When Jaune came to, it was under two fur blankets on a bed of hay. A fire cackled close by, sharing its warmth and lighting up the room he was in. Lord above, how long had it been since he last slept in a hovel made of stone and timber? He opened his mouth only to cough from the dryness in his tongue.
"Jaune? Jaune! You're awake!"
Ruby?
He turned his head and there she was, leaping off her chair on the other side of the room. That puffy face with the gleaming silver eyes. Cheeks moist and short, unkempt hair lining her shoulders with strands that were turning red. She beamed down on him. Crying. Why was she crying? What happened? And was that the floral dress that he got...for...her...
"You're awake, you're alive," she sobbed. "Hállá Istennék, you're alive!"
"Ruby?" he croaked.
A second shape emerged from the doorway. This one with long charcoal hair and piercing amber cores shining against the campfire.
"Blake!" Ruby called excitedly. "He's awake!"
Blake? She's here, too. That's great! He almost wondered where she had gone off to, leaving Ruby alone while he was...what was he doing again? And why does his shoulder hurt?
"Hey, lay down," the Lombard said. "You're still recovering."
Recovering?
His body answered with a pang of pain stinging under his calf. Jaune winced and laid back down. He was bare above the waist where he could see layers of dried wrappings over his chest. And it struck him: he had been shot below the clavicle with an arrow.
"The poison should have left your body by now," Blake said.
Poison? He was poisoned?
"How are you feeling?"
Confused, worried, and much less relieved. Where were they, anyway? "Could be better..."
Footsteps. Rustling. A grunt from a figure that had emerged under the doorway.
Jaune, Ruby, and Blake regarded Qrow Branwen leaning against the doorframe, having forgone his Mongol jerkin yet still sporting his sword on his hip and a quiver filled with arrows. He set down his bow before rummaging through one of the rucksacks under the corner table. He came off with an apple that he bit gracelessly while eyeing the three of them with nary a care.
Ruby turned away almost immediately, instead showing Jaune the glare she had been leveling at her uncle.
"Morning, Jaune," Qrow greeted while chewing.
"Putain de connard," the Frank hissed.
The older Magyar shrugged. "Figured as much."
"Should I be owed an explanation?" Jaune seethed.
"Do you want to believe what I'm going to say?"
"Spare me the horse dung, then."
A shrug. "Fair enough."
Then Qrow left. It felt as though nothing could insult the man. When his shadow vanished past the corner, Blake let out a sigh over Ruby's angry mumbles. By the sounds of it, she was as furious at her uncle as he was. Yet what exactly happened since...
Jaune remembered now the moments before the Mongol camp went up in arms. He believed without a doubt that they were to be executed. Not a quick death as was custom among the laws of Europe but in the customs dictated by Yassa, the unwritten Tartar law. He paled at the thought of being tortured to death in ways only the Tartars knew. Then, almost as if the Lord Himself touched the ground, Qrow and Ren shed their obligations as Mongol warriors and roused the whole camp.
The Frank recalled struggling across the battlefield until an arrow speared him in the shoulder. Everything after was a haze.
"Do you need something to eat?" asked Blake.
"Yes, please."
"I'll be back then."
"Yes," Ruby said coolly. "I'll stay here. Jaune could use some catching up."
The Lombard departed them with a weak smile. The Frank turned to the Magyar. She held his hand with both of hers, squeezing tightly and loosing grateful tears that she rubbed against the nape of his neck.
"I'm glad you're well," Ruby said.
"I'm happy we're all still in one piece after...you know."
"Do you need answers?"
A sigh. "Yes, please. Especially from Qrow."
A frown. "You're not the only one."
"So tell me... How...did we get out?"
Ruby eased herself to sit on his bedside before recounting their daring escape from the Mongols.
The farmhouse they had taken shelter in was quite modest. Built on the marches of the Great Hungarian Plain and abandoned for some time, it had not surrendered completely to Mother Nature. Aside from the moss, vines, and the occasional hole in a place where there should not be any, their little hovel was sturdy enough to protect them from the elements.
