Chapter 92 - A Martyr & A Mantle


The first sign that something was going wrong, was when a small tremor ran through the ground.

Few of the volunteers noticed the slight shaking, and the few that did paid it little heed, so caught up in pressing their advantage as they were, so confident in the Maiden and her champion leading them from the front.

Then Blake suddenly felt a chill running down her spine, before something started screaming at her.

She'd have called it the Lord, Jaune would have called it instinct, and a Magus would have called it the Revelation Skill (not that any of them knew that, or even what a Magus was), but regardless... whatever name she gave it, she'd long since learned to trust it.

And right now, it was telling her that she needed to pull back, right away.

Jaune noticed Blake's face change, and turned to her with a questioning look on her face.

Then the shaking intensified.

Jaune's head whipped in the direction he felt it coming from, and he quickly nodded at Blake.

"Regroup!" Blake shouted, waving her banner high in the air to capture her men's attention. "Regroup!"

The men turned to her, confused by her actions.

"Regroup!" Blake shouted once more.

The men began to hesitantly return, having faith in her instructions.

Then, over a distant ridgeline, the first glimpses of helmets and armor could be seen, glinting in the sun.

Jaune and Blake had gotten used to seeing Burgundian and Norman knights by now, and something told them the well-armored men, riding massive armored horses proudly in formation, were not Burgundian or Norman knights.

Judging by the way the Burgundians and Normans they'd been routing were cheering, though, they were probably friends of theirs.

The men began to run to her, as panic began to set in.

More and more mounted cavalry began to make themselves known, gathering at the top of the ridge.

Blake may not have been the best at counting, but even she could tell she was outnumbered heavily.

The next order came easily to her: "Fall back! Fall back to Compiegne!"

Surprisingly, however, even as the unknown enemies' numbers began to swell to ludicrous levels, the men hesitated, gathering around her.

Finally, someone asked: "Then... what about you, la Pucelle?"

"We will cover the withdrawal." Blake declared, planting her banner firmly into the ground as Jaune stood next to her. Then she smiled, and continued: "Do not worry; I will be right behind you. Now go!"

Reassured, the volunteers finally followed her orders, and began to retreat in the direction of the city.

She spent a few moments watching their departure even as Jaune continued warily eyeing the unknown cavalry.

Then, as the leading rider raised his sword in the sky, and the horses began to trot downwards, Jaune asked: "Do you think they've made it far enough yet?"

"Not yet..." Blake admitted, refusing to look in the direction of the stampede. "Do you have a plan, Jaune?"

"Couldn't you have asked me that before you volunteered to stay behind?" Jaune groaned, even as he planted his sword into the ground, and a wall of ice sprang up between them and the cavalry.

Then the sounds of cannon fire could be heard in the distance.

In the distance, as the cavalry drew near, Jaune saw the Norman cannons and archers they'd been pursuing setting up on the ridgeline, all aimed at their direction.

Cannonballs began to smash against the wall of ice, chipping at it and cracking it.

Jaune focused his Aura again, and quickly drew up three more walls, before turning to Blake, and urging her: "I think we need to go now, Blake!"

Blake nodded in agreement, and helped pull Jaune up onto her horse just as the artillery fire finally broke through the first wall.

The sounds of arrows and cannons flying through the air, and smashing into ice and trees, could be heard as the pair began to retreat back towards the city.

As soon as they reached the city, however, Blake's senses tingled, and her heart fell.

The drawbridge to the city had been raised.

Jaune swore as Blake jerked the reins of her horse, bringing it to a complete stop just before it could ride into outermost defenses around the city, seeing what she saw too.

All the while, the sounds of missile fire and cavalry drew closer.

Jaune and Blake quickly studied the situation.

Even if Jaune built a simple ice bridge over the moat, the drawbridge was still blocking the main gate.

Jaune considered making an ice bridge up to the top of the walls, but while he may have been able to run up it, he doubted Blake could handle the angle of the incline, nor did he want to tell her to run on an icy slope while people were firing at her.

Blake shouted for them to lower the drawbridge, her voice added to by the volunteers she'd brought along, and even as the guards at the gate were tempted to disobey the orders from the city's governor, and risk the enemy entering the city in an effort to save the Maiden of Orleans.

