-(=RWBY=)-
Chapter 7
-(=RWBY=)-
It was a beautiful day – with the morning sun shining gently, the winter air pleasantly chilly, and the sky a bright, clear, wonderful, endless blue.
The cafe they were in, too, was quite the sight, and quite the treat – from the impossibly smooth silk tablecloths, to the soft classical music playing unobtrusively in the background, to the ornate Mistralian teapots, this was luxury and sophistication he did not expect to see in a small village stuck in the middle of nowhere, between the mountains and the sea.
And as for tea on offer – wonderfully aromatic, it was a pleasure to even smell, and seemed a waste to even drink; though drink it Jaune did, when he finally took a sip.
The hot, bitter liquid washed past his tongue and trickled down his throat, and Jaune grimaced in disappointment – the taste of it was quite ordinary, compared to the aroma it flaunted.
He said as much to his companion, who sniffed,
"Try and show some sophistication, Arc. This is silvermoon tea, made from unwilted evergreen tea leaves as infused with vanilla and berries. It is one of the great aesthetic achievements of Mistralian high culture, and – are even you listening to me?"
Jaune was busy sniffing mournfully at his cup of tea, and its misleadingly tantalizing scent, but at Weiss's annoyed huff, turned to her and replied, mildly,
"I've never had refined tastes, or much knowledge of art and culture, to be honest."
Weiss looked pleased that he could admit as much, and she said,
"That's something we can work on. Even if you find it tiresome, you have to show yourself to be cultured if you ever want to travel within elite circles and make others take you seriously."
Jaune was about to tell Weiss that such a thing wasn't particularly high on his list of priorities – but then, a wicked idea came to mind, and he said,
"Perhaps you can suggest some good music for me to get into, then. All I listen to right now is trashy pop stuff –"
Unable to help himself, a smirk curled his lips.
"– like Weiss Schnee's songs."
"Jaune Arc!"
She pointed her fork – lately used to eat a scone – threateningly at his face, but it was hard to be menacing when there were bits of cream and strawberry jam hanging off both one's mouth and weapon of choice.
It really was too much fun teasing her. Laughing, Jaune waved her down,
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. It's just a joke – don't stab me."
"Hmmph."
Somewhat mollified, Weiss went back to eating her scone, even while Jaune's attention wandered over to the street in front of the cafe.
He had been getting along much better with Weiss, ever since the kidnapping and their subsequent reconciliation.
At the same time, however, he had been getting heat from everywhere else. As Weiss had warned, his summary execution of Neo on the livestream had brought public censure and calls for his prosecution. And while the latter hadn't yet happened – and would probably never happen – the former was a tiresome and all too familiar thing to experience.
When the end of semester training missions had rolled around, it was almost a relief – a chance, to get away from the withering distaste of the Valean citizenry, and the wary looks of his fellow students.
His team was gathered in their room; each person had their scroll out, and was in the midst of examining the missions on offer.
They needed to discuss the matter and decide upon which mission to take, but Jaune was scanning the list with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Most of the missions were boring, unimportant ones that posed a distinct lack of challenge to either himself or his team. Thinning out the Grimm in low-risk areas around settlements, or guarding convoys facing little to not threat of attack – these were what were available, and Jaune was distinctly unimpressed.
Weiss, in contrast, seemed quite enthused, as she declared,
"We should take the search and destroy mission in Rothenburg! It'll be a wonderful place to visit – the village is a place out of a medieval fairytale, with its half-timbered houses and cobblestone streets."
Blake looked up from her scroll, and frowned.
"This isn't a vacation, Schnee. Lives are at stake, and you need to take this seriously."
Three months had made Jaune an expert at sensing imminent arguments, and had also taught him that the best way to avoid them was to interject himself into the conversation immediately, and thereafter offer up another topic of discussion as a distraction.
"The most important thing –"
Jaune spoke loudly and clearly, drawing everyone's attention to himself.
"– is choosing a mission commensurate to our skills, or we're not going to learn anything."
Pyrrha, his partner in crime at keeping the peace between Weiss and Blake, looked thoughtful, before tentatively suggesting –
"This isn't official, but I've heard on the grapevine that Professor Fall will be heading the mission to Rothenburg."
That bit of gossip gave Jaune pause; and after a moment's consideration, he started searching the internet for –
"Aha."
His exclamation interrupted Pyrrha as she was still voicing her opinion on a possible mission to Rothenburg. As modest and polite as ever, she stopped, and let him speak ahead of her.
"Sorry Pyrrha. I just wanted to say – there have been increased sightings of elder Grimm in the mountains far to the west of Rothenburg. I suspect Professor Fall will leave her team of students to the easy task of killing the low-level Grimm that wander near the village, while she ranges deep into the wilderness – and hunts any elder Grimm that's coming too close for comfort. Of course, the students have to be competent, so the Professor can concentrate on her job, rather than have to stay around the village holding their hands. Which means –"
Jaune snapped his fingers in emphasis.
