Hi, I wrote a short story called “Renekton Decides To Tank” a couple months ago, and it seemed to receive much critical acclaim from the masses. So I decided to write another story during the holidays, and it is a story about Jarvan. It spans six posts, somehow. I didn't think I wrote that much, to be honest, but once I finished it, I was like holy ****, that's a lot of text.
One bright and early morning, a freshly showered Jarvan Lightshield IV was standing in front of his foggy bathroom mirror, hands resting firmly on the edge of his bathroom sink as he stared long and hard at the hazy reflection before him. And although the face was young and handsome, framed with a jaw of steel and hardened by a will of iron, he did not like what he saw. And he abruptly turned away with a grunt of disgust, eyes now closed as a momentary wave of self-loathing washed over him.
Yes, he was the mighty Jarvan IV. True, he had won many a great war for his beloved kingdom, and fought countless battles in the name of his beloved father. And yet...
He had to ask himself: could he do more for his people? Winning wars and slaughtering enemies by the thousands was nice and all, and yet... there was still so much work to be done within the borders of Demacia itself. For example, there were streets and sidewalks where his good citizens dared not to tread after nightfall. Crime and poverty still ran rampant in various neighborhoods, even within the capital city itself!
He hung his head in sorrow as he thought back to yesterday. Just yesterday, while walking through the streets of the northern city, he had encountered a lone weeping child on a filthy street corner, and he had knelt down by her side and gently asked her what was the matter. And she had looked up from her tear-stained hands, her young face smeared with black dust from the coal mines she surely worked at, and she had asked him in a pitiful wavering voice:
“Have you seen my bear Tibbers?”
Her plea for help had torn into his heart like a lightning bolt from the gods themselves, and it was then that he had realized the folly of his ways. Here he was, the so-called crown prince of Demacia, living in his luxurious and utterly superfluous palace with its gilded walls and bejeweled doorways, with a thousand servants at his beck and call, and yet, there were children who wandered the streets of his kingdom without the simple pleasure of a toy they could call their own??
Thankfully, in this case, the child had merely misplaced her teddy bear. He had spied it out of the corner of his eye, resting on the pavement half a block away where it had fallen out of her backpack. He had immediately gone to retrieve it, and when the bear had been returned to its rightful place in the child's arms, the little girl had bestowed the most wonderful smile upon him as she thanked him profusely for his noble deed:
“Thank you, Mr. Big Tall Gold Man!”
It was then that he began to realize his true calling in life. All those frivolous wars, all those meaningless battles, all those pointless hunts. For too long, he had looked beyond the borders of Demacia for glory, when he should have been looking inwards. He was Jarvan IV, the protector of his people, the defender of justice, and he would cast a blind eye no more to the plight of his loyal citizens!
With a swift and resolute step, he marched into his bedroom, quickly donned his golden armor, and took up his mighty spear in his hand. And he announced, to no one in particular:
“I am Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, the crown prince of Demacia, and in the name of my father... I am here to help!”
Then, right on cue, his ears pricked up as they detected a thin shrill cry drifting through his open window...
“Help me! Somebody, please, help! Helllp!”
And he was gone from the room, swiftly and silently with barely a clink of his heavy armor, as he leaped out of his window in his newfound quest to help his country.
A pretty young woman was running desperately down the street, clinging the tattered remains of her shirt to her otherwise naked chest as she threw repeated looks of terror over her shoulder at the large burly man who was pursuing her. She was nearly out of breath, but she screamed once again as the frantic words scrabbled to escape her heaving throat:
“Please, help! Please, somebody help me - “
Jarvan's majestic voice boomed from high above: “DEMACIAAAAAAAAA!”
And the lady shrieked as Jarvan IV, crown prince of Demacia, hurtled down from the blue sky and landed next to her with a thunderous crash as he plunged his trusty spear into the ground by her feet, creating an arena of impassable terrain around them to shield her off from her tormentor.
He stood over the fallen sobbing woman, and he extended a strong and firm hand for her to grab onto, as he said as gently as he could, “Fear not, young lady! I am Jarvan, crown prince of Demacia, and I am here to help!”
“Oh, your majesty!” The girl's face lit up in joy at the sight of her beloved savior. “It's you! Praise the gods!”
“Yes, it is I, Prince Jarvan!” She took his hand now, and he helped her to her feet. “What ails you, good citizen?”
“Well, you see... he... he keeps...” She burst into tears again as she rested her head against his broad and manly chest. “He keeps trying to touch me, even though... even though I told him to stop...”
Jarvan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Stay here. I will deal with this.” He then walked over to the edge of his arena, so that he could peer over the top of the wall at the large burly man outside.
“**** it, Garen! Incest is not wincest! How many times do I have to repeat this to you??”
Garen, the Might of Demacia and faithful vassal of Jarvan, scratched his shock of brown hair in confusion. “It's not?”
“Of course not! Who's been telling you otherwise??”
“Well, I was surfing the internet last night, and I saw all this fan fiction and fan art about me and Lux, so I thought it was, you know, I thought it was all right - “
“It's not all right! And don't believe everything you read on the internet! There is fan fiction out there which features pairings like Teemo + Renekton! Now tell me, does that pairing sound right to you??”
“Of course not, sir! But when I ran the idea by Galio last night, he said that it was only natural that two people in love should consummate their relationship with acts of - ”
“You idiot, Galio is a stone statue who possesses no private parts whatsoever! Do you think someone like him could truly understand the difference between familial love and a romantic relationship??”
“Well, I... when you put it that way, sir...” Garen bowed his head deep in guilt. “Forgive me, your majesty. My judgment was poor.”
Jarvan shook his head in disappointment. “Make sure this never happens again. Now make haste and go patrol the bushes in the southern borders!”
Garen hustled off, and Jarvan watched him go, musing out loud, “Garen of Demacia. Hits like a truck, but also dumb as a truck.”
He then turned back to Lux, who was watching him with fearful eyes, her hands still clutching the remnants of her shirt to her chest. “Your majesty, is he... is he gone now?”
“Yes, fair lady, he is gone now. And he understands what he has done wrong.” He stepped forward to place his reassuring hands on her shoulders. “It will never happen again, I promise.”
“Thank you, Prince Jarvan, it's just that... I don't know, I love my brother so much, and I know he loves me, but he just... sometimes he just behaves so strange...” She started to cry again. “Did I do something wrong? Maybe I said something that made him think... oh god, why is this happening??”
“No, do not say such things. You did nothing wrong, and it is not your fault. Your brother is just really ****ing stupid, that is all.”
“Oh, okay. Thank you, your majesty.” Lux took a deep breath now, straightening her body and struggling to compose her frazzled mind with an inhale of the cool morning air. “And also, your majesty, I was wondering...”
“Yes, my good citizen?”
Her face turned red. “Why are your hands on my chest?”
“Hmm?” Jarvan looked down at his hands, which were currently placed squarely on her chest and moving about. “Oh. Fear not, my young lady. I am merely checking your body for injuries. This is standard procedure for victims of assault.”
Normally, Lux would have been outraged that a man would just walk up to her and feel her up like so. But, then again, who was she to doubt him! Prince Jarvan truly was a man with a kind heart that cared for his people, having laid his life on the line countless times for their country's freedom. If he said he was merely checking her body for injuries, surely, that was all he was doing!
Plus, it didn't hurt that he was a very tall and handsome man with a wonderful smile (when he chose to smile, that is) and startlingly gentle hands.
Either way, he was now done with checking her, and he stepped back with a nod of the head. “Physically, I believe you are unharmed, my good lady. However, you should still go to the nearest hospital and confirm that you are in good health.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yes sir!”
He handed her a business card. “Also, if you need any further assistance, feel free to contact me.”
Lux took the card and looked down to read out loud: “To contact Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, please dial 1-800-DEM-ACIA. Or just scream for help really loudly.” She looked up from the card now with a glowing face of delight. “Thank you, Prince Jarvan! I will definitely contact you if the need should arise!”
“Excellent, my young lady! Now, I must be off! And remember, I am Prince Jarvan, and I am here to help!”
Jarvan flew off into the sky like Superman, and a madly blushing Lux watched him go as her heart began to beat fast...
That night, before Jarvan went to bed, he could finally bear to look at himself in the mirror once again. And this time, he was proud of what he saw.
The next day, at the biggest and most expensive sports gym of Demacia in the wee hours of the early morning, one woman was alone in the women's locker room and taking a shower. This young woman happened to be Sona, Maven of the Strings. She was an early bird who loved a brisk workout in the morning, and now she was standing underneath a wonderful spray of cleansing hot water with her eyes closed in bliss, humming silently and happily as she wiggled her sweaty body this way and that...
But little did she know, a pair of eyes were watching her... unnoticed... unfiltered...
But she now looked up with a quizzical look on her face, as her ears thought they had picked something up just now. Something distinctly different from the shower stall's usual hissing and pitter patter.
It was a shout, she realized. A majestic shout of epic manly proportions. And the word that was being shouted?
And Sona silently screamed as the ceiling suddenly blew apart, debris flying everywhere as a huge golden figure crashed through to land into her shower stall right next to her. And her eyes bulged in shock as she realized that it was none other than Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth.
