Chapter 89 - Party vs Siege


"Yah!" Blake shouted furiously, stabbing her sword at the shield in front of her.

"Yah!" Quickly spinning around, she used her momentum to slice down at the target set up behind her.

"Yah!" Changing her sword's direction rather than stopping its momentum, she swung at it from the side, and La Pucelle quartered the wooden log.

Keeping a firm grip on her sword, she took a second to study her handiwork, before finally releasing the breath she'd been holding.

As the pieces of wood fell to the floor, Jaune applauded the panting girl's work: "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all."

"Really?" Blake looked up at her mentor hopefully.

"It's true, kid." Jaune answered truthfully. "You've improved a lot, in just three days."

Blake beamed at him joyfully, and Jaune had to fight down the vague stirrings of pride as she gratefully exclaimed: "Thank you, Mr. Jaune! Thank you so much!"

"Don't thank me yet, kid." Jaune chuckled, ruffling her hair fondly, ignoring her pout and futile attempts at stopping him. Then his voice became a bit more serious, and he reminded her: "Like I told you before... just because you know how to use a sword, doesn't mean you know how to fight."

Blake's good mood withered away in an instant, at the unspoken reminder that they were out of time, and would be at Orleans the next day.

Rather than allowing herself to be discouraged, however, her grip merely tightened around her sword, and got into the stance he'd taught her as she demanded: "Then, again."

"Blake..."

"One more time." Blake repeated, taking a deep breath. "Please, Mr. Jaune."

"I think you've had enough practice with swinging your sword, Blake." Jaune sighed, before raising his own sword, still safely in its scabbard. "Before you complain... I think it's time, we try combat practice."

"... you mean...?" Blake's eyes widened in apprehension.

"Yep." Jaune got into his own stance. "I am going to try and attack you, and you are going to defend yourself, okay?"

"..." Blake gulped, and her hands shook as she raised his blade. "... okay..."

While Jaune could see the anxiety on Blake's face, he could also see the determination in her eyes, and he nodded in approval, warning her: "Then I'll start... now."

Suddenly, Jaune was in front of her.

Blake had seen him face down a squad of Burgundian and Norman soldiers, back when they'd first met.

Now she knew that had been him taking it easy on them.

Even so, even as the knowledge of how out-matched she was filled her mind, she still refused to give up.

She swung at his sword as it approached her, attempting to deflect it.

"Good." Jaune called out, allowing his sword to be deflected, before turning with momentum and trying again, lightly stabbing at her, and occasionally throwing in a few slashes and swipes as well.

Kay would have called him out for that, told him he was once again sticking to the basics, but he knew Blake couldn't handle anything more than this.

After ninety seconds, Blake lay in an unmoving heap on the floor, utterly exhausted, as a sheepish-looking Jaune casually placed his sheath back by his hip, and pulled her back up.

"Sorry about that..." Jaune awkwardly apologized, unable to meet her eyes.

"It's not your fault, Mr. Jaune." Blake sighed forlornly, any confidence gone from her face. "It's not like the Burgundians or Normans would have gone easy on me, so I'm grateful you didn't, either."

"..." Jaune found himself unable to rebut her logic.

"... Mr. Jaune?" Blake's voice was quiet.

"What is it, kid?" Jaune asked.

"... do you ever... second-guess yourself?" Blake inquired, unwilling to bluntly admit what was on her mind.

"Only all the time, kid." Jaune laughed self-deprecatingly.

"Really?" Blake raised an eyebrow.

"Of course." Jaune nodded, sighing wistfully as he remembered his misadventures. Then he fixed her with a look, and asked: "What's really on your mind, kid?"

"... how did you...?"

"Like I said, I've got seven sisters, Blake." Jaune rolled his eyes. "So, what are you rethinking right now?"

"... am I really doing the right thing, going to Orleans?" Blake finally asked. "Even with your training, I still can't fight, Mr. Jaune.

"And that's even assuming they allow me to head to the battlefield in the first place!" Blake threw her hands up in the air, as the dam burst. "What if they don't believe me, like the rest of my family? What if they don't let me fight, because I'm a girl? What if-"

"Blake." Jaune interrupted her, cupping her chin. "Look at me."

Blake complied, and her dark blue orbs met her mentor's light blue eyes.

Jaune paused, as he looked down at her tired eyes, full of self-doubt and worry.

