Chapter 90 - A Maiden & A Mentor
Jaune hummed to himself, as he casually checked the pot of stew to make sure it wasn't being overboiled or burnt (Gawain had been all but banned from the kitchens in Camelot for a reason), before nodding in approval, and grabbing a ladle.
Then he took a look at the crowd that had begun gathering around him, and winced.
He may have seen his fair share of battles, but his experience with long drawn-out sieges was limited at best, so he hadn't been too sure what to expect, when he'd helped to fend off the attack that morning.
Judging by the looks on the people's faces, though, they must have been starting to get really hungry.
Not for the first time, Jaune wondered if there was something to Blake's "Lord".
After all, she'd managed to predict that the city was in dire straits and they'd need to be there early, along with somehow knowing the exact location of the enemy's supplies for them to steal.
And he didn't know what she'd said, once she'd reached the city, but it must have been effective, since almost half the city had basically charged out, with Blake leading the charge.
Well, as long as she didn't start taking advice from cow skulls or planning a "Great Joutney" to the moon, he'd keep his mouth shut about it.
Even as he began distributing his food among the people, he silently wondered how Blake was holding up.
Hopefully, she was taking her first battle better than he had.
And hopefully, her fears were unfounded, regarding the people's reception to her.
Well, he doubted they'd do anything to Blake, unless they wanted the city to lynch them.
In the meantime, what he could do, was what he'd always done, and try to help the people who needed it, whether it be by fighting or building or teaching.
As he looked back at the crowd, and found that it had tripled, he sighed, and mentally reflected that, today, it involved cooking.
For a moment, he toyed with the idea of settling down in this world, and starting an interdimensional soup kitchen, before shaking his head at the thought.
Amusing as it was, he hadn't left his family to become a gourmet chef.
Also, how would his cooking have fended off the Grimm? Maybe, if he honed it well enough, it would be so delicious that there would be no negative thoughts to attract the Grimm?
The thought of Remnant and Grimm began to call forth pleasant memories (and not-so-pleasant ones), about his time in Beacon, and before that.
Before he could indulge in the nostalgia, however, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, and put aside any thoughts of the past.
The sound of frantic light footsteps caught his attention, however, and he turned to see Blake running to him, worry plastered all over her face.
Adrenaline spiked through his system, as he registered the look of concern, and he mentally began to prepare for the worst as he asked: "Blake... is everything alright?"
"What should I do, Mr. Jaune?" Blake all but cried out, as soon as she reached him. "They want to put me in charge of an entire army! Me!"
Jaune blinked, staring at her, as he processed her words.
He couldn't help it.
Quickly gesturing for some nearby guards to help him distribute the food, he then managed to pull Blake into a nearby alleyway, before his composure finally cracked.
"Mr. Jaune!" Blake whined in outrage, scandalized by the way her mentor was failing to suppress his snickering. "It isn't funny!"
"I'm sorry, I just can't help it." Jaune choked out, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. "And you have to admit, it is pretty hilarious..."
"How is putting an untrained peasant girl in charge of an army hilarious?!" Blake threw her hands up in the air in dismay. "Is the Dauphin mad?!"
"Well, at least it beats the alternative, right?" Jaune pointed out, knocking her shoulder lightly with his own. "I mean, last night you were worrying that they wouldn't take you seriously..."
"I almost wish they did..." Blake remarked bitterly, slumping against the wall, still leaning against Jaune's shoulder as she did so.
Jaune took a look at her, and sighed, before quietly asking her: "So... tell me what happened, Blake."
"Apparently, holy men across the country have been telling of a prophecy." Blake huffed, still sulking even as she swiped a piece of fish from Jaune. "About a maiden from Lorraine, whose arrival would turn the nation's fortunes around. Between our timely intervention, all that amazing stuff your "magic" sword did, and the things the Lord told me to tell the Dauphin... I guess hearing I was born in Domremy, a village in Lorraine, was the last straw."
Jaune couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at her statement; Blake's "Lord" really seemed to be looking out for her (whether she liked it or not).
