Well, I finally broke down and decided to try my hand at Leaguefiction. A visit to the Challenge thread found me my premise. It's a bit more serious than I'd intended it to be, but eh. Hopefully you all like it. I'm enjoying writing it so far. I'll update more as I get it written.

[CENTER]~~~[/CENTER]

The last chords, an echoing finale to Sona’s latest concert, slowly faded away. The concert hall was silent for a long moment and then a collective ‘whoosh’ of air could be heard as the audience exhaled the breaths they didn’t realize they’d been holding. As one, the listeners got to their feet and erupted into thunderous applause, whistling and showering both stage and young woman with flowers.

Sona Buvelle endured the ovation patiently, a gracious smile on her lips as she gathered her skirts into her hands and curtsied. Turning, then, she placed a slender hand on her etwahl and the beautifully-carved instrument shifted under her touch, turning as she did. The famous musician exited the stage and moved to her room backstage to gather her things.

It was a chance look upward into her mirror that caused the veneer of serenity to break. One moment she was fine-- lovingly packing her etwahl into its case. But her glance flickered upward to the mirror, and the next thing she knew, she had crumpled onto the chair in front of the vanity and was weeping, her hands shaking as she attempted to brush the tears away.

Being lonely was something she tried not to think about. She’d dismissed it as selfish years ago, back when she was still a child at the orphanage, desperately hoping to be adopted. But no one had wanted a child who was a mute. For awhile, Sona had felt sorry for herself. She remembered, though, that other people had it worse off than she did and she had learned to simply ignore the pain of rejection and the resultant loneliness that came with it.

However, every once in awhile, she just broke down like this. It was so stupid, she thought, weeping like a fool. It was never even anything significant that set these episodes off. It was just… one moment she’d be fine, and then the next she wouldn’t be fine anymore. Drawing in a shuddering breath, Sona lifted her head and peered blearily at her reflection in the mirror.

Stupid girl, she chided herself. You just gave a concert that moved the audience to tears. You have their adoration. You have a comfortable home and a warm bed to sleep in. Why isn’t that enough?

She didn’t have to answer that question because she already knew the answer. They didn’t understand her. Of course, when she was summoned to battle in the Fields of Justice, the summoners linked to her could understand her-- but they didn’t care. Just once, she wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. Talk about the weather, or the newest restaurant in Demacia, or-- something. Anything.

Finally calmed down, Sona delicately wiped at her eyes with the cuff of her dress’s sleeve and drew in a few deep breaths. It was a short trip home. She’d just go home and then spend the rest of the night curled up on her couch with a slice of pie. And extra cream. It was one of those nights.

Rising, the woman scooped up her etwahl’s case and slung the strap over her shoulder, shrugging a bit to adjust the weight distribution. When she left the concert hall, her expression was as serene as ever, save for a bit of redness around the eyes.

The sun was setting on Demacia, the sky painted a beautiful blaze of red and orange and dusky purple. Sona’s glance drifted away from the street toward the picturesque horizon as she made her way toward her house. It wasn’t until she walked headlong into someone that she realized she hadn’t been paying a bit of attention to the road. Completely startled, the young woman lost her balance and landed in a decidedly ungraceful fashion on her rear. The person she’d run into hadn’t even budged. When Sona looked up and realized that she’d barreled right into the Crown Prince of Demacia himself, she bit her lower lip.

Jarvan IV turned slowly, peering down at the fallen lady. His expression was as distant as ever, and he seemed to look through Sona for a moment before finally recognizing her. “--oh. Miss Sona.”

Her face flushed with embarrassment and shame, Sona rose, her hands frantically moving to make sure her etwahl’s case hadn’t been damaged even as her eyes met Jarvan’s. Her slender brows furrowed, she gave a bow of her head, trying to express to him that she was sorry for running into him.

Jarvan watched her for a moment longer, his expression still completely unreadable and far-off. Something in his face, in his eyes, had always bothered her. When she faced off against him in the Fields of Justice and especially when she was on his side in battle, he made her… uncomfortable. He communicated nothing. He was single-minded in his hatred for Noxus and it seemed to consume him. There was no trace of compassion or uncertainty behind his eyes-- and no fear, which made her more uncomfortable than anything else. Everyone was afraid of something, she’d always thought. But not Jarvan-- at least, not that he’d ever expressed.

For a moment just then, though, she could have sworn she saw something there under the surface. A stirring, a vague glance of a man haunted and plagued by too many days working himself to exhaustion and too many nights spent tossing and turning in sleeplessness.

