of all, he panicked as he had no good answer to her words. As the tension in the air began to dissipate, Jarvan’s expression growing dark, he lowered his head. “That man grew up.”
The heat had all but vanished, Shyvana taking her helmet as she began to clasp it back upon her head. “Then I have my answer. I’m returning to the southern border of Demacia. You have your seneschal to protect you so you have no need of me remaining here.”
“Ana—”
“Goodbye, Jarvan.” Without another word, Shyvana turned and left, striding out with her head held eye. All the while, steam rose from her face as she tensed her entire body. Jarvan attempted to follow, raising one arm to try and grasp for the leaving woman. He would find only empty air. For the second time since he had seen his father’s armored urn lowered into his eternal rest, Jarvan felt that he was alone in this world.