And then the cavalry appeared.

Six thousand knights charged forward.

Even with the volunteers Blake had brought, they were still outnumbered six-to-one.

The garrison couldn't risk the danger to their city.

Even so, they prayed, prayed for forgiveness, prayed for a miracle, prayed for la Pucelle.

Jaune turned to Blake, and suggested: "Blake, grab on to-"

"Witch, and wielder of the Nameless Blade." A commanding voice boomed. "In the name of God, I beseech of you to surrender. There need not be any further bloodshed today."

Jaune and Blake blinked.

"Witch?" Blake asked.

"What?" Jaune found himself very confused.

"If you surrender now, I will guarantee the two of you a fair trial." An armored figure rode forth as he continued, distinguished from the others by a colored plume on his helmet. "I swear this on my name, as Sir Richard Wydeville, King's Lieutenant of Calais, and acting leader of the English Expeditionary Force."

"Wait, you're English?" Blake spoke up, even as Jaune placed himself between Blake and the knights. Indignation entered her voice as she demanded: "Why have you entered this war? Why have you broken the truce now?!"

"The Normans beseeched us to enter the war, telling us that a witch had entranced the people of France, and was using foul sorceries to win battles." Sir Richard explained, using the casus belli the English had publicly declared. "Clearly, their suspicions are not without merit."

"I am no witch!" Blake hotly protested (much to Jaune's quiet dismay), furious at what she was being accused of. "I have followed the Lord's instructions as He led me from my village to Orleans, and from there to Reims! It has been by the Lord's guidance, and that of my mentor's, that has allowed me to come this far! How dare you insult his works-!"

"That is not for me to decide, young maiden." Sir Richard pointed out. "They have raised the matter to the Church as well. All I can offer is that you submit, and come willingly with us. We will guarantee a fair inquiry, and your cooperation will be viewed favorably, I'm sure. Once more, will you not surrender?"

Blake bit her lip urgently, as she weighed her options.

She couldn't abandon France...

And she knew her mentor could probably fight his way out and save her, since he'd held off entire armies many times during the Siege of Orleans.

But at the same time...

She couldn't let the accusation of witchcraft stand either.

The country would doubt her.

The Dauphin would be under suspicion, for having acted upon her advice.

And her mentor would be under suspicion, for having enabled her actions.

She looked up at Jaune, who looked back down at her reassuringly, even as his grip tightened around his sword.

Jaune could fight his way out, sure...

But these were fresh English knights.

And she could see the effort he was putting into smiling at her.

She remembered his words, and her own.

"It's killing. It shouldn't ever be easy, Blake."

"Perhaps the Lord has sent you here, to help you find some peace as well, Jaune..."

He could fight his way out...

But would he know peace, if he slaughtered an entire army of English knights (and it would be a slaughter; her mentor was strong, and the English knights would never give up, as long as they believed their cause was just)?

Would he know peace, if he had to live with the stigma of witchcraft hanging over his head for the rest of his life?

Would he know peace, if he had to contend with being hunted by the Church and the Knights of Camelot for the rest of his days, his hands stained with even more blood?

For her sake, for the sake of her country, and for the sake of her mentor, she had to clear her name.

"We surrender." Blake spoke, quietly but firmly, hands clenched into fists around Jaune's shirt. "We will come with you."

-FOUR HOURS LATER-

The guards opened the door to the cell, and ushered Blake in, before closing the door behind her, nervously ignoring the furious gaze observing them,

Finally, as they left as quickly as they could, Jaune looked the younger girl over, checking her for any signs of abuse even as he asked her: "Are you alright, Blake?"

"I'm fine, Jaune, honest." Blake reassured him, gripping his arm reassuringly. "They just asked me a few questions..."

"Like what?" Jaune asked.

"You know... where did I come from, how often do I pray... have I ever found myself in the company of witches and devil worshippers..." Blake smiled at him. "How do I conjure up walls of ice..."

"Oh, so it's my fault?" Jaune groaned, slumping against the wall.