"– we can have our cake and eat it. The Rothenburg mission can be everything to everyone – a vacation; a way to do our part in keeping the Kingdom safe; and perhaps even a chance to learn from seeing the best of the best in action."
Weiss seemed satisfied, as did Blake, and so Pyrrha gave the conclusion on everyone's mind, smiling as she did –
"Rothenburg it is!"
Jaune took another sip of his tea.
Looking down his cup, he figured that however disappointing the tea had been, the same couldn't be said of their choice of taking the Rothenburg mission. Having come to a rotating arrangement where half of team would be off Grimm hunting, while the other half stayed in the village in case it came under attack, that left plenty of time to take in the sights and enjoy the place.
Pyrrha hadn't been happy about the way the team had been split – she thought it more natural for keep partners together. In the end, however, Jaune had prevailed upon her, and persuaded her of the wisdom of keeping their two strongest fighters – herself and him – on separate squads. This was just in case things blew up, and a two-person squad was forced to fight off a tide of Grimm without the rest of the team.
Weiss had chosen him, and Blake didn't have a preference – which led to Jaune spending this fine morning sipping tea and breaking bread with the Schnee heiress, even as Blake and Pyrrha were out killing Grimm in the surrounding areas. Professor Fall, meanwhile, had headed west towards the mountains, to hunt down elder Grimm beyond the abilities of normal huntsmen to fight.
Idly, Jaune fingered the pommel of Crocea Mors. His sword was still sheathed, but he had taken it out of his belt harness and propped it up by his chair, so as to allow him to sit more comfortably.
Even as they were enjoying themselves, he and Weiss needed their weapons close to hand, in case things went south and Grimm attacked the village. Thankfully, such an eventuality was unlikely, and for the time being, Jaune was more than happy to kick back and relax.
Lathering jam and cream on his own scone, he took a bite, and found the taste of it divine.
He proceeded to wolf it down, even while listening to Weiss give a spirited, crash course on the fine arts and high culture.
In short order, their plates were clean, their cups empty, and Jaune's mind full to bursting on facts of art history that were practically useless but also surprisingly interesting.
"Shall we?"
Weiss directed that question at him, even as she dabbed her lips daintily with a napkin. In reply, Jaune said,
"Sure."
Retrieving their weapons and standing up, they took their leave; and at a sedate pace, they made their way over to the market district.
Rothenburg was a large village, with perhaps ten thousand inhabitants. A fair proportion of the villagers were farmers, with the land they worked located outside the walls of the village proper. It was, of course, a risk to be beyond the walls – but that was how these people put food on the table, and with the local huntsmen regularly killing Grimm that wandered too near the village and its adjacent farmland, it wasn't as if one would be eaten by a Beowolf the moment one stepped outside the gates.
As he and Weiss walked to their destination, making small talk on the way, they also got to admire the village in all its charming quaintness. Weiss had been right when she said that it was like a place out of a fairytale. With its winding, cobbled roads and wooden houses painted in colours of a thousand shades, the village felt half a fantasy, and half a journey back five centuries.
There were a fair bit of people around, and, noting their mannerisms and clothing, Jaune commented,
"There seem to be a lot of tourists in Rothenburg."
Weiss glanced at a passing couple, before responding,
"Of course. Rothenburg isn't just a farming village; its well-preserved medieval aesthetic makes it a popular destination for tourists. In fact, the local economy relies mainly on tourist lien nowadays."
That much Jaune could believe, as he and Weiss turned a final corner and came upon the farmers' market.
There were certainly a lot of farmers, all of whom were manning their various stalls and selling fresh fruits and vegetables of all kinds. However, there were even more stands and booths selling street food and trinkets – and around such stalls, tourists congregated, enjoying greasy sausages and admiring their newly-bought baubles.
Weiss was thrilled; Jaune decidedly less so. Eyeing the crowd with some trepidation, he followed Weiss as she pushed her way into the mass of people.
They visited each stall in turn, and to Jaune's increasing amusement, Weiss kept betraying her sheltered upbringing, by repeatedly expressing surprise and enthusiasm at the relatively mundane things on sale – like common festival foods or snow globes of various designs.
The snow globes in particular fascinated Weiss, who chose to stop at a stall selling them. Picking one up, she gave it a shake, and as the snow-like particles within the glass began floating down, she looked inordinately pleased.
"You know –"
Jaune had to speak up, heard over the buzz of the crowd.
"– that those are for children, right?"
Weiss gave him an annoyed glance.
"Oh shush, you. This is anthropological research I'm doing."
Jaune had to laugh at that. And as a stall on the opposite side of the street caught his eye, he told Weiss,
"I'm off to take a look at some other stalls. Meet up by the entrance in –"
He was about to say fifteen minutes, but with how much Weiss seemed to like the place, he instead went for –
"– half an hour?"
Weiss nodded, distractedly, and so with parting wave, Jaune started crossing the street.
The stall in question was run by an old man, and as for the items it sold – rows upon rows of books covered the table, each one with a gorgeously illustrated cover.
