(Revision 2/27/21)
This fucking story still gets traffic, can you believe it? Hasn't been updated in two damn years yet here we are with nearly 5,000 views and decent numbers in the follows and favorites. Fuck I mean, it's not like I got anything better to do. I've improved a lot as a writer and a reader these past years as well as maturing greatly in general human emotion (thirteen-year-old me was a total depressed bitch and not in the best place to weave a coherent narrative) so let's give another crack at this, shall we? I'll hold a schedule this time, maybe even put out a chapter a month *insert gasping Pikachu*.
In all seriousness, whether your new or returning, thank you for taking the time to read little ol' Fallen Knight. She's rough, not very well written, and kinda dumb when put under any kind of narrative scrutiny, but hey! That's fanfiction, right? The tactless garbage we shove down our eyes to feel something, best not to think too hard about it.
On with the goddamned show.
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Chapter I
Arisan - Mistral
On the western side of a sleepy little border town deep into the ichor-laced peaks of the Wilhelm Mountains, sat a decaying wooden structure. Nestled between the stone-reinforced wooden ramparts and a long-abandoned bakery with blown-out windows, it smelled like old gym socks left to crystalize in a vat of vasoline then lit on fire for good measure. The oppressive aroma was positively rank and its clientele definitely fit the bill. Half-conscious soldiers covered in liquids two-parts alcohol, one part vomit, and at least a fifth of someone else's fluids, stumbling headlong into walls and using their sweat-sodden helmets as kegs. Broody mercenaries in the back with looks that most definitely have killed nursing some tar-black substance viscous enough to be lifted straight from the Grimm lakes. Unconcious figures dotted the various tables, draped across them and drowning in their own drool. It was...
Depressing.
There were no smiles, no cheer that is tied to a drunken bar crawl between buddies. It was like a void of despair disguised as cheap booze. Each and every person that found themselves in the affectionately named "Skum Pitt" that night, as indicated by the barely intact sign above the doorway, was here for the express purpose of forgetting everything outside of these four mold encrusted walls. Dark shadows covered the faces of those still too-intact to think as they brooded, others sulked, more cried.
The barkeep, probably the only sober man in the room, looked on with empathy and gently comforted as many as he could. He too looked like a Hunter, broad-chested and built like a brick shithouse stuffed into that tight trenchcoat and a black shirt with a plunging v-neck, his curly black pectoral hair on display to the world. His beard was thick enough to hide at least three and a half mid-sized rodents and his eyes were a kind amber, filled with muted agony. Kinda like Blakes.
Jaune Arc stepped through the squeaky old-style saloon door, its right panel breaking from the shackles of its hinge and collapsing to the floor with a decent heft. A few of the unconscious stirred, one Hunter in the back drew her gun instinctively and was half under the table before registering there was no threat, but most ignored the armored stranger.
"S-Sir-ah!" A shitfaced Atlesian soldier with a lolling head sat close to the door looked on Jaune with awe, and attempted to snap into a sloppy salute but tripped on his treacherous legs. The Arc boy who was at least half a foot taller than the man caught him and set him back on his lonely bench.
"It's alright," A glance, one chevron. "Private. At ease 'fore you end up in a pool of your own vomit."
The solder didn't react to his words and still looked up at the Arc wide-eyed, mouth agape, kinda like Jaune saw little kids do when a Hunter team used to come through Ansel. Not that he used to be any different, of course.
Jaune chuckled lightly and patted the pale armor plate on the soldier's right shoulder. "Relax. I'm human, just like you, no need to be so star-struck," Jaune closed his mouth with a click and pushed the half-empty wooden flagon back into his paralyzed hands. "You'll catch flies. Have a good evening, Private."
The light shock of his jaw being shut snapped him out of his stupor but the Arc had moved onto the bar, punctuated by the metallic shifting of armor plates on chainmail.
The cool confident smile of a charismatic captain fell from Jaune's face as soon as he turned the other way, this place was miserable. What was he doing here? He had private quarters with a quart of brandy and all the privacy a broken man could want, why the hell was he out here, in full kit no less, dirtying his armor with these misera-
Quit whining
If metaphysical disembodied voices could click their jaws in frustration, Jaune was sure Crocea Mors just did so with wholehearted disdain.
"I simply am punctuating the fact we are out of place here. There is no chivalry in this decrepit hole, by the Brothers, that man is weeping into his own sick."
As Crocea Mors' ethereally airy voice echoed throughout his skull, Jaune shot a glance to a man leaned against the corner wall of the bartop. He was facedown in his chunky beige vomit and bawling like the world didn't hear him, occasionally lifting his head to sip from an almost empty flagon.
