Writer's Note: Since it looks like I didn't make it clear enough, I wanted to say that this story's narrator(s) aren't always reliable. The narration is colored by whichever character happens to be the focus at that moment. So to the people who were wondering why it's been so tough on Jaune, well, it's because that's pretty much exactly what Weiss thinks of him. Whether or not you think Weiss' judgement is accurate is up to you.

Happy Freezerburn Friday, everyone.

Escape

Jaune waited until he was alone before slumping back against the wall. Eyes shut, he let his head fall back against the plaster, thumping against it a few times for good measure. It didn't help much, but he supposed it was a better form of catharsis than punching the wall as hard as he could, or growling in frustration at the first person he saw.

Sighing, he stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. That ... hadn't gone well. Then again, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd expected. With everything Weiss had been through, maybe there wasn't a way it could have gone well. Especially not with her father's idea of a surprise betrothal.

He felt awful seeing her like this. It was obvious the dragon's death had upset her, even if it was just the leftovers of the monster's curse. It probably still felt real to her – real loss, real distress. It might even be worse, depending on how the magic worked. None of the healers or priests had any idea what the consequences of the dragon's compulsion might be, or how it might be affecting her mind.

For the umpteenth time since he'd found Weiss outside that cave, Jaune wished he knew something of magic. It wasn't like he'd never heard of it – he wasn't some country bumpkin who'd go slack-jawed at his first sight of a satyr – but magic was rare, unpredictable, and as dangerous as the monsters that roamed the forests outside Atlas' borders. The kind of people who actually practiced it were even worse. He had heard tale after tale while he was growing up, stories of an angered witch cursing some hapless traveler with an ass' head, sorceresses who turned whole armies into pigs, then led them to slaughter, fell wizards summoning the bones of the dead and sending them to murder their own kin.

Not that every magician or witch in the stories was outright evil. Still, even the ones that weren't malicious were hardly the kind of people to be trifled with. Unless you liked getting changed into some animal, or a broomstick, or having your skin turned blue, or...

Or having them take over your mind and change you, until you're no longer the person you used to be.

Shivering at the thought, Jaune sighed and pulled himself off the wall. Standing here, doing nothing, wasn't going to help anyone. At the very least, he could visit the healers, see if they had any ideas on how to snap her out of this. Weiss wasn't herself, probably hadn't been since that thing took her, and the only real explanation for that was magic. Magic was the only way someone like Weiss Schnee would willingly stay with a homicidal monster, the only way to explain how he'd found her doing something as domestic as laundry, in front of a cave in the middle of a forest.

The Weiss he remembered was too proud for that, too sharp and caustic to just let something manipulate her. She had gone to that altar on the cliff with her head held high, willing to give up her life for the sake of her people. There was no way she'd just decide to stay with her captor, no way she wouldn't try to escape. She was a hero, a martyr who'd sacrificed herself for the good of her city.

Assuming she really had a choice, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered. After all, even if she refused, if her father wanted it to happen ...

No. No parent would willingly send their child off to die. She had to have volunteered. She had to.

Really? the skeptical part of him asked. Lord Schnee didn't seem all that concerned until after she'd been found. Hell, she even looked more 'pissed' than 'determined' during the procession down to the cliffs. And if any parent could actually do it ...

Shaking his head, Jaune lengthened his stride, as if moving quicker would get him further away from the idea. That was something he definitely shouldn't be thinking. Not about his liege. Especially not if he valued his life. Plus, who wouldn't be unhappy about having to be sacrificed? A little bit of anger shouldn't be surprising, whether she really volunteered or not.

A little bit?

... fine. Maybe the curse hadn't changed her personality all that much. She'd never exactly been the 'demure' type. He could see how she might be a tad resentful over the city trying to off her. But still ...

I mean, would it kill her to show just a little gratitude? he thought, his feet carrying him aimlessly down the hall. After all, he had carried her halfway across the countryside. And saved her from a dragon. And gone back to make sure it couldn't come after her again.

... and hit her in the head with a rock.

Okay, so maybe she does have a halfway decent reason to be pissed at me. And her father. And the city. Still ... I am trying. That should count for something, right?