And upon closer inspection, Jaune could see that all the books present were transcriptions of popular folklore and fairytales.
There, at the top left corner of the table, was The Tale of Two Brothers, its cover a magnificent maelstrom of golden radiance and violet darkness warring against each other, even while coming together, to create greater unity, and an exalted harmony.
And there, at the far right-hand side of the table, was The Story of the Seasons, its cover showing the four sisters of legend – cheerful Spring resplendent in viridian; ardent Summer glorious in gold; melancholic Autumn striking in scarlet; and serene Winter breathtaking in the white of snow.
And at the front of the table, right before Jaune himself, was Jeanne d'Arc, its cover displaying the woman for whom he was named, a halo of fire framing her head, and flames of red and gold raging all around her, threatening to immolate all those who opposed her dream of a better world.
That last book Jaune touched, gently; under his fingers, the lacquer was smooth and cool.
Jaune didn't need this, or any of the other books – he enjoyed reading, but not about fairytales. And money was tight, too, with his Beacon stipend not amounting to much.
And yet –
It's so beautiful.
On impulse, he made his decision.
"I'll take this – as well as The Tale of Two Brothers, and The Story of the Seasons."
The old man grinned, showing a gap in his teeth, and replied,
"Them books will cost you a pretty penny, boyo. A 'undred and fifty lien, for the lot 'o them."
The steep price made Jaune wince, but he forked out the money all the same. From his wallet he counted out a trio of fifty lien cards – almost all the money he had brought on this trip – and handed them over to the stall owner.
"Here you go."
"Good doing business with ya, son."
The old man helped wrap the books up in paper, before putting them into a plastic bag and handing that over.
"Thanks."
Still finding it hard to believe he had blown a hundred and fifty lien on a whim – but not regretting his choice in the least – Jaune proceeded to check out the rest of the market.
Nothing else piqued his interest, which was for the best – he couldn't afford to spend on anything else, not if he wanted some cash available for emergencies.
He ended up wandering out of the market long before half an hour was up, and so spent the remaining time browsing his scroll while he waited for Weiss.
When his teammate finally emerged from the market, struggling with the bulk of a dozen or so shopping bags, Jaune yielded to a chuckle.
And as Weiss approached, he asked,
"How can one person need so much stuff?"
In lieu of responding, Weiss thrust out half the bags to him; and with a sigh, Jaune acquiesced.
"Fine."
He took his share of the burden, even as Weiss rewarded him with a bright smile.
"Thank you, Jaune. Very gentlemanly of you."
Snorting, Jaune replied,
"Very rational of me, you mean – spares me the dirty looks that people on the street will give, when they see a girl carrying all this and the guy next to her not helping."
"Precisely."
"Come on, let's get going, before I decide to drop all this stuff into the dirt."
They started the short walk to their next destination, chatting as they went.
They were headed for the old Saint Galant church, located at the heart of the village. And while far from religious, Jaune had to admit, upon arriving, that the church was quite the impressive sight – from the two towers reaching into the heavens, to the body of the building spanning the sheer length of the street, to the flying buttresses that spoke of a style and architecture of a time long past.
At the entrance, he and Weiss were met by a friendly older lady, who smiled, and greeted them,
"Are you here for the choir performance, dearies?"
Weiss nodded,
"We are. I hope we're not too late?"
"Oh no, you're right on time – it's almost eleven, and the performance is about to begin. You and your boyfriend can go right in."
Jaune hid a snicker, while Weiss showed great control in not immediately devolving into an affronted, spluttering mess.
As they made their way into the church, his teammate had her eyes fixed straight ahead, even while she forced, out of the corner of her mouth –
"Not a word, Arc."
Incapable of passing up this opportunity for ribbing, Jaune replied,
"That's not a very tender thing to say to one's beloved, unless you –"
A not-so-gentle elbow to his side made him stop, and at the same time, Jaune found his attention wandering away towards the church itself.
The interior of the building was just as impressive as its exterior, with the intricately-patterned stained glass windows and tall white walls all reaching up to a high ceiling of vaulting arches.
The pews of the church were only marginally filled – and by other tourists, unsurprisingly – which meant he and Weiss had their pick of seats. Weiss led them all the way to the front of the church, before choosing an empty pew where they could sit.
As they made themselves comfortable, Jaune noted that the church choir was already in position – arrayed, in the area behind the altar table itself.
Keeping his voice low – on account of both the locale and what he was about to say – Jaune leaned towards Weiss, and said,
"You can tell that no one here really cares about religion anymore, if their church is being used as a tourist attraction. And to think, just a few hundred years ago, these guys were killing each other for not worshipping the God of Light in precisely the right way, until Vale conquered the continent and quelled the fighting under our boot."
Weiss's mouth quirked up, which told Jaune she was amused – but trying not to show it. Softly, she replied,
"People get less religious when society gets richer. Who needs the gods for comfort, when all your material desires are met and life is free of pain and hurt?"
Jaune gave a glance around, at the shopping bags around their feet. And with a slight smile, he replied,
"That must make the Schnees the most godless people on Remnant."