And then she realized that he was just like her. Hiding everything under a façade. Sure, his mask was one of stoic righteousness while hers was one of single-minded gentleness and grace, but… they were really no different.

As Sona came out of her reverie, though, she realized that he’d already turned and was walking away. Once again frustrated by her inability to speak, she did the only thing she could. Raising her foot, Sona stomped it against the stone pavement as hard as she could. It was rather loud, and Jarvan turned, his lips tugging downward in a stern frown.

Exasperated, the woman stepped forward, her gown’s skirt rustling, and grabbed ahold of his wrist with one of her pale hands. Surprised by her own boldness, she gave the prince’s arm an insistent tug and led the thoroughly-surprised man down the street, ignoring his voiced half-protests about how he “had to get back to the palace” and “battle strategies.”

Loved it!

-Jaykoboy-

This is good! I am looking forward to the next part. You capture the feeling of loneliness and being unwanted.

ZOMG kitten, you have just blown my mind. <3 Love it, can't wait for the next chapter.

And here is part two! This is much more light-hearted... I think maybe I might be bipolar or schizophrenic or something.

[CENTER]~~~[/CENTER]

Sona’s house was small-- a woman living alone didn’t need a huge place. It was, however, a welcoming place, packed with all manner of antiques and art objects along with one very large, plush couch in the sitting room. Jarvan found himself perched rather awkwardly on the soft, cream-colored sofa, as his hostess set her instrument case down on a table and disappeared into the kitchen.

What was he doing here? What did she want? He’d never really spoken to his fellow champion before and he knew almost nothing about her-- well, outside her abilities in battle. Tactical things. He knew she played concerts with that strange instrument of hers and that she was apparently quite popular, but he’d never attended a concert before. He was always too busy.

He was supposed to be busy right then, as a matter of fact. He’d just been inspecting his beloved city before retiring to the castle in order to check his maps and plan his troops’ movements when he’d been waylaid by the young lady. “Miss Sona--”

He paused as she came back into the room armed with a plate that had a slice of pecan pie on it. It was topped with a generous helping of whipped cream. No, no. More like she was giving him a pile of whipped cream with a slice of pecan pie under it. The woman pushed the plate into his hands and then passed him a fork before vanishing into the kitchen again.

“I-- Miss Sona, please, I’m not upset about what happened, you don’t need to--” once again, Jarvan was cut off as the musician swooped back into the room, carrying her own plate of whipped cream and pie. She was barely balancing two full mugs of coffee in her other hand, and Jarvan instinctively rose to take one from her so she wouldn’t burn herself. He was rewarded with a grateful smile from the lady, and she sat down in an armchair across from him.

The Crown Prince stared blankly down at his pie (whipped cream) and coffee. He was, for lack of a better term, hopelessly confused. Gingerly, he set the plate and mug down on the coffee table and peered across the table at his hostess. “Really, I appreciate your hospitality, but I really must return to the castle immediately and--”

Abruptly, Jarvan shut his mouth and meekly-- meekly!-- picked up his plate and fork. The musician was giving him a look that clearly said ‘Shut up and eat your pie like a good boy.’ It was actually pretty tasty pie. And the generous blob of whipped cream was oddly comforting, though Jarvan wasn’t exactly sure why he felt comforted or why he needed comforting in the first place.

He felt like he should say something. Talk to her. But what could he talk about? She couldn’t respond anyway-- at least, not in the typical sense. Though she did seem to be rather adept at getting her point across with her facial expressions. And so, Jarvan took a sip of coffee before looking around in search of something to say. “Ah… you have a lovely home.”

She dipped her head in a courteous nod to him, a smile of gratitude flickering over her features.

“You collect antiques?” he then tentatively asked.

Another nod and a slight shrug of the shoulders. Jarvan assumed that to mean ‘some.’ He paused, brow furrowing. He wasn’t good at socializing. Addressing his subjects or giving orders in battle, certainly. But… having a conversation? And with someone who couldn’t even talk back, no less. It was a strange feeling.

“You, uh… Did you have a concert this evening?”

She nodded again, though her smile dimmed and faded as she busied herself with sipping at her coffee. It was unusual, he thought, to see the woman looking so troubled. Even in battle she seemed so peaceful, so serene-- and she always had a smile for her allies as she healed their wounds. But now she looked so tired. She looked just like he felt. She looked lonely.