“Fear not, good citizen! For I am Jarvan, Crown Prince of Demacia, and I am here to help! Now tell me, my fair lady, what ails you!”
Sona gave him a strange look as her arms instinctively crossed over her famous chest, and she shook her head. Nothing was the matter. Until he had showed up, that is.
Jarvan bent down to listen more closely. “What was that? Please speak up! I can not hear you!”
Sona's face wrinkled into a frown, as she gave him a cross look. A puzzled Jarvan looked down at her cleavage, and only then did his eyes flicker in recognition. And he looked back up to her face now with a warm smile.
“Ah yes! I know you! You are Sona, the lovely Maven of the Strings and fellow champion of the League! Greetings, and a good morning to you!”
Sona's frown was still there, as she nodded curtly in greeting.
Jarvan held out a reassuring hand to stay away any ill will. “Now, I know what you are thinking, my fair lady! But it is not what you think! Just now, I heard a cry for help, and thus, I came here to aid those who would be in peril!”
Sona's scowling face was now also skeptical, as she mouthed to him, “A cry for help?”
Jarvan was able to read lips, because he was awesome like that, and he solemnly nodded at Sona. “Yes, Sona. I distinctly heard a cry for help.”
Scowling Sona started to tap her bare foot on the tiled floor. Very skeptically.
“Well, I, uh... hmm.” Jarvan finally realized how silly he sounded. “Is there anyone else in the locker room, perhaps?”
Sona shook her head, her foot still tapping.
“Oh. Well then, perhaps my ears deceived me.” He looked at her chest again as he started to muse out loud, rubbing his chin with a thoughtful forefinger. “Although, now that I think about it, it was not necessarily a cry for help that I heard. It was more like... a sense of danger. From my many years of hunting wild beasts and monsters, I have gained a sort of precognition as to when danger draws near, and it speaks to me just like any of my five senses would.”
Skeptical Sona was still glaring at him, foot tapping like mad, and Jarvan got the distinct feeling that right now, he was very much in danger of Sona's foot ending up somewhere deep inside his ass. But he could not shake the nagging feeling that something else was amiss. That initial something which had drawn him here...
“Ah ha!” Jarvan knew what it was now, as Sona jumped at his sudden exclamation. “I know what this feeling is! I have this distinct feeling that...”
He pulled a pink ward out of his pants, and he planted it onto the ground next to them. “I have this distinct feeling that we are being watched!”
And Sona's eyes bulged in surprise as Teemo, who had been invisible this entire time due to his passive, suddenly appeared next to them, his white fur thoroughly soaked in water, and his paws holding a waterproof digital camera. The yordle's terrified eyes were as guilty as sin, and he didn't know what else to say, other than “Captain Teemo, on duty!”
Before Sona could do or say anything, though, Jarvan had already grabbed Teemo by the scruff of the neck and lifted him up to eye level. “Captain Teemo?? My fellow champion! What are you doing in this shower stall!”
“Come on, my good yordle, are you as blind as Lee Sin?? Could you not see that this shower stall was already occupied?”
Teemo managed to squeak, “Yes, I can see that!”, as his anxious eyes darted from the concerned Jarvan to the irate Sona.
Jarvan pushed open the door of Sona's shower stall, and he gestured widely and grandly to the other shower stalls in the locker room. “Look, my good yordle! There is no need for you to take a shower in this stall, when there are so many other empty stalls which you can use! Perhaps you are used to the communal showers of a military barracks in Yordle Land, but here, in this gym, in the land of humans, this is not the case! Here, you do not have to share showers with anyone else! You can use your own shower and cleanse yourself in peace!”
Teemo desperately squeaked, “I... I didn't know that! I'm sorry!”
Jarvan then snatched the camera from Teemo's paws. “And this! Are you not aware of the hazards involved with the operation of electronic devices inside a bathroom?? Frankly, I am amazed that you did not electrocute yourself just now! You should count yourself lucky, my friend!”
“I... I won't do it again, I promise!”
“Well, now you know, my good yordle. And knowing is half the battle.” Jarvan opened the door to the shower stall next to Sona's, and he deposited Teemo inside. And then he took the camera from Teemo. “I will return the camera to you when you are done showering. And now, be clean, and be safe.”
Jarvan closed the door on the stunned Teemo, and he tucked the camera safely into his pants pocket. Then he went back into Sona's stall.
“Yordles are a primitive species,” Jarvan explained to the shocked Sona. “Many of them are not accustomed to the ways of human society, and I often find myself explaining the intricacies of human etiquette to them.”
Sona was utterly confused now, as she opened her lips to mouth something to him. But he quieted her down with a warm reassuring right hand on her bare shoulder, as he solemnly said, “You are safe now. My sense of danger was merely a false alarm. The only thing amiss was the untimely presence of an uneducated yordle, and nothing more.”
She didn't quite see it that way, but then she decided that, in the end, Jarvan was right. Everything was okay now. He had gotten rid of that **** peeping tom yordle, and she could finish her shower in peace.
But there was one last thing that was bugging her. And she opened her lips to mouth to him:
“Why is your hand on my chest?”
“Hmm?” Jarvan looked down at his left hand, which was currently resting on her chest and moving this way and that. “Oh. I am merely checking your chest for lumps, my fair lady. For this month is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, is it not? And I have years of medical field training under my belt, so believe me. If there is a lump, I will find it.”
Normally, Sona would have been outraged that a man would just crash through the ceiling, land into her shower stall, and feel her up like so. But, then again, who was she to doubt him! He had just saved her from that disgusting yordle, after all. And right now, as she stood close to him, with a feverish mist rising from the tiled floor around them. As rivulets of water trickled through the crevices of her bare body and the cracks of his ornate armor. She looked up to him now, to see his dark and intense eyes focused on her own pale baby blues, and her nervous lips parted slightly to breathe out a feverish mist of her own...
She could see that Prince Jarvan truly was a man with a kind heart that cared for his people, having laid his life on the line countless times for their country's freedom. If he said he was merely checking her body for lumps, surely, that was all he was doing! And he was carrying around a pink ward, even though he was not a support champion! Pink, the official color of Breast Cancer Awareness! How could she doubt the intentions of such a noble man!
Plus, it didn't hurt that he was very tall and handsome with a wonderful smile (when he chose to smile, that is) and startlingly gentle hands.
Either way, he was now done checking her, and he stepped back with a satisfactory nod of his head. “Heavens be praised! I feel nothing amiss, my fair lady. But nonetheless, you should schedule an appointment with a licensed practitioner to confirm your good health. You may be nowhere near the age group of women who are at risk, but it is always better to be safe than sorry.”
She eagerly mouthed, “Yes, your majesty!”
He handed her a business card. “Also, if you need any further assistance, feel free to contact me.”
Sona took the card and looked down to mouth out loud: “To contact Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, please dial 1-800-DEM-ACIA. Or just scream for help really loudly.” She looked up from the card now with a glowing face of delight, and mouthed: “Thank you, Prince Jarvan! I will definitely contact you if the need should arise!”
“Excellent, my fair lady! Now, I must be off! And remember, I am Prince Jarvan, and I am here to help!”
Jarvan flew off through the ceiling and into the sky like Superman, leaving behind a madly blushing Sona and a grumpy Teemo who was thinking to himself, “****, he's not going to give me back my camera, is he?”
That night, Jarvan slept well, comforted by the knowledge that his dear mother, watching from high above among angels, was surely proud of her beloved son.
The next early morning, however, it was now Jarvan himself who was taking a shower in his castle. And it was now Jarvan himself who was in dire peril, his famous precognition for impending danger failing to detect the presence of a stealthy shadow lurking just outside his window sill.
Akali, the Fist of Shadow, crouched on the wooden shingles of the rooftop by his tenth story window, hands resting lightly by her feet as they gripped her twin kama blades. As motionless as one of Galio's gargoyle cousins. Waiting for the most opportune moment to strike. The sun had yet to rise, and a stiff dark wind whipped through her hair and clothing, chilly and biting on her skin and face. But such weather was but a trifle to an assassin with blood as cold as hers.
She had been hired by a secret organization to assassinate Prince Jarvan IV, and the information they had given her about his daily routine was spot on. He was indeed taking his daily shower at 5:30 AM sharp. He was indeed singing the song “Eye of the Tiger” out loud while showering. He was indeed a tenor.
Therefore, it was practically a given that he would indeed be exiting his bathroom while rubbing his face with a towel, eyes covered and completely blind, and utterly vulnerable to her incoming death strike.
She did not know why the organization wanted him dead, but that was none of her concern. Her only concern was that he was a formidable warrior who would be tough to take down if he was wise to her presence. She was sure that she could kill him right now in his shower. But there was still minimal risk involved. Better to strike when his eyes were confirmed to be covered by hand towel.