You have a point, but being pathetic in wonderful anonymity gets really boring after a while. I mean you're great company and all, Crocea, but Oum are you, just, a LOT sometimes
Jaune felt an indignant squawk coming but cut it off with a nod towards the bartender as he scooted onto the rickety stool, its thin frame barely supporting his weight. All five feet of Crocea Mors, sheathed and freshly polished, leaned against the counter on his left side. He made sure she was in a position where he could draw it with his right hand at a moment's notice.
'Sides, misery loves company or some shit
"You're insufferable."
Only with you, gorgeous.
"What'll it be, Cap'n?" The bartender's tone was jovial and light. His accent was thick and came from the back of his throat in a wavy drawl, it fit his face perfectly.
Jaune's gauntleted fingers absently scratched his face of light blonde stubble as he observed the crudely etched characters on the chalkboard which hung on the wall behind the bartender.
Pig's piss
Grimm Shit
Ironwood's Morning Coffee
Whatever the Fucks in this Box from Vacuo
(Take what ya want, on the house)
The Arc raised an eyebrow at which the bartender continued to stare with his focused amber eyes, some amount of humor dancing in his irises at the young captain's reaction.
Jaune waved his hand. "Fuck'n I dunno, whatever cactus sap's in that box from Vacuo or Atlesian straight, 's all the same."
"Ah, one of those nights, eh? Don't blame ya'. 'ere you are, Cap." The man ducked under the counter as he spoke, giving Jaune a good look at the colossal gray steel claymore at least as tall as Jaune, who stood at a cool six one himself, strapped firmly to the barkeeps back through a series of cured leather harnesses.
Huh. Reminds me of Yatsu.
Jaune could just barely get the thought off before a clouded black bottle containing indiscernible liquid bounced off his forehead. Thankfully, the knight's reflexes kicked in to catch the bottle before it shattered across the countertop. His aura prevented any bruising but it still stung.
"Ow! Motherfffff-what was that for, asshole?"
The bartender ignored him and chuckled heartily, clutching his gut in mirth. "Oh Lord. Thought you Beacon boys'ere untouchable. Haha, guess ol' Samuel still got it."
Jaune couldn't help but lose his indignant scowl, this kind of lightheartedness had become scarce, what's the point in getting angry? He chuckled himself and uncorked the dusty old bottle. "Yeah, well, you look like an Ursai's third cousin. Might get the drop on me but I'd still kick your ass old man."
"Oh, I don't doubt that, Cap'n. I saw yer at Culvers Gate, fuckn force of nature you was. Never seen anyone been able to jus' shrug off the Apathy like that."
"Perks of the Semblance I guess, you're enlisted?" Jaune sniffed at the uncorked bottle, but there wasn't any particularly strong aroma apart from the dust coating the glass. The bartender leaned up against the wall behind him and crossed his thick tree trunks that could be called arms.
"Yessir, not many people 'round 'ere who aren't nowadays. Battlegroup Mantle, Eight Regiment, Fourth Company. Served with distinction fer oh, four years now?"
Jaune paused as he brought the bottle to his lips and his eyes flashed. "Shit, fourth?"
The charming light in Samuel's eyes darkened for a moment and he gave a stiff nod.
"Friggs Valkyries?"
"Foundn' member."
"Shit, were you there?"
His eyes downcast to the cracked wooden floors. "Nah, wounded. Was out on the last transport 'fore the city came down. 'Were too much of us left to dissolve so they folded us into the Eight and forgot about us. Now," He grunted and stretched his back. "Reckon I'm 'bout the only one of us left. Assumin' all them MIAs are really KIAs, 'course."
Silence hung between the two for a moment, only the ambient sounds of misery emanating from the rest of the bar. Jaune sloshed the liquid absent-mindedly, before offering it to Samuel.
His eyes came back from whatever image was on the floor and brightened again. He chuckled and cracked a grin. "Nah, don' think water's gonna do much ta me."
Jaune glanced at the bottle and grinned back. "Tch, asshole. Lucky I'm thirsty."
"'Ay, not my fault. Every bar in town got the same orders from the Clockwork Dick himself, no servin' you or Branwen. Both of em' actually. Some shit 'bout 'preservin' leadership integrity', bunch a cockney if you ask me. Nothin' a good drink can't fix."
"Cheers to that."