After all, none of this was his idea. Keeping her isolated until the curse wore off, the engagement, all of that came from her father. Even if he disagreed, there wasn't exactly much he could do about it.

At least no one had mentioned to her the healers' first suggestion after Jaune carried Weiss home. He was pretty sure the princess would have found a way to murder them all in their sleep if she had. To be fair, it was one of the more famous curse-breakers, and an idea Lord Schnee wholeheartedly approved of. Namely, true love's kiss.

Jaune had squashed that idea as quickly has he could. There was no way in hell that Weiss would be okay with that, not wither like this. Even without the curse, he doubted she'd be all that fond of the idea, and he didn't want their first kiss to be something he had to force on her while she wasn't even in her right mind.

It probably wouldn't even work, anyway. He cared for her, but Jaune was pretty sure 'true love' required at least a bit of affection from the other person. Since the Princess had never given a lowly guard like him the time of day, he doubted the whole 'true love' thing really applied. At least, not for now. Hopefully once the curse was lifted, she'd realize everything he'd done for her. He was the hero, after all.

Maybe it'll just wear off eventually, Jaune thought absently, his feet carrying him out through the palace gardens. There was no way that dragon could have survived the cave-in.

And if it doesn't? What happens if she's stuck like this?

We'll find someone to break the curse. After all, there had to be someone out there who could fix her. An oracle, maybe? A sorceress? There wasn't one in Atlas, but maybe in Vale ...

Either way, it wasn't anything he could do now. Letting out his breath in one long, deep sigh, he turned back towards the palace and headed for the healers.

Three ... two ... one.

As soon as Jaune was out of earshot, Weiss grabbed the clay jug off the bedside table. Dumping the remaining water onto the floor, she rolled it up inside the bedsheets, piling as much of the cloth as she could around the amphora. Looking down at the bundle of linen, Weiss furrowed her brow, then threw one of the pillows on top for good measure. Satisfied, she rocked backwards on the bed, trying to get into a better position despite the rope still tying her other hand in place.

Hoping it would be enough to muffle the noise, Weiss brought her free arm up. Putting as much of her weight behind it as she could, the princess brought the side of her elbow crashing down onto the glazed ceramic.

The amphora shifted, cracked, then shattered beneath the blows, the sound thankfully muted by the bedclothes piled atop it. Careful not to cut herself on any stray shards, Weiss peeled the layers back and admired her handiwork. Wrapping her hand in the blanket, she rummaged through the pile until she found the thickest, sharpest piece she could find. Sending silent thanks to whichever god skipped over Jaune when it came to handing out brains, she wrapped the thicker end in the blanket, and started hacking away at the knots tying her other hand to the bed.

A few minutes and several cracked shards later, she was free, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and landing cat-like on the floor. Her body complained, but no more than she expected after at least two days tied in place. Her head throbbed and her arms were stiff and sore, but it was a far cry from how she'd felt that first day. With a minor amount of wincing, she made her way over towards the door.

Weiss stopped as her foot hit something soft. Looking down, she saw the betrothal dress her father had left for her, lying atop a bouquet of crushed lilies, their petals mangled by the dress.

Kicking the garment aside, Weiss glanced over at the pile of gifts left for her. There were flowers – far too many flowers – the odd piece of jewelry, and of course that damn dress. Nothing she could actually use. Which really is idiotic, she thought, making her way over to the door. After they tried to murder me, someone should have guessed that the one thing I really needed was a weapon. Suppose it's too much to ask.

Then again ... silk could get pretty thin ...

Grinning, she grabbed the betrothal gown up from the floor, tearing into the hem with her teeth until she managed to rip a few good, long strips out of the accursed dress. Wrapping her palms with some of the fabric, she took the longest strip and twisted, wringing it tighter and tighter until she had a tight, thin cord in her hands. Knotting it together, she smiled, checking to make sure the twists would stay in place.

I'm enjoying this more than I should, she thought, tearing a few extra strips off the hem before pulling her makeshift garrote tight between her hands. It seemed fitting that her father's gift, one more attempt to control her, should end up being what helped her escape.

Moving to the door, she flattened herself against the wall and closed her eyes. There wasn't room for any mistakes now. If she missed, if she froze, if she wasn't able to take him out ...

