Peace talks (invite only)

Shauna kept a low profile as she watched the League's arrival. This would be her perfect opportunity to learn as much as she could about the Shadow Isles, keeping her attention focused on the looming ship that seemed to be somewhat out of place with the removal of its aura, yet still kept its intimidation factor.

She looked around, shifting her position slightly and watching the reactions of the Demacians around her. They all seemed so determined, she could sense in their expressions they were suppressing their emotions. The invasion did not leave a kind spot in their hearts, Demacia is their home. Her home.

She shifted where she stood, setting her fingers upon her crossbow as the silver glinted of sunlight.

Jarvan's orders were clear. Do not attack, for no matter how angry or fearful a man was, there was always a time and place for aggression. The League would stand for none of it, not from the Demacians and not from the Shadow Isles, and he was not about to let this chance waste away. His words were not threatening, for the Prince also instilled a feeling of hope and encouragement - that no matter what, he would make things right.

Even as he looked around the ship, he saw determination and he felt confident; a presence befitting of the Demacian flag drifting silently overhead. The Champions of the Golden City was with him, as were the brave sailors of the ship. So when he cast his attention to the rumble beyond, to the flickering azure fire and the tendrils of shadow, the natural fear of such a sight was all but banished.

He was the first to descend upon the island of frost, the chill faintly felt beneath his metal boots. The princes eyes were not focused on where he stood, but on the menacing frame of the Ruined King, then to the Shadow of War. He clenched his fist tightly, almost as if to choke out the words that wished to spill. His gaze swept over Azazel, unwilling to linger and then upon the face of the woman he loved so dearly. Jarvan's face softened, if only briefly, before hardening as he stepped forward. If he heard the footsteps of his brethren, he did not show it.

He took bold, unwavering steps, but he was ever vigilant of his location from the ship and where he should stand. Despite the League's presence at this meeting and despite the security they provided, Jarvan could not help but feel tense and unsurprisingly suspicious. Jarvan stopped when he felt the distance between them satisfactory. He could talk and be heard without yelling and, should it come to it, protect Fiora if necessary. Without a single word uttered, the Prince stood tall, defiant of the looming figure as it approached him.

Elise watched silently from the ship. Not an hour before she had been angry that she would not be part of the kings escort, another slight in her eyes. But looking at things from this vantage and what she had learned she was becoming glad that she was not on that sheet of ice. The king couldn't blame her for anything if she wasn't there right? Well of coarse he could. Her moves would have to be careful indeed.

The tension in the air even on the ship was almost palpable. It was all she could do to remain hidden and not try to move ever closer. She tapped one of the nearby barrels and whispered. "Its almost time."

Upon the deck Belle walked with an air of confidence and nobility. The unmistakable prestige that came with her upbringing, and a native of Demacia itself. Her expression was calm, even soft and compassionate as she trailed Azazel with chains weighing her arms down and forcing her to keep in line.

As they neared the ice island, she could feel the sudden tug on the chain causing her to trip up when her balance was suddenly compromised by the harsh treatment of the undead Summoner. Belle felt the chill of the icy island strike her body as she hit the ground, taking a moment to slowly climb back to her feet. She bowed her head, feeling her cheeks blossom with a reddened tint both embarrassed and agitated at how Azazel was handling her.

As teal eyes met with the face of her husband, it all melted away. Fear, concern, and hope all rising strongly in response to seeing the Prince and the King now situated on the same island where they might potentially speak of peace for the future. She cautiously observed Azazel as well, not trusting that he wouldn't sabotage one of the few, if not the only, chance for an agreement/alliance between the two nations.

She looked tired, but determined. That much was certain.

The Ruined King' marched toward center of the frozen island, heavy metal boots crunched upon the ice he carried an air that would cause most mortal men to cringe in fear. Yet at the sound of the Demacian princess hitting the ground he paused for the briefest of moments, his clenched armored fists tensed though The Ruined King did not turn to see if she was okay as he would have had they been back upon the isles. As quickly as he paused, he began to move once more, his blazing gaze now fixated upon the prince. He could snap the prince in half if he wished, with Nocturne with them he could possibly take them all out in a massacre. But he had to keep the fact the SI had The Eternal Nightmare with them right now quiet. If push came to shove, such a force would be best used as a surprise.