He'd never thought he'd feel so lucky to have only been leader of a team, though to be fair he'd only helped take down a Deathstalker.
Breaking a siege and driving away an attacking force was probably just a bit more impressive.
"What do I do?!" Blake continued ranting on, heedless of Jaune's thoughts. "What if I mess up? What if I lose? What if- what if-"
"Blake." Jaune placed a firm hand on her shoulder, reminding her that he was there. "Breathe."
Blake reflexively followed his advice, and took a deep breath, holding it for a moment.
Then she let it go.
"Calmed down yet?" Jaune inquired.
"How can I?" Blake retorted glumly, refusing to look up at her mentor. "I don't know the first thing about being a leader, about fighting a battle, or about organizing an army..."
"What about just now?" Jaune pointed out. "You led them just fine, didn't you?"
"All I did was wave my flag and lead a charge at the enemy lines!" Blake groaned, slumping even further down as she closed her eyes, unable to forget the smell of iron in the air, as screams filled the air, and she felt blood and mud being squelched underfoot as she ran forward heedlessly, adrenaline pounding as arrows flew past her.
"..." Jaune noticed her silence, and looked down to see the pain in her face.
Wordlessly, he stretched out an arm, and wrapped it around her shoulders, before holding her tightly even as he reflected that he'd just had this conversation four days ago.
He found himself hoping that Arthur had taken his advice to heart even as he wondered why he kept finding himself in such a position.
"... so much blood..." Blake murmured, remembering what she'd seen when she'd finally reached her mentor, before the countrymen following her washed over the remaining Normans and Burgundians, crushing them and routing them.
She'd grown up hearing about the atrocities the foreign invaders had inflicted on her people.
But even so, they were still people.
Norman, Burgundian, or French... they all bled the same, all died the same, on the battlefield.
"It isn't easy, is it?" Jaune asked quietly.
"Does... does it ever get easier?" Blake couldn't help but ask.
"It's killing." Jaune said simply. "It shouldn't ever be easy, Blake."
"But... but..." Blake found herself momentarily lost for words, as she finally looked back up at her mentor, and saw the expression on his face. "You make it look so easy, Mr. Jaune!"
"How old do you think I am, Blake?" Jaune asked her tiredly, all of a sudden.
"... I think you said, you weren't even twenty yet..." Blake recalled, wondering why he'd suddenly asked that.
"I'm still nineteen and a half." Jaune nodded, before continuing: "And remember how old I said I was, when I ran away from home?"
Blake's eyes widened.
"I've only been doing this for two and a half years." Jaune continued on, shaking his head.
"..."
"And will you just call me "Jaune" already?" Jaune pressed on with a forced smile, trying to lighten the mood.
"But-" Blake began to protest.
"If you call me "mister" one more time, I'll call you "kid" for the rest of your life." Jaune threatened, smiling down at her.
"..." Blake couldn't help the snicker that escaped her throat, as the mood suddenly changed from somber to hilarious in a heartbeat.
"That's it." Jaune encouraged, before his eyes darkened again, and he sighed. "Sometimes, no matter what we want, no matter what we do, some people will always try to hurt others. In that case... all we can do, is what we have to. But we should never celebrate it. Celebrate surviving, celebrate protecting whatever you fought for, sure. But not the killing itself.
"Your city still stands, your people still survive, and you're still alive and enjoying fish and company." Jaune finished, leaning against his younger counterpart as he closed his eyes. "For now, that's what you should focus on. Not on their life stories."
"..." Blake closed her eyes as well, as she tried to take his advice.
After all, she'd left home to save her people by driving out the foreign oppressors.
She'd known, intellectually, that it would involve killing.
But there was a difference between knowing something and experiencing it, doing it.
Even so, though...
She tried to focus on her mentor's calming words, his vivid blue eyes, the warmth pressing against her shoulder, the lingering smell and taste of fish.
"... if it helps, I can tell you something someone also told me..." Jaune offered, recalling another religious leader he knew. "In a world filled with misery and uncertainty, it is a great comfort to know that, in the end, there is light in the darkness. Every day, we move closer to our judgment. We must do our best to walk in the footsteps of our Lord and teach others how to do the same. For many of us, the road is a difficult one, and some days are... harder than others. But the path is always there for us to follow, no matter how many times we may fall."