He was about to say more, but then an old man in fine robes strode out before the altar, and spoke,
"Thank you all for gathering here today, in this, our church of Saint Galant. The choir will now perform Mirehart's Requiem."
A light smattering of applause greeted this announcement, and then the old man crossed over to stand in front of the choir.
From his robes he withdrew a conductors baton, and with a swish, made the great organ at the back of the church come to life, the choir begin to sing, and the music start to flow.
Jaune closed his eyes, and let the melody wash over him.
The music built from one moment to the next – moved, like a living thing. Low and slow and sad one moment, like the gentle rocking of waves, then fast-paced and erratic the next, like a river after the rains. Sometimes, it was a single, lonely voice, a solitary grain of sand swept away by the wind, and other times, it was the whole world echoing one note, the earth itself shaking. And at the climax of the piece, the music swelled and crested, into an epic, grandiose song of a wrathful god, promising the judgement of heaven, and a sky into fire turned.
So when the music finally came to an end, it was with regret, and reluctance, that Jaune opened his eyes. Seeing Weiss and the other members of the audience get off their seats, he joined them, to render to the choir a standing ovation.
As the thunderous applause died away, and as people began filtering out of the pews, and out of the church, Jaune moved to check his scroll.
Much to his surprise, he found that half an hour had passed – just like that.
His surprise must have shown on his face. for Weiss smiled, and said,
"Good music can do that – make you lose track of time, and forget all your worries."
Slipping his scroll back into his jeans, Jaune gave a faint smile in return.
"And now we're back to the real world, I'm afraid. Shall we drop our stuff off at the inn and then head to the front gate? We don't want to keep Pyrrha and Blake waiting."
Weiss nodded her agreement.
They left the church, and headed towards their inn – a charming, timber-framed building six storeys high and with a steep sloping roof.
There, they dropped off their shopping bags in the room they shared, before making a beeline for the village's front gate.
The village itself was built on a plateau overlooking the nearby river, which together with its walls made it highly defensible. The gate located on the southern side of the village was the primary way in and out of the place, and it was there that he and Weiss needed to meet Pyrrha and Blake by midday.
They arrived fairly early, and spent the extra time running through their plan of action for the afternoon.
When a smiling Pyrrha Nikos and a tired Blake Belladonna finally appeared, Jaune greeted them with a wave.
"How was it?"
"Not bad, Jaune! We found and eliminated a fair number of Grimm in the area west of the village."
"It was tiring."
Pyrrha and Blake gave their own characteristic replies – positive for the former, pessimistic for the latter.
Blake had been particularly gloomy of late – which was to be expected, Jaune supposed. She couldn't have been happy at just how extreme the White Fang had become, nor could she have failed to be upset at the predictable anti-faunus backlash that had ensued.
On Jaune's part, he could do nothing but give her space – things were far too fraught, and his role in them too complicated, for anything good to come of him trying to talk to her about recent events.
"Well, we're off then. See you guys in four hours or so."
Jaune raised his hand in farewell, which Pyrrha reciprocated. Blake spared a nod – though only for him. With no love lost between her and Weiss, those two only traded glances – before he and Weiss were heading out the gate, and into the surrounding farmland.
They headed south-west, coming across some farmers working the land as they did so.
The fact that there was anyone farming in the winter intrigued him, and he said to Weiss,
"I'm surprised they're working in the winter – what can they even plant?"
Weiss, ever happy to show off her knowledge, promptly replied,
"Winter wheat. They're hardy strains that can survive the winter, allowing farmers to plant them in the autumn and harvest them in spring."
Jaune nodded – that was an interesting fact to know. Idly, he replied
"I'm surprised a Schnee knows so much about agriculture, given that it's mining and manufacturing that's the family business."
Weiss raised an eyebrow.
"How can one hope to run the world one day, without knowing every facet of it?"
That replied prompted Jaune to grin, and quip –
"Says the girl that didn't know that snow globes existed, until like a few hours ago."
Weiss sniffed, and didn't deign to answer.
It was about then that they walked past one of the farmers working his field. Even though friendliness to strangers didn't come naturally to him – the way it did for Nora and Ruby – Jaune made the effort, and waved.
All of this, of course, was part of a huntsman's job – by being warm and pleasant, one made the people cheerful, and helped keep at bay the sorts of negative emotions that could draw the Grimm in.
He did the same as they passed the other farmers. All of them waved back, and even shouted encouragement – something which lifted his spirits, even as he and Weiss ranged south-west at a fast pace.
As farmland gave way to grassy fields and then to woodland, Jaune sharpened his aura sense to the limit, feeling for any clusters of dark power that would indicate the presence of Grimm. Relying purely on sight and sound wasn't good enough – the trees here were sufficiently thick, that they couldn't see or hear that far away.
Something tickled, at the edges of his senses.
Quietly – and painfully aware of how loud his voice seemed in the otherwise silent forest – Jaune said to Weiss,
"There are Grimm in this direction. Prepare for battle."