"Well, like you told me..." Blake's smile became a smirk. "You're just a normal human being; it's the sword that's magic."

"Yeah, I don't think that excuse is going to work..." Jaune rolled his eyes.

"Actually, the English bought it." Blake quipped. "They were carefully studying your blade, last I saw it."

"Wait, seriously?" Jaune raised an eyebrow, before recalling how the knights had almost scrambled and panicked when he'd furiously thrown his blade to the ground, when he'd finally been convinced to follow Blake's example and surrender. Still, though... "Haven't you guys been fighting for generations or something?"

"The English aren't the Normans or Burgundians, Jaune." Blake corrected him, even as she took up her usual spot by the crook of his arm. "They're... well, they have a reputation for being a lot more honest in their dealings, though in a cavalry battle they'd probably crush even the Burgundians. Honestly, if they'd been the ones occupying France, I may not have even left home..."

"You trust them?" Jaune blinked.

"I trust that they're telling the truth." Blake clarified. "And I trust that they will, at least, do their best to uphold their guarantees. Whether they succeed or not..."

"Yeah, I see what you mean." Jaune murmured. "I'm sure the Burgundians and Normans will do their best to stack the deck against us... by the way, what punishment does witchcraft carry?"

"Well, everyone I've ever associated with will be suspected of heresy, and I'd be burned at the stake." Blake shrugged.

"Wait, what?!" Jaune's eyes boggled out of their sockets.

"Well, as the Church says... if the accused is innocent, the Lord will shelter and protect them." Blake explained.

"... and has that ever actually happened?" Jaune raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"... not... that I know of..." Blake admitted sheepishly.

"Why did you surrender, Blake..." Jaune couldn't help but sigh in frustration, looking down at her. "I could have gotten us out of there, you know..."

"I know..." Blake said softly. "But that wouldn't have stopped the English and the church."

"Even so-"

"My name, and the name of everyone around me would have still be under suspicion." Blake continued on, before looking at him sadly. "And, as you told me... we must do our best to walk in the footsteps of our Lord. When the Romans came for the Lord, and a disciple drew a sword to protect him, he told him to stand down."

"Blake... you could be burned at the stake." Jaune reminded her, not knowing about what had happened to her Lord.

"I know... but I knew the risks when I ran away from home, Jaune." Blake told him gently.

"Knowing risks is one thing, Blake." Jaune retorted. "That doesn't mean you take every risk!"

"I am not afraid... I was born to do this." Blake countered. "And even if I die here... every man gives his life for what he believes. Every woman gives her life for what she believes. Sometimes people believe in little or nothing, and so they give their lives to little or nothing. One life is all we have, and we live it as we believe in living it… and then it's gone. But to surrender who you are and to live without belief is more terrible than dying – even more terrible than dying young. Aren't you the same, Jaune? Isn't that why you did what you did?"

"..." Jaune found himself at a loss for words.

"Well, in any case... I have faith." Blake smiled at him now, certain in her actions. "Faith, that the Lord will keep us. Faith, that the English will keep their word. And faith, that we have already accomplished much of what we set out to do."

Jaune's fist subconsciously clenched, as he recognized that attitude.

It was the same kind of faith he had, in all the friends he'd left behind.

Before he could say anything, however, they heard a commotion outside the room.

Then the door swung open, and a helmetless Sir Richard burst in quickly, the transcript of Blake's testimony in hand.

"Wielder of the Nameless Blade." Sir Richard breathed quickly, as he double-checked the part where Blake had named her mentor, her champion... a figure that somehow everyone had overlooked. "I need you to come with me."

"Me?" Jaune asked, pointing to himself even as he got up.

"Yes, we need to confirm a few things." Sir Richard nodded. "Firstly, can you confirm that your name is "Jaune Arc"?"

"Uh, yeah?" Jaune answered, still confused, even as he left with the Knight. "Is there something wrong?"

"No, no, nothing of the sort." Sir Richard shook his head, trying to disguise his excitement. "I would just like you to demonstrate how you activated the blade."

"... are you sure?" Jaune blinked, as he was led to his sword, where it rested on a silk cushion. "... is this about me demonstrating that Blake and I aren't guilty of being witches?"