Yang's out there. Maybe even hurt. For all you know she's trapped under a pile of rubble. Or even-

Weiss shook her head. Yang couldn't be dead. She was a dragon, for heaven's sake. There's no way in hell that Jaune, of all people, managed to kill her. Even if they had managed to collapse part of the cave, Yang would be fine. She had to be.

Then where is she?

The cave-in. That had to be it. If they actually managed to cause one, Yang was probably just stuck, or having trouble clearing enough rubble to get out. It was a small comfort, but at least it was something. At worst, she might – emphasis on might – be injured. If she couldn't fly, it might take her days to get to the city. Or ...

Or maybe she's too badly hurt to do anything. Maybe she's dying because you thought Jaune had some sense of honor. Maybe ...

Maybe she thinks you wanted to go with him. That you sent those soldiers after her.

Mind made up, Weiss readied the cord between her hands. One way or another, she was getting out of here. Taking a breath, she screamed, trying to sound as breathless and panicked as possible. It wasn't difficult, not with her heart already racing.

They key was in the lock before she stopped shrieking. The guard posted outside her door rushed in, only for Weiss' makeshift garrote to loop around his neck. The cord tightened as she hauled back, pulling it taut as the guard tried to buck her off. He might be larger than she was, but she had surprise on her side. That, and being able to actually breathe.

Weiss ducked as the man clawed blindly behind him, trying to grab the petite girl currently strangling him. Pitching backwards, the guard slammed into the wall, driving the breath from her lungs as she clung desperately to his back. The second blow made her lose her grip for a second, and she slid down, clinging for dear life to the two handfuls of silken cord. Weiss was far from heavy, but the guard still let out a short choking sound as a hundred-and-ten pounds of furious girl pulled on his neck. He tried to slam into the wall again, his movements sluggish, and only managed to knock his own shoulder blades against the stone.

The guard's knees gave out beneath him, and he tumbled to the floor, clawing at the silk wrapped around his neck. Weiss' bare feet scrambled on the tiled floor as she fought to stay in position, hauling back until the man's struggles slowed, then finally stopped.

Dropping the cord to the floor, Weiss collapsed beside the body, her breath coming in short gasps. Gingerly, she pressed a hand against her ribs, wincing at a pain in her side. Not broken, she decided. Probably just a bruised rib. It definitely could have gone worse.

Careful for any sign of movement, Weiss turned the guard's head until she could put her hand in front of his mouth. He was still breathing, the short puffs of air hitting her skin.

Dropping his head to the ground, Weiss frowned, one hand absently playing with the silk cord. There was no telling how long he'd be out. If she was lucky, the guard would sleep for a few hours – more than enough time for her to make it out of the palace. If she wasn't, if he woke to early, or someone noticed he wasn't at his post, he could bring the entire guard chasing after her.

Sighing, she yanked the man's arms behind him, tying his wrists and ankles together before gagging him with more of the torn silk. Confident the knots would hold, she started stripping the gear off of the unconscious man.

Weiss ignored the armor. It wouldn't have fit her anyway, and the last thing she needed was to be weighed down by the unwieldy leather. His belt – not to mention the sword and keys hanging off of it – were more useful, and with minimal struggling, Weiss managed to yank it out from beneath him. The belt itself was far too big for her; she had to tie the two ends together to stop it from falling. At least it kept the scabbard from tripping her every ten seconds.

Leaving the hog-tied guard behind her, she peeked her head out into the hall. It was empty. Silent, even. No footsteps echoed off the walls, no one shouted that the supposedly cursed and deranged princess had escaped. Satisfied that no one was coming, she slipped out of the room and locked the door behind her.

Now what? Weiss stood in the center of the hallway, trying to decide her next move. The gardens were out; the wall was too high to climb, it was almost always patrolled, and the only unguarded exits led back into the palace. That just left the east wing or the main hall.

The main hall would be busier, especially if her father was entertaining. East wing it was. Turning left, Weiss moved down the hall as quickly as she dared, bare feet treading softly on the tiled floor. She passed the doors to her sister's and her father's quarters as she went, slowing down as the turn to the rest of the wing drew closer. Ears perked for the slightest sound of movement, she squashed herself against the wall.