Blake blinked, as she processed his words. "... I thought you didn't know about the Lord, Mister-"
"Ahem." Jaune cleared his throat threateningly.
"Jaune." Blake hastily corrected herself. "I thought you didn't know about the Lord, Jaune."
"I don't." Jaune answered.
"..." Blake searched his eyes, but saw no falsehood.
Perhaps the man who'd preached those words to him, about the Lord's mercy and the guarantee of redemption as long as one truly repented, hadn't told him who those words had originally belonged to?
Just one more question in the mystery that was her mentor.
But even so, she closed her eyes, and prayed, prayed for the souls of herself, and the men she'd led, and the men she'd fought, as well as her mentor.
And she prayed for guidance.
The Lord had set her on this path, after all.
The nation needed a savior, after all.
All she could do, was what she'd always done.
Do her best, and have faith.
As she opened her dark blue eyes, and met his bright blue eyes, she found that her spirit did, indeed, feel just that little bit lighter.
She wasn't alone.
Her mentor, sent by the Lord himself, was there for her.
"... thanks, Jaune." Blake finally said, allowing herself to relax.
"Any time, Blake." Jaune smiled down at her, glad to see she was feeling slightly better. Squeezing her arm reassuringly, he added: "And for what it's worth, I'm sure you'll be a great leader."
Blake's eyes widened, as she remembered their original topic of conversation.
Oh, right.
She was still in charge of an army.
"How do you know that?" Blake whispered desperately.
"Well, you can't be any worse than I was." Jaune grinned self-deprecatingly. "And according to my team, I was the best leader in my school."
"... I guess I shouldn't be surprised, that you were a leader too." Blake said casually, trying to keep from sounding too curious.
Jaune wasn't fooled for a moment.
Well, one story couldn't hurt, right?
And hopefully Blake would be much less impressionable than he'd been, when his folks had first told him about the heroic exploits of the Arcs.
... okay, she probably was just as impressionable as he'd been, but she'd already run away from home with the family sword.
It wasn't like she could be any more reckless...
...
...
...
... okay, he'd make damn sure she didn't do anything as reckless and stupid as he had.
Fortunately, this world didn't have anything like Grimm or dragons or demons, so she'd probably be fine...
Jaune sighed, and finally said: "Well, I did promise I was going to tell you my story, starting from when I ran away from home, and an Arc never goes back on his word, so..."
Blake immediately sat up straighter, and her ears perked up, as he began.
-ONE QUICK RETELLING OF RWBY VOLUMES ONE TO THREE FROM JAUNE'S PERSPECTIVE LATER-
"..." Blake wordlessly stared at her mentor in shock, as he finished his unbelievable tale, trying to digest everything he'd just told her.
"Any questions?" Jaune asked, looking down at her.
"... I am very confused..." Blake finally spoke, her eyes spinning in different directions as she slumped further against the wall, and wondered just when her life had become so complicated.
Last month, she'd been a farmer's daughter, unable to even read or write, barely able to do enough mathematics to make sure that merchants didn't cheat her whenever she went to the market, with the majority of her advanced vocabulary dedicated to farming or praying.
And now?
Now she was in the city of Orleans, had the ear of the Dauphin, was in charge of an army, and apparently had a mentor who was from another worrld!
"Yeah, that's the general reaction." Jaune observed, biting into his own piece of fish as he did so, deciding not to comment any further.
After all, if someone had told him that Glynda Goodwitch or Pyrrha Nikos had been from another dimension in his first or second semester, he'd have probably been speechless too.
Blake's first question, however, was something he hadn't expected at all.
"So... are we related?" Blake inquired innocently, deciding to simply entrust her (very complicated) life to the Lord as she always had, and have faith that He had a plan for her.
There were more important matters for her to process, and a burning curiosity to sate.
"..." Jaune froze, as he tried to wrap his head around the concept.