Without speaking, Weiss nodded.
They quickened their pace, and headed further into the forest, until –
"Incoming."
A pack of Beowolves, led by an Alpha, came charging through the trees.
Weiss swept Myrtenaster out, and in an instant the temperature around them dropped to freezing, as a protective wall of ice shimmered into existence.
Shaped like a broken circle, with but a single entrance, the ice helped prevent the Beowolves from surrounding and dog-piling them – something to be avoided at all costs, for even the strongest huntsmen could die if they lost their footing and were buried until a half dozen ravenous Grimm, whose claws and teeth would shred their aura from full to nothing after mere seconds passing.
Instead, with the ice wall in place, the Beowolves were channelized into a narrow entryway, and forced to fight Jaune one-on-one.
Crocea Mors split the head of the first Beowolf that dared enter, even while Weiss jumped to the top of the wall and began conjuring fire to rain upon the Grimm below.
A pair of Beowolves simultaneously tried rushing into the circle of ice, only to get stuck – a feat of stupidity Jaune rewarded with two quick slashes and a swift death for each.
The sound of scratching alerted him to the fact that some of the Beowolves were attempting to scale the wall of ice.
Trusting Weiss to do her part, Jaune focused on his own fight.
Showing their nature as mindless monsters, the Beowolves doubled down on their deceased pack mates' demonstrably hopeless strategy – by lunging towards him, three at a time.
A glow of violet light from above alerted Jaune to Weiss's use of gravity dust, even as howling and a series of thumps told him that his teammate had successfully thwarted the other Beowolves' attempt to climb the ice.
As for the trio still in front of him – Crocea Mors arced thus, and bashed there, and cut so.
With three sure, swift strikes, Jaune turned the monsters into mist – just as he heard the roar of fire outside, Weiss having summoned a great sweeping wave of fire to scorch the remaining Beowolves into nothingness.
"Only the Alpha is left!"
Weiss called out to him, and Jaune replied,
"Got it! I'm coming out."
Jaune exited the broken circle of ice, at the same time Weiss hopped down from atop the wall, onto the ground.
"Let me, Jaune."
Weiss's request came as a surprise, but he quickly acquiesced, by stepping to the side.
It was, in a sense, an unnecessary risk, inasmuch as he was by far the stronger fighter, who could take the Grimm down without much danger to himself.
However, taking a broader perspective, Weiss's desire to test herself was not just understandable, but optimal.
Aura bloomed in the heat of battle, and it was only through actual combat where the stakes were life or death, that one could truly push past one's limits, and grow stronger than one previously believed possible.
It was a reality Jaune had recently had to face up to. His own outrageous talent, and all the aura textbooks he had read in preparation, had allowed him to enhance his physical capabilities immediately after he had unlocked his aura, and made him no weaker than the average huntsmen right off the bat. And then, his training with Pyrrha had helped take him to the next level – so much so that he could fight and beat even an elite-level combatant like Neo. Ever since then, however, he had plateaued, and had felt no discernible improvement in ability.
Thus, to transcend his limits, he had to fight some powerful opponents indeed – some rogue Champion, or even a titan-class Grimm.
An Alpha Beowolf was multiple tiers below such men, and such monsters, in strength – and would in no way help him to improve.
And so, he was more than happy to let Weiss have a go.
Still keeping his sword in hand – just in case he needed to step in – Jaune watched as his teammate squared up against the Alpha Beowolf.
A twist of her wrist, accompanied by the ominous clicking of Myrtenaster's revolving dust chamber, summoned into existence a hard-light blade surrounding her rapier's own steel edge. Absurdly large, and absurdly sharp, the blade of light glowed hot and bright, and seemed ready to sever both heads and limbs alike.
With her eyes narrowed in concentration, and with her hands shaking with the effort of keeping all that energy projected yet contained, Weiss leapt forward.
The Alpha Beowolf roared, and thrust its wicked claws forward to meet the incandescent blade head on –
– only to get bisected into two, as was to be expected when flesh met fire.
As the corpse of the monster evaporated, Weiss let the blade of light fade as well.
Having never seen such a type of hard-light dust sorcery before, Jaune commented –
"Interesting."
And in response, Weiss only shook her head.
"This technique is still critically flawed. It takes too much of my concentration to maintain the blade, leaving me unable to use my glyphs. Against a faster opponent, I would be left vulnerable to evasion and a counter-attack."
Jaune nodded in agreement.
"True. Well, practice makes perfect, I suppose. And when you do get it right, it'll be quite the trump card. Am I correct to think that you can adjust the density and temperature of the blade, so that one moment it can block solid objects, and the next it'll just burn right through?"
Weiss inclined her head.
"Yes, allowing opponents to be taken off guard. If I defend against the strike of their weapon with the solid form of the blade, they will expect to be able to do the same when it is I who am on the offense –"
"– except that you'll then switch the blade into its plasma form, and cut right through both defending weapon and unfortunate opponent. Very clever."
Weiss accepted the praise with a modest dip of the head.