"It is... related to that." Sir Richard and the guards were now watching him intensely.

"... aren't you guys even concerned about me taking the sword and just escaping?" Jaune pointed out, confusion growing, as none seemed to make any movements even as he approached his sword.

"You could have probably escaped even without the sword, if you truly were witches." Sir Richard replied bluntly, remembering the walls of ice they'd encountered.

"..." Jaune found himself unable to refute that logic, and instead gripped his sword, and focused on it.

No matter what, he had to clear Blake's name.

No matter what, he had to make sure Blake got back to her family.

No matter what... he had to make sure Blake stopped following in his footsteps.

His Aura glowed around him, and frost coated the length of his blade, before flames burst into existence around it, and lightning coursed down its length.

After a moment, he let it die away, and placed it back down on the table, to find the various knights kneeling before him, many openly weeping and praying.

Jaune blinked, utterly confused.

"Sir Jaune..." Sir Richard began, generations of breeding and decades of training being the only thing keeping his stoicism intact. "I must humbly request that you take your sword and come back to Calais with us, for further... questioning."

-THE NEXT MORNING-

Blake looked around nervously, at the English knights flanking her, before looking questioningly at Jaune, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet ever since he'd returned to the cell.

Jaune, for his part, remained silent, though his hand squeezed her shoulder comfortingly.

Reassured, she walked alongside him, before she blinked, as she finally realized where they were being escorted to.

The English city of Calais lay in front of them.

"Wait, what's going on-" Blake demanded, turning to face Sir Richard.

"You have been cleared of any accusations of witchcraft, Maiden of Orleans." Sir Richard nodded at her respectfully, even as the knights around her urged her back. "And thus, you are free to go. The English will interfere with your war no longer."

"Just like that?" Blake couldn't help but ask incredulously. She knew the Lord worked in mysterious ways, but this was just...

"Just like that." Sir Richard nodded. "A horse will bring you back to Compiegne."

Blake let loose a whoop of joy, before stepping forward as she cheerfully announced: "Well, come on then, Jaune. Let's go back!"

To her surprise, however, Jaune remained where he was, in the middle of all the English knights.

Suddenly, she felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

"... Jaune?" Blake tried once more. "What are you doing...?"

"Sorry, Blake..." Jaune finally said, stepping back. "They asked me to go back with them."

"What?" Blake demanded, turning back to him. "Why? I thought they cleared us of all charges!"

"I... may have negotiated a deal with them..." Jaune admitted quietly. "They withdraw from the war and drop all charges against you, and in return I go with them."

"But... what do they even want you for?!" Blake found herself confused.

"Honestly... I've got no clue either..." Jaune shrugged. "But I guess they want to make sure me and my sword aren't witchcraft or something..."

"You can't go with them, Jaune!" Blake immediately snarled. "You can't! It's too dangerous! I won't let you-"

"Blake." Jaune pressed his finger to her lips gently, as he knelt down in front of her. "I already agreed to it."

Blake clenched her fists tightly, even as she glared at her mentor.

"Don't worry..." Jaune tried to smile reassuringly, even as he tapped his scabbard. "As a show of good faith, they let me keep my sword, see? If they were planning on burning me at the stake, I don't think they'd do that, right?"

"... then, can I come with you, at least? Just to be sure?" Blake pleaded.

"... I'm sorry." Jaune said quietly. "I can't let you."

"And I won't let you go alone!" Blake shouted.

"Blake... your country needs you." Jaune tried to make her see reason. "Remember why you left home?"

"And they don't need you?" Blake challenged, even as she was torn between duty to her country, and loyalty to her mentor.

"They don't, not when they have you." Jaune answered. "I have faith that you'll succeed, even without me."

"Jaune... but-!"

"Remember what I said, Blake." Jaune continued, unable to meet her eyes. "Make sure you save your country, and make sure you return home when this is all over, okay?"

"But..."

"Promise me, Blake."

"... I..."

"... please, Blake. Don't regret your actions like I did..."

"..."

"Please..."

"... fine..."

"And a d'Arc never goes back on her word, does she?"

"..."