Jaune took a long swig from the bottle and was pleasantly surprised. The liquid was cool, not bitingly so but enough to make him sit up straighter and internally sigh. It was like drinking water after a marathon in the Vacuoan dessert, thousands of crystalline explosions along his tongue and down the back of his throat. Samuel informed him it was from a 'seno-whatever' in northern Mistral, full of minerals, an' shit. Costs a lot of lien but there ain't much use for that anymore. Not for them.
The two absently shared stories and banter over the next few hours, Crocea gently chiming in with comments and observations but otherwise quietly observing her charge. The ones conscious enough to return to base eventually shambled out the door, those who couldn't were carried out by their buddies or kicked onto the street until it was just the armored Captain and lonely bartender alone in the dimly lit dive. Silence reigned as Jaune stared at his glass of water, Samuel wiping the bar with an equally filthy rag and not making much progress, not that he was paying any attention to it.
Finally, the silence was broken by his accented voice, tentative with every syllable. "So why're you here, Cap? You an' I both know you could be slammed in a cushy chair up in the barracks right now. The fucks so special 'bout slummin' it with the grunts without a drop a' drink in ya?"
Jaune didn't immediately respond. The rhythmic squelching of the rag dragging across the countertop had halted, leaving dead silence permeating the crisp mid-fall air. Jaune tapped his glass twice and glanced up into Samuel's eyes. There was no frustration or disappointment that Jaune expected from a man seeing his CO in such a state, only concern. The knight could tell the Hunter knew something was off but appreciated the dancing around the subject, and the company, but he knew eventually the curiosity would be too much.
Jaune moved to get up but something latched onto the core of his chest and prevented him from moving.
I mean really, who the hell cares anymore. Why keep running and hiding. This guy's a lowly grunt in the first wave, he wont make it to see the sunset tomorrow let alone spread rumors about Beacon's broken Captain.
There was a beat, Jaune expected Crocea to snap back with some logical explanation about how it could undermine confidence in his leadership, but instead got silence. A slight pulse of reassurance came from the back of his skull as if to say it's up to him. Jaune smiled, she was a pain in the ass sometimes but one thing he always loved about Crocea was her willingness to let him make his own decisions.
Jaune planted back into the stool with a sigh, Samuel's cool amber eyes were unchanging in their gaze. Jaune, without looking, planted his left palm on the pommel of Crocea, the pupil of his eyes flashing in a ring of electric-blue around the iris. He heard Samuel shift in surprise but ignored him in favor of watching the armor coating his fingers sprout cracks of pure blue light, fragmenting further and further up his and arm until pieces broke away and floated under their own gravity. Those pieces simply dissolved from front to back into specks of blue light that winked out into thin air. The skin of his hand and black fabric of his hoodie became visible as his entire suit of pale white plate armor dissolved away, leaving the boy looking much younger in a worn pumpkin Pete's hoodie and faded jeans.
The blue rings of light left his eyes with a couple of bleary blinks and an absolutely drained sigh escaped his lips. "You wouldn't believe the amount of Aura that takes to maintain."
Sam silently hung the rag he was using up and leaned on the counter slightly to the right of Jaune, staring out into the empty room. "It's hard to remember yer jus' a kid sometimes. Crazy that you're lead'n so many of us," Sam chuckled darkly and shot a glance at Jaune. "Crazy that I trust ya' to."
Jaune couldn't meet Samuel's gaze, instead, focusing on his hands which were held out in front of him and beginning to tremble. "Should you? I mean look at me. Not even twenty, wearing a pumpkin Pete's hoodie trying to get a drink from some dive in the corner of town, so the General doesn't get pissed at me for digging into his stash. Fuck, I'm not even old enough to drink yet I wake up with a hangover so often I almost don't remember what it's like to think clearly." He clenched his hands and sharply inhaled.
A big meaty hand came and rested on his right shoulder, Sam was still looking at the rest of the bar but he squeezed reassuringly. The warmth in the back of his brain pulsed once again, driving him on. "I mean I-I-I. I don't fucking want to be this. I try so hard. I plan until I pass out, I make sure every goddamn person has what they need to the fucking bullet, I prepare contingency after contingency for every combination of enemy we face. When we're on the ground I move as fast as I possibly can and execute every motion perfectly but they still, they still, " He screwed his eyes shut trying and failing to stop the slow trickle of tears.
"They still die."
He took a deep inhale of breath, expecting some godly smite for even admitting in his failure. But none came. Only the slow pulsing warmth in his head and silent giant at his side.