"Well, then –"
Jaune glanced around even as he spoke.
"– shall we continue the hunt?"
The next few hours were much of the same – swords and dust and tactics, brought to bear against the Grimm.
They did this until the latter half of the afternoon, at which point Jaune decided to call a halt.
Somewhat spent, but satisfied with their success, they begun making their way back to the village.
Retracing their steps was a relatively straightforward matter, with the inertial navigation systems built into their scrolls telling them their exact location on the map, and how to get back.
It was around four by the time they arrived back at the village. After Jaune sent a message to Pyrrha to let her and Blake know that they had returned safely, he and Weiss made for the inn, where they could change out of their sweaty, combat outfits and have a shower.
The street their inn was on was itself a busy thoroughfare, and the crowds of tourists there were no less thick at this time, than during earlier in the day.
The inn itself, meanwhile, was much less packed with people; the lobby was empty, save for the squat, kindly old matron who owned the place.
Jaune and Weiss greeted her politely, before taking the wooden staircase to the left of the entrance, and making their way up to the fourth floor, where their two-person room was located.
Pyrrha's and Blake's room was right opposite theirs, but his partner and Weiss's weren't in right now – as Pyrrha had just texted, they were out, exploring the village.
A use of their room key – a rather archaic instrument in the digital age – let Jaune open the door to their room, after which he immediately began stripping off his armour.
"Weiss, do you want to use the bathroom first? I've fine with waiting."
Weiss, in the midst of taking off her heavy, double-breasted pea coat, nodded her appreciation.
"Thank you, Jaune. I won't be too long."
She then proceeded to grab an unseemly number of bottles of soap and shampoo and conditions, before slipping into the bathroom.
Whilst waiting for his turn, Jaune cleaned off his armour, and honed the edge of his sword with the aid of a whetstone.
The latter was a soothing, relaxing exercise, which kept him busy until Weiss – her hair wet, and her body covered with a dressing gown – came out of the bathroom.
He tried not to let his eyes wander, lest he get a earful, and instead grabbed his toiletries and casual clothes.
"I'll be done soon, and we can have dinner."
After a quick but pleasantly hot shower, Jaune changed into a fresh pair of shirt and pants, before exiting the bathroom.
Throwing his dirty clothing into the laundry basket, he asked Weiss,
"Dinner?"
"Certainly."
Having not eaten lunch – or anything at all, since early morning – they were both hungry, and an early dinner was in order.
They headed down to the second floor of the inn, where the dining room was located.
Weiss liked the look of a particular table tucked cozily in the corner, and so they picked their way through the mass of other tables and chairs, to get there.
The inn's dining room was also a restaurant open to the general public, and Jaune could see a number of other guests and patrons about.
One individual stood out in particular – a hulking man with arms as thick as trees, and whose height would have near overtopped the ceiling had he been standing. He seemed familiar, though Jaune couldn't put a name to the face.
Meanwhile, some of the other guests had no trouble recognizing Jaune himself. They startled when they saw him, with their initial surprise slowly melting into disdain; likely tourists from Vale themselves, they clearly recognized him.
Jaune ignored them, in favour of checking out the menu. After all, it wasn't as if he hadn't been experiencing his fair share of stares and hostile whispers all throughout the day.
Eventually, the waitress came over to take their order, and with both room and board being paid for by Beacon, there was no reason to be particularly thrifty. Deciding to try out the local Eibrer cuisine, both Jaune and Weiss ordered accordingly – him getting the very traditional dish of veal sausage and fermented cabbage, and her choosing the rather more exotic rabbit and pepper stew.
Jaune also asked for a triple shot of whiskey, on the rocks – at which point Weiss frowned, and said,
"You should try not to drink too much."
Her disapproval took him by surprise; Weiss had never struck him as the puritanical sort.
Deciding not to make too big a deal out of things, Jaune chose to reply with light-hearted quip –
"You know, the woman nagging the man on his drinking habits traditionally happens after the wedding, not before."
Weiss rolled her eyes.
"You wish, Arc."
And with a smirk, she added –
"And isn't talk of marriage premature, for a guy who has never even dated a girl?"
It was now Jaune's turn to roll his eyes, even while Weiss gave a victorious grin.
They continued bantering for a while more, but as they did, Jaune found his eyes wandering back to the hulking man nursing a drink alone, at a table across the room.
Jaune's smile from trading witticisms with Weiss slowly faded, as he began to recognize who said man was.
Weiss, ever sharp, did not fail to notice who he was looking at, or the way his mood had shifted. Quietly, she asked,
"Is that someone you know?"
Jaune nodded, fractionally.
"An old friend of my father's."
Rainart. Hazel Rainart.
That was his name, and dimly Jaune could just about remember the last time he had seen his father and his friend speak. It had been in their ancestral village of Domremy, just a few weeks before Jaune's whole world had come crashing down –
"This –"
The big, burly man's voice was deep, and dangerous.
"– is a mistake, Jakis. The Queen has generously extended to you an offer of neutrality. Are you so great a fool as to reject it?"