No, that was stupid. He wasn’t lonely. He didn’t have time to be lonely. Noxus didn’t care how he felt. They wouldn’t spare him mercy in battle just because he was ‘lonely.’ Jarvan definitely wasn’t lonely. But Sona was. He could tell by the way she pensively swirled her coffee around in its mug.

He wanted to do something to make her feel better, or distract her. “Would you do me the honor of playing a song for me?” he asked suddenly. “I haven’t yet been able to attend one of your concerts, and I would like to hear your playing outside the Fields of Justice.”

Sona’s expression brightened, and she set down her mug in order to open her etwahl’s case. Jarvan watched in silence as she drew the instrument out of its case and brushed her fingers over the strings, a sleepy chord floating through the room as if the instrument protested being awakened. The Prince’s critical eye swept from woman to instrument and back again.

As she started playing, though, Jarvan realized what all the fuss was about. She was playing the Demacian anthem, most likely because she wanted something that would appeal to him, and… and he’d never heard anything so beautiful in his life. The Crown Prince felt a swell of pride in his country and his people as he listened to the familiar melody played so perfectly. He sat back, eyes slipping shut as he became lost in the music. And for the first time in ages, Jarvan felt like he was at peace.

The last notes died away and Jarvan opened his eyes to watch Sona gently return the etwahl to its case. Her gaze flickered upward and met his as if uncertain, and Jarvan realized he ought to say something. Speaking, however, was surprisingly difficult. The man’s deep, normally commanding voice sounded shaky even to him. “That-- Miss Sona, that was beautiful. You truly have a gift.”

Her smile lit up her face, extending to her long-lashed eyes, which seemed to be filled with silent, relieved laughter.

Jarvan glanced upward to the a clock and resisted the urge to curse. He’d completely lost track of time! He had so much to do and spending an evening eating pie and listening to music hadn’t been on his agenda. Hurriedly, the Crown Prince rose, nearly knocking his coffee mug off the table in his haste. “I’m sorry, but I should go.” he said, giving a nod to the woman and heading toward the door. He was stopped, however, as Sona caught hold of his elbow and pointed to the calendar hanging on a wall nearby. She was pointing at the next day, looking at him expectantly.

He was going to politely decline, to say he had business to attend to, but… her expression was so hopeful. “Alright,” he found himself saying before he’d even realized it. “I’ll come back tomorrow evening.”

Sona’s smile was radiant and she nodded with approval, escorting him to the door.

Jarvan stepped outside and turned to look at her, giving the woman a nod. “Good night, Miss Sona.”

Part three is done! I dunno if PinkRambo, who came up with the inspiration/challenge for this fanfic, wanted romance or not, but... well, I'm a sucker for a love story. But all things in good time!

[CENTER]~~~[/CENTER]

And thus, Jarvan’s visits became an almost daily ritual. Nearly every evening he would show up right at sunset and knock on the door. For the first week or so, he attempted to make enough conversation for both of them, but he wasn’t the best at finding things to talk about. He kept defaulting back to business matters such as the state of Demacia’s border or how the latest batch of recruits was progressing through training. It was all a little bit boring to Sona and she really didn’t understand most of it, but she was really just grateful that he was talking to her at all. It felt so good to feel like a normal person.

By the second week, though, Jarvan had come to the realization that he didn’t have to talk for her to understand him. And for a man who was looked to constantly for orders and as such spent a lot of time talking, it was a huge relief. Of course, he still spoke to her, especially when he first arrived, but as the evenings would progress he would lapse into comfortable silence and she would play her etwahl.

Jarvan had been coming to visit for about a month now, and Sona had never been so happy. She finally had a friend-- someone she understood and someone who understood her in return. Most nights she just gave him a few cookies or some other kind of snack to eat while he kept her company, but tomorrow was his birthday and she knew that there was no way he’d be able to make it to visit her on what would be such a busy day for him. As such, she’d prepared a large dinner for him-- roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables-- and a cake (red velvet with vanilla icing, his favourite as she’d come to find out).

Sona had also picked him up a birthday present, which now sat in a box on the table, wrapped with bright blue wrapping paper. The woman glanced at the window, wondering if he would be able to find time to visit. Maybe he would be too busy after all. She should have asked him.

But right on cue, there was a knock on the door, which she hastened to open. There was the Crown Prince, cradling a bottle of wine in each arm. Giving Jarvan a bright smile, Sona beckoned him inside, shutting the door after him.

“Hello Sona, how are you today? Oh-- what smells so good?” the prince inhaled deeply.