"Every single time, I'm too slow. Or something goes wrong, or someone gets a lucky shot that I can't fucking plan for. What am I supposed to do because now were here and she's right fucking there. So many of us are about to die and I don't think I can bear giving the order. I can't watch the light slip like- FUCK!" His aura flared a brilliant white, illuminating the dim bar with divine power. He pressed his palms to his eyes so hard he started seeing lines, shaking his head to try and rid the image of her.
"Lad, lad, it's okay. It's alright. Whatever it is it's over, listen to my voice lad, come on." At some point, Samuel crossed over the bar completely and placed both hands on Jaune's shoulders from behind, restraining his thrashing.
"I-I can't Sam, I was too slow- too weak she's dead because I-"
"Lad yer never gonna be strong enough, nobody is. Yer not god." Sam had fully wrapped his arms around Jaune now, pulling the distraught teen to his chest. "Whatever happened, it happened because sometimes circumstances are out of yer control. People make reckless decisions, Grimm get lucky. Hindsights a damn powerful tool but in the moment the only options are the ones right in front of yer. People are gonna die, Jaune. This is war."
"I-I had a daughter a Beacon." Sam continued. "Wonderful little girl, my pride an' joy. She always sent back home these dumb little souvenir postcards from 'er hunts with little Grimm toys." He chuckled sadly, Jaune stopped struggling at this point, only occasionally sniffling. "She always had an obsession with em' as a kid."
"What was her name." Jaune's voice was nasally and broken but still held together, just.
"Caroline. Caroline Charles. Kids used to call 'er CeeCee. Third-year when it all went down. They never told me how it happened, only she 'lost her life bravely defending citizens o' Vale durin' the evacuation of Amity Colleseum' 'er some shite. I didn't 'ave much after that day. Wife got done in during the evacuation, Nevermore feather. So, when I got to stable land, found the nearest Hunter and demanded they take me on."
Jaune chuckled and pulled away. "Plucky fucker, ain't ya."
He returned a chuckle of his own. "Runs in the Charles blood, s'pose."
Jaune reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a worn leather wallet. Unfolding it and taking out a creased picture he opened it up and smiled nostalgically before handing it to the bartender. The picture was taken not too long after the defense of Haven. They were still covered in blood, exhausted, and not done putting out all the fires in the city but the Atlesian fleet had arrived and was picking up the slack. It was a still of them sprawled across the courtyard of Haven Academy in a heap of weapons and teenagers. Up against the enclosure for a Banzai tree that acted as the center of the courtyard, were Port, Oobleck, Qrow, and Oscar. They looked beat, Oobleck was missing a few fingers and Port had lost his eye earlier in the week but they were smiling as Qrow looked absolutely mortified coughing up liquid, his flask mid-flight at Oscar's face. Coot always hated cranberry juice.
Arrayed in front of the squabbling adults were the Nine remaining members of RWBY JNPR and SSSN. Yang was laughing at Qrow, a joyful expression on her face even though the state of her hair was ragged and arm nothing but a mangled mess of steel and wire. Beside her was Blake, who was stroking said hair, had Yang laid across her lap, her bow gone and cat ears on full display. She was giggling about something facing Weiss who herself was stood next to the two using Myrternaster as a crutch and an accompanying smile on her beautiful pale face. It was the happiest they'd been in a while.
Beside them were Ren, Nora, Neptune, and Sun. Ren was sitting cross-legged in a meditative position, Ringu Bang's pieces arrayed across his lap, as Nora, draped over his shoulders lovingly, guided his hands in attempting repairs. Sun sat close by, smiling softly at the exchange in the distance but his body poised like he was closely paying attention to the repair of his weapons. Even Neptune, who was sat back-to-back against Sun, couldn't help but crack a grin, however small, at the commotion. Scarlett and Sage had died early on to Lionheart so it was rare to see such a sight from the two. Neptune more so took their loss harder than anyone.
Apart from them all, nestled into a pile of rocks in the corner of the frame sat a younger Jaune. His armor was more rudimentary and his eyes filled with a little more life. His smile was warm and content as he ran his hand gently through the hair of the girl in his lap. Ruby was fast asleep, Crescent Rose folded and clutched in her arms like a teddy bear, but even she too had a small content smirk on her lips.
"They're who I've got left. It's a wonder none of them have died yet but I'm not too hopeful for what the future holds."
Samuel smirked at the picture. "I've heard stories of all of 'em, seen the propaganda too. Better to see 'em as the kids they are, in my opinion. 'S comforting, knowing even the legends of Beacon Academy are human too." He tapped where Ruby was on the picture. "Nice catch, by the way."
