"So, Jaune," Yang started again. "Do you know which side of my sister is the best for mischief?"

Jaune groaned. "How many times do I have to tell you that I am not—"

The raucous young lady laughed a haughty laugh. It was so unbecoming of a maiden of her stature yet somewhat iconic for someone who had built a reputation that somehow managed to both torment the nobility and amuse the king. Then again, when she could back up her mischief with her iron-like fists, then there it became pointless to many in Strigonium to even try and see her as anything more threatening than a charming brigand.

In other words, Yang was too silly to be a bad person. That did not mean she was a good person either, though. As Jaune found out the hard way when he and Blake took residence at the fairly modest property of House Rose.

"You're so fun, don't you know that?" Yang mused, playing with her locks as she strode into his room.

"Shouldn't you be out with the farmhands?" the Frank tried, his focus on the short wooden bow disrupted.

"The soil's hardened. And there's snow already so there's not much to do."

A sigh. "Not much food left to gather, eh?"

A pout. "Don't remind me of our troubles. That's why I came here."

He gave her a flat look. "To my quarters. While I'm busy."

"Are you? You've been fiddling with these weapons since last night! How is that being busy?"

Jaune just wanted a break but he doubted Yang would let go of that excuse. "I'm familiarizing myself with tools that I have not used in a long time. Such familiarizing takes effort from both mind and body. That makes me busy."

She blew raspberries at him then dropped her head and arms unceremoniously on his table. "You were a soldier, right? Don't you have the same equipment?"

He shimmied her stray fingers away from a sheathed dagger. "Different types, different make, different smiths."

Yang frowned. Her boredom was clearly a bother.

"Don't you have anything else to do?" Jaune groused.

"It's winter. It's cold outside. Do you want me to freeze my bottom out in the fields when even the peasants are sheltering by their hearths in their own homes?"

"If your bottom is so warm, why not cool it outside in the snow?"

To this the girl laughed.

And he sighed. "You are indeed very vexing."

A harrumph. Then a pregnant pause. Before Yang brushed away stray strands of her own hair from her face and regarded him with an oddly serious expression for the first time since meeting each other at the royal palace a few weeks ago.

"I'm curious, Jaune."

"When are you not?" he snorted softly.

"Look at me."

The Frank did. Hesitantly. And he had to admit that in the candlelight, Ruby's older sister was quite the fair maiden. Fiery fair maiden, to be precise. Fiery, feisty, fairly malicious maiden, to be more precise. He had learned quickly that Yang was one of those; a class of women who knew their boon and used it effectively. At least, for Lady Xiao-Long, she knew her limits with regards to the Church and her father's own influence in the court. One burning tavern had been enough.

So Jaune swallowed his spittle and tried to keep his eyes on her face instead of her bosom.

"Tell me. Honestly. Is my sister still pure?"

Now his spittle tried to jump out of his mouth. "Yang. I told you."

"I didn't believe you then. I'm ready to believe you now."

"Will you? Because the answer is still the same."

Yang only stared at him.

Jaune exhaled, staring back at her with a steelier look. "No. I have never defiled your sister."

She nodded slowly. "Very well. I trust you."

"Are we done?"

"On the topic of Ruby's purity, yes." She pointed to the crossbow hanging on the rack on the wall behind him. "On the topic of all these weapons, no."

Knowing that he would never be rid of her, he threw his hands up in the air and gave her his full attention. "I commend you for successfully stealing my time. What is it you want to know?"

"Simeon Ispan Úr is no bootlicker," she started. "He argues with His Majesty on everything before even thinking of obeying any order. But this time, he had agreed to His Majesty's decision to employ you, my uncle, and my uncle's accomplice in protecting our city. He almost never does that. Why do you think that is?"

The Frank shrugged. "Maybe Count Simeon is tired of arguing and has thrown caution to the wind?"

"Or maybe..." She traced her finger over his chest. "You know something. Something important, something very vital that even those who vocally challenge His Majesty are willing to compromise on this without scheming or plots."