When Jaune had come to, it had been the third day since their flight. The last two were spent riding without ceasing, testing the endurance of the vaunted Mongol horse. The Frank could hear the neighing outside; five steeds pilfered from their captors, Yusehol among them.
"Yuse's a very loyal horse," Ruby prattled.
"I guess he liked me more than his master," Jaune said.
"You treated him right. I'm sure he'd get very excited to see you alive and well."
Light footsteps padded against the wooden floor. Blake returned with a bowl of sliced meat broth and a tankard of water. "It's not much. Slow bites, okay?"
Jaune settled on the edge of his bed for his meal. "I know. Shoulder still hurts but I can manage."
"How long until you can use your tools?"
"My tools?"
"Right here," gestured Blake. Under the table leaned a short Oriental bow, a quiver of arrows, and a curved Saracen blade tucked in a weathered scabbard. Technically not his but close enough to what he had been using in the service of the Tartars.
"I don't know. Hopefully not too soon."
"I see. You don't have to worry about us, though. We can handle ourselves."
The Frank furrowed his brow to express his doubt.
The Lombard pouted. "We're not that bad, Jaune. Please have faith in us. I've used a bow before. And Ruby can defend herself with her dagger."
The Magyar laid out the small Roman blade on the table. It was clearly older than even him though the edge of the blade did not appear dull. It had been one of the many things that the group had managed to pilfer on their way out. Which reminded him...
"Your bag—"
"It's with me." Blake pulled the knapsack out from under his bed. "I almost thought we left it behind but..."
"Renkhai Darga went through the trouble to gather what he could from our tent," Ruby finished stiffly. "He even had to fight back his own father."
"Renjidai Noyan," Jaune mouthed. He shook his head. "I should've seen that coming. I knew it was going to happen. He was Subetei's personal guard! I should have—"
Blake squeezed his hand. "Jaune, it's okay. Don't blame yourself, please. We're far away from him, from Subetei, from the Tartars. We're safe."
"For now," the Frank retorted. "For sure, they would have sent their riders against us. Are you sure you lost them? This is a wide plain. Not that many places to hide behind."
The two girls eyed each other warily.
"Please tell me there's a plan for all this."
Blake bit her lip. "Sir Ozma wants to us to ride west to one of the Hungarian castles. But the nearest one is too far. The others want to head straight to Strigonium. Much closer, safer. And we hope the King's men are still there. Along with Ruby's family..."
Jaune went silent at that. What if there were spies in Strigonium? What if King Bela had truly abandoned his people? What if there were intercepted on the road there? What if, what if, what if...
"Uncle Qrow," Ruby started only to stop. She glanced away. "He...he's already making preparations with the other one...Renjidai's son...to the ride to Strigonium."
"The four of them argued for hours," the Lombard continued. "And...I think it's been decided that we are going north."
The Frank nodded slowly. "That's...a sound plan."
"Jaune," the Magyar asked. "What did you see when you went to Strigonium?"
"We never got close to the city. We only saw it from a distance with our own eyes. And by the looks of it, it's being fortified. With King Bela's army in shambles, I'm surprised that there are still knights and levies mounting a defense."
"Sir Ozma said that some warriors had taken up the Cross against the Tartars," Blake said. "There were not many of them though. Him and Sir Winchester were among the few that actually arrived to pledge support to King Bela."
"What about the other warriors?" Jaune inquired.
"Fighting elsewhere. At least, that's what they recall before they themselves were captured."
The Frank grunted. Figures. So few help was coming because the main focus of the Church and the nobles were either the Saracens in the Holy Land or in Iberia or the pagan Balts raiding all around Prussia. That meant that they were on their own out here. Their struggle against the Mongols was their own crusade.
Jaune pushed back his empty plate and made to stand. "Where are they?"
Ruby grabbed him to steady his footing. "Who?"
"Your uncle. I need to a have a few words with him."
"Jaune," Blake started. "Let yourself heal."
"I'm not going to fight him, if that's what you're asking. I only want answers."
"Do you want to know what he told me?" the Magyar raised with a bitterness in her voice. She pushed him back down to sit on the bed. "It was all part of a plan, he said. That he and Renkhai Darga had prepared the night that we met. They knew the marshal was going to judge you with Yassa law so they..."