"Who," Jaune glanced at the picture and got a sad smile on his face. "Ruby? Nah. I'd love to but we've never had the time."
"Thing about time, lad, that it's more about what you make of it. Way I see it, you have time to come out here and drown yer sorrows with a stranger, ya have time for a girl."
Jaune gave Samuel a long glance. "Suppose you're right. I think I'm just making excuses, honestly. I-," Jaune paused for a long time, jaw working in circles. "I had a partner, back at Beacon. She loved me, for a long time apparently, but I was too dim to notice it until it was too late. By the time I realized how she felt, and that I felt the same, I was too weak and she was dead. Kinda traumatizing. " He chuckled darkly. "It took me a long time to admit my feelings, longer to come to terms with the feeling I was betraying Pyrrha somehow. I dunno, I'm just- scared, I think."
"Lords above, you are still a kid." He leaned forward to look into Jaune's downcast blue eyes and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You say it yourself, we'll be dead tomorrow, no time like the present, eh?"
Jaune deflated ever so slightly. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
Sam sighed deeply. "Listen, yer' only, what? Nineteen? Twenty? Yer've experienced nuff' shit to make a grown man ave' a mental breakdown three times over. S' a wonder yer' avent' snapped sooner, I'd have. Yer' lost someone you loved, a lot of someones you've loved, and yer' afraid of it happening to the rest of em' but kid," He ducked into Jaunes downcast gaze and caught the boy's eyes. "They survived Beacon, they kicked the Grimm's ass in Haven, they've got a whole battlegroup supportn' em' out there on top of you, Mr. 'Angel of Vale'. They're covered but the rest of em' aren't and they can't go into what is likely the toughest battle since the Great War with a capn' that's losin' his mind. I ain't got nothin' left but people's families are out there, think bout' how nervous they are, they have people they love on the frontline too. They've gotta trust that you, and I, and everyone around them are strong enough so they can see that person again. An' you got to trust that they can handle their selves too. You trust yer' team, right lad?"
"More than myself," He said with a nod.
"Good, there's a reason you've all made it this far." He pulled Jaune into a hug and patted his back. "If me daughter was out there tomorrow, I'd be happy knowing she's under your command."
Jaune chuckled albeit small and weak but genuine all the same. "Thanks, Sam, I won't let you down, promise. And an Arc n-"
"Never goes back on their word, yeah heard it like a thousand times. 'S like the unofficial catchphrase of your entire fuckn battlegroup."
Jaune sheepishly scratched his nape and said nothing.
"C'mon, grab yer sword. I'll walk you back to base lad."
Jaune got up feeling a hundred pounds lighter as he clipped Crocea Mors to his belt. The wood of the threshold creaked as he stepped out into the cobblestone street behind Samuel who blew out the oil lamp next to the entrance. The cool late evening air of Arisan ruffed his hair as the damp mud collected on the sides of the street squelched beneath his combat boots. He took a deep breath, a really deep breath, for the first time in what felt like forever.
"I'm proud of you, Jaune"
He smiled, wide and genuine, it felt alien but welcome nonetheless.
"So... Pyrrha Nikos, eh?
The smile vanished
"Ay I'm just playing, hey, HEY, no not the beard!"
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Mistral - FOB Sanctuary - Barracks B
Midnight hung heavy in the air as Jaune quietly trekked up a narrow-ish mountain trial. Being this close to the Grimmlands, the sky was a myriad of purples and reds, swirling and coagulating into a landscape of strange eldrich beauty. This was the edge of civilization, the last line between Remnant and her chaotic domain. It was not a place humans or faunus should be. The very land rejected them here, its diseased soil regurgitating crops as if it were aghast at the mere notion of fostering life. Arisan only survived as a staging outpost for Huntsmen teams probing into the Grimmlands. The sleepy little military base nestled into the eastern foothills of the Wilhelm Mountains hadn't seen anything more than a battalion since the Great War. Now? The largest organized force of Huntsmen embarked upon the combined fleet of all Remnant's nations were crammed like sardines into the anemic little airstrip.
Jaune scoffed quietly as he approached the small cluster of prefabricated buildings placed against the mountains proper on the south side of the base. They looked like white alloy train cars held to the ground by large retractable spikes on each of the four corners. Battlegroup Beacon, callsign Caliburn, was a damn sight smaller than the thirteen other Battlegroups within the assembled armada, occupying only three prefab barracks as opposed to the uniform blocks on twenty down by the hangars. Their lack of numbers was mostly due to Caliburn's status as the invasion's 'special forces unit' comprised exclusively of survivors from Beacon Academy. It was mostly just a ploy by Oz and Ironwood to ensure those surrounding Ruby were ones they could trust.