Something caught her eye from beyond the castle rooftop, something new which the organization had not warned her about. She cocked her head to the side for a moment, now seeing that a brand new billboard had been erected next to his castle the previous day. And she muttered under her breath, the words less than a whisper from behind her mask, as she read out loud the billboard's message:
“Dear good citizens of Demacia. If you are in dire peril, please dial 1-800-DEM-ACIA. Or just scream for help - ”
As soon as the whispered word “help” left Akali's lips, the rooftop of the castle exploded into splinters of wood and shards of stone, and the ninja girl gaped in astonishment as Prince Jarvan, dressed in nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist and his trusty spear in hand, soared through the frigid air with nary a care as he majestically shouted:
Akali now realized that she had erred when she had whispered out loud the billboard's message. Of course he would hear her words. She had done well to conceal her presence beforehand, but the ears of a legendary warrior/hunter such as himself would not fail to detect such an obvious audible. The rashness of her youth had been her undoing, and now she was going to pay the ultimate price. Caught completely off guard by his sudden appearance, she already knew she would not be able to dodge the incoming spearhead.
“A formidable opponent,” she thought to herself, as she closed her eyes to accept her fate.
She felt the whoosh of his body next to hers, and she heard the rooftop explode all around her, and...
The cold biting wind was suddenly gone. And Akali thought to herself, “Is this it? Is this death?”
Jarvan's bombastic voice then sounded from behind her: “Fear not, good citizen! I am Prince Jarvan, and I am here to help!”
For a moment, she thought the voice of her killer had followed her to the next life, forever taunting. But then she realized that this was not the case. This was not the next life. This was her current life. She was still alive, somehow, and Jarvan was next to her, asking her if she needed help.
She cracked open an eye and slightly turned her head, just enough to see the half-naked prince standing behind her with a look of grave concern on his chiseled face. And she could now see that she no longer felt the harsh winds because he had used the walls of his ultimate to block them off.
She opened her other eye, hands still holding tightly to her twin kama blades, and she wondered, for a moment, if she could spin around and strike him down, right here and now.
No, she decided. It would not be wise to move just yet. Not while he was standing practically behind her at a totally advantageous position.
But Jarvan would not let her remain on her knees before him, as he gently said, “Please do not kneel before me, young lady. Such frivolous gestures of respect may be deemed necessary by those soft and plump white-wigged aristocrats who plague my palace courtroom. However, to me, a hard-working laborer on the farm fields of Demacia is infinitely more worthy of my respect and time than any of those silver-tongued cream puffs.”
Akali had no idea why Jarvan thought she was a laborer who toiled day and night on a farm, but she could not pass on the opportunity to stand and face her target. And so she did as he asked, standing up to turn around and face him. Her deadly twin kama dangled down by her knees, as her sharp eyes bore deep into his, looking hard for any hints of malice and deceit.
But there was nothing of the sort. Instead, his eyes were those of great sadness, and before she knew it, he had stepped forward to take her hands into his. He did not notice her flinching, as he said in a hushed voice, “You do not have to say anything, farm girl. I already know of your plight, for it is an unfortunate story told by many farmers who have fallen upon hard times. You must have seen my new billboard just now, did you not? That is why you have climbed all the way up here to ask for help, and yes, my beautiful farm girl. I did hear your plea for help just now.”
She tried to pull away from him, but his grip was far too strong. And he was saddened even further by her attempt to free herself. “Please, do not be ashamed, beautiful farm girl! However modest your upbringing may be, a hard day's work is always something to be proud of.” He nodded to the twin kama which were hanging from her hands. “I see that you have brought your tools of your trade, beautiful farm girl. These well-worn scythes have undoubtedly reaped countless acres of golden grain, bringing invaluable breads and pastas to the tables of hungry Demacians everywhere. So many fools take a simple loaf of bread for granted, but I am no such man. I have conversed with many a farmer during my travels, and I have gained a whole new appreciation for the blood, sweat, and tears which you have given for the sake of our kingdom.”
He gently forced open one of her hands so that she would release her kama, and the blade fell to the ground with a thunk, sinking its pointy tip through his right foot. But he did not care about the mere flesh wound, as he lifted her hand up to his face, so that he could feel her fingers against his stubbly cheek (he had not yet gotten around to his morning shave).
“Ah, yes,” he murmured with closed eyes, as her tough callused fingers brushed lightly against his high cheekbone. “Such a strong and beautiful hand, of a vibrant golden hue. So much more sensual than the limp and pallid phalanges offered by a simpering courtesan.”
He bowed his head down so he could delicately kiss the back of her hand like a gentleman would do for a queen. And then he let it go.
“Forgive me for my forwardness, beautiful farm girl, but I can barely contain myself before the radiance that is you. If my impulsive act offended you, fair maiden, I can only offer my most heartfelt apologies.”
Akali did not know why, but her slim shoulders were trembling, and goose bumps of excitement were erupting from the back of her slender neck. Her grip on her remaining kama was precariously weak now, and she could no longer maintain eye contact with the crown prince, turning her head away from his as she felt her ears grow hot.
But he turned her face back to his, and she did not resist as his hand began to slowly undo the mask's fasteners behind her ears. “This mask you wear to protect yourself from the noxious fumes of your pesticides. You need not wear this here, beautiful farm girl. The palace's flower gardens are free of such chemicals; our most lovely blossoms are nurtured and maintained by simple hand and mulch. And yet...”
The mask came away now, revealing the rest of her young pretty face, and he breathed in admiration. “And yet, I am quite sure that the most lovely blossom of them all stands here before me, in my arms.”
She let out a small gasp at his words, and the other kama now fell free from her hand, tumbling to the ground and sinking its pointy tip into his other foot. Her formerly murderous eyes were now large and liquid, and her heart throbbed mightily from within her chest as she took a minute step forward, so she could better gaze into his gorgeous bedroom eyes...
“Oh! But your clothing!” Jarvan exclaimed in dismay as he finally realized that the beautiful farm girl's clothing was woefully inadequate for this wintry morning. Instead of pants and a long sleeved shirt with coat, she wore scant clothing of homespun quality which she must have tailored herself in a little earthen-floored log cabin somewhere far away on the howling icy tundra of Eastern Demacia.
A skimpy ivy green loin cloth for her legs? And a skimpy matching top which was not even sufficient to cover the sides of her ample chest? The poor maiden was clearly so destitute, she could not even afford the bolts of cloth necessary to sew a proper set of cold weather attire.
The distraught crown prince was beside himself now. “You must be terribly cold, my beautiful farm girl! I thought the walls of my ultimate would be enough to shield you from the elements, but now...”
Akali blinked, and she looked down to see that his hands were now resting against her chest. Then she looked up at Jarvan with a quizzical expression on her face.
“Hmm?” Jarvan looked down at his hands, which were currently pressed against her side boobs, moving this way and that. “Oh. I am merely ensuring that your chest will not be afflicted with frost bite or hypothermia, beautiful farm girl. So long as I continue to stimulate your blood circulation and trap your body heat within my hands, the core temperature of your torso will never drop to dangerously low levels.”
Normally, Akali would have been outraged if her assassination target had caught her off guard, disarmed her with mere words, and felt her up like so. However, his explanation was earnest, and his concerned eyes sincere, and she believed him. How could she not believe a man with such a kind heart that cared for his people? A man who has laid his life on the line countless times for his country's freedom! If he said he was merely concerned about the well being of his beautiful farm girl, surely, that was all he was doing!
Plus, it didn't hurt that he was very tall and handsome with a wonderful smile (when he chose to smile, that is) and startlingly gentle hands.
She rested her head against his looming chest, closing her eyes with a quiet sigh, and for one painful searing moment, she fervently wished with all her might that the lie would become the truth. She truly wished that she was but a simple Demacian farm girl of humble origins. She truly wished that his concern and affection was built upon something other than a foundation of deceit. She no longer cared about her mission, her duties, her oath to maintain the balance in all things. All she wanted was to lose herself in his arms and listen to his adoring whispers...
No, she could not do this. She could not bear to live a lie, no matter how much she wanted it.
She abruptly pulled herself from his arms and backed away, her eyes brimming with sad tears as she gave a simple shake of her head. She was sorry.
Jarvan's eyes also started to fill with hot brine, as he extended a desperate hand. “No, my beautiful farm girl! Why! Please, do not go!”
Suddenly she pounced forward and up to his face with blinding quickness, and before he knew it, her warm soft lips briefly touched against his. And then, she was gone. Like the fleeting shadow that she truly was.
The crown prince stood alone in the freezing wind, his arm still reaching out for her in vain, as a single tear ran down his cheek. Then his arm dropped back down to his side, and he sat onto the rooftop with a heavy thump. Such a strong and proud farm girl, he thought to himself. Even if he had offered her the world – and he would have, make no mistake about it – he could now see that she would never accept it. Even when down on her luck, her pride did not allow her to accept charity or welfare. Like a true Demacian, she wished to make her own way in this world, and earn her own way with her two strong and beautiful hands.
Perhaps she was upon hard times now, but he had no doubt that, with her work ethic and will power, good fortune would smile upon her in the near future. And perhaps, he would meet her again, someday, somehow.
No, he definitely would meet her again, he decided. He would set out next spring to travel the farm lands once again, and he would find her. He would go to the ends of the earth to find his beautiful farm girl, just so he could hold her hands in his once again.
But first, he had to get back inside. He was freezing his ass off out here. He stood up, pulled her scythes out of his feet, and went back into his bedroom with her scythes in his hands and a heavy heart in his chest.