He inched away from her. "What are you getting at?"

"You don't get it, do you. And you've been a welcome guest to the royal court since you arrived."

"Get what?"

"Jaune, His Majesty is not very popular. He had nearly all of his father's advisers blinded and proscribed and did not even try to punish the Kun for their thievery and deception."

"Are you trying to get me involved in their politics?"

"You're already involved without you knowing it," Yang grounded. "Same as me, as my sister. So tell me. What's really going on? Are you going to become like the many mercenaries His Majesty has hired? Are you going to be replenishing the ranks of the many Magyars slaughtered by your former masters?"

Jaune regarded her darkly. "Do you really want to know? I thought you were privy. Your father, after all, is a castle warrior."

"Not important enough to know important things." Yang had now dropped all facades of seduction was and pushing her finger against his neck. "Tell me. What are you doing and is it going to harm my family?"

The Frank hummed. "I see. I understand now."

"Understand?"

"You have my word that I won't break Ruby's heart."

"That's not what I—"

"That's exactly what you mean. I know you love your sister very much as an elder sibling should. And I know that you have very many ideas of what she and I went through during our captivity under the Tartars."

"You lived in a tent together."

"I toiled hard to have my own dwelling separate from those men. It was safer than sleeping in their midst."

"You slept together."

"On separate beds. Though she often favored sleeping close to me most times."

"You shared the same beddings."

"She insisted. I did not touch her; she touched me. On my family's honor, I upheld her virtue."

"You could have done much worse."

"And I did not because she is dear to me," Jaune nearly snapped. "I did my best to keep her safe from the Tartars! I did what I had to do to save her from a fate worse than death."

At this, Yang fell silent. The notorious fire in her eyes abated and she detached herself to sit on his bed, a good distance away from him. "... What could have been worse than death?"

"Subjected to the mercy of the Tartars."

And as far as Yang knew, the Tartars had no mercy. "But what of...the day you escaped...when they dragged my sister out and..."

"If it was mercy, then I would have been dead and she alive as someone's concubine." Seeing that he had gotten his point across, Jaune stood up to leave. Only to feel a strong grip on his wrist. "Yes?"

"What about Blake?"

"What about her?"

"If you regard my sister in the same way you regard yours, then what of Blake? Or do the Franks take issue with the problems of the Lombards?"

"Blake is as dear to me as Ruby is," he answered neutrally. "She is as much of the same mind as I am in many things. But knowing you, I'd give the same response. I was never intimate with her. With either of them, to be honest."

Yang huffed incredulously. "So you're a eunuch?"

Jaune glanced down at his groin then frowned. "I prefer my gonads intact, thank you. And I am as much as carnal as the next man. But I know my limits and I was raised well."

"So you've never—"

The Frank groaned. "Mon Dieu... Yang. I love Ruby and Blake equally. But I would never besmirch their honor."

She blinked back in response. "Wow. You actually said it."

"Yes," he grunted back irritated. "Congratulations. You've made me say things I don't ever say because they are too hard to say to begin with. Are you entertained now? Can you leave me be?"

Lady Xiao-Long nodded. "You have satisfied me."

The Frank winced at her choice of words. "I have sated your curiosity."

"Indeed, you have satisfied me," she insisted with a wry wink. "Thank you for entertaining me, Jaune. Szép napot."

And she left him alone in his room in the upstairs of the rather diminutive Xiao-Long manor. It was a manor compared to the rest of the domiciles in the city but among the tenements owned by the other nobles, Lord Xiao-Long could have been better off than some. If only the upper floors were also built with stone...

In the adjacent room separated only by wooden walls painted cleanly but barely thicker than the old crested shields decorating the beams, Ruby and Blake sat on the bed in contemplative silence. The doors to both rooms were left open and the two had been as silent as mice when Lady Xiao-Long sauntered into the Jaune's quarters. Her inquiries had brought out words they thought they would never hear from him.