Were they?
How did any of this actually work, anyway?
He'd been thinking of her as a younger version of him, and Sarah Lyons had said that he was biologically human (or human enough, according to that blood test he'd taken a few years ago)...
And the d'Arcs apparently had the same wise sayings as the Arcs...
But in the end...
"I'm pretty sure we're not related." Jaune reassured her.
One of his goals was to make sure Blake never made the same mistakes he did, after all.
Blake d'Arc was not, and would never be, him.
Not as long as he had a say in things.
"That is a relief." Blake put a hand to her chest. "For a moment, I was afraid that my father may have had indiscretions in the past, and I was not truly the eldest daughter..."
"Uh..." Jaune blinked, confused by her reaction.
"So tell me, how far away is your world?" Blake continued even as she studied her mentor over, trying to identify any unique features that could clue her in. "Is it even further East than where Alexander the Great stopped his conquest? Or is this world of yours perhaps to the West, beyond the ocean?"
"... I'm pretty sure it's even further than that, Blake." Jaune spoke slowly, wondering whether she understood what he was telling her.
"Oh, are you from beyond the edge of the world?" Blake continued guessing wildly.
"... sure, let's go with that." Jaune decided that her description was close enough.
Blake pumped her fist quietly, much to Jaune's amusement.
Before she could continue interrogating him, however, he noted: "You know, you're taking this a lot better than I expected, Blake..."
"Well, knowing of your origins changes little." Blake shrugged easily.
After all, the Lord had still sent him to her in her hour of need.
For all his gruffness, he had still been the only person she'd met, who'd even been willing to entertain her dreams, her visions, her calling.
He'd still trained her, taught her, comforted and guided her, and saved her people.
If anything, hearing that he'd taken the same path as her, despite never receiving the same calling, hearing the same laments, watching the same slow death as she had, and had still turned out as strong as he had, only inspired and motivated her further.
"... that's... true, I guess..." Jaune murmured, surprised by how open-minded and accepting she apparently was.
Then again, if Pyrrha had suddenly revealed she was an alien, he'd have also probably eventually just shrugged and accepted it.
Before Blake could comment any further, he changed the subject: "Anyway, do you see what I mean, when I said you can't be any worse than I was?"
"... you don't sound like that bad of a leader, Mist- Jaune..." Blake defended firmly. "Sure, perhaps you stumbled a bit, at the beginning..."
"That's putting it lightly..." Jaune muttered under his breath.
"But in the end, when it mattered, you did the right thing." Blake finished, looking up at him respectfully. Then she sighed, and shook her head. "I just hope I know what the right thing is, when it matters. May the Lord guide me, if it should ever happen."
"Well, even if he doesn't, just remember this." Jaune looked down at her purple eyes, and remembered how he'd almost pushed his team away, because he'd been so fixated on proving he could do it by himself. "You're not alone, Blake.
"If you're still wondering what to do... ask the Dauphin. Ask the other nobles and generals. Go ahead and ask your Lord, too. Either way... you should ask for advice, from people who are more qualified than us."
"A-are you sure?" Blake stuttered. "Should a peasant girl like me really be talking to them?"
"They've already put you in charge of an army, Blake." Jaune pointed out, rolling his eyes. "I think they'll entertain a few questions, and it'd probably be better to keep them in the loop when making plans; that way, at least everyone will be on the same page, right?"
"That's true..." Blake nodded. "I'll head back to the castle later, listen to recommendations... will you be coming this time?"
"Do you want me to?" Jaune cocked his head.
"The Dauphin and the other lords and nobles would like you to." Blake retorted with a pout. "You know, since you did help save the city and all..."
"I just stalled for time!" Jaune defended. "You're the one who rallied the city's defenders!"
"You went up against an entire Norman army, Jaune." Blake folded her arms. "I'm pretty sure the only reason the crowds didn't cheer you as well, is because they didn't recognize you without your armor..."
"I mean, to be fair, you attracted most of the attention, leading from the front with just a flag..." Jaune pointed out.