Jarvan spent the entire day in bed, having caught a cold. And his sleep was restless, as he tossed and turned, dreaming of a beautiful farm girl forever just out of his reach.
Later that night, in an underground conference room at an undisclosed location, a secret organization had assembled for their weekly meeting. The same secret organization that wanted Jarvan IV dead as a door nail.
“Order! Order!” The leader of the organization, Leona of the Solari, was standing behind a podium, and she pounded her Phage gavel against it repeatedly. “Order in the room, please!”
“Relax, Leona.” Irelia was sitting in the front row, twirling one of her blades around her finger. “There's only three other people in this room, you know.”
“Oh. Yes, sorry about that.” Leona looked over the other members of the organization now: Irelia of Ionia, Riven of Noxus, and Kayle of Someplace Far Away. “Sorry, girls, I'm just a little upset right now that our assassination plot failed.”
Everyone else nodded, and Leona smiled as she started over. “Well, anyways, thanks for coming, and welcome to this week's meeting of the S.S.W.D.D.L.S!”
“Bawwwk!” A bright red parrot on Leona's shoulder chirped excitedly. “Welcome, ladies! Stay classy! Bawwk!”
S.S.W.D.D.L.S. stood for: Secret Society of Women Who Don't Dress Like Skanks. They were basically a group of female champions who opposed the sexualization of women in the League of Legends. They hated it when a female champion showed too much leg. And they REALLY hated it when a female champion showed boobage.
Leona looked around the nearly-empty room again, and she sighed. “So, girls, no new recruits this week?”
Everyone looked at each other, then shook their heads. Riven said, “I was thinking of asking LeBlanc to join us, since she had been wearing her Wicked LeBlanc skin a lot lately, and it is a relatively conservative skin that is appropriate for children under 12. But now that she's running around in her Mistletoe skin all the time with her boobs popping out for all to see...”
“Yes, she would never understand our cause,” Leona agreed. “Besides, her default skin has her wearing nothing but a pair of belts around her lower body! No pants, not even a mini skirt! It's just a pair of lousy belts, for gods sake! We could never let a woman like her into our society! It goes against everything we stand for!”
“Bawwwk!” The parrot chimed. “Never let her in! Bawwwk!”
Kayle said in a muffled voice from inside her helmet: “What about Vayne? How about we ask her to rejoin us?”
“No,” Leona firmly said. “We kicked her out for a reason. She never comes back until she disavows that trampy Dragonslayer skin of hers with that trampy cleavage.”
“Bawwk! No cleavage! Stay classy! Bawwwk!”
“That's right, Iron, that's right.” Leona smiled as she patted her parrot on the head. “We must stay classy.”
Irelia stopped spinning her blade for a moment. “What about the new fox girl champion that just came out? Has anyone seen her yet? What does she look like?”
Leona snorted. “Hah! She's basically a furry version of Sona. Instead of calling her the Nine Tailed Fox, they should be calling her the Two Boobed Tramp!”
“Oh.” Irelia lapsed into silence, as did the other girls, and they thought long and hard about other potential recruits...
Riven scratched her head now. “Isn't there another lady champion we're forgetting? Her name escapes me at the moment, though.”
“Oh yeah!” Leona snapped her fingers. “I know who you're talking about! Her name is... her name... hmm... was it Mantra? No, that's not quite it.”
Kayle was muttering inside her helmet: “Carmel... Caramel... Carpool...”
Irelia heard Kayle's mumblings, and she suddenly sat up in excitement. “Oh, you mean Karma!”
The other women looked to Irelia in confusion, as Riven said, “Karma? Who's that?”
Irelia slumped back into her chair. “Oh, never mind.”
Leona tried to stay positive. “Okay, well, girls, just keep an eye out for any new recruits, ok?” Her pretty face then glowered as an ill mood passed over her, and she became dead serious, just like Sion. “The more pressing matter at hand is that our public enemy #1, Jarvan, is still alive! Irelia, have you talked to Akali lately? What the hell happened? How could she fail with the information we supplied her??”
Irelia also wore a dark face of concern. “I talked with Akali briefly when she got back, and quite frankly, her explanation made no sense to me. She said she could not bear to kill such a kind and gentle man, and that she was going to move to Demacia, start her own wheat farm, and make her dreams become reality.”
“What the!” Leona threw her hands up into the air. “What the hell is she talking about? Wheat farms? Dreams becoming reality?”
“Like I said, I have no idea where she was coming from. But she did, at least, return the payment we gave her, and she apologized for not being able to fulfill the contract.”
Irelia dumped a pile of gold and a pre-nerf hextech gunblade onto the floor next to Leona, then returned back to her seat. Leona stared long and hard at the gold and gunblade, then bowed her head for a moment in deep thought. The other women remained quiet and still for half a minute, until the armored redhead finally lifted her head back up, her face deeply troubled by the recent turn of events.
“It appears that Jarvan is an even greater threat than I imagined,” she quietly said. “One might be quick to point the finger at Akali for her show of weakness. After all, she is a girl who enjoys cosplaying as a skanky nurse. But now that I think about it, I do not believe Akali was weak. She has killed countless men before. Some of them were as handsome as Jarvan. Some were even better looking than him. And yet, she cut them down without a second thought. No, my dear sisters, I do not blame Akali for her failure. Instead, I fear that Jarvan may very well be the most formidable enemy to women that we could possibly imagine.”
She started to pace in circles around her podium, hands clasped behind her back. “This Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth! He intrudes upon our privacy in our restrooms! He gropes us without our permission! His idiotic mouth spews stupidity wherever he goes! And yet, every woman he encounters has fallen madly in love with him! It makes absolutely no sense!”
“Bawwk! No sense! Bawwk!”
“This can only mean one thing.” Leona stopped pacing about, coming to a full stop behind her podium once again. “He is clearly a sorcerer beyond any other mage we know of. He must be seducing our fellow women with a powerful aphrodisiac magic that is more OP than release-day Xin Zhao. The reach of his dark arts exceeds that of even Xerath during his W, and the suppression of his mindwashing magic lasts longer than even Malzahar's ultimate.”
The other women shifted uncomfortably as they looked at each other, alarmed by the implications. “I have been stocking up on armor items, in the event that I might become the target of his amorous advances,” Irelia said. “But never did I imagine that I would also need magic resist against an AD bruiser like Jarvan!”
“Magic resist is not enough!” Leona thumped her fist against the podium. “You will all need to procure a Banshee's Veil as soon as possible. Against an incubus fiend like Jarvan, the Veil's spell block may prove to be the difference between victory and defeat!”
“A Banshee's Veil? But I don't have a mana bar!” Riven was dismayed, to say the least. “Can I get a Hexdrinker instead?”
“No, you must get a Veil! Jarvan's foul magic is clearly some kind of crowd control ability, and Hexdrinker will not save you from such a spell!”
Riven grumbled a little bit, but she nodded. “Very well. I shall save my gold for a Banshee's Veil.”
“Thank you, Riven. And in your case, make sure to rush the Negatron Cloak first, not the Catalyst.” Leona looked to everyone now. “My dear sisters, I know that what I ask of you is difficult, but believe me, if one of us falls victim to the predatory claws of Jarvan, the implications could be disastrous. Once under his spell, the victim might tell him all about our secret society. And if he ever finds out about our existence and location, heaven help us - ”
As soon as the word “help” left Leona's lips, a majestic and manly voice boomed through the ceiling of their underground room, from above their heads, and above ground:
“Do I hear a cry for help from one of my good citizens??”
Leona fearfully clapped a hand over her mouth, realizing the mortal mistake she had just made. “Oh no! My sisters, I am sorry, please forgive me! My foolish tongue has betrayed us all!” She grabbed her sword and shield, and braced herself for her incoming demise. “Leave me, my sisters! Our society will not die here if I buy you time to flee! You must survive, you must carry on our cause! And when you all have Banshee's Veils, you must bring down Jarvan once and for all! Avenge me and all the other women he has preyed upon!”
Irelia firmly planted her feet onto the ground, as she shouted, “No, Leona! We will never leave you! If today should be the day we die, then so be it! We will die together, fighting for what we believe in!”
Riven stood resolute also, as she drew her broken sword from her scabbard. “I swore to follow you until my last dying breath, Leona! And so long as my chest draws air, my sword will forever be yours!”
The entire room shook now as their archnemesis burrowed through the earth, his aim no doubt leading straight to their underground hideout. Furniture began to vibrate and rattle, and the silver platter of homemade cookies which Irelia had brought to the meeting, it now tumbled off the edge of its table and onto the hardwood floor. The concrete ceiling above the four women groaned as it began to split apart, and sandy dirt began to sift through the newly-formed cracks, cracks which spread rapidly like wildfire.
For a moment, Leona's resolve was as unsteady as the room about them, her mind gripped with fear and doubt. And she could see that her sisters, despite their brave words, were experiencing the same, as they nervously glanced up at the disintegrating ceiling, then at each other.
But then she ground her teeth, and she summoned forth a courage she did not know she possessed, as she drew her sword and shouted, “Gird your loins, my dear sisters! Our greatest foe now approaches us, but we shall prevail, for our cause is righteous and just. Our resolve will grant us the strength to defeat this evil demonic corrupter of female minds!”