A long while after Yang had descended downstairs to the parlor and the door to Jaune's room clicked shut, Ruby slowly and quietly shut the door to theirs.

"Blake?" she asked softly.

"Yes?"

"I know my sister can be..."

"You don't have to say anymore. I got the hint."

"So you won't hold anything against her for...being so...crass?"

"I've met others like her. Worked with, actually. I'm used to it."

The Magyar nodded and they were both quiet again, listening either to the wicker on the candles burn or the steady thumping of tools in Jaune's quarters as the Frank took apart and reassembled the crossbows given him by Count Simeon.

"Blake, do you...do you love him?"

The Lombard took a long moment to answer. "... I believe it's irrelevant to answer that question."

Ruby, for her part, decided against pressing any further. After all, it was winter and the troubles of Strigonium were far more concerning than 'petty emotions' as Count Simeon had so derisively declared. Hence, while His Majesty sent Sir Ozma and Sir Winchester east once again to help protect his demesne, the Count had Qrow, Ren, and Lord Xiao-Long busy training the levies while he tasked Jaune with finding workable improvements to the weapons of the defenders as Lord Gazjarik had ridden south to procure more arms and hopefully more men.

After all, it was only a matter of time before the Tartars would come.

It was freezing up here on the walls surrounding the citadel but Jaune endured the cold as he marched past the archers and crossbowmen shivering under their jerkins, some sharing tanned wolf skin hides and fur blankets to keep warm. Qrow's supplementary training had sharpened their eyes and made them more dextrous but what use would all that be if they froze to death up here?

The Frank shook his head and peeked between the battlements. Snow continued to fall every now and then, piling on the white sheets blanketing much of Strigonium and the lands outside. Much of the Ister had frozen over, making him a little anxious. Down below, the trails of smoke from many chimneys were fewer than he expected and he worried how this would affect the spirits of the troops. From up here, he could count less than half the number of plumes compared to the many thatched roofs crowding the riverbank. This showed only a shortage of food but a shortage of firewood as well. At least the soldiers were well-fed. Or being fed. Meager rations were better than no rations and Jaune's experiences in the Rus' were no different. Unlike the people of the Rus', however, the Magyars and the Cumans were far less suited to the biting winters.

Jaune caught the sight smoke rising out of the chimneys from the Xiao-Long manor and breathed a sigh of relief. Good.

"Arc Úr!" barked one of the soldiers, coming up to him and standing rigid. "Simeon Ispan Úr summons you."

The Frank nodded and followed the sentry across the section of the wall towards the easternmost round tower that oversaw the eastern district and by extension the eastern lands of the king's demesne. He pushed through the door and there stood Count Simeon poring over a map of the city. And he did not appear to be in a very jovial mood. Then again, neither did he seem to be sour today.

"You called, úr?"

"What do you think of our defenses so far?" the count slowly asked, his heavy eyes tracing the twisting lines across the parchment.

Jaune breathed deep. "Sturdy, úr."

"Not the word I expected from you but good enough, I suppose." Simeon rolled out another map, this one appeared to be that of the whole county. "Snowfall has already hardened the earth and fewer men are guarding the roads because of the cold. The bulk of our cavalry is here in the city while we have two detachments of at least two hundred men and horses manning outposts here and here."

The Frank followed the count's finger over the markings.

"What say you are our chances should the Tartars suddenly attack in force?"

Jaune gulped. "My honest opinion, úr?"

Simeon looked up at him, already annoyed. "Yes. Your opinion. Because other than Branwen Úr who is busy training the levies and Rinai Úr assisting Gazjarik Úr in directing the careful relegation of our dwindling supply of grain, you are the only one available who can advise me on our strengths and weaknesses against the strengths and weaknesses of our enemies."