"You know, the landscape here is enrapturing in an odd, military industrialist sort of way."
Jaune turned from the two metal stairs leading to his barracks and cast a look out over the horizon. FOB Sanctuary was set a stone shelf on the slope of a mountain facing the Grimmlands at the mouth of the valley Arisan sat further within. Caliburn's barracks were sat as far back as possible, on a small outcropping of rock on a higher elevation than the rest of the base. Their status came with privacy, Jaune supposed.
Expanding out from their lonely plateau, however, were sixteen Andromeda-class dreadnaughts layered in one large row across the entirety of the available airstrip. From bow to stern the ships were so large that they were a mere thirty meters from hitting the walls of the base on either side. Around them were hundreds, if not thousands, of tenths and temporary buildings housing technical staff brought on the smaller frigates, of which were silently hovering over the base in a defensive chevron facing towards the Grimmlands. Even in the small hours of the morning bullheads ran back and forth from the frigates and base like fireflies. The base itself was lit up like a beacon, it's sanitary unblemished steel surfaces juxtaposing the cracked chunks of jagged red earth that spread endlessly beyond the forward walls of the base.
"Yeah, I suppose it is." Jaune turned fully from the steel threshold promising rest and sat on the second step, taking in the sight before him.
Silence reigned for many minutes, naught but Jaunes slow breathing audible. The distant thrum of engines and generators filled the background, even the occasional caw of Nevermore stalking them from the far-off shards of rock. Remnant never truly slept, did it?
As Jaune traced the Atlesian Flagship, the ANV Enduring Hope, with his distant blue eyes for the umpteenth time, he unhooked Crocea's scabbard from his belt and planted it by the tip into the soft earth before him. He leaned forward and rested his forehead on the chilled crystal embedded into the pommel while gripping her gold-laden cross guard for support, a heavy sigh escaping his lips.
"Crocea, who am I?"
A bemused chuckle. "I would hope I didn't have to tell you your own name. You're Jaune, of course."
"No Crocea-," He grit his teeth and tightened his hold on her cross-guard. "Who am I." It came out confused, like a whispered secret so heavy it made his tongue turn to lead.
There was a disembodied deep sigh and a feeling of warmth spread across his back, as if someone had put an arm around him. "Come Jaune, we both know where this goes-."
"No." He cut off firmly. "I-I need to know what happened. Talking with Sam, going back there again. I just, I. What am I? Who am I? I'm fucking certain I died, I felt it. Her arrow, my aura fragmenting and leaving me so cold. That-That black shit that made my skin melt. Crocea wha-."
"Shhhh..." An invisible hand stroked his face. The silence stretched but the warmth on his cheek persisted. Opening his eyes there was no one but the soft glow from the armada below, its gleaming white warships unmoving. "Such awe-inspiring machines, truly. If we had them in my time maybe peace would have been reality instead of fantasy."
"Crocea-."
"You are aware of what I am, yes?"
Jaune's jaw clicked shut and he nodded slightly, returning his gaze from the unoccupied space before him back to the horizon, his chin planted on Crocea's pommel. "I've had some theories. You're like Oz, right? Just a soul without a body."
An airy chuckle floated through his ears, resonating strangely with the ethereal echo of Crocea's voice. "Close. Technically, I am the consciousness and memories of King Aurum Mors I. Protector of Sanus and reagent of mortal men. Lofty title for a woman at the time."
Jaune quirked an eyebrow. "So you're, what? An echo?"
"Of sorts. I exist solely within Crocea Mors as a fragment of the King's aura. She had her trusted serf, Malcador Arc, imbue a 'copy' of herself within the blade once it became clear Salem would win at Vale. She instructed him to ensure the blade's potential is unlocked only by one worthy to be her successor. Evidently, he kept it in the family."
Jaune blinked a couple times. "That means... I'm supposed to be her 'successor' or something?"
A seed of regret and shame seeded within his chest. "No, unfortunately, you were never meant to wield me."
Jaune downcast his eyes. "O-Oh." There was a long pause. "Then why...?"
Guilt that was not his continued to pool in his chest.
"Crocea...?"
"Because I wanted you to."
"Wha-?" He was interrupted by Crocea's voice, desperate to convince someone of something.
"I-I couldn't let that be the end, not like that. Devoured by that witch's Grimm, your aura in service of that EVIL. I c-couldn't-." Crocea didn't have to breathe but deep ragged breaths echoed throughout his head. "... I'm sorry Jaune. You were never meant to take up this burden. I robbed you of noble death and made you a martyr you had no right to be. This- it's all my fault."