"And that's another thing!" Blake interrupted at her mentor, as his words reminded her of some of the questions she'd received. "For some reason, people now think my flag did all that stuff with the wall of ice! The Cardinal himself is leading priests in venerating that piece of fabric right now!"
Jaune couldn't help the snicker that escaped his throat, especially when he recalled what Arthur had told him a few weeks ago, about how the people around Llyn Barfog had built a shrine over Llamrei's hoof.
Blake took a deep breath, and held it for a few moments.
Then she let it out with a sigh, as she recomposed herself, before trying a different approach: "Jaune... even if you do not wish to clear this misunderstanding about your sword, even if you do not wish to claim any credit for your deeds... by your admission, you were also trained as a warrior. I believe your opinion would also be valuable, Jaune...
"... fine, I'll try to drop by later..." Jaune finally acquiesced, seeing the desperation on Blake's face. He wasn't familiar with warfare in this current world, but seeing the performance of the French so far, he figured that he probably couldn't do a worse job than they already had. "Just let me finish distributing the food, and we can make our way there."
"Then, please allow me to assist." Blake said, finally getting up from her comfortable position, and offering her mentor a hand.
Jaune took it, and grinned as he teased: "Assist me in distributing it, or eating it?"
Blake's face burned, and she pouted furiously at him.
-EXCERPT TAKEN FROM RECORDS WRITTEN DOWN BY JEAN DE DUNOIS, 1429-
Date: March the 6th, in the Year of our Lord 1429
Time: Mid-Afternoon
Attendees: The Dauphin of France, Gilles de Rais, Raoul de Gaucourt, Jean Poton de Xaintrailles, Jean de Brosse, Etienne de Vignolles, & Yours Truly
And Blake d'Arc, & S̶o̶m̶e̶ ̶N̶a̶m̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶ ̶M̶e̶r̶c̶e̶n̶a̶r̶y̶ Jaune
The War Council had been convened after lunch, and the remaining lords were summoned by the Dauphin, in order to discuss the sudden change to our situation, and more importantly the sudden appearance of the Maiden.
The atmosphere was completely different from what it had been, before dawn. The War Council's spirits seemed buoyed, almost hopeful.
Like they weren't bailing out a sinking ship with a thimble any longer.
La Hire was the first to speak, eager to begin a counter-attack, and liberate my fair city.
Gaucourt counselled caution, reminding Etienne that, even though we may have repelled one attack, even if our spirits may have been bolstered by our recent victory, the men were still exhausted, and we were still low on supplies.
Gilles pointed out that we had the Maiden, and we thus had little need to fear.
With that, the topic turned to the Maiden, namely her extraordinary abilities.
The Dauphin explained that he had written to the clergy, and asked them to study her banner, to see if it were a divine relic or something more sinister, even as his agents went to Domremy, to ask about her early life.
Gilles bristled, at the seeming deception, before I pointed out that, should the Dauphin take the throne, but her orthodoxy not be established beyond a shadow of a doubt, the Burgundian pretender would use it to attack his legitimacy, claiming that he had only gotten the throne through the work of a witch or a heretic.
Gaucourt then asked why we had given her command of an army, if she was not fully trusted.
La Hire shrugged, and asked if he wanted to say "no" to the supposedly-illiterate farm girl who had saved Orleans by calling lightning down on Norman cannons, and blocked missile fire with walls of ice.
Xaintrailles then pointed out that La Hire would've probably agreed to work with anybody who could rack up a high Burgundian body count, even if they were a pagan or a Saracen.
The Dauphin interrupted before the pair came to blows, and clarified that she had already impressed him, with both her deeds, and her seemingly-divine knowledge, knowing thoughts that he'd only spoken in prayers.
Brosse then asked why the Maiden was not here, suggesting that the War Council could scrutinize her further.
I explained that the guards had mentioned that she had left after meeting with the Dauphin and I, and had been spotted distributing food to the people.
Gaucourt asked if I'd even informed her about it, to which I had to deny (she had seemed like she'd been in such a rush, after meeting the Dauphin).
La Hire snidely commented that, if she was apparently clairvoyant, she'd know about the meeting even without us informing her.