From the top of the stairs, twelve-year old Jaune had to strain his ears to hear the conversation as it occurred within the living room, but he could make out the gist of it. But regardless, his father's anger was unmistakable, as he snapped in reply,
"If this is all you came to tell me, Hazel, you should have spared yourself the journey. I am not a coward, and my life is not so precious to me that I would betray the world to save it."
The giant of a man crossed his arms.
"I see that I am not welcome. I must decline your offer of dinner, then, old friend; another day, perhaps. But be warned, my Queen is not patient, and she expects an answer very soon."
He stood from the sofa, making it creak as his massive bulk was lifted from it. He moved towards the front door, and out of Jaune's field of vision from atop the stairs.
But before leaving, the man said one, final thing –
"My Queen has spoken, and she will not be denied. If you insist on defying her, your family will pay the price. Remember that, before you decide."
Hazel Rainart then departed – leaving Jakis Arc stewing in his anger, and Jaune mired in questions he could not answer.
Even now, Jaune didn't understand what that conversation had been about – Valean politics, he suspected – but it was all moot anyway, given the events that occurred not long after.
The arrival of the waitress with his whiskey brought him back to the present.
After thanking the lady for bringing his drink, Jaune took a healthy draught from it.
Weiss, meanwhile, decided to ask him –
"If that's a family friend, shouldn't you go over and greet him?"
Weiss's question drew a sharp snort from Jaune.
"Not at all. I'm no longer on good terms with my father, and his friends mean little and less to me."
"Ah."
Weiss nodded, in understanding.
"My sympathies. Believe me, I know what it's like to have a difficult relationship with one's father.
Jaune nodded in solidarity, and took another generous swig of whiskey – before adding, unprompted,
"I come from a long line of huntsmen and heroes. And as far back as I can remember, I have always wanted to be one myself. Throughout my childhood, I trained intensely towards this very end, under my father's tutelage. Except... after the rest of my family died, my father became utterly opposed to my choice of career, and refused to unlock my aura. Since only an Arc can unlock Arc's aura, I was forced to go to extremes to make my dreams come true. Did you know, when I was launched into the Emerald Forest during initiation, I didn't have aura? It was only on the way down – through sheer strength of will, in the face of imminent death – that I managed to unlock my aura, and avoid becoming a bloody splat."
Weiss gaped at him, and was left speechless for long seconds.
It was only after he took another generous swig of whiskey, that she managed to find her tongue, and say,
"But why? Why did you want to be a huntsman so badly, that you would risk your life for it?"
Jaune was silent, for a while.
It was a natural question to ask, and yet...
Jaune drained the rest of his whiskey. With an empty stomach, he was getting drunk rather quickly.
He put the whiskey glass back onto the table with a clink.
This matter was something he had long bottled up – but between the beautiful girl whom he liked offering compassion... and the stares of the other guests prickling with judgement... and on top of that his own deepening inebriation...
... Jaune felt the need to get things off his chest.
Slowly, hesitantly, he begun his explanation.
"It was five years ago. I was alone at home, practising my technique drills in our family's training hall, when it happened. I still remember it, clear as day – the village-wide emergency sirens going off, and my own mounting terror, as I realized what was happening; that a horde of Grimm was attacking.
"And even after I got my initial terror under control, my brain told me, very rationally, that we're dead. My father and most of our huntsmen were out of the village on various missions, and I myself was a half-trained twelve year old without aura. It's an old Arc tradition, don't you know?"
Jaune gave a derisive laugh.
"We don't get our auras unlocked until we turn seventeen and complete our training. Pain is the best teacher, and all that. Failing to move correctly, to strike and block properly, to use the right technique to counter the opponent effectively – all these get you smashed by your opponent's practice wooden sword, leaving bruises that last for weeks. That pain then pushes you to do better the next time – in contrast to someone with aura, who wouldn't have gotten injured, and who would quickly have forgotten the price of failure."
Jaune shook his head.
"A great training regime – except now it was a life and death battle, and I was worse than useless. All I could do was run – run for my life, run for the fortified keep at the centre of the village, where we civilians could cower and hide."
"And so I did, along with everyone else. All my neighbours, all my friends, all my fellow villagers, we ran for it. Men and women, families and couples, children and elders, it didn't matter. It was chaos, and panic, and a terrified, desperate rush to the keep."
Jaune gestured strongly, as if to indicate the terrifying, hysterical sprint for safety.
"And when I got to the keep, I immediately raced up to the portcullis chamber on the second floor, where I could look out the tiny slit window, towards the rest of the village. And what I saw... it was horrible, Weiss. Grimm were pouring in from the village's front gate – Beowolves, King Taijitu, a Deathstalker... and leading this pack of monsters, a thing of nightmares. Screeching and screaming, its movement erratic and lurching, it was a corpse riding a monstrous horse. An elder Grimm, a Nuckelavee – the envoy of our end, and a promise that we were truly damned.
Jaune clenched his fist.