This would have been the perfect chance to convince her to return home and go back to her family.

He could've simply chosen to stick by her, and protect her from any reprisals after all.

And all you'd need to do, is shatter your dreams, and break your heart.

But no matter how much he wanted to, to spare her the heartbreak, the regrets, the pain and suffering and hardships of the path she was about to take...

He didn't have the right.

And even if he did the right to do so...

All you'd need to do, is turn your back on everyone who's ever believed in you, and everything that's kept you going.

He couldn't.

To his surprise, the words would not come.

He'd made his decision when he'd first met her, after all.

And for all that he'd grown in the past few years, there was one thing he'd never learned.

How to give up.

How to be a quitter.

Jaune's free hand clenched into a fist.

Ruby Rose hadn't befriended a quitter.

Pyrrha hadn't trained a quitter.

Cardin hadn't been stood up to by a quitter.

Ren and Nora hadn't been led by a quitter.

The Grimm dragon and the attackers hadn't been stalled by a quitter.

Yang the Dragonborn hadn't saved a quitter.

Ruby Ironwood hadn't been helped by a quitter.

Pyrrha the Courier hadn't travelled with a quitter.

The Doom Slayer hadn't fought with a quitter.

King Arthur hadn't been advised by a quitter.

Velvet of Caerbannog hadn't been trained by a quitter.

And Blake d'Arc, if she was anything like him, was not a quitter.

She was just a scared girl right now, way out of her depth.

She was just like him, when he'd first joined Beacon.

"Let me ask you a simple question." Jaune finally began. As Blake nodded attentively, he rhetorically asked: "What would you have done, if you hadn't run away from home?"

"That's easy." Blake answered with little hesitation, having known what she was giving up when she'd left. "I'd have stayed in the village, spinning wool at my mother's side, and probably eventually married one of the boys in the town, before having a family of my own."

"I see." Jaune sagely nodded. "And do you think you'd have been happy, Blake?"

"... I could have probably found happiness in that life, yes." Blake affirmed.

"Even knowing that you'd ignored the cries for help?" Jaune challenged. "That you could have done something about it, but didn't?"

"..."

"I'll be honest, kid. I don't know much about your Lord, or anything like that." Jaune admitted, even as he remembered lively emerald eyes, and moonlight reflecting off of a lock of golden hair. "But I do know this - you're a complete idiot, who can't help but act... just like I was.

"So who cares about what they say? Who cares if they don't believe you, if they try to stop you from joining the battlefield?" Jaune continued, his eyes slowly becoming more vibrant, passion slowly creeping into his voice. "You're the one who threw away everything, who started trying to sabotage the enemies of your people despite not knowing how to use a sword, who braved the dangerous roads despite not even knowing how to read the signs! Are you really going to let a few stuffy nobles or old traditions stop you now?"

"It's... a bit more than just stuffy nobles and old traditions, Mr. Jaune..." Blake automatically retorted, even as she stewed on the words. "It is the guidelines taught by the Church itse-"

"Bah, who cares?!" Jaune rolled his eyes and waved her concerns away. "If things are really as desperate as they say you are, do you really think they can afford to turn any help away?"

"..." Blake found herself at a loss for words, before a small smile graced her lips.

He may have denied being anything more than a normal human, but now she was more convinced than ever, that the Lord had brought him here, to assist her in her purpose.

"You're right." Blake declared, determination burning in her eyes as she jumped up. "The Lord has called me for a reason! I won't let my sacrifices be in vain!"

I won't let the time you've spent teaching me be in vain.

"Oum, I hope I am..." Jaune murmured, before reminding her: "Still, though, don't do anything too stupid tomorrow, alright? You still have a family to return to, after all."

"Of course." Blake nodded, fighting down the shudder as she imagined the absolute lecture awaiting her, back in Domremy.

Then she blinked, as she realized something he'd said.

Just like I was.

"... Mr. Jaune?" Blake tentatively called out his name, deciding to try her luck again.

"Hmmm? What is it, kid?"

"... what did you mean, a complete idiot, just like you were?" Blake inquired, her attempts at being casual as futile as ever.

Jaune sighed, and looked away.

To both his surprise as well as Blake's, however, instead of another deflection, he admitted: "I... also ran away from home, when I was 17."

Blake's eyes widened.

Before she could ask any more questions, however, Jaune patted her back and said: "But that's a story for another time, kid. It's getting late, and we've got a big day tomorrow."