Leona's heroic words emboldened the other women, and she was heartened to see the fear and terror evaporate from their eyes. Irelia turned to shout something to her brethren, but then the ceiling finally collapsed, and everything vanished under a cloud of dust and falling rubble, as a giant golden figure crashed into the room with an ominous bellow:
When the smoke settled, there he was. Dressed in his golden armor, wielding his mighty spear, and blowing his runny nose, as he shouted:
“Fear not, good citizens! I am Jarvan Lightshield, Crown Prince of Demacia, and I am here to help!”
Much to his surprise, his declaration was met with silence. And so, he looked around himself to see that he was surrounded by nothing but rubble and small boulders. Not a single soul in sight.
Well, this was strange, he thought to himself. He was certain that he had heard a plea for help from this underground room just now. So he called out, “Hello? Is there anyone here?”
A nearby pile of rocks began to stir, and he immediately rushed over to help unearth a loudly coughing Riven. “My good lady!” He shouted with great concern. “Are you all right!”
The dazed Riven quickly came to her senses when she realized that Jarvan was towering above her, with his hand extended towards her newly-dusty face. And she hissed like a cornered alley cat as she scrambled to distance herself from him, afraid that the incubus had already begun to weave his web about her.
“Stay away from me, you *******, or else!”
The crown prince was surprised by her hostility, but only for a moment, as his sharp eyes spotted a broken sword lying at her feet. Then he understood the situation, as he nodded ruefully and said:
“Forgive me, my good lady, I did not intend to break your blade during my entrance. I admit, in my haste to aid the people, I can be negligent when it comes to preserving the well-being of their property.”
To Riven's horror, he then picked up her sword before she could lunge for her weapon. And she gritted her teeth as she crouched low, watching him examine the runic symbols on the broken blade, waiting for a moment to seize it from him.
“This is a fine blade,” he mused out loud. “Imbued with arcane energy. Calling for its master, yearning for her touch.” He lowered the weapon from his sharp and observant eyes, and he looked to Riven now. “I will make amends, my good lady. Allow me to repair this blade for you.”
The Noxian swordswoman was thrown off by his sudden offer, and she carefully replied, “No, my, um, your majesty. You do not have to do such a thing. Please, return my weapon - “
“No, I must do this! Your blade cries to me with great sadness, it yearns to be whole once again!” Jarvan closed his eyes as he pressed the blade's flatness against his forehead. “Can you not hear its pleas, my good lady? Surely you can hear it call to you, even as it rests here in my hands!”
Riven had no idea what he was babbling about, but before she could say anything, he was already making his way to a corner of the room, where a little-used anvil and hearth rested in a circle of ancient ash. And he swept away the trash which littered the anvil's surface, as he shouted, “Fear not, good lady! I spent two of my formative years under the tutelage of our kingdom's greatest blacksmiths! With a little bit of luck and a great deal of hammer and fire, I am sure I can restore your blade to all of its former glory!”
Now, Riven was pretty sure that he was full of ****, because she had taken her broken blade to the finest blacksmiths around Runeterra, and none of them had been able to repair the weapon to her satisfaction. But as he knelt down to start a fire within the forge, she decided that it was best that she let him waste his time, while she rallied her sisters to their feet.
She looked around herself now, and she smiled in relief and delight as she could see her comrades already emerging from the rubble. Their bodily wounds, like hers, were superficial at most; if anything, the injuries to their pride were far more grievous, considering how easily Jarvan had gotten the jump on them. And now, they were gnashing their teeth as they scowled at the crown prince, who was huddled in his corner of the room, blowing and fanning the forge's flames to life.
Leona stepped forward, her eyes glued on Jarvan as she asked Riven, “Are you injured, my sister?”
“None the worse for wear, my fearless leader! But our enemy currently holds my weapon in his hands!”
“I can see that! Does the heinous brute intend to melt its steel into slag with those terrible flames??”
“No, my leader! He intends to... he...” Riven became a little sheepish. “He, um, intends to fix it for me.”
“What!” Irelia was ready to send her blades towards the small of his spine, but she turned her head in concern at Riven's statement. “Riven, why does he do this for you! Perhaps this is how he contaminated Akali with his foul magic??”
Then Irelia cried out in distress as a large white shapeless mass suddenly struck her in the face, and Leona held out a hand in dismay. “Irelia, no! Are you all right?”
“I am... I am unharmed!” The Ionian warrior managed to tear away the mass from her eyes. “The sorcerer's attack was unsuccessful! Did the fool think that his...” She took a closer look at the white cloth in her hands. “Did he really think that his sweat-soaked cotton undershirt would injure me!”
“His undershirt?” Kayle stomped over to take a closer look at what Irelia held. “What is the meaning of this! If his undershirt is here in our possession, then that can only mean...”
All of the women turned their heads to see a shirtless and topless Jarvan standing over a great blazing fire, hammer in hand as he pounded away tirelessly upon Riven's blade on the anvil before him. His chest armor now lay uselessly by his feet, and his deadly spear rested harmlessly against the nearest wall, as the half-naked crown prince fought through his ill body's fever and the flames' searing heat to complete his task.
Riven's eyes became riveted, as she watched his huge back muscles work and roil beneath his finely carved and lightly tanned skin. As his mountainous shoulders shifted with each swing of the hammer. As his narrow trim waist rotated halfway around to reveal a row of bulging abdominal muscles which disappeared into the front of his pants...
Irelia's suddenly dry tongue could not help but lick her lips once, and her eyes flitted over his extended left arm. His arm forcefully held down the blade in place with a pair of rusty tongs, and the forearm was simply massive, its deeply grooved muscles delineated beneath his taut and sweaty skin, flexing and firing as his hulking hand squeezed mercilessly upon the tongs' handle...
Leona's footing became unsure, as Jarvan paused for a moment to glance back at her, his stern handsome countenance and dark flashing eyes burrowing straight into her own large brown eyes, as a steady drip of sweat fell from his sturdy pointed chin and onto his lively pectorals. She quickly tore her eyes away from his, lest she fall under his sorcerer spell, but her face and ears were already unusually hot, much to her alarm.
He was shouting something back at her, something about the blade being ready soon. But the guardian of the Solari ignored his fallacious words, as she struggled to regain her bearings. The evil magic of the sorcerer was thick about them now, she could feel it. A palpable sultry dampness in the air, clinging to their bodies. Riven and Irelia were faltering visibly underneath its influence, and Leona knew that all would be lost if she did not do something drastic.
A loud buzzing din filled her ears, and her vision began to teeter. Jarvan was now done with the anvil, turning to face the girls with Riven's sword in his hands, his arms curled about his bulbous biceps. At the sight of his perfect upper arms, Leona lost her balance and dropped to a knee, panting heavily and wiping her sweat-beaded brow underneath the rim of her heavy helmet. Even as she gathered herself for one final lunge, she was not sure if it would be in time. Or if it would enough. Or if it would even be possible, considering her current physical state.
She could see now that Jarvan was standing in front of Riven, and he was smiling graciously as he offered the sword to the bewitched swordswoman. Leona could see that the weapon was whole once again, its mystical blade glowing brightly, having entirely regained its former glory. A stunned and delighted Riven gingerly took the blade from his hands, her furtive fingers daring to reach out and caress his rock-hard forearms for a few savored moments. And when the Noxian raised her head to thank the Demacian for his kindness, Leona could see that Riven was lost, for she now had the googly eyes.
The sight of her fallen comrade fueled her, galvanized her exhausted arms and legs, empowered her with the will of RiotNikasaur, the goddess of EndlessPepAndPositiveEnergy. And thus, with a terrific yell, Leona reared up, held her shining sword high, and charged one last fateful time. For classiness. For propriety. For the S.S.W.D.D.L.S.
Then Jarvan accidentally dropped something, and he bent over to pick it up. His movement was too fast for Leona to react. Too fast for her to avert her eyes, to divert her course. And her eyes became huge in amazement, as she got a first-class view of his cute tight rear end.
She could barely whisper “By the gods!” before her legs buckled and gave way, and she crashed onto her hands and face, skidding to a halt, all of her strength sapped from her body. Tears of defeat started to flow from her eyes, even as she continued to helplessly stare at his gloriously bent-over rear end.
Forgive me, my sisters, she thought to herself as her consciousness started to fade. I was too weak to lead you. Her bruised chin rested on cold sharp gravel. Her gloved hands rested by her face, tensing, then relaxing one last time. She wondered if they could have defeated him even if they had their Banshee's Veils.
Then she finally closed her eyes, and surrendered to sleep.
A dash of cold water splashed across her face, and Leona sat up with a disturbing yelp, sweating profusely, and shivering despite her burning body. Coughing weakly, she managed to force out between hacks:
“Where... where am I?”
She looked up to see the concerned faces of Irelia and Riven, the concerned helmet of Kayle, and the concerned face of Jarvan, he of the gorgeous rear end. And then she realized that he was kneeling next to her, her unconscious head had been resting on his lap, and it was his thermos bottle that had spilled into her mouth just now.