The Frank nodded. "If Prince Batu will attack, his likeliest strategy would be to amass his forces on the east, south, and north. If the Ister freezes over completely, he might try to send riders upriver to attack us from our unguarded embankments. If not, he will attempt to draw us out into decisive battle on the plains. He will then attempt to break down the outer barricades. He has the machines for those."

"You have seen them?"

"No."

"Then how can you be sure?"

"Qrow and Ren have seen them. They served under Prince Batu."

"Then why are you telling me Prince Batu's strategy if he was not your master?" Simeon snarled.

"Because I know him the least among the Tartars. However, he also heeds the counsel of Marshal Subetei, my former master. Prince Batu's military mind is often subject to the mind of Marshal Subetei who, in my opinion, is a far superior commander."

"Tell me of Marshal Subetei then."

"Unlike Prince Batu, Marshal Subetei bides his time. He would rather wait for us to either starve or turn on each other before attacking."

The count gestured at the maps. "Suppose that he does attack before any of those things. What is your notion?"

"He would apply the same tactics as Prince Batu, albeit more carefully. He would prod for weaknesses foremost while sending skirmishers to wear us down. Again, the Tartars might send riders up the frozen river to harass us. Then, should he see fit to attack, he would first lure us out into decisive battle. Otherwise, he would use Prince Batu's machines to break down our walls. Unlike Prince Batu, however, he has other options."

"Other options?"

"Spies, úr. Spies, agents, cutthroats. According to Blake—"

"The Belladonna girl?"

"Yes. She was given an audience with Marshal Subetei where she learned of his extensive knowledge of the affairs of the Lombards, the Holy Roman Emperor, the Pope, and even knowledge of my people and—"

The Count held up his hand, his normally steely face somber and morose. "Even Aragon is threatened. I see."

Jaune breathed easy, seeing that his liege felt the severity of the Tartars strike him in the chest like a blade. After all, even a stubborn and contentious man can be broken if his home is threatened.

"And what of his men?" the Aragonese continued. "Your former comrades? Are they as formidable in the winter as they are in summer?"

"They have winter coats, hardier and more numerous horses, and their bows do not fold as easily as most in the cold."

"What machines do they have?"

"Stone-throwers, mostly. Many were seized from the cities they plundered. The rest were cobbled together by their engineers."

The Count raised a brow. "Engineers? They have engineers?"

The Frank cleared his throat. "Forgive me, úr. I meant captive engineers who were spared from their slaughter for their skill. They do not always kill everyone. They separate those who have talents in the crafts—blacksmiths, artisans, engineers, the like."

"That explains much."

"Úr?"

"We have had reports of our own people fighting with them. And what you said provides more evidence to what many of me and my contemporaries have suspected. Treasonous and cowardly, some would argue. But not entirely by choice. Magyars, Cumans, Saracens, Novgorodians...and even Franks and Lombards serving with the Tartar ranks. Largely not by choice, no?"

Jaune shook his head. "No, úr."

Count Simeon stoked his beard in thought. For a moment, it appeared as though the hardy Aragonese regarded the Frank with a bit of pity or perhaps mercy. "The slaves these heathen pagans hoard..."

"You have no idea," the Frank murmured under his breath.

The Count pulled out one of many rolls of parchment from off the shelf. "You have said before that the Tartars divide their forces in numbers of tens and hundreds. A unique system but from many accounts, it has been devastatingly effective. How do you suppose we break them apart?"

"Well, úr, find the standard-bearers. Killing them first would ensure the other nine men would lose cohesion. White banners are the lower-ranking groups. Black banners are the larger detachments."

"What about their officers?"

"They are separate but if you can take them out early on, then that would surely throw their soldiers into disarray."

"How can they be distinguished from their peers?"

"Their helmets. And their armor. And sometimes the colors they attach to their horses or their swords."

The Aragonese nodded. He pulled up a chair. "Sit."

Jaune sat down, knowing that he would be questioned intensively. But it was better than being outside in the cold and watching the people of Strigonium suffer. So he endured further questioning until he had exhausted everything he knew of the Tartars.

