Warrior
The airship shook, but, for once, Jaune Arc felt unaffected by the flight. His stomach was already wound up with more knots than ever before, so at the moment he felt no sickness take hold of him even through all the turbulence. He was on his way to Beacon, one of the biggest Hunter academies on Remnant, and he had no idea what he was doing.
The cold winds and air bit at his face as he stood on the deck of the airship, looking towards where he knew Beacon would appear in just a few hours. His deep, cobalt eyes stayed fixed on the horizon for a few more moments before he closed them, his shoulders slumping slightly as he gripped the railing tighter. 'What the hell am I thinking...?' He asked himself for what felt like the thousandth time since the airship left Ville.
Jaune Arc did not belong at Beacon. He was weak, scrawny, had no idea how to wield a weapon, and he didn't know anything about Grimm. Hell, the sword on his hip wasn't even his. He had basically stolen it from his family when he left. When he basically ran away from home. Just to join a school that trained heroes, using faked documents just so he could get a spot.
A deep sigh made its way from his throat as his knuckles turned white from his grip on the railing.
What he was doing could be considered suicidal, idiotic, complete madness, and Jaune would agree with all of them. What he was doing was crazy. In every possible way. He could be thrown in jail, injured beyond compare, or even killed. His family would be worried sick about him, especially his sisters, and if he ever met his father again he knew he would be punished in ways he couldn't imagine. He had stolen the sword on his hip from his father, it was never supposed to be his.
A stray droplet of rain hit Jaune's cheek and a frozen shudder passed through his body, but even as more raindrops began to fall around him, Jaune didn't move from his place at the railing. The other students-to-be in the airship headed inside, but Jaune didn't move a muscle. He kept standing there, leaning against the railing, gripping it tightly, with his eyes closed.
Thunder rumbled above him, but Jaune still didn't move.
Crocea Mors felt heavy at his side. Like it didn't belong with him. And Jaune agreed with it. He didn't deserve to wield the Arc family heirloom, it was only supposed to be used by the Hunters, and Jaune was no Hunter. The sword had seen hundreds of battles as far as Jaune knew, killed thousands of Grimm by his ancestors. It didn't belong to someone like him.
Ice cold rain against hammered the deck of the airship, soaking and chilling Jaune down to the very bone. But he didn't move.
He just wanted to be a hero, like every other great Arc. His father, his grandfather, his uncle, his great-grandfather, his great-great-grandmother. He wanted to be a hero, just like them. That was the reason he was here. He didn't want glory or fame, he didn't want money or recognition, he just wanted to help people. He wanted to fight Grimm, go on missions, risk his life every day, all because he wanted to help people. No one was forcing him to do this, no one had pushed him to reach out and create false documentation so he could get into Beacon, he was doing all of this because he, Jaune Tobias Arc, wanted to.
Rivulets of cold water ran down his face as the rain became heavier, but Jaune didn't move.
His father had told him he could be anything he wanted, that he could do anything and that there was no pressure on him from anyone. But it was a lie, at least to Jaune. The Arcs were a family of warriors, stretching back to the first great Grimm wars. At their peak they were considered to be one of the mightiest families on all of Remnant, being equal in power and presence with even the Schnees. They were respected and feared, and all of the Arcs born who became Hunters had been considered heroes in the end.
Jaune wanted to be worthy of that legacy. He wanted to be able to look his ancestors in the eye when he died. He wanted to be a hero just like them. No one was pressuring him to do this except himself.
How much time had passed since the airship had taken off and for how long Jaune had been standing out in the rain with his eyes still closed he didn't know. All he knew was that he could feel the eyes of every single Arc on him at that very moment. He wanted to make them proud. He wanted to make his father proud, his mother proud, his sisters proud, and every single other Arc in all of history proud. He wanted to make all of them proud. Because he was an Arc, just like them.
A shuddering breath left Jaune's lungs, and it wasn't until now that he realized how cold he was. His fingers had become numb, both from how hard he was still gripping the railing and from the cold rain. He opened his eyes, looking towards the horizon just like before. A flash of light from his side illuminated his face for a fraction of a second as a lightning bolt struck the ground so far below the airship. A few seconds later, a deep, loud rumble could be heard.
And only now did Jaune move.
His grip on the railing lessened slowly and he rose from his leaning position, his body feeling stiff from the cold rain that had completely soaked him through. He turned around on the deck, slowly walking towards one of the doors leading to the interior of the ship. His steps were heavy and created splashes every time he stepped in a puddle of water. The door to the inside opened automatically for him as he stood before it and he made his way inside, not even noticing any of the looks anyone sent him.
He slowly made his through the airship until he found a secluded spot where he could sit down. He was alone in the little hideaway, the only sound he could hear being the dull groan of the ship's engine below him. Leaning forward slightly, he rested his forehead against the wall.
"What am I doing...?" He whispered shakily, though no answer came.
And no answer was really needed. Jaune knew what he was doing, he was sneaking into Beacon to become a Hunter like every other great Arc. And he was doing it because he needed to. He didn't want to be the black sheep of the Arc family, he wanted to die, sword in hand, knowing that when he went to heaven he could meet his ancestors with a proud smile. Because he wanted to be a true Arc.
The soft sound of small droplets of water hitting the metal floor joined the dull groan of the engine as Jaune sat there.
He couldn't fight, he had no training, he wasn't smart, and he had nothing special about him. But Jaune didn't care. He didn't care if this was suicidal. He didn't care if his family disowned him. He didn't care if he was thrown in jail. And he didn't care if he died. He didn't care, as long as he could help people. As long as he could fight the creatures of Grimm to unsure the safety of someone else, Jaune didn't care about the consequences.
He sat up. Crocea Mors still felt heavy at his side, but Jaune didn't care. He unsheathed the blade anyway, holding it in front of himself. He could see his reflection of the smooth, silvery surface of the sword. His blond, wet hair was sticking to his head and every so often a drop of water would from the tip of his nose. But his eyes were firm. Steely.
Jaune's eyes closed.
Despite his already freezing cold hands, Crocea Mors still felt even colder as he laid the blade against his palm. Gently, he ran his hand along the edge, barely even feeling when his skin split open and red rivulets of blood began flowing forth. 'Sharp as ever...'
Jaune Arc wasn't here, on this airship, for anyone but himself. He wasn't heading to Beacon because his parents wanted him to. He was here because he wanted and needed to be here. He was here because he wanted to become a Hunter so he could protect people. So he could be a hero. So he could be a true Arc. It's what he wanted to do.
Ruby droplets of blood hit the steel floor, mixing with the drops of water already there, and Jaune opened his eyes once more. He closed his fist, causing more blood to flow out from between his fingers, and tightened his grip on Crocea Mors. His cobalt eyes held a fire this time. He was going to make himself worthy of the blade in his hand. That was his mission. He was going to become a true Arc, worthy to remember among the others in his family. Because he was Jaune Arc. He didn't care what would happen to him. He didn't care if he got hurt. He didn't care if he was thrown in jail. He didn't care if he died.
He was going to try. He was going to fight. Because he was an Arc. And he wanted to make his ancestors proud to have him among them.
A/N: I wrote this on a whim. Jaune is the reason I read RWBY fanfics. He's the thing that makes me come back to RWBY even though it causes me to feel physically ill at times. I just wanted to write about Jaune. I just wanted to write something from my heart.