Sona grasped his arm and guided him toward the kitchen where his pre-birthday dinner was laid out on the table. A smile touched the prince’s weary features.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know. Thank you,” he said. “And I brought wine.” Uncorking one of the bottles, he then passed it to Sona, who filled the empty glasses on the table. She gestured for him to sit. He did so, and she took her seat across from him.

Dinner passed in near-silence, though it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. Jarvan was too busy eating to talk much, save for the occasional compliment on how good dinner was. When the Prince started to reach for thirds, Sona raised a slim hand to stop him. Rising, she scurried over to the cabinet where she had the cake and cut a generous slice, putting it on a plate and bringing it to Jarvan.

“Is that-- red velvet?” he asked haltingly, picking up his fork. She nodded, and his face suddenly looked more like an excited young boy’s than a tired grown man’s. “You remembered!”

The woman put her hands on her hips, huffing as if to say “Of course I did, silly man” and Jarvan dug into his cake.

One and a half bottles of wine later, Sona was feeling absolutely fantastic and Jarvan was finally relaxed. “Sona, are you trying to turn me fat? I’m gonna try to get in my armor, and it’s not going to fit and Garen will laugh at me because I will have lost my girlish figure.”

If Sona could have shrieked with laughter, she would have. Instead the woman just clamped both her hands over her mouth as if to stifle sound as she fell over sideways to lay on the couch.

“Hey, stop hogging the couch,” he grumbled as he shuffled over to her, carrying what was left of the second bottle of wine. “I have to open my present! Which you shouldn’t have gotten for me.”

Sona, grinning and red-faced, sat up so Jarvan could flop down on the couch beside her, looking decidedly un-princely.

He thrust the bottle into her hands and eagerly scooped up the present, shaking it. “It’s heavy… Sona, what’d you get me?”

The woman smiled and waved a hand at it, wordlessly telling him to open it. He did so with gusto, tearing the wrapping paper apart and opening the lid of the box. Inside was a pair of bright, shining new gauntlets, the Demacian crest etched into the backs of the hands. Momentarily less tipsy, Jarvan almost reverently took the gauntlets out of the box, admiring them.

“These are wonderful, Sona,” he said, looking to his friend, who was quite a bit more intoxicated than he was. She didn’t drink often and as such she was a complete lightweight. She smiled at him sleepily even as she swayed a bit on the couch.

The man plucked the bottle from her hands and set it on the table, returning the gauntlets to the box and setting that aside as well. “You’ve had a lot to drink. Do you want me to help you to bed?”

Sona shook her head. He could almost hear her saying “No, no, I’m fine, see?” even as she tottered on the spot and almost fell over. The prince caught her and supported the wobbly-legged musician as she slouched against him. He’d never been this close to her, and he found himself oddly struck by how soft she was, and how she smelled faintly like gardenias.

“Come on,” he said more quietly. “Let’s get you to bed.” She was in no shape to argue, so Jarvan scooped her up and carried her, bridal-style, up the narrow staircase to the second floor of Sona’s house. He wasn’t sure which room her bedroom was, though. There were three doors, and they were all shut. The prince gave her a little shake to try to catch her attention, and she half-nodded toward the door at the end of the hall.

Jarvan approached the door and awkwardly fumbled with the knob, trying his hardest not to smack his friend’s rear end in the process. He himself was a little on the tipsy side, and coordination wasn’t easy. As he entered the bedroom, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing around. He’d never been in a woman’s room before. It wasn’t proper, after all. The walls were painted a light, dusky purple while the floor was wood, and the bedding and curtains were all white. The room had a dreamy, almost ethereal quality to it, and he could smell gardenias more strongly here.

Shaking his head, the man moved to the bed and set her down on it, though she didn’t seem inclined to let go of him. She clutched at his shoulders, half-asleep. Gently, Jarvan disengaged himself from her and placed a blanket over her. She subsided into slumber almost immediately.

Jarvan watched her for a moment before speaking. “This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had,” he mumbled quietly. “Thank you.” And, bowing his head, the Crown Prince of Demacia, either forgetting or ignoring all sense of decorum and propriety, breathed a warm kiss to the woman’s forehead.

Turning, he hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and went downstairs to gather his things and leave before, he thought to himself, he could do anything else that was incredibly stupid.

OMG I'm crying on the inside from how cute and adorable that is. I love it, and while it's not where I had it going in my mind how she got his attention, this works much better then mine. I love this and can't wait to read more.

I have to admit, I am adoring this story. I love seeing the developing relationship and you have crafted the story expertly.

Bump, because we haven't heard from you in a while!