Just then, a servant knocked on the door, and informed us that the Maiden was requesting an audience with us.
La Hire managed to close his mouth just before a fly flew into it, and we called for the Maiden to enter.
To our surprise, the Maiden was not alone; a young blonde man with piercing blue eyes accompanied her into the room.
La Hire's jaw fell once more, when she introduced the man as her mentor, and the man who had both brought her to Orleans, and delayed the Norman assault long enough for her to rally the city. None of us commented on it this time, seeing as we were in similar states of shock at the fact that such a young man had apparently held off the entire Norman assaulting force.
The Maiden then looked around the table, and asked how best she could break the siege, and liberate the city of Orleans.
-7 MARCH 1429-
Jean de Dunois and La Hire (Etienne de Vignolles) personally leave for Blois to raise reinforcements, leaving the city in the hands of the the Dauphin.
Blake d'Arc and Jaune Arc leave for the frontlines in his absence, scouting enemy positions, and sabotaging and stealing enemy supplies.
-10 MARCH 1429-
Jean de Dunois and La Hire return from Blois, with fresh supplies and soldiers.
Blake d'Arc and Jaune Arc ride out to meet the convoy, which is notably unchallenged by the Normans and Burgundians in the area (on account of their diminished strength to the North and East).
News has begun to spread like wildfire among the Normans and Burgundians that the horse-thief from Lorraine is in Orleans. Few connect the apocryphal reports of the horse-thief and her demonic bodyguard to the sudden arrival of the banner-bearer and her mysterious mercenary the week before,
-11 MARCH 1429-
The Cardinal returns the flag to Blake, having had it embroidered by a local convent. Blake d'Arc, whom the people have begun to call the Maiden of Orleans, is said to approve of the choice of golden threads being used to touch up her simple flag. (Jaune Arc refuses to comment when prompted by Blake d'Arc)
Blake d'Arc urges the War Council to use their newfound strength to assault the Bastille of St. Laurent, one of the largest concentrations of enemies in the area, even as most of the Lords push for an attack to the South or North.
A compromise is eventually reached.
La Hire and Gilles de Rais volunteer to lead an assault against the Bastille of St. Laurent, while Jean de Dunois, Jean Poton de Xaintrailles, and Jean de Brosse attempt to clear the southern banks of Norman and Burgundian encampments.
-12 MARCH 1429-
Inspired by the Maiden of Orleans and her bodyguard/mentor/[REDACTED], the citizens of Orleans have raised urban militias, and show up at the western gates as La Hire and Gilles de Rais make to leave.
Blake d'Arc convinces the two lords to allow the citizens to join the battle, saying that Orleans is their home, and they deserve the right to fight for it.
-13 MARCH 1429-
The French attempt to clear the southern banks succeeds with a final victorious assault on Les Augustins.
Meanwhile, the French assault on the Bastille of St. Laurent faces stiffer resistance than expected, but continues to make good progress.
Casualties on the French side are surprisingly low, considering that a majority of the men are barely-trained and hastily-raised urban militias.
-15 MARCH 1429-
The Bastille of St. Laurent finally falls.
Word has begun to spread amongst the French, of the Maiden's chosen champion, who has apparently been empowered by the Lord and the Maiden, with multiple reports of him glowing with a holy light as he fights and moves with a strength and speed unseen by any before, while the Maiden, clad in a simple page's leather armor, continues to lead from the front with her banner, seemingly untouchable by anything the enemy throws at her.
Morale amongst the French is significantly higher now than it has ever been during the Siege.
Meanwhile, the Normans and Burgundians, now routed from the South, West, and North, fall back to the Tourelles, and word begins to spread of the elements bending to the will of a witch, who has enthralled the people of Orleans.
-17 MARCH 1429-
The French armies link up around Tourelles, and call for its surrender.
The garrison commander refuses.
The French armies spend the next two days resting and recovering, even as the various lords convene a council, and discuss strategies for taking the Tourelles, where the enemy seems determined to make a final stand.
