A/N
A bug bit me while I read Forged Destiny by Coeur Al'Aran and refused to let go until I acted upon it.
Reading Forged Destiny isn't necessary to read this, but it might help.
Features fairly OOC Jaune. Pretty much Jaune in name only.
Disclaimer: I don't own RWBY, and I also don't own Coeur's fantastic RWBY fanfiction "Forged Destiny."
Prologue.
What made a hero?
His weapons, his armor? A fine, pristine steed, a feathered helmet? Or was it what lay within— Bravery? Cunning? Sacrifice?
Jaune Arc didn't know, but he knew he wasn't one. He intended to rectify that.
Paragon.
He stared at the word denoting his class hovering above his coiffed blonde hair. Perfection. Epitome. Unerring.
His eyes traced the man in the mirror. A starkly handsome face stared back at him, sharp edges framing blue eyes, the wisps of a sneer resting on his thin lips. A face chiseled from years of training, a face crafted as meticulously as the rest of his image.
Jaune Arc, Paragon, Princess Consort. The Invincible Boy. Future Royal Bodyguard. Future King of Vale.
He loathed it.
Bound to the throne, bound to the machinations of puppeteering nobles, bound to the whims of Heroes and NPCs alike. He'd inherit power, sure— but also a crushing responsibility and the lingering weight of royal blood.
Forever above, forever superior, forever regal… forever alone. Forever chained. Forever protecting the Queen, forever a mere functionary in greater Vale politics.
He fingered the amulet in his palm before delicately sliding it over his head. His title shimmered before Paragon morphed to something lesser, yet more freeing.
Knight.
An ordinary Hero.
A sigh escaped his lips. Moonlight wafting through the open window above the mirror spilled onto him, shrouding him in cold comfort. Tonight was the night he'd break out of the castle and travel to the city of Vale. Hero initiation at Beacon began tomorrow. With any luck, he'd be safely ensconced in Beacon's walls before the King could reel him back.
The door opened, admitting a small figure. Straight auburn hair adorned an adolescent girl with pretty, regal features. Daphne, Princess Consort, his intended, and soon to be his accomplice.
"Jaune?" she whispered. He turned, taking in her eyes which wavered in the moonlight. A stab lanced through his chest, but he ignored the sensation.
"Are you ready?" He said.
She nodded. "The patrolling guards tonight are rotating in three minutes, leaving only those guarding the gates. You can sneak through there."
"Thanks, Daph." Something churned in his stomach. She looked aside, as though unable to face him.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm more sure of this than anything I've done since I've arrived here," he breathed, eyes flashing. "The royal court tries to mold me into something they want me to be. Every day I'm told what I should be, what I should do, how I should behave. I hate it. Do you have any idea how isolating that is? I've been here for four years and I don't have a friend!"
The last sentence came out in a strangled hiss, and Daphne lowered her gaze further. His heart sank. "Daph— I don't mean— okay, I've made one friend. You're the only person worth speaking to."
A small figure collided into him, knocking him to the wall. Daphne buried her head into him, lacing her arms around him in a hug. He froze, his arms awkwardly splayed around him, before slowly reciprocating, bringing her into a close embrace. Years had passed since anyone had hugged him. He didn't know how to react.
"Maybe you'd have more if you weren't so…" she paused. "Prickly."
"Is that what the nobles call me?" he laughed. "I was under the impression they'd labelled me Vale Castle's resident asshole. Those incompetent, scheming, treacherous—"
She put a finger to his lips before lowering it slowly, resting her arms in his embrace. They stayed that way for a while.
"Is staying really so bad?" she whispered. "We could get married. You'd be king." And then, her voice barely audible through his tunic— "am I— am I really so undesirable?"
"It's not you," Jaune said, resting his head on hers. "I just… I can't." His voice faded, broken in the cool air.
She looked up at him, and the vision almost broke his resolve. Her hair was mussed and frayed, red creeping into the corners of her eyes, but the moonlight caught her features in an ethereal veil. His heart skipped a step.
The moment passed as quickly as it had come, leaving naught but a fraught silence. A cracked voice cut through it. It took a moment for him to realize it was his.