Jaune didn't react, couldn't. He sat ramrod straight, fingers lax on Crocea's form and eyes as wide as they can possibly open. He didn't know how to feel. Grateful? Betrayed? Angry?
I-I died?
"Yes, you-your soul was being devoured by that parasite. It must've been taking too long because Cinder, she..."
"The arrow..." Simply saying the word out loud blasted apart a fog surrounding his brain that he had never quite noticed. Long-buried memories and searing phantom pains assailed his senses like a dam had been broken.
"It pierced your lung."
He felt a lance of pure heat pierce his being and immediately collapse his right lung from the impact alone. Almost instantly the searing heat encompassed his world. White spots danced in his vision as the organs and bones around the impact site liquefied.
"The heat. I-It was so much, Oum your screams. Your insides were melting but that aura of yours. It kept you alive through it all."
He tried desperately to grab at the arrow but it wasn't physical. Jaune's hands passed through the core of white radiant energy that made up it's shaft, his skin cracking and bubbling as it fell off the bone.
"Such agony, in all my years I had never seen someone..."
Jaune threw his head back to scream but his esophagus was clogged with ash and blood as his other lung collapsed. Cinders cruel smiling amber eyes watched on with glee as she gripped the arrow in his chest and ripped-
"GUUUUHak-ak-ak-ak," Jaune was forcefully slammed back into the present as the memory subsided. He collapsed on the ground in front of him and dry heaved so violently his bones locked. Crocea impacted the dirt softly at his side as vicious coughs racked his system.
"What, ak-guh-. H-how, ack-How did we...?"
"I killed you before the parasite could fully devour your soul. I took what was left and merged it with Aurum's latent aura contained within the blade. Even if you were the true successor, we never would have met. You only would be able to wield the power imbued into the blade. That raw power was the cost, now your life is tied to mine, your aura subsists itself off of me. That connection is what allows us to speak as we are. To feel each other's emotions and thoughts so clearly." There was a long pause as Jaune stopped his coughing fit and pushed himself to sit on his heels, still gasping for breath. "I'm sorry, Jaune. You were never meant to do this, never prepared for it. I sacrificed the power to save humanity out of selfish desires, I'm so sorry... Aurum..."
Jaune schooled his breathing and rested his palms on his thighs, a meditative position Ren had thought him once long ago. A deep well of despair, guilt, and grief not his own-rooted within his chest. Memories of his last moments repeated over and over again, the cold feeling of dying silently threatening him in the back of his mind.
Jaune opened his eyes to the same landscape as before, only this time, he could swear there were more stars.
"You know..." He began slowly, looking down at his scarred and calloused palms, feeling something shift within his chest. "I wanted to have died that day for so long, begged the gods to make it so. I felt so, unworthy of this power to the point it made my skin crawl." He directed his eyes at Crocea's still form, he knew she was listening though. With every word, his resolve was reinforced. "I deserved to die that day, to pass this power on to someone like Ruby. Or Pyrrha." He felt Crocea's heart sink.
"But I didn't."
Jaune reached over and picked up Crocea, admiring the pearl white metal of the scabbard. "You say you made a mistake. You feel that Aurum would be disappointed in you for saving my life, but Crocea, you forget that you are Aurum," With a mighty rasp of steel, the ancestral weapon was freed from its scabbard. It shone in the moonlight, the millions of stars in the sky reflecting off its polished silver surface. "You are her in every aspect except body. And if you 'sacrificed the power to save the world', just for me? I had better make myself goddamn worth it." He stared on at the blade in muted awe. "I was never the smartest, or the strongest, or even the most durable out of everyone. I've learned I don't need to be. You and I, were not alone against the world. We have a team, friends, they are the storybook heroes here to slay the big evil monster," He smiled sadly. "We just need to be there to make sure they get home."
There was a beat of silence where Jaune feared his words were not enough but a light chuckle broke through the darkness. "Dont sell yourself so short, 'Angel of Vale'."
Jaune groaned. "That was one time, I use the wings one goddamned time."
Crocea giggled. Jaune smiled, it was beautiful.
...
...
...
"Jaune?"
"Yes, Crocea?"
"I'm happy you're alive."
"... Me too, darling. Me too."