Christmas was bittersweet.

While House Rose as prosperous as a low noble house, it was hard for anyone within the manor—from Lord Xiao-Long to the estate staff—to ignore the reality of the hungry common folk scrounging up what little shrubbery they could scrape out of the snow in the streets for sustenance. Ruby and Yang tried to be festive but Blake's somber mood made it difficult to laugh at the light-hearted jokes that were being thrown around. Prayers were solemn and the meals tasted less than savory.

Then Jaune, Ren, and Qrow returned from the day's labor. The three of them had spent hours shoveling dirt and carting away the bodies of those who had starved to death. There was a cut on Jaune's arm and after enough pestering from Ruby, Qrow let slip that an old woman, driven insane by hunger, scraped at the Frank when she tried to take back the body of her dead husband to eat for dinner. This and a few more tales of desperation in the city nearly choked out what little remaining joy was in the household.

It ultimately took a compassionate speech by Lord Xiao-Long to drive away the doldrums. Of course, this was after the banquet dinner. A particularly modest banquet if the word itself was used loosely to describe what was served.

Jaune, despite himself, offered up the remaining half of his plate to the others. Maybe it was out of natural Arc kindness or guilt from being unable to help any more than he could to the poor citizens of Strigonium. But Ruby held his hand and gave him her warmest smile, assuring him not to worry too much and to enjoy the warmth and the company.

This went unnoticed by Yang who took the opportunity to raise the issue of their relationship later that evening when they were retiring to their quarters. What started out as an attempt at some light banter turned into Jaune being summoned by Lord Xiao-Long out into the parlor.

Instead of an irate father, what the Frank walked into was a man seated on a chair, weighted eyes staring out the window, face wrought in distant thought.

"You called, úr?" Jaune echoed.

"So much time alone in the presence of our enemies and you managed to uphold her virtue," remarked Lord Xiao-Long with a slight curl to his lips. "I would normally disbelieve it but you are as chivalrous as they come."

"Yang likes to jest."

"I know that. She is my daughter, after all." He gave him a wide smile. "I often have to drive away lustful boys especially with regards to Ruby given her...innocence. Is she still innocent?"

"After what we've seen amongst the Tartars, I think she knows the taste of blood by now."

"It was inevitable. They grow up so fast."

"Is there anything else you wish to talk about, úr?"

Lord Xiao-Long gestured at a vacant chair across from him. "You know that Yang's mother was Qrow's sister, right?"

Jaune took his seat and frowned. "It was a bit of a surprise. Qrow never often mentioned his own family."

"Do the Tartars drink like we do?"

"In place of ale, they have this sour horse milk that is curdled so much that it strikes you harder than a kick by the mare that it was squeezed out of."

"Really now. I bet Qrow drank tankards of it."

"More like bowls. A single one can knock you down if you're not careful."

The knight laughed. As did the Frank. Soon, they were sharing anecdotes and learning from each other. Jaune gleaned that Summer Rose, Ruby's mother, was a truly fair maiden with a pure heart and a compassionate soul. A shame she passed away so early. But it was clear her spirit lived on in Ruby. To say that Yang was as similar to her own mother was not entirely inaccurate. Raven Branwen had been as much a troublemaker, being a bandit herself, raiding and pillaging with her brother until a chance encounter led to an attempt at starting a new life.

But as Qrow left to pursue the coin of a lord searching for a good swordsman, so did Raven who left to...God knows where for God knows what. Summer, a good friend at the time, filled in the void until disease took her away.

By the time, the candles in the parlor burned out and a servant came in to replace them, Lord Xiao-Long bid Jaune a good Chirstmas Eve and retired to his quarters. The Frank stayed a bit longer, wondering how in God's holy name was he going to deal with Ruby's behavior now that he discerned that Summer behaved in very much the same way to Lord Xiao-Long before they were wed.

A week later, Jaune caught wind of the rumor about a Tartar spy within the city.