As the pair embraced, and Jaune pretended not to notice Blake's tears, Sir Richard and the English knights shifted guiltily, uneasy about their deception.

But the Knight of Compassion had been gone for nine centuries, and had left under... difficult circumstances.

The King's instructions had been clear; he had to be kept in the dark, until he could be granted an audience with the King himself, so that things could be properly explained to him.

In order to not distress the First of the Round Table, they were forced to continue pretending that he was still under suspicion of witchcraft.

No matter how much they loathed treating him like a heretic...

No matter how much they loathed acting and deceiving...

No matter how much they loathed taking advantage of his compassion...

They were sworn to uphold it.

"It is time." Sir Richard finally interjected, fighting to keep the emotion from his voice.

He felt no shame when his voice cracked minutely; he knew that many of his men were weeping openly, behind their helmets, and he couldn't blame them.

Jaune released Blake, who reluctantly followed suit, and as he pulled away she remained where she had been motionlessly, watching him walk away.

And for that, Jaune would say that Blake was stronger than he was.

He'd have never been able to contain himself.

Similarly, whereas Blake said she felt no fear... Jaune couldn't deny the apprehension he felt.

But even so...

As Blake had told him, "to surrender who you are and to live without belief is more terrible than dying".

Even after everything he'd been through... he still had his beliefs.

And even if they did something to him... well, he'd died already.

It wasn't that bad.

Turning away, he began to walk towards Calais.

As soon as he took a step past the border of the region of Calais, a shining blue circle suddenly appeared under his feet.

The English realized their mistake.

"No! Step back quickly!" Sir Richard shouted in alarm, turning around from the head of the convoy to try and push Sir Jaune back.

Jaune looked down at the glowing circle, then back up at the panicked expressions of the English knights.

Before he could react, however, an ancient spell took hold of him, and flung him through time and space.

There was a pause, as horrified knights stared at the spot he'd been in, and Blake's mouth fell open.

"... DAMN YOU, MORGAN LE FAY!" Sir Richard finally roared, mentally cursing the ancient witch who'd caused the Fall of Camelot, even as the other English all cursed and swore at the ancient witch's name, and Blake tried to figure out what she'd just seen.

-AVALON-

"Good job, Morgan." Merlin rolled his eyes, as the scrying spell displayed the events going on at Calais. "Truly, you have outwitted even yourself."

"Shut the fuck up, Merlin." Morgan spat sulkily.

"Great going on the geas too..." Merlin continued on lightly, as if he hadn't heard what she'd said. "Can't break it, even if you wanted to. Nice touch."

"I swear to the Root, Merlin, I will end you."

-PARIS, FOUR DAYS LATER-

King Charles stared emotionlessly at the missives in front of him, trying to figure out what in God's name the reports he'd received over the course of the week were saying.

They could only establish two facts.

The English had withdrawn from the war, after but a single battle.

But the Maiden and her Champion had apparently been captured at Compiegne, and tried for being a witch.

After that...

Well, the Normans and Burgundians were crowing about how the pair would be burned at stake, the English were saying the Maiden was definitely not a witch (even though nobody had seen her for a while), and the French were either demoralized, vengeful, or saying a miracle had happened.

Whatever had happened, one thing was clear.

The Maiden was not at the Battle for Paris.

And they were being pushed back.

Even as he looked out towards the battlefield from his tent, he saw brief discharges of fire and smoke from the walls, and heard the whistling sound of incoming artillery.

Before it landed, however, a wall of ice suddenly rose up from the ground, intercepting it and protecting the soldiers it had been about to land on.

His eyes, and the eyes of everyone on the battlefield, widened.

Suddenly, he found his attention drawn to a nearby hill.

The noon sun shone down, seemingly illuminating a figure that none had noticed up until that point.

Then the wind picked up, unfurling a white banner on a spear, decorated with golden threads and fleurs-de-lys.

A golden braid fluttered in the wind, as the armored figure gazed down at them, amethyst orbs surveying the battlefield in front of her.

Then she planted her banner into the ground once more, and her eyes flashed yellow, before a wall of ice rose between her and the city, stopping cannon fire and arrows from reaching her.