At once both drawn to and repulsed by his handsome visage, she did what she normally did whenever she felt confused by a young man's advances: she punched him in the face. Her knuckles impacted against his chin with a solid thwack, and his head snapped to the side, as a thin trickle of blood began to seep from the corner of his mouth.
Leona scrambled to her feet, then immediately regretted her hasty punch. Even if he was a fiendish incubus sorcerer, sucker punches were a trick employed only by the cowardly and the weak. The pride and joy of the Solari should never have to resort to such bush tactics. But she was surprised to see that Jarvan was not offended in the slightest bit, as he stood up with her and smiled gently.
“Forgive me, my fair lady. It was foolish of me to wake you while you slumbered. It has been well documented that those who slumber often strike out unconsciously when disturbed, and in my haste to confirm your well-being, I knowingly put myself in peril when I emptied my thermos bottle onto you, and I paid the price for my foolhardy action.”
He continued to speak, but Leona could not focus on his words, for he was still shirtless, and his sweaty muscled body proved to be terribly distracting. She was a very tall woman, one who towered over most other champions of the League, both male and female. And yet, the crown prince stood taller, by nearly a full head; and as far as she could tell, his body fat percentage was even lower than that of her Amazonian physique, as her eyes danced all over the veiny striations of his musculature.
She was vaguely aware of Riven and Irelia by her side, their comforting hands on her shoulders and their delighted voices in her ears. And she turned to her dear friends now and smiled wide to allay their concerns.
“I am fine, my sisters. Please, do not worry yourself any more.”
“Yes, my good man!” Jarvan boomed in celebration as he clapped a heavy hand onto Kayle's shoulder. “Fear not, your lovely red-headed friend is in good health!”
Irelia and Riven giggled like middle school girls at Jarvan's silly little mistake, and Leona found herself nearly joining them, much to her chagrin, as Irelia piped up, “Oh Prince Jarvan, can you not see? Kayle is a woman within the armor, not a man!”
“Oh?” The crown prince raised an eyebrow. “Your armored friend here is a woman?”
“Oh yes!” Riven beamed at him. “Kayle has been a long time member of our secret society – errr, a long time friend of ours!”
He nodded with a furrowed brow. “I see...” Then, much to the girls' surprise, Jarvan took one giant step to firmly plant himself between them and Kayle.
And he quietly but solemnly said in a voice that threatened brutal violence: “Listen well, man in golden armor. It would do yourself well to reveal your true gender and identity to these good women, whom you have deceived with malicious intentions, no doubt!”
Leona, Irelia, and Riven looked to each other in shock. Then Leona shouted, “Please stand down, Prince Jarvan! Kayle is our dear sister and comrade! Surely you are mistaken concerning her gender and ill will!”
He shook his head. “From my many years of hunting wild beasts and monsters, I have gained a sort of precognition as to when danger draws near, and it speaks to me just like any of my five senses would. And right now, my good women, one of you is in great peril! For this dastardly shyster has marked one of you as his target! He does well to conceal his black heart, but I can feel his evil pervade throughout my very bones!”
Fighting the growing urge to grope Jarvan's rear end from behind, Leona shouted to Kayle, “Sister! Please remove your helmet and show yourself to this man who accuses you, so that we may put this silly matter behind us once and for all!”
But Kayle did not move. And Leona's blood ran cold, as her instincts suddenly informed her that Jarvan was correct. This helmeted being in golden armor before them, this being now posed a far greater threat to her and her friends than the Crown Incubus of Demacia ever did.
All could sense the danger in the air now, but Riven nervously reached out to their “comrade” one last time, as she squeaked, “Kayle? Are you okay?”
Kayle still did not move however, and Leona recognized Kayle's posture as that of a coiled venomous snake, ready to strike at a moment's notice. But then Jarvan, a man of action first and foremost despite his intellectual and philosophical proclivities, dashed forward with shocking speed for a man of his size, and before everyone knew it, he had whisked away “Kayle's” helmet to reveal the head of a stubble-chinned man with short cropped brown hair and a pair of thin spectacles. And behind the spectacles were the most vicious and savage eyes that Leona had ever seen, the eyes of a heartless predator who felt nothing for its victims.
“Morello!” Riven cried out in unadulterated shock. “What are you doing here!”
Morello did not answer, for he did not see or hear the Noxian. Instead, his wild bloodshot eyes were fixated on someone beyond Jarvan's other shoulder, and his upper lip curled back in an involuntary snarl, revealing the yellow stain of his nicotine-coated canines on otherwise healthy pink gums (I don't know if Morello actually smokes, I am speculating here).
And his voice, normally reasonable and rational in the patch preview videos, now revealed its true timbre: guttural and barbaric, rumbling at a nearly subsonic frequency, as he growled:
“No! Noo! Nooo!” Irelia's pretty young face blanched in sheer terror, as her mouth formed the perfect O. “Nooooo!” The Ionian began to stumble backwards, struggling to distance herself from the boogey monster of her nightmares. But she traveled not more than two steps before her suddenly clumsy feet tripped over themselves, and she ass planted herself onto the ground. Her legs continued to frantically churn as she inefficiently scrambled away further, this time in a crab walk, her eyes never leaving Morello as her panicked throat and lungs ran dry.
With Irelia tumbling to the ground and leaving herself utterly exposed and vulnerable, Morello's growling escalated into an all out howl, and he coiled his legs, ready to strike, as he pulled out his magical schoolgirl nerfbat wand from a hidden scabbard within his armor.
“Too much sustain! Awwrrooooooo!”
Irelia shrieked as she turned away to shield herself as best she could from the impending attack. Meanwhile, Leona nearly lost control of her bladder at the sight of the dreaded nerfbat, and for a moment, she almost turned tail and fled herself. But she managed to stand firm, as she gripped her sword handle once, twice. No, she could not flee. Not when her good friend was in the greatest peril of her young life! Leona was a protector chosen by the gods themselves, a guardian destined to bring their message of purity and classiness to the people!
And thus, she prepared to throw herself between Irelia and Morello, readying herself for her E and the following stun lock sequence. But before the clunky animation of her E could come out, Leona felt the whoosh of hot musky manliness pass by her, and her eyes widened in shock as the musclebound half-naked prince leaped willingly into harm's way, for the sake of a young woman he had only met mere minutes ago!
He did not have his spear, but Jarvan had no need for the toy, for he was now powered by his passion for his people. And he bellowed, “DEMACIAAAAA!” as he plunged his fist into the ground before Morello, and his ultimate's mighty walls sprung up around the two men, barricading them off from the rest of the room.
Leona scrambled onto a foot stool so she could peer over the top of the wall. And her voice betrayed far more concern and desperation than she cared to acknowledge, as she called out, “Jarvan! Are you all right? Prince Jarvan!”
“Fear not, my lovely lady! I shall survive this encounter!” Jarvan now stood face to face with the slavering and angrily howling Morello, and he held a hand out to keep Leona away. “Do not enter my arena, lest he turn his terrible weapon on both of us!”
At his noble and heroic words, the Solari's eyes became wet with emotion, and she fearfully gripped the top of the stone wall, whispering his name under her breath: “Jarvan...”
“Jarvan!” Morello was growling like a rabid badger now. “How dare you interfere with my work!” He held his nerfbat wand up to Jarvan's face. “Do you also wish to fall under the designation of anti-fun, hmm??”
The crown prince was not immune to fear, as he paled at the very real threat of being labeled as anti-fun. But he refused to give an inch, as he shouted, “Do your worst, Morello! You have already nerfed me so many times, one more nerf matters not to me!”
“Ah yes, I have nerfed you many times, muhaha!” Morello laughed momentarily, then became serious. “And yet, Prince Jarvan, you are still strong enough to trap me within the walls of your ultimate! How can this be?? Perhaps I shall reduce you to the uselessness of Eve, crown prince of Demacia??”
Even under the barrage of Morello's very real threats, Jarvan stood tall and proud, as he shouted, “You will never understand the true source of my strength, Morello! You may nerf my numbers to oblivion, but I will always be viable in ranked matches because I draw my power from my people! So long as a beautiful Demacian farm girl toils in the fields under the beating sun! So long as a Demacian child labors in the depths of our dankest coal mines! So long as a Demacian yordle trudges forward in his quest to find an unoccupied shower stall! So long as my good people strive forward, undaunted and undeterred, I shall forever be there to protect them!”
Leona's cheeks were wet with fresh tears now, and she wiped at them furiously, as she scolded herself for her foolishness. What a fool she had been! How could she have wished any harm upon such a noble man as Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth?? When he possessed a passion for his people that matched even her passion for her own?? She now understood why Lux, Sona, Akali, and Riven had fallen for him. She could see now that Prince Jarvan truly was a man with a kind heart that cared for his people, having laid his life on the line countless times for their country's freedom. Never before had she encountered such a beautiful and desirable man, and never before had her heart beat so fast. If it were not for the other people present in the room, she would have dropped her panties for him in a fit of reckless wanton passion, right here and now.
Morello took heed of the strength of Jarvan and his words, and the game designer took a step back in a moment of uncertainty. But then his upper lip curled back in a snarl of a smile, and his confidence returned, as he cackled, “You fool! You think you have stopped me?? You may have this wall before me, but I have the summoner spell flash at my disposal! All I have to do is press D, and I will be on the other side, free to do whatever I want with the lovely Irelia of Iona! Hahahaha!”