"They tried to deceive the master of deception," completed the Frank.
"I don't know if it worked," Blake added.
"I just want to know why Uncle Qrow—" Ruby bit back a sob. "Why did he have to do that to you? Why did he let those...monsters...do that to me?"
Jaune balled his fists. "I'll be sure to ask him that when I see him."
He did ask him when he saw him later in the day, coming back from foraging the surrounding plain.
Qrow ignored him at first. Then told him to forget about it. Eventually, the older Magyar responded with visible yet restrained anger. The most that the Frank could get out of the man was a cold rebuttal: some things needed to be done to save others. Sir Ozma stepped in before Jaune entertained the thought of swinging his knuckles.
There was not much else he could get out of Ren either, the (former) darga tending to the horses sheltered in the stables beside the farmhouse. Though remorseful, Ren refused to let slip any more details other than that they had to leave by early morning if they were to reach Strigonium within the week.
That left Jaune fuming by dusk. Spending time venting his frustrations to Yuse while he fed his steed strands of hay at least helped calm his nerves. But he still lingered in bad spirits when the sun sunk behind the horizon. And it had to be Cardin Winchester, his old childhood nemesis, to be the last person to stand at the threshold—and in his way.
"Arc," the Hospitaller started.
"Oui?"
"I wish to apologize."
The Frank snorted. "For which transgression?"
"All of them."
Jaune steadied his breathing. "Really now."
Cardin sighed. "I know this is...late in coming. I have come to realize that my behavior in the past was...unacceptable and...harmful to you. And the many others around you as well."
"In more ways than you could have imagined," the Frank muttered.
"As such, I wish to ask for your forgiveness." The Hospitaller extended his hand. "And a renewal of our...acquaintanceship."
Jaune traced the calloused fingers up the worn arm all the way to the bruised face of the big, brute of a boy who had so often humiliated him in front of his peers in Masovia. To think his family left Champagne to avoid cretins like Winchester. Said cretin stood before him, dirty whiskers dirtying his chin, his brutish face soft, and ogre eyes begging for leniency. His hand still lingered in the air. No sign of malice, no hint of deception. Was this really genuine remorse?
The Frank thought over his words as he sorted through his emotions. The past was the past, his mind argued. Dredging up old wounds at a time like this would be foolhardy and detrimental to everyone. Not only to himself but also to Ruby and Blake. Oh, the things he would do for them...
Jaune gripped Cardin's hand all the while he kept an unwavering frown towards him. "It would take me awhile to forgive you...completely."
The Hospitaller nodded. "Then may the Lord deal me my dues."
Many times Jaune had heard how the Cross changed many a devilish man. Perhaps he could give Cardin a chance; this bastard did make it into the Order of Saint John, after all. That meant a lot of sacrifice thrown in with the penitence that would have been demanded of him by the Order. When he let go, Cardin appeared relieved.
"Thank you...Jaune."
"You're welcome...Cardin."
In the silence of the moment, Yuse whinnied as with the rest of the Mongol horses stolen from Subetei's camp.
"So," the Frank choked out solemnly. "Strigonium?"
"It's the safest place we could go to. Unless you have anything to say?"
"I've been told it was already decided."
"D'accord. We leave by dawn." Cardin lingered for awhile before waving. "... I understand now your struggles under the pagans."
"It was a difficult choice to choose life over martyrdom," Jaune replied.
"Talk like that would not sit well within the Order."
"Another reason why I left."
The Hospitaller chortled. "Well, we all have free will."
The Frank grunted. "Is it God's will for others not to follow His commands?"
"Honestly, I don't know the answer to that."
"At least you're honest with me."
Small strips of dried meat and a skin of horse milk.
That was their dinner. Huddled around a small fire burning under the mantle of the farmhouse, the five of them ate their even partitions in silence. Qrow and Ren had seated themselves the furthest, over by the corner, refusing to utter a word while they dined. Ruby and Jaune eased close to the hearth to enjoy the warmth with Blake and the Papal knights conversing in Latin behind them.