"Are you sure?" Blake tried her best not to sound disappointed.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you after we make it through whatever's at Orleans, alright?" Jaune saw through her.

"... promise?"

"Arc's promise, kid." Jaune smiled at her. "And an Arc never goes back on his word."

"Hey, wha-" Blake's eyes just went even wider, as he recited one of the family mottos right at her.

"Right now..." Jaune firmly changed the subject. "I want to talk to you about your hairstyle."

"My... hairstyle?" Blake found herself utterly lost by the sudden change in topic, especially to something as seemingly trivial as that.

"Yep." Jaune nodded. "Your speed in reacting to attacks from the side and turning was hampered by your long and wavy hair. Have you considered tying it up?"

"... oh." As Blake saw the logic behind Jaune's words (and was successfully distracted for the moment), she thought about it, before slowly conceding: "I mean... I guess I could tie it up into a ponytail..."

"But you don't want to?" Jaune noticed the hesitation in her voice.

"... it's stupid, really." Blake sighed, already reaching for her hair.

"You ran away from home without knowing how to read or use your sword, Blake." Jaune reminded her with a chuckle. "That has never been in question."

"Mr. Jaune!" Blake exclaimed, scandalized.

"No, but seriously." Jaune's voice became a bit firmer. "What's bothering you?"

"Well... my sisters always helped tie my hair up into a simple ponytail for me, when I had to work in the farms..." Blake explained reluctantly. "So..."

"Oh." Jaune breathed in understanding.

The silence turned a bit awkward, as Blake began to fumble with her freely-hanging hair.

Finally, Jaune gently offered: "Do... you want me to help, Blake?"

"You?" Blake blinked.

"Seven older sisters, remember?" Jaune reminded her, before faking a shudder. "They kept braiding my hair every single time we went camping..."

Blake didn't know if she was growing more comfortable around her mentor, or if it was just her nerves, but she didn't even bother stifling her giggles.

Jaune gave her look of mock hurt, as he continued grumbling: "They just kept doing pigtails, too! I kept telling them I'm more a "warrior's wolftail" kind of guy, but nope, it always had to be pigtails!"

"Isn't that just a ponytail?" Blake pointed out, between fits of hysterical laughter, as she tried to imagine Mr. Jaune in pigtails.

"I stand by what I said." Jaune sniffed haughtily, before he suggested: "In fact... why don't I show you the difference?"

"... you know what, why not?" Blake sighed, even as he sat her down on a rock, and moved behind her.

"That's the spirit!" Jaune cheered, as his hands began weaving through her long black hair gingerly, smoothing it out and stroking through it with practiced motions.

-ORLEANS, THE NEXT MORNING-

As the first light of dawn greeted the besieged and starving city, trapped in the grips of chaos and disarray, desperate cries rang out from all around the North.

"Fall back!"

"There's the gate!"

Even as the Dauphin Charles watched in dismay, the battered remains of his army retreated, peppered by arrow fire from their Norman enemies, harassed by Burgundian cavalry.

As with just about everything in this damned war, it had all started out so well.

A few days ago, his scouts had reported that the enemy positions in the West had seemed weak and undermanned, and reported movement to the North.

Naturally, he and whatever remained of his war council had agreed that their enemies were preparing for a concentrated push from the North.

They also agreed that, between their failure to intercept the enemy's supplies at Rouvray, and Orleans's own lack of supplies (while the Dauphin's mother-in-law was still organizing a relief convoy at Blois, who knew how long these things took to arrive?), the situation was extremely dire for them.

Unfortunately, that was all they'd been able to agree on.

The Scots continued to blame the hesitation of the French at Rouvray for the loss of Stewart of Damley, Jean de Dunois continued to blame the Charles de Bourbon, and Charles didn't blame anybody, because he had been so disgusted by the accusations that he had taken his men and simply left the city, retiring to his own estate.

In the end, after hours of debate and argument, the various factions in the room finally came to a compromise.

Jean de Dunois would organize an force, and attempt to force a breakthrough at the enemy's weakened western encampments, and hopefully either manage to raid their supplies, or open a path for supplies to finally arrive to the dying city (rather than forcing any potential relief force from Chinon to have to take the long way around at the South).

On the other hand, if Jean de Dunois failed, and if no further supplies arrived by June, the Dauphin would allow Jean to surrender the city, while he retreated to Bourges and attempted to sue for peace with the Burgundians.