Jarvan did not answer, as he carefully watched Morello now. Morello was right, after all; Jarvan's ultimate did have such a weakness. But Jarvan also had flash, and he was prepared to waste it to follow Morello beyond the walls, so that he could use his E + Q combo to pop up Morello into the air and buy Irelia a few more precious seconds to escape!
Morello already knew what Jarvan was thinking, as he jeered, “See you on the other side, crown prince!”
And with a hoot and holler, Morello used his flash spell, and he blinked away. But then Jarvan's eyes widened in shock as Morello reappeared only a few feet away, still within the walls of Jarvan's ultimate! Morello's flash had failed! What a noob!
“What is the meaning of this??” Morello looked around himself with the panic of a caged animal. “How am I still within the confines of your accursed ultimate, Jarvan?? Answer me! How is this possible??”
Jarvan answered with righteousness dripping from his voice: “You are still within my walls because you nerfed the range of flash, game designer! Now that the range of flash has been reduced, one must use it with much more precision! A precision which you failed to muster, due to your overconfidence!”
Morello's jaw dropped at the revelation. “My flash failed because... I nerfed it?”
“Yes, Morello. Your flash failed because you nerfed it.”
“I... I did not...” Morello's voice became quiet now, as he looked down at his bloodstained hands. “I see what I have become.”
For the first time in a long time, Morello saw his hands as what they truly were: terrible instruments of destruction which reeked of death, having wrought so much agony and misery over the years. Jarvan could see the change sweep over the game designer, as the long sharp claws of Morello's hands receded into ragged fingernails. As Morello's yellow fangs receded back into his quivering mouth.
The crown prince stepped forward and quietly rested a hand on Morello's shoulder. “It is not too late for you. You were once a noble game designer who worked diligently for the player base! Only for the player base! And you can be such a man once again. I can feel it from within your soul, my good man.”
Morello looked up at Jarvan now, and his eyes were wet from behind his spectacles. “I lost my way, didn't I? I always did everything for the players, but somehow, someway... the power corrupted me. I began to do things for myself. I did things to serve my own self-interests. I did things to satisfy my own vicious whims. I did things just because I could, not because I must!”
Jarvan nodded understandingly. “I know of the dark and lonely path you tread upon, game designer. I also did useless empty things in the past. I was obsessed with power and Elementz's tier list, and I smote down many a hapless enemy and beast, all supposedly in the name of my country and its people. But now I know better, and I lead a much more satisfying life.”
“I... I shall return to Riot Headquarters,” Morello removed his spectacles for a moment to wipe his eyes. “I shall return to my office and find myself again as a game designer.” The spectacles went back on, and he extended a normal human hand, completely absent of claws, to Jarvan. “Thank you, Jarvan, for seeing me through my darkest of times.”
“I am always here to help,” Jarvan reminded him as they shook hands. Then Morello pressed B to recall back to Riot Headquarters, vanishing into thin air. And Jarvan took a great deep breath, as the great walls of his ultimate fell away into harmless dust to reveal the anxious faces of Leona and Riven.
“Jarvan!” The two women rushed over to his side. “Are you all right?? And where is Morello?”
“I am fine, my good women. And you no longer need to fear Morello. He has seen the folly of his ways, and he returns to his cubicle a changed man.”
A pale-faced Irelia poked her head out from behind the large pile of rubble she had been hiding behind. “So, is it... is it over? Is it safe?”
Jarvan stepped over to offer a hand to the young woman. “It is safe now, my fair lady. You may come out now.”
“Oh, Prince Jarvan... I... I don't know what to say.” Irelia madly blushed as she took his large strong hand within her own dainty hands, and she pulled herself up to her feet with his assistance. “But I thank you, Prince Jarvan, I really do. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.”
Leona and Riven watched suspiciously as Irelia stood very close to Jarvan now, her healthy young woman's body grazing slightly against the epitome of manliness that was him. Her hands were intertwined with his as she gazed up into his eyes, searching for a sign. And her heart jumped as he looked down at her with his wonderful dark eyes...
“Oh, what's this?” He spied a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie on the ground next to their feet. And he abruptly squatted down to pick it up. “A cookie! And it is chocolate chip, nonetheless!” He inspected the somewhat dusty cookie for a moment, then shrugged. “Five second rule!”
And he scarfed down the cookie with relish, much to Irelia's delight. For the cookie was hers, from the homemade batch which she had brought to the meeting earlier. And she eagerly asked, “Do you like it, Prince Jarvan?”
“Like it? I absolutely love it, my good woman! I have eaten many a delicacy throughout my travels, but nothing sings to my heart like the crispity crunchity goodness of a homemade chocolate chip cookie baked with care and love!”
The dark room was now lit brightly by her glowing face, but she was too embarrassed to look him in the eye, as she began to demurely toe the ground before her. “If you wish, Prince Jarvan, I can... I have more of my cookies at my humble home, if you wish to taste - ”
Leona and Riven hastily stepped in now, both coughing loudly. And Leona said, “We all thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Prince Jarvan! We all do!”
Riven was rubbing the sword at her hip now. “I cannot thank you enough for what you did to my blade just now, Prince Jarvan! So many smiths have failed to restore it, but your wonderful strong hands succeeded where theirs failed!”
Jarvan smiled benevolently upon the good women, as he bowed his head to them. “You need not thank me, my lovely ladies! I would do anything for my people...” He drew silent, as his ears twitched, and his eyes looked up to the sky. “Hark, but what is this? Do I hear another cry for help in the distance??”
All three women immediately panicked at the thought of Jarvan leaving their lives without another word. And Leona, who was the boldest of the three, managed to step forward to ask with a red face and a hopeful smile. “Um, Prince Jarvan? Please forgive me for intruding upon your personal life, but I wonder if you are doing anything tonight - ”
“Bawwk! Bawwk!” Leona's beloved red parrot, who had lain lifelessly on the ground with a broken body, suddenly returned to life with a mighty beat of its wings. “Virgin alert! Virgin alert! Bawwwk!”
“Iron!” Leona's face turned aflame with a fiery heat that rivaled the sun itself. “Hush your loose beak!”
But the parrot would not be silent, as he perched onto her shoulder to sound the alarm once more. “Bawwk! Virgin alert! Only look, no touch! Bawwwk! Stay classy!”
Leona's hand promptly clapped over her parrot's mandible before he could spill any more embarrassing secrets about her, and the feisty bird, now muted, resorted to giving Jarvan a dirty stare instead: ಠ_ಠ
She looked back to Jarvan with a desperate smile, just about ready to die of embarrassment, as she angrily petted the crest of her beloved yet overprotective bird: “Oh, my parrot says the most silly things about my younger sister! Ha ha ha!”
Riven and Irelia shared a look with each other, because they were quite sure that Leona had once told them that she was an only child. But Jarvan, with a solemn shake of the head, stepped forward to take her hands into his.
“Please, do not be embarrassed, my lovely lady. Chastity is a rare and precious virtue these days, and it is refreshing to meet a woman who could have any man she wishes, yet chooses to save herself for someone truly dear and special.”
Leona's face was as hot as the sun once more, but for a different reason now, as her knees became as weak as water, and as she clutched needfully to his hands and wrists. Her furious parrot had hopped onto Jarvan's head and was pecking viciously at his nemesis's scalp, but Jarvan did not pay heed, as he bent down towards their clasped hands, clearly intending to kiss the back of her trembling hand -
An anxious Irelia stepped forward now, and she blurted out, “I have also not yet lain with a man, Prince Jarvan! For I also wished to wait for the day when I would meet a man so special and dear to my heart!”
Riven also stepped forward, not to be outdone by her two comrades, and she stammered, “And I... I am also still pure, Prince Jarvan! As a matter of fact, the only person I have kissed was a female friend during middle school, because we were curious what it would feel like!”
Jarvan furrowed his brow in confusion as he let go of a disappointed Leona's hands, not sure why these three fine women were suddenly revealing their chaste lifestyles to him. But he did not have time to ponder, for he could hear a young woman far away in need of his aid. An apologetic woman who was punishing herself for her forgetfulness, having left her fuzzy cuffs at home.
He stepped back and bowed deeply to Leona, Irelia, and Riven. “My good women, I dearly wish I could tarry longer with such fine citizens as yourselves, but an urgent matter has arisen which I cannot ignore! Perhaps we shall meet again under more favorable circumstances! Farewell!”
And before any of the girls could protest, he flew off through the ceiling and into the sky like Superman, leaving behind a sad yet understanding trio of young women and a vociferous parrot who shouted threats after him from the shoulder of his mistress...
Several days later, in the wee hours of an early morning, in an underground room at a different undisclosed location, the Secret Society of Women Who Don't Dress Like Skanks convened once again for their weekly meeting. “Order! Order!” Valkyrie Leona was standing behind her podium once again, and she pounded her Phage gavel against it repeatedly. “Order in the room, please!”
“Relax, Leona.” Nightblade Irelia was sitting in the front row once again, twirling one of her blades around her finger. “There's only two other people in this room, you know.”