Since Ruby had no intention of translating, Jaune was left to guess that it was about Lombardy given how much emotion went into their discourse. The Templar was calm in contrast to the Hospitaller who, more than once, sounded on the edge of an outburst. Of course, Cardin was still the same person in some areas. Interestingly, unlike their more rambunctious years when he would hurl insults and threaten those below him with his fists, he let Blake conclude her points before arguing his own.
It made him wonder. Would he have been a different person if he persevered until he earned the Teutonic cloak? Would he even be here? A mercenary-turned-slave-turned-fugitive on the run from the Tartars, a vicious people who had ravaged both the Christian and Saracen lands. Would he have been there to save Ruby, and even Blake, from a fate worse than death?
Blake raised her voice over something Cardin was saying.
Jaune and Ruby turned their heads towards them to see Sir Ozma declaring that it was time to rest. The Hospitaller departed grumbling, leaving the Lombard to put out the embers of her own anger. The Templar spoke kindly to her—some sort of apology it sounded like—before picking up his bowl and leaving for his own evening prayers.
"You okay?" the Frank asked.
"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Blake muttered.
"It's fine," Ruby answered morosely. "You said your peace."
"Would it offend you if I asked what it was about?" Jaune prodded.
The Lombard bit her lip. "It's about...home. And how...things should have gone and how...things could have been different if...things had not happened the way they did."
"Ah, never mind that I asked then. Sorry to bother you."
"No, no. It's fine. I just...I guess I needed to have this...conversation. It's been a long time since I left home and...I had to know."
Jaune nodded. He understood. If he had been given the chance to know the recent events in the land where his family dwelled, he would jump at it. Anything to for news of how his loved ones were faring. Even if they could possibly be dead by virtue of plague, poverty, or the pagan Prussians.
Later that evening, they spread their beddings across the floor. Jaune found himself granted the coveted spot closest to the hearth. He poked at the embers while Ruby nuzzled up close to him. As did Blake. When alone in his tent, the feeling was warm. In the presence of four men, it felt odd.
For a moment, the Frank felt something boring into the back of his head and he almost thought either an arrow would pierce his skull or a blade would suddenly cleave through his neck.
That feeling went away as soon as he heard the vespers.
"Deus, in adiutorium meum intende," began the Templar Sir Ozma.
"Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina," continued Cardin. Or rather, Sir Winchester of the Hospital.
"Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto," chorused Ruby and Blake as per their habit growing up behind strong Christian walls.
That left Jaune to glance idly around with Ren and Qrow, the former confused and the latter indifferent. Lord above, it had been a long time since he even recited any proper Christian prayers. So he sat back and listened, quite remembering some of the ancient words, until Sir Ozma concluded with a loud 'amen.'
"Amen," the Frank echoed.
"Amen," added Qrow.
Heads turned to the drunkard of a warrior staring out at the night sky through the window, pretending to ignore them.
Sir Ozma cleared his throat. "A peaceful rest, everyone."
"Fascinating," Ren remarked.
"Sure," grunted Qrow.
Together, the two of them picked up their bedrolls and headed outside. When asked, Qrow and Ren said something about getting used to the Mongol ways. To Jaune, that meant sleeping with the horses. The two Papal knights did not stop them. After seeing them out the door, they laid their heads beside the threshold, a hand resting over the pommel of their own swords.
Ruby quickly dozed away on his right while Blake silently drifted off on his left. Jaune stared into the dying embers in the hearth until the felt he was the only one awake. Not long after, he was surrounded in darkness with only the stars shining through a hole in the roof.
Jaune choked back a quiet sob. "Father...forgive me..."
ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: April 20, 2020
LAST EDITED: May 8, 2020
INITIALLY UPLOADED: May 8, 2020
NOTE: I'm Protestant.
Translations:
Hállá Istennék = Thank God [Hungarian]
Putain de connard = French cuss phrase
Oui? = Yes? [French]
D'accord. = Okay. [French]
Deus, in adiutorium meum intende. Domine, ad adiuvandum me festina. Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto. = Roman Catholic vesper/evening prayer traditionally recited in Latin