As if the people of Strigonium were not hungry and freezing enough, they now had to worry about betrayers among them. It nearly inspired a riot. But while calmer heads ruled, that did not stop troublemakers from taking to the streets and venting their anger out on anyone and anything they could get their hands on.

How unfortunate that the Frank had been outside gathering firewood for a baker when a small mob, angry and destitute, began harassing him for simply being more well-fed than they were. He did his best to diffuse the situation, to talk his way out of a beating, to apologize for sins he had never done. Even the baker who tried to defend him was shouted down and shoved away. Only the intervention of the city guard prevented any blood being spilt and Jaune was escorted back to the Xiao-Long residence by Lord Gazjarik himself.

The same could not be said for Ren. The only good fortune was that he had escaped alive from the youthful gang who accused him of being a thieving Cuman. He had been bloodied before though, and as a trained and experienced soldier, he had held his own and fought his way out back onto the streets where another contingent of the city guard escorted him to safety.

Qrow stayed at the tavern. He drank and drank until his pockets were empty and a chair had been broken over his shoulder. By then, he had beaten half the men in there in a wild fury before being calmed by one of the weeping barmaids. He staggered up into the attic and slept until the next morning when Yang found him and guided him back to the Xiao-Long manor.

It was there where everyone stayed. It was safer for the time being and while they were assured of protection by Lord Gazjarik and the hostile crowds were largely cowed by the domineering influence of Count Simeon, Jaune still feared the same threats he feared when hew as a slave for the Tartars. Only, instead of Yassa law being enacted upon him, it was the commoner's law.

The people of Strigonium had already known about his history with the Tartars and now wild rumors had speculated that he was the spy. Or that Ren was the spy. Or that Qrow was the spy. Even some passing folk were caught whispering that the 'silver child' or that 'Lombard lass' was a conniving two-faced Tartar witch.

If only Sir Ozma and Sir Winchester were not ordered by the king to stay with the cavalry out in the marches at the behest of Lord Gazjarik, then perhaps they would have felt a little safer.

What a way to start the new year.

It was the middle of January and Jaune, Ren, and Qrow were at the citadel with Count Simeon. They were arguing with Lord Gazjarik over the allocation of Strigonium's dwindling resources. The Count was practically howling in his face about the need to reinforce the 'pathetic' and 'shoddy' outer walls while the commandant patiently argued back that the people were on the verge of rioting and needed to be pacified. All the while King Béla sat on his throne, his cheek resting on his chin, and an almost bored look on his face.

Only when the massive steel doors unexpectedly echoed open and a man stumbled in, panting and sweating and reeking so much that some of the guards wrinkled their noses in disgust. Lord Gazjarik almost had the intruder escorted out had not Count Simeon intervene and help the man forward so he could prostrate himself before the king. There was mud on his boots, rips in his tunic, and dried cuts on his hands and face. But it was the colors he wore that alarmed Jaune, Ren, and Qrow.

This was a royal horseman, a part of the cavalry that was supposed to be guarding the eastern marches of the county. He was from the same contingent that Sir Ozma and Sir Winchester had been attached to over a month ago.

"Your Majesty! Troubling news from the east!"

The court fell silent. King Béla's eyes flashed with fire and he leaned from his throne. That was when they all heard what they were dreading all this time. The Frank felt his heart stop when he heard the words.

"The Tartars have entered our demesne!"

ORIGINALLY DRAFTED: June 18, 2020

LAST EDITED: July 15, 2020

INITIALLY UPLOADED: July 15, 2020

NOTE: I'm itching to get to the climax but I needed to have some build-up. Again, you don't have to know Hungarian history for this one. I myself don't have as much luxury as I've had before in other works to really delve into details. But know that...Jaune, Ruby, Blake, and company are in for a very, very tumultuous January.

Translations:

Mon Dieu = (Oh) My God [French]

Szép napot. = Have a good day. [Hungarian]