He paused as he heard the summoner begin to speak, her voice loud and confident, as she rested her gaze upon the King he would meet it. He looked back into her eyes from behind the full metal helm that obscured his features, the near demonic make of the helm only enhanced by the eyes behind it. Only to Kiersta would the blazing cyan spiritfire look to evaporate to show the dead haunting eyes behind it. They seemed to pierce through the summoner and look upon something only the king could see, he would keep his gaze locked with hers as he spoke, his voice rolled like thunder from the hulking form,

"Unprovoked, summoner?" He questioned, daring her to challenge his claim, "Demacia was once part of my kingdom. A nation strong enough to conquer the belt of Valoran and then defend it from any that would dare raise arms against her." The King took a single step forward, his unnatural aura of undeath surging forth like a wave to envelope all those present upon the frozen land, "I was betrayed, struck down by one of my own. My kingdom fractured and split apart... Wars erupted... And even now they still fight with one another, Noxus and Demacia both unworthy to rule. Since my kingdoms fall, there has been nothing but blood shed." The dark eyes behind the mask helm narrow, "For peace?" He raised a black armored hand to point toward the prince, "Demacia has shown itself weak, forced to call upon the aid of another to fight its own battles, my demand is that the Lightshield Dynasty bow before my power. Step down from the throne and bow before me."

Jarvan was not known as a man who hid himself behind an iron curtain of listlessness or disinterest, but he did show a restraint that should be admired; especially when confronted with the sight of his beloved wrapped in dark, cold chains and her cursed keeper. His jaw tightened, locking in place as his hands remained as tight fists against his sides.

When High Councilor Mandrake began the negotiations, Jarvan's gaze crawled over the Ruined King's armor, almost as if willing the twisted metal to burn away. To reveal that which was hidden beneath - sympathies, regrets, anything that would make the undead human only so he could tear it down. The Prince knew there was no trust to be had here, only out of necessity did he even dare entertain the notion. He barely heard the words coming from the woman's mouth. They were lifeless, skimming the surface of the ice before echoing beyond to the blackened azure pits of the Ruined King's helm.

When the demonic voice responded, he felt not a chill, but his heart grasping at breath and blood. The grating sounds that came from the hulking mass broke Jarvan's intense stare and his eyes slipped towards Fiora. It was an awful contrast - a tune of death and destruction playing against the rose-tinted face he gazed upon, full of life. It was only for mere seconds did Jarvan envision himself tearing down the perpetual cage that imprisoned his wife, but it gave him peace to know that both mind and heart wanted the exact same thing.

But he knew that now was not the time to drown and he reluctantly turned his attention to the Ruined King and his speech, full of lies and cowardice. Even at the accusation of weakness, the only move he made was a light twitch at the corner of his eye. Even as the Ruined King piled the blame upon him, upon the Prince of Demacia, Jarvan barely moved. He knew that if he did, he could could not stop himself. So he simply waited, for when he could construct a reply that was not so biting and provocative.

His thoughts stopped, however, when Fiora moved towards the Ruined King, the chains ringing upon the frosty surface. Jarvan took a single step forward, as if to stop her, but the crunch of his own boots forcibly reminded the Prince that he was on Institute territory. He heard her voice, and it pulled at him. She was never so humble, so innocent as she was pleading to this creature. Even as soft as it was, Jarvan could hear her voice even if he could not wholly agree. Yet her lips moved once again, this time unheard to his ears but he had found his own voice.

"Demacia grants its people - the soldiers, the civilians - hope and courage. To ask and reach for aid is not a weakness, but a strength we must all embrace. If you believe that I, or Demacia's people, are weak simply because we do not wish to see our loved ones burn and suffer, then by all means!" Jarvan's voice rose, raising an arm to gesture towards his brethren. "We will not bow to the murderer of our families, our friends, our children, our people. We have sworn to protect Demacia and protect it we shall."

Coward. These words would never leave his mouth, but it was clear in his eyes. He saw the armor in front of him and saw only a shell who could only pretend and mourn for a past long gone. Jarvan knew his words were full of both pride and hatred towards the Shadow Isles and their brutal massacre. Even now, images of the bodies that bravely fought against the invaders swept through his mind like a plague that could not be destroyed. There was no honor in killing your brother-at-arms again.

His eyes narrowed at the thought and his tone dropped, grating and stalwart. "We may entertain this notion of peace but we will not bend at the knee before a King who once was."

Entertain the notion of peace indeed. The words from the Measured Tread rang in Garen's mind as what passed for negotiations took place before him.

"In our eternal forward march, we must stomp out evil all across Valoran wherever it may grow. Leave no stone unturned: the roots of one ignored weed will inevitably corrupt the whole of the garden.”

There was nothing more that the Might of Demacia wanted than to put those words into practice and see what colour it was exactly the Ruined King bled, but it was not to be. He did not live in a time when handbooks told him everything about what he needed to do, and the kind of man he needed to become. Vengeance and justice would have to wait. Wait, but not be forgotten.

The Ruined King knew nothing of Demacia if he thought the Demacians weak. Of what it meant to stand beside your fellow men and put your lives in their hands, with complete faith that they would do what they had to. Of just wars. Of the prosperity that marked the Lightshield reign. Why would he, the relic of ages past? Jarvan would not agree to those terms. No Jarvan would.

Especially not with the state the princess was in. Garen found himself slightly surprised that Jarvan managed to keep his cool with his wife in chains before him, but he could not possibly expect a king-to-be to be the rash young man charging headlong into every battle he had grown up with forever.