-19 MARCH 1429-
The Assault on the Tourelles begins.
French assaults are repelled twice, and Jean de Dunois attempts to postpone the final assault to the next day, citing the fatigue of the men.
Meanwhile, Norman and Burgundian attempts to assassinate Blake d'Arc with cannon fire and longbows are constantly met with failure, as walls of ice continuously halt most attempt at harming her.
One arrow, however, finally succeeds in shallowly-grazing her neck, which is promptly healed in a flash of divine light, utterly demoralizing the Normans and Burgundians while bolstering the spirits of the French soldiery.
After the wounding, Blake d'Arc is said to have boldly strode forward with her champion, and proclaiming that when her banner touched the walls the place would be theirs.
Upon resting the tip of her banner against the wall, a soldier excitedly remarks that the flag is touching the wall.
The wall is promptly encased in ice, before shattering from the touch of the banner.
Blake d'Arc then declares (after a nudging from her champion): "All is yours - go in!"
Tourelles falls later that night.
-20 MARCH 1429-
The victorious French army return to a liberated city that morning, to find their way paved with palm leaves, as the city celebrates both their victory and Palm Sunday.
The War Council begins to make plans for the future, now that they finally have one, as word begins to spread across the continent of the sudden reversal of the siege of Orleans...
-CALAIS, 25 MARCH 1429-
"Thank you for granting us an audience, Sir-"
"Please, spare us the formalities, Talbot. Are you hear to waste our time again, asking us to get involved in this war once more?"
"I-"
"Did you think we would change our minds, just because of what happened at Orleans?"
"Have you even heard, of what happened at Orleans?!"
"Only that you lost, Norman, despite holding the lands around the city, and outnumbering the defenders a fair bit."
"I saw it with my own eyes, Englishman! What happened there, could not be natural! Walls of ice, springing forth from the ground-"
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?"
"Walls of ice kept springing forth from the ground, blocking our cannon fire! It's not natural, I'm telling you! And there was that witch..."
"A witch?"
"Yes, Englishman. A godforsaken sorceress, for what else could it be, but witchcraft?! She enthralled the people of the city, and convinced them to charge at our largest and most well-defended outworks! And there was her champion, a man with a weird sword, on fire and coursing with lightning at the same time!"
"A sword, you say?"
"I know how insane it must sound, but I swear, I witnessed it all firsthand with my own eyes! If only I had listened to the report from one of our patrols, of how a man protected a horse thief with a sword that was simultaneously frozen, on fire, and coursing with lightning, on the road from Lorraine to Orleans! In the face of such foul magics, what can mere men do?"
"... indeed, Talbot. You... have a point."
"...!"
"Make no mistake, Talbot. We have no interest in slaughtering helpless peasants, or pursuing your wars. But the Knights of the Round Table are sworn to protecting the innocent, especially from the predations of witches. In the mean time, please give us all the details you and your men have, on the witchcraft you have seen, and especially the sword that you mentioned earlier..."
-28 MARCH 1429-
After a week of festivities, and the celebration of Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the French under Blake d'Arc begin a campaign to secure the city of Orleans by clearing out enemy positions across the Loire.
French loyalist forces swell as men and supplies begin to volunteer themselves for the liberation of their country, inspired by the example of a single peasant girl.
The English begin to make plans to reenter the War on the Norman's behalf, aiming to stop the witch and seize the Nameless Blade, and hopefully use it to bring back the Once-And-Future Kings...
Author's Note: Uh... wow. This is... really late.
Remember how I've been saying don't expect updates for a while because of work?
Turns out, a deluge of work, falling sick, getting recalled to the army for two weeks, and having FFN, the site where I keep all my files, go down twice, pretty much kills any attempts at productivity.
When it rains, it pours.
... and this probably wasn't a good time to go nuts with experimenting...
Then again, though, everything I've been doing after the Fallout arcs has just been me trying new things. Did it work out? Hell no! But I regret absolutely nothing; now that I know what works and what doesn't, I can do absolutely nothing with the information!