"It rode people down, crushed them under its hooves – while all around, people were dying by the hundreds. The Deathstalker pulping people with its pincers, and skewering survivors with its tail. King Taijitu crushing some men just by moving, while eating others whole. Beowolves chasing down those too old and too slow to get to safety, ripping them to shreds with their teeth and claws until nothing was left but blood and gore."
His hands were shaking, by now.
"And all this time, hoping against hope, I kept looking for my family – my mother, and my seven sisters, who had been out shopping together. When I saw them on a nearby road, running towards the keep along with a much larger crowd of people, I thought my prayers had been answered. Except –"
Jaune swallowed.
"– except it was too late. The Nuckelavee had arrived, the triple portcullis gate had to be closed and I..."
Jaune closed his eyes – and in his mind, he could see, blood and darkness, red and black, and horror unlike any in this world.
"... I saw, right before me, my family die screaming, die begging, as they got ripped limb from limb, their bodies torn apart, their entrails eaten and their heads squashed."
He lost it at that point, his fist lashing out to smash the table. The loud noise made other guests turn and look at him in shock and aggravation, but Jaune was well past the point of caring.
Instead, holding his other hand up to massage his temples, Jaune continued speaking.
"I don't remember much of what happened after that – just that I vomited all over the floor, and then sat there all the way until evening came. And not that I was paying too much attention by then, but we survivors in the keep were in a desperate situation. The hundred or so of us – about a tenth of Domremy's original population – were trapped, with the Grimm pounding away at the keep entrance. And though they couldn't break through the strong steel and dense stone right away, it was just a matter of time before our defences gave. And with the village's communications tower destroyed, and we had no way to contact the outside world. Of course, we hoped that help would arrive anyway – perhaps from our huntsmen returning early, or from Vale inferring disaster from our radio silence and sending aid – but as they say, it's the hope that kills you."
"Because with the dying of the day, came a monster that blotted out the sun."
Jaune laughed – and if he sounded hysterical, that was because he was.
"A Goliath – a rogue that had strayed from its herd. A hundred meters tall and with the bulk to match, it was like a mountain had learnt to walk. A titan-class Grimm was here, and at that moment we knew despair and fear. The people in the keep – they finally cracked. Some people broke down crying; others began pounding the walls and screaming; and yet others got down on their knees, to pray to gods that didn't exist, for salvation that wasn't coming. And me – I just stood there; looking out, waiting to die.
"And then she appeared, like a meteor from the heavens. Glynda Goodwitch descended in a blaze of violet light, before slowing to a stop and hovering above the battlefield in an effortless demonstration of flight. Within seconds, the earth began to shake; not from the Goliath, which hadn't moved a step, but from Goodwitch, who was tearing rocks from the earth, and shaping them into a gigantic spear which she then sent hurtling towards the titan – piercing its armour, and hurting it in a way I didn't think humanly possible. The behemoth roared, and retaliated by swinging its massive trunk up and shooting a burst of dark, aura-corroding Grimm liquid at Goodwitch; but she blocked, by forming the rocks floating around her into a shield that dwarfed even the monster. And then, even as the shield began crumbling, it came, like lightning from a clear blue sky. Raw kinetic force ripped apart the Goliath's head, and shattered the very ground, for hundreds of meters around – leaving nothing in its wake but devastation, and a solitary silver sword, shining in the air, immaculate, pristine, perfect. I never thought I would get to see it in person, but there it was, Glynda Goodwitch's Judgement, a double-bladed weapon five meters long and one wide, too heavy to be lifted by muscles and mortal might, but by her mind called into godlike speed and flight – to render upon enemies divine judgement, and absolute destruction from the heavens. Maybe I'm gushing a bit, but it truly is an awesome weapon; the Goliath couldn't withstand it, and neither could the other Grimm, all of whom were obliterated by Goodwitch soon after. And so, we were saved – well, some of us at least; can't speak for the nine hundred dead."
Jaune finished his story, his throat dry and raw from speaking so much, and for so long. And if he sounded bitter at the end – well, he was; salvation had come, eventually, but too late for most of the village, not least for his own family.
Weiss seemed stunned, until sympathy and sorrow moved to say –
"I'm sorry."
That prompted Jaune to smile softly, and say,
"Thanks. I appreciate the concern. Still, it's not even that uncommon a story. The Domremy Collapse is just one of many – and in the aftermath of such attacks, children often decide they want to become huntsmen; brave and selfless heroes, helping to save people, and working to prevent the same tragedies which befell them from befalling others. It's the same for me. I lost my family – and will never let anyone else experience that tragedy."
Upon hearing this, Weiss seemed moved.
"That truly is a heroic way of thinking."
Jaune gave a smile –
– and for a moment, he could almost forget the deeper, darker secret locked beneath the already tragic tale.
One day, when he had sacrificed enough – and showed a scornful world that his words were neither lies nor bluffs – only then would he tell Weiss the full and brutal truth.
But today was not that day.
And will it ever be, I wonder?
-(=RWBY=)-