As the wall of ice lowered itself back into the ground, she raised her banner, and her voice carried over to the French loyalists: "Courage! Do not fall back! Act, and God will act! CHARGE!"


Author's Note: And with this, Blake d'Arc completes her final transformation, sheds away any Blake Belladonna that was within her, and becomes Jeanne d'Arc (complete with dyeing her hair blonde), while Jaune tries to pull a Pyrrha.

Also yes, Blake/Jeanne and Jaune are actually pretty hypocritical, when you think about it. Both would sacrifice themselves to protect those important to them in a heartbeat... but at the same time, they get very upset, when someone tries to sacrifice themselves for their sake. In the end, though... that's pretty in-character for them, I'd say.

And before somebody asks why Jaune isn't recognized by most people, Jaune's basically got Lancelot's Skill "For Someone's Glory: Not For One's Own Glory" (albeit with some modifications). Of course, it's nowhere near as developed as Berseker Lancelot's was in Zero, and people who do know him intimately won't be fooled (or if they have something like a statue or picture to compare him to), and he doesn't know how to use it properly and actively (since... well... why would he?).

But thanks to nine hundred years (and change) of oral tradition about how he often worked anonymously, and gave the credit and glory to other people, the passive effect of preventing him from being recognized by people unfamiliar with him when he doesn't want to be has been sufficient in channeling the legend of his deeds into Jeanne's banner, which between her own empowerment (be it divine or by the Counter Force, I have no idea) and the absolute faith the French have in her is sufficient in allowing her to replicate the effects of the Nameless Blade and Aura.

As for the English... they were told that the spell only applied to the Island of England. Since the French would probably never let him simply meet them without an audience, and the Normans and Burgundians would try to kill him, they figured that Calais was the best compromise; English-held territory on the continent that they could hold him, until the current King came and secretly caught him up on the past 900 years of history.

Needless to say... they forgot just how much of a bitch Morgan was when she created the spell (though, to be fair, Morgan herself probably didn't know it'd work at Calais too. After all, the implications would be disturbing; at the height of the English Empire, Jaune wouldn't be able to step foot on a full quarter of the globe).

And regarding Morgan...

Things spiraled horribly out of control, far beyond even her wildest nightmares, when King Lot of Orkney declared war against King Pellinore of Listenoise for the Holy Grail, creating a civil war that shook the Kingdom apart.

Morgan attempted to intervene, but found herself unable to, thanks to the geas preventing her from taking any action that would interfere with Arthur's Kingdom and him. And so, all she could do, was watch as Pellinore killed her husband and her son, resulting in a blood feud that had Gawain invade Listenoise to avenge his father and younger brother.

Things finally broke at the Battle of Camlann, which saw the deaths of Agravain, Velvet, and Artoria, freeing her of her end of the geas. Of course, when she tried to approach Gawain and fix things, an enraged Gawain attempted to kill her with Excalibur Galatine, and so she fled to Avalon with Artoria's body (or so the legend goes).

Morgan's "punishment", for the lack of a better term, is that she gets to live. Live to see how much she fucked up. Live to see how badly her family suffered for her actions. Live to see the country that she wanted to rule, fall to ruin from its height, all because she couldn't let her little sister be happy. Live to see her last remaining relative take the reins, all the while wanting nothing to do with her (at best). Live with the knowledge that, in her quest for the throne, for petty vengeance at not being the favorite child... she ruined everything, lost everyone that ever mattered to her... and she can't fix it.

All that power and knowledge and ambition, and she can't even make amends for fucking up (at least, not yet).

Oh, and her only real source of company is Merlin. Sure, the Lady of the Lake and her messenger do communicate with them on occasion, but the only conscious people in their tower in Avalon is her and Merlin.

And just to clarify, Blake/Jeanne's eyes started as dark blue, but became purple by the time she reached Orleans (which is also the same time she picked up her braided warrior's wolftail). And after Compiegne her hair has become blonde, and whenever she uses her banner her eyes glow golden (more as a reference to Jaune's Aura and Blake Belladonna's/Jeanne Alter's eyes than corruption from a Holy Grail, though).