As an example, one thing I've learnt is that my old spontaneous method worked when I was intimately familiar with the background material (Fallout and Skyrim), but to say it's been challenging with the FATE series (which I have no experience whatsoever with) is...
On that note, I'm both extremely touched, and very surprised and confused, by the amount of messages I got asking if I was okay... sorry that I couldn't reply to all of them, but I hope this chapter serves as my apology and explanation for going dark for so long...
Just a reminder; Jaune left Camelot 4 in-universe days (and 7 chapters) ago. From his perspective, he literally just had the whole killing conversation with Artoria, which is why I didn't give his words as much focus as Blake's reaction to it. Also why Camelot weighs more in his memories; he's literally spent more time with the Round Table, than with Team JNPR.
Totally not because all these FATE chapters should be seen as one continuous arc and I'm too lazy to keep going back and referencing stuff from all the previous chapters...
As for what I mentioned in the last chapter... to give a rough timeline of what happened to the Isles in the past 900 years or so...
Merlin went to Vivian, the Lady of the Lake, to try and convince her to retrieve Caliburn from wherever it lay, at the bottom of some body of water, so that he could use it as a catalyst to attempt to replicate the summoning of the Red Huntsman. Unfortunately, with Merlin being Merlin... he ends up trapped in Avalon while fleeing Vivian's wrath.
Gawain wasn't present at the Battle of Camlann, having been in Listenoise avenging the death of his father and brother (King Lot and Sir Gaheris) at the hands of King Pellinore, who killed them at the Battle of Tarabel (that is literally how Pellinore's legend ends).
Thusly, as the wielder of Excalibur Galatine, and being one of the last who could claim a familial connection to the Pendragon bloodline, he helped rebuild the Kingdom of Logres, and reunify the Britons... all aided by Hengist, thanks to his daughter's marriage to Sir Kay the Sharp-Tongued.
And, as mentioned in Chapter 78, thanks to both the earlier founding of Camelot and the improved relations between the Angles, Jutes, Saxons, and Britons, missionaries were travelling over to their kingdoms much earlier than they normally would have, resulting in them converting to Christianity much earlier.
And after ~250 years of cultural exchange between the kingdoms (while it was not all smooth-sailing, and conflict certainly broke out on occasion, things were far more peaceful than it would have otherwise been), the Viking invasions began, uniting the various kingdoms against a common enemy (sure, there were the occasional Pictish and Scottish raids from the North, but they were a mild nuisance at best).
The Normans stood no chance at Hastings; their attempts at breaking out were stonewalled by the Anglo-Saxon shield wall, before massed cavalry charges by mounted British knights routed the forces of William, the then-Duke of Normandy.
After the battle, Harold Pendragonson was coronated, and became King of both the Anglo-Saxons and Britons. As a result, the lands of England were finally united, and the people of the newfound Kingdom of England began to adopt a shared name and identity as the English (little more than a formality, seeing as how the Angles, Saxons, Jutes, and Britons had been already mingling and co-existing for ~500 years at that point).
With that said... even though the Normans never conquered England, they still had a firm grip on Normandy, and turned their attentions towards France instead of England. They also eventually opened diplomatic relations with the English.
As a result, by the 1300s, the Normans are viewed as something akin to cousins to the English, and the Normans will almost definitely have fully assimilated into English culture by the end of the 15th century, according to the directions of Alaya.
Also, naturally, the resumption of hostilities after the second peace of the Hundred Years' War had a very different cause from Henry V claiming the throne of France, seeing as how the Plantagenets would never have gotten the English throne, but instead inherited Norman lands through a marriage between a Plantagenet and William's daughter, after William's son's heir apparent died.
To put it bluntly... yeah, it's not the most historically-accurate alternate history out there. Sure, I can twist myself into knots trying to justify the in-universe English/Norman split while trying to remain historically-authentic.
But at the end of the day, I did all of this for one simple reason, and one alone - I will not write a scene where Jaune goddamn slaughters a people that were inspired by him, that look up to him as a shining example of mercy and compassion. Because that would be utterly fucked up.
Sure, I could write it like Anakin killing younglings, but... why?