"I'm sorry."
She turned away from him. "I'll plead with father not to pursue you," she said, her voice wavering. "But the media will have a field day."
He barked a laugh. "They don't know what I look like. And with this amulet—" he gestured to his chest— "they might never. Even the King's influence has limits. He wouldn't dare abduct me from the premier Hero academy in Vale. More likely he'll quietly replace me with someone else. Nobody would be any the wiser."
Beneath him, heavy armor creaked as the guards changed for the graveyard shift. Leaping to the windowsill and sliding a leg over, he prepared to descend.
"Goodbye, Jaune."
The earth below appeared a gaping chasm, its maw stretching into the dark. If he dropped, there'd be no coming back. He doubted the King would take kindly to deserters, even those with pinnacle Prestige classes.
"Goodbye."
The wind whistled as his body scythed toward the ground. He didn't look back.
The sound of leather boots impacting the ground was muffled by soft grass.
Two walls lay between him and freedom, each manned by two soldiers at the gates. He'd decided to travel light, and so clothed himself in a black-and-gray ensemble of leather and silk, hardly optimal when faced with rending steel.
A dagger lay in a holster by his side, crafted of the finest silver and engraved with shimmering runes. It'd been a gift from the King himself. Ironic. Jaune hoped he didn't have to use it.
He moved with the casual grace of a trained warrior, the thump of each step mitigated by a flexing of the feet. In an instant, he closed the distance between him and the first wall.
The guards faced outward, their eyes trained on the periphery. They wouldn't notice him until he stood beside them.
Closing his eyes, he called up his stats.
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Jaune Arc
Level 46
Paragon
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STR: 207 (A)
CON: 207 (A)
DEX: 207 (A)
AGI: 207 (A)
INT: 207 (A)
WIS: 207 (A)
CHA: 207 (A)
RES: 207 (A)
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Passive Skill
-The One Above All-
His presence generates immense pressure upon all marked enemies. Scales with level.
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Active Skills
[Perfect Strike]
A strike which targets weaknesses with precision.
[Paragon's Might]
An ability which increases STR, CON, DEX, AGI for brief spurts.
[Void Rend]
A powerful attack which tears space as it strikes.
[Blade of the Sky]
A wide-ranging blow which covers a massive radius.
[Earthly Manacles]
A constricting aura which lashes targets in place.
[Shield of the Heavens]
A protective shroud.
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For this, he only needed his passive. In his mind, the figures of the two guards blazed red, the marker of an enemy.
They collapsed, shuddering. A massive and unseen force pressed down upon them, stripping them of any agency over their bodies. One of them raised a helmeted head in a vain attempt to call for help. All that passed through his lips was a warbling squeal.
An aptly placed strike under the chin dropped the guard. His fellow sentry collapsed a moment later. Perfect Strike was unnecessary on riffraff. Upper-rank Soldiers they might be, but the chasm between a Prestige Class Hero and a Soldier was insurmountable.
Freedom lurked only a gate away, beckoning to him through the dark. He advanced.
The guards manning the next gate, to their credit, noticed him before he could incapacitate them. His approaching form caught the orange glow of torches strapped to the wall, illuminating his shock of blonde hair. Their eyes widened. One moved to sound an alarm.
Unfortunately for them, closing the distance and launching two Perfect Strikes took Jaune a fraction of a second. Their bodies slumped to the stone castle walls like puppets with torn strings.
He breathed in the cool night air, the scent of a future clear of the desires of others. He was his own man, now, and he'd be a Hero.
A black-and-gray streak blurred across the road, melding into the darkness, heading at a blistering pace for Vale and Beacon.
A/N
Jaune is heavily OOC. Raised as the best, he's become arrogant and haughty. Don't worry! He won't be like this forever. His character growth will feature heavily in the next two books.
I've planned out a first book. If it works out, I'll continue this into a second. All credit for the world and most of the characters goes to Coeur Al'Aran. Without him, I wouldn't have dipped so much as a toe into this fandom.
The plot will follow Coeur's somewhat closely until the end of Book 2- ish.