And so, under the cover of darkness, a few thousand French men approached the Burgundian's western lines.

And that was where everything went wrong.

As it turned out, their enemies had shifted.

Where had once been a formation of peasant militia, had been rows upon rows of Norman archers behind the ridgeline.

And then the Burgundian cavalry had entered the fray, attempting to flank and encircle the French from the South and West, to cut them off from Orleans.

While the French may have outnumbered their enemies, they were hungry and demoralized, and had only expected to find a token resistance.

Jean de Dunois immediately ordered a retreat back to the city, even as a relief force sallied forth from the western gates of Orleans, to ensure their survival.

And now?

Now, even as the Dauphin and the people of Orleans watched, their best hope of victory was fighting to make sure their retreat did not become a rout.

The Dauphin sighed, and once more cursed the English for failing to keep the Normans out of the damned war.

If only they'd reined in their mainland cousins when the damned Burgundians had broken their truce, 15 years ago...

Well, it was of no concern now.

At least the English hadn't entered the conflict along with the Normans; he may as well have asked for the prophecy of the armored maiden from Lorraine to be fulfilled, if he wished for the English to restrain them.

And Jean de Dunois was a cautious commander; even with the surprise attack, the French army would survive the morning.

Weakened and demoralized, perhaps, but even so they should live to fight until summer.

Hopefully, his mother-in-law's supplies would arrive before then.

Just then, a warning ran out from the sentries, that chilled his heart.

"The Burgundians are attacking from the North!"

He and the members of his war council quickly turned their attention to the North, just in time to see large amounts of movements.

Damn.

And just when their relief force was occupied elsewhere, too.

Well, he had faith, that the walls of the city would hold for a few more hours...

Then he spotted it.

Flickers of light.

The Normans had finally brought out their cannons.

... well, perhaps abdicating and going into exile in Scotland wouldn't be too horrible?

The Dauphin couldn't help the mirthless laugh that escaped his lips, even as hope began to fade away.

They had no forces capable of repelling the enemy artillery, though he had faith that the defenders of Orleans would try anyway.

Heh.

Wasn't that just the story of the past few decades of war?

They didn't have the capability to repel the enemy, but they'd still tried anyway.

God, he was just so tired.

Not for the first time, he was tempted, so tempted, to surrender, both for his sake, and the sake of his people.

Sure, the Burgundians and Normans would probably be oppressive occupiers; he had seen what had happened to Paris.

But at least Orleans would survive, right?

The cannons were coming into range.

He had to make a decision fast.

The war council chattered all around him, shouting and squabbling, but he paid them little heed.

In the end, as the Dauphin, he was responsible for his people.

He opened his mouth.

Before he could suggest to the rest that it was finally time to surrender, however, something caught his eyes.

A commotion to the North, on the hill behind the Norman's cannons.

As the Sun finally rose, he could just make out two figures on the hill, staring down at the enemies.

Who were they?

Reinforcements?

Mercenaries?

Before he could figure out the answer, the cannons opened fire upon the Northern walls of Orleans.

The taller figure planted his sword into the ground, and the shorter figure planted a spear into the earth.

The wind picked up.

A piece of fabric on the spear was suddenly unfurled by the wind, revealing a simple white banner, adorned with either crosses or fleurs-de-lys.

Somehow, despite the distance, he (and everyone in the War Council) would later swear they heard the girl speak.

"Begone, or we will make you go."

The cannonballs were now reaching the walls.

And then, out of nowhere, a wall of ice suddenly rose up, absorbing the blasts from the cannonballs, leaving the walls untouched.

Before the people of Orleans could process what had just happened, the cannons suddenly exploded in a burst of thunder and lightning.

The wave of heat and sound and light, which could be felt all the way from the Dauphin's position, barely even fazed the shorter figure.

Instead, as a braided black ponytail flew in the wind, the fires illuminated the face of a simply girl, too young and soft to be on the battlefield.

And yet, where soldiers of Orleans were scrambling to get back into their walls, she stood firm, kind and gentle amethyst orbs surveying the scene in front of her.

The presence the pair gave off felt... oddly reassuring to the Dauphin.

For some reason, something told the Dauphin that the two were here to help him.

Meanwhile, as Blake studied the situation in front of her, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Orleans had not yet fallen.

She had not been too late.