Leona sighed in disappointment, as she surveyed the nearly-empty room before her. “True...”
This week's meeting felt different from the previous week's eventful meeting, though. One big obvious difference was Riven's attire, and Leona turned her attention to her dear sister now.
“Riven, my sister... why are you dressed as a bunny girl?”
A red-faced Bunnygirl Riven fidgeted with her fingers, as she could not look her comrades in the eye. “I, um... this is a new skin coming out next week in the Riot store?”
Leona thumped her fist onto the podium. “Hogwash! The patch preview notes for next week are already out, and there is no mention of a new skin for you!”
Bunnygirl Riven did not know what else to say, as she tugged for a moment at the overly tight bottom of her one-piece suit in an attempt to give her tush some breathing room. “I, um... okay, I admit it, I just wanted to try something different this week! So sue me!”
“We will not sue you, dear sister. But!” Leona narrowed her eyes, as she scrutinized the dangerously low cut of Riven's top and the superfluous sexiness of her fishnet stockings. “But, I must warn you, my sister, your costume dances precariously on the line between classy and skanky! Why, at first glance, I could not tell the difference between you and the eternally skanky Janna Stormwind!”
Riven bristled at the notion of her being skanky, and she stood up to shake an angry fist and a pair of angry bunny ears, as she shouted, “And what about you, dear Leona! You wear your Valkyrie skin this early morning, the most racy of your skins! The back of your upper legs, completely exposed! Save for that little nuisance of a skirt! And your daringly bare midriff, dear sister! Why, if I took but a closer look at the small of your back, I am sure that I would be able to see the top of your cute little butt crack peeping out and waving hello!”
A wide-eyed Leona gasped, taken aback by Riven's harsh and acerbic accusations. “Why, I never! You embellish the nuances of my outfit to suit your complaints! My butt crack is not on display for all to see!”
But the self-conscious Leona hastily turned for a moment to look down the small of her back, anyway, and she let out an eep as she pulled her skirt up a tad now. Irelia noticed the wardrobe adjustment, and she grinned somewhat meanly as she pointedly asked, “Do you intend to catch a cold in that skimpy outfit of yours, Dear Leona? Or do you intend to catch a man later this morning?”
The guardian of the Solari took one look at Nightblade Irelia, and she hollered with a thrust of the finger, “You are one to talk, sister Irelia! Your Nightblade skin may cover the majority of your body, but that tight little body suit clings so close to your feminine parts, it leaves practically nothing to the imagination! Why this choice of skin for this morning, hmm??”
Irelia blushed now from behind her black mask, as her arms instinctively crossed over her chest and crotch. “I... I don't know what you could be insinuating! I merely chose this skin because, ah, my other outfits are in the hamper!”
For a moment, all three women glared at each other. But then, all three caught themselves before tempers could flare higher, and the shoulders of all three sagged as they let out a downhearted sigh.
Leona was the first to apologize. “Forgive me, my dear sisters, I did not mean to snap at you. Last week was a difficult week, our most trying one yet, and I have not yet recovered from the traumatic stress.”
“No, no, I should be the one apologizing, Leona!” A contrite Irelia primly placed her hands on her lap, as she hung her head sadly. “And yes, it has been a hard week. I dream the same dream every night now. I dream of Morello and his horrid magical schoolgirl nerfbat wand. He waits for me around every corner, seeking to strike me down...”
Riven patted Irelia's shoulder. “They are but bad dreams, dear sister. Rest assured, you are safe now.”
“Well, the dreams are not entirely bad,” Irelia confessed. “For in my dreams, when Morello attacks me, Jarvan always rescues me in the nick of time! And after he defeats Morello with a single blow, he then turns to me with those wonderful caring eyes of his, and he takes me inside his strong loving arms. He loosens my hair clip, and then he loosens my...”
Irelia let out a little squeal of embarrassment, as she covered her red face with her hands. “Let's just say the dream, um, ends well.”
Normally, Riven and Leona would have admonished Irelia for speaking of such skanky matters. But today, they could not. For they also had been experiencing similar dreams about the same man, and quite frankly, they had enjoyed those dreams much like Irelia had.
All three red-faced women looked at each other now. They looked at Riven's long shapely fishnet legs, Leona's slender bare waist, and the bulging tightness of Irelia's top around her chest. Then Leona set down her gavel, and she quietly said, “My dear sisters, I have been thinking... perhaps our views have been a little too extreme. Perhaps we should not be so quick to judge our fellow women by their outfits, just like one should not judge a book by its cover.”
“I... I admit, I have been thinking the same thing,” Riven ventured. “I was thinking the other day that, perhaps, it is acceptable for a woman to occasionally dress sexy. And feel sexy!” She then clarified, “But only occasionally, mind you!”
“Yes, only occasionally!” Irelia chimed in. “If a woman dresses sexy once a week, for example! I see no harm in this!” She paused, then added, “Today is my day of the week, by the way.”
Riven nodded enthusiastically at the last sentence of the Ionian. “Same here!”
“And, ah, me thrice!” A self-conscious Leona tugged at the back of her skirt again. “And also, when I speak of books and their covers, I feel that we need to address the issue that is Prince Jarvan.”
The other two girls nodded emphatically, and Leona said, “My sisters, I feel that it would only be prudent to consider him a friend of women now, rather than an enemy of women. He may be a little dense between the ears, and his hands may wander on the naughty side now and then, but last week, he proved his worth and heart to us all when he defeated the mighty Morello.”
“Yes!” said an eager Irelia. “He is most definitely a good man! I agree wholeheartedly!”
Riven nodded too, as she blurted, “And he also has a nice body!”
The other two girls looked at her now, and Riven shrunk inside her bunny girl outfit. But she insisted in a small yet defiant voice: “Well, he does.”
Leona and Irelia looked at each other. Then Leona abruptly said, “I like his butt the best.”
Irelia immediately gushed, “Oh god, he is marvelous everywhere, but for me, it is his abs! They are so incredible, you have no idea how badly I wanted to touch them!”
Riven shouted, “I made sure to touch his arms last week when he gave me my sword, and, oh my! Woooo!” She lifted a hand to fan herself off. “I tried so hard to keep my hands off him, but I couldn't help myself - “
As soon as the word “help” left Riven's lips, a faint manly roar could be heard in the distance. “A cry for help in the wee hours of this early morning? DEMACIAAAA!”
At the distant sound of Jarvan's voice, the three girls looked at each other in surprise. Then all three girls clapped their hands in delight.
“Oh my goodness, Jarvan heard us!” Leona hastily pulled out her compact mirror to check on her hair.
Riven was trying to cover herself as best as she could with her giant sword, as she moaned, “Oh god, if he sees me in this outfit, he will think I am but a sleazy harlot!”
A panicky Irelia was endlessly taking her mask off, and then putting it back on. “Curses! Quick, someone tell me, does this mask make me look fat?”
Then the girls jumped in their socks and stockings, as Jarvan exploded through the ceiling, landing by Leona next to her podium with a thunderous crash. And the girls squealed in delight, for it was the early morning, and it seemed that Jarvan had just gotten out of the shower with nothing but a pink bath towel around his waist when he heard their call for help.
“Fear not, good citizens, for I am Prince Jarvan, Crown Prince of Demacia, and I am here to help – oh! It is you!” He recognized the three women from last week. “My good women, what is the matter this time!”
He was very close to Leona, holding his spear in his right hand, and an electric razor in his left. And for a moment, the guardian of the Solari almost swooned right then and there, as her knees grew weak once again. Good god, he smelled wonderful. He smelled of exotic coconut butter and manly Old Spice, and the concoction of the aromas was intoxicating...
Jarvan immediately dropped his spear and razor so he could catch the weak-legged Leona before she lost her balance, and she gasped as she felt the muscles of his arms around her narrow waist, and her hands impulsively reached out to rest against his hulking chest.
“Steady yourself, my lovely lady,” Jarvan gently said. “And be confident in your footing, for you will never fall so long as I am by your side.”
“Oh Jarvan...” Leona whispered, as her hands tightened against him.
His keen and observant eyes noticed something amiss with her outfit, and he tilted his head so that he could peer down the small of her back. “My good lady, I believe that a hint of your butt crack is exposed to the casual eye! Is this a wardrobe malfunction in need of repair??”
Leona blushed madly at his words, as she reached down to tug on her misbehaving skirt once again. But then she stopped herself in the nick of time. Her hand paused by her hips for a long moment. Then the hand returned to its place on his chest, as she coyly smiled now.
“No, my prince, it is not a wardrobe malfunction.”
“Oh, I see.” Jarvan nodded understandingly, as he drew her closer to his half-shaven face. “I see a fleck of something on your soft and quivering lips, my good lady. If I would be so bold, allow me to examine it closer...”
A soft sigh of exhilaration from Leona: “Oh, Prince Jarvan...”
Meanwhile, back at Leona's apartment, the lights were off, and a covered bird cage stood alone in a corner. And from behind the cage's cover, a morose parrot squawked forlornly:
“Bawwwk... virgin alert... stay classy... bawwk...”
TLDR – Jarvan is here to help.
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