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The metal bulkhead shifted and groaned slightly as it crept open, Jaune winced at the excruciatingly loud noise in such a quiet room. The chamber was unlit save for a small desk lamp on the workbench sat against the right wall in the midpoint of the room. Bunks lined the walls on either side with a door on the far side that led to Jaune's personal office. Accommodations were spartan at best with a small sink and mirror near the front door and cold steel walls. Some posters dotted the ramparts near Nora and Coco's beds but apart from that, they were bare. Footlockers containing any spare effects sat at the foot of each bunk. These hollow blocks of metal weren't much but they've been home these past few weeks.
Jaune's bed was the bunk closest to the office. Since bunks are meant for partners, and Ruby reinstated herself as the leader of RWBY a long time ago, the top bunk had been vacant for a long time. Jaune never let himself admit his disappointment. Out loud.
The young knight stepped oh so carefully across the plastic padded metal floors, utilizing every last tactic to lighten his footsteps that Blake and Ren had ever taught him. As he passed the workbench, however, an unconscious form slumped against the table caught his eye.
It was Ruby. In the intervening years since Beacon, her shock of heterochromatic hair had grown longer, extending down to just past her shoulder blades. It was tied up into a ponytail that cascaded down her shoulder and across the right side of the workshop like a waterfall, her serene pale face framed by two stray bangs that began raven black but reddened to a deep crimson at the tip. Beneath her was Crescent Rose, in pieces and in the middle of being cleaned. Tools lay haphazardly strewn around the tabletop as a screwdriver stuck out of Crescent Rose at an odd angle. Ruby was wearing the standard-issue slate gray tanktop over black sweats as sleepwear. The lack of personality made Jaune miss the Beowulf printed sweats she lost in Vacuo.
Jaune crept over to her form and gently sorted her tools back in order, placing them in a special white case emblazoned with her red and black rose emblem. His own family sigil, the twin golden arcs, acted as a latch that he locked with a soft click. He paused for a minute, leaning on the desk and watching the quiet rise and fall of her shoulders. The two friends had been inseparable since the days of RNJR's hike across Mistral. She became his surrogate partner, even after she returned to RWBY. In the downtime between missions they would go on hunts, just the two of them, as a way to preserve their 'leader retreats' they had bi-weekly back at Beacon.
Jaune tucked one of the loose bangs behind her ear and planted a kiss on her temple. Ruby Rose was the most special person on Remnant to him. After his family was killed by Tyrion Callows she was there to drive him forward, more so than even Crocea. Heck, Jaune was certain Ruby knew more of his secrets than Crocea did too. Those silver eyes had a power over him that nothing else did. Nothing else could.
He wasn't sure if it was love, Jaune never really got to explore the concept with Pyrrha, but whatever it was lit a fire deep within his chest that hurt and felt wonderful at the same time. Just the sound of her voice kept his blade steady and mind away from the edge sometimes.
Jaune sighed. Maybe Sam had a point, there isn't enough time for them left on Remnant to be afraid of consequences. Those are thoughts for tomorrow, however.
Jaune bent down and hooked his arm under Ruby's legs, hefting her into a bridal carry. She stirred slightly but nuzzled into his chest, sending a lance of giddiness through his body. This woman was just too damned cute.
He laid her down gently on the bunk next to his, Weiss' sleeping form just above them, and tucked her beneath the rather starchy blankets. He brushed a hand through her hair. "Night Rubes."
Before he could retract his hand fully Ruby grasped it with surprising fervor for someone who was unconscious. "Mmm..mm. Not yet Zweiii~..." She curled around his forearm like a lifeline and Jaune swore his heart just about exploded.
"This woman is going to be the death of me and you. How is a mortal creature capable of such endearment?"
I don't fucking know. Oum this girl could turn Salem good for a day I swear
Jaune, adept at dealing with sleeping women on account of the seven sisters, executed a flawless bait-and-switch, leaving a poor pillow in her clutches of cuddly doom.
"Cute name, I didn't think you'd be the jealous type."
Hypocrite
"I plea the fifth."
Jaune chuckled as he sat on his bunk but Crescent Roses' half-dismantled form caught his eye from across the room. The knight groaned internally and stood back up.
It's not like he slept much these days anyway.
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Warning, the next few chapters are old and full of contradictions to what you just read, not to mention written like shit. Go ahead and read them if you want but be warned the plot will follow the same structure loosely when I rewrite them. So spoilers, or something.
And here we are, three years and seven thousand words later I finally return to this mess. Not much to say besides thank you for either returning or giving me a shot. I feel like my dialogue is a little fast-paced and wooden right now, but every author needs to improve from somewhere.
Cheers mates, see you in the next one.