Truly, if the Lord had not told her "early to bed, early to break the siege", she might have dallied.

Wordlessly, she turned to Jaune, who was holstering his 5.56mm pistol, having used it to shoot an unguarded torch down into the Normans' exposed gunpowder crates.

"Remember the plan." Jaune reminded her, even as he picked his sword back up from the ground.

"And what about you, Mr. Jaune?" Blake asked him worriedly.

"Don't worry about me." Jaune told her, as the Normans and Burgundians began to advance on the pair. "Just get to the city and do your thing!"

Then he leapt forward, and suddenly there was chaos in their ranks.

Blake took a moment to appreciate that he had been going easy on her, as well, when he'd sparred with her the previous night.

Then she picked up her home-made banner, and turned towards the city.

It was true, that she still couldn't fight yet.

But next time... next time, she swore that she would be able to fight by her mentor's side.

For now, though, she had a different mission.

The Lord guided her path as she ran towards the great city, and Jaune made sure it remained clear.

Her faith only grew, with each unmolested step she took.

Finally, as she saw the gates of Orleans slowly rising, she halted, knowing she could be heard.

Planting her banner, she took a deep breath, and prayed to the Lord to guide her words.

Then she shouted: "Brothers and sisters of France! How much longer will we tolerate the Burgundians and Normans despoiling our lands and butchering our people?!"


Author's Note: And here we go, as a stalemate is snatched from the jaws of defeat by timely intervention, Blake discovers Jeanne's canonical hairstyle, and Jaune makes a girl a promise.

Just to clarify things... I already explained why Jaune would be a bit more of a dick back in Chapter 87. Chapter 88 takes place on the same day as Chapter 87. Now that he's had time to get used to Blake's... well, Jeanne-ness, he's starting to warm up to her.

Also Jaune's conflicted about hearing his words from Blake's mouth (strangers are just friends you haven't met yet) because of what Blake mentioned in Chapter 87, that she's covering for the fact that she can't read and doesn't actually know how to get to Orleans by assuming that any stranger she meets on the road is just a friend she hasn't met yet. He still believes it, of course (especially with his addition to it), but every time she repeats it now he can't help but wonder whether he's ever used it in any similarly... naive context.

Similarly, while Jaune does work through his grief and inspire people by sharing stories about his misadventures... there's three things to remember. One, Jaune himself was inspired to be a hero because of the stories he was told, about his family. Two, he's still reeling from what he's lost, now that his sense of security has been simply ripped away. And three, he thinks this Blake is already even worse than he was, when he ran away from home. He's agreed to keep her safe and help her save her people, but that doesn't mean he wants to inspire her to go any further than what she's already doing now. Her dream's already suicidal enough as it is; the last thing he wants is for her to go even further overboard and end up doing anything similar to what he did, by telling her about dragonslayers who could level mountains with just their voices, heroes and nation-builders who stood up to entire armies and won, or LIBERTY PRiME and the Doom Slayer. God forbid she start getting unrealistic expectations...

Of course, reality never follows his expectations, and in the end Blake d'Arc is still Jeanne/Jaune enough to have the same impact on him as he has on others.

Also, just to explain some of the alternate history stuff relevant to this chapter... in the original timeline, Jeanne was supposed to have been brought to Vaucouleurs by her cousin, be given an armed escort to Chinon after her premonition of the Battle of the Herrings, and join up with a supply convoy from Blois to Orleans through the South.

Here, however, after her cousin refuses to take her along to Vaucouleurs, she receives the premonition of the Battle of the Herrings (aka the Battle of Rouvray), and decides to run away and head to Orleans directly. However, thanks to her being pointed at supply wagons supplying the besiegers, she heads to Orleans from the North, i.e. Burgundian/Norman territory.

As for why I've been calling them Norman and not English this whole time... even in the original timeline, the Battle of Hastings was chancy enough. How do you think it would have went, if William was facing a descendant of Gawain Pendragon, and a combined Briton-Anglo-Saxon force?

I'll give more details about that next chapter.

Once again, though... this definitely isn't the most accurate of alternate history scenarios (besides the fact that King Artoria Pendragon definitely existed in this timeline). Nor am I going to go too deep into the changes that have occurred... like I've mentioned before, medieval European history isn't my forte, nor is Arthurian legend, or FATE lore. Just know that some changes have occurred, and Alaya is attempting to correct them in the long run.