The hallway was abandoned. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she moved on, stopping whenever voices or footsteps reached her ears. Twice she needed to duck into an alcove while a pair of servants walked by, platters of food carried in their hands as they carted it off towards the main hall.

I suppose Father really is entertaining, she thought as another servant passed her hiding spot, bearing a tray off towards the main hall, laden with dried figs, grilled chestnuts, and beechnuts. It was typical tragēmata, standard after-meal fare for the menfolk to feast upon while they descended into their typical drunken stupor.

Not that it matters. With any luck, I'll be gone before they finish their wine.

The rest of the corridor was clear. Ignoring the path to the kitchens – they would be crawling with servants and cooks – she turned south and kept going, the whisper of her clothes a harsh sound in the silent halls. On the lookout for any more interruptions, she headed for a servants' entrance, used to bring goods into the palace and, ideal for her needs, very lightly guarded. The actual door itself was easily barred and locked from the inside, but more importantly, the relative distance from the rest of the house meant that it wasn't a good route for a potential attacker to take. They'd have to fight their way down the comparatively tight and narrow halls, the kind of space the guards could defend with relative ease.

It was an awful place to try to stage an attack, but a perfectly good one for an escape. Just as she hoped, he rounded the corner and found the door to the room abandoned. Thanking whoever was responsible for her luck, Weiss tested the door handle and eased the thick wood open.

With a choked curse, she whirled away, promptly flattening back against the wall. Four guards stood at attention around the storeroom exit, blades sheathed at their side.

Forcing herself to take slow, silent breaths, Weiss backed away from the door, her heart pounding in her chest. Dammit. It didn't make sense. There should only be one guard by the door, two at most, and only when they were expecting a delivery. One guard she could have distracted or taken without a too much difficulty, maybe even two. But four? Either her father was expecting trouble, or ...

Someone already found out I escaped.

Okay. It wasn't the worst thing in the world. It was a setback, but there were other ways out of the palace. Turning around, Weiss darted back down the hall. Two turns later and she was at the top of a staircase that led down towards the front of the grounds. From there, she should be able to slip out. It was not her first choice – the grounds were more likely to be guarded and the route was more exposed than the storeroom – but with any luck she would still be able to make it.

Whatever luck she'd had was gone. A group of guards milled around the grounds, waiting impatiently while the one in charge spoke with a messenger. Nodding furiously, the message runner took off back into the house, his sandals clapping on the flagstones. In an instant, the other guards formed up around the watch leader talking quickly before moving towards the house.

With a growing sense of dread, Weiss doubled back a second time, hoping to get to her third best option before her father's men closed that off too. To her dismay, her third, her fourth, even her fifth choice for an escape route was already blocked, and the last time she tried, the guards were already moving down the hall by the time she got close. Peeling back the way she'd come, Weiss bolted down the hall, tearing around the corner before the guards could spot her.

She would have cursed, if she had any breath left to do it. Every route, every hall, every shortcut was being systematically searched, and every time she had to change direction, it gave the guards more time to close in. Whether mean to or not, the guards were herding her towards the main hall,

That left her two options: keep trying to slip past the guards long enough to get off the palace grounds, or go right for the front doors.

Not exactly much of a choice. Unsheathing her sword, Weiss took off on a dead run for her father's hall trying to put as much distance between her and the guards as possible. With the way they were searching, she should have enough time to slip out into the city. It didn't matter if they figured out where she was going; as long as she just made it there in time...

Rounding the corner, the princess found herself facing the double doors that led to the grand hall, and the faces of two rather startled, wide-eyed guards. Dammit. She was so close. Even from the other end of the corridor, she could hear the unintelligible chatter and chaos of the symposion leaking through the heavy wood.

"It's going to be alright, Princess," the first guard said, hand outstretched as he approached. "Just put down the-"

Weiss wasn't in the mood for talk. Charging forward, she slammed her sword hilt-first into the man's stomach, the wind rushing out of him as he doubled over, hands clutching his gut. Pushing him aside, she turned to face the second guard, his sword already drawn as he advanced towards her.

He attacked before she could get herself centered, quickly putting her on the defensive. The guard swung his sword in short, double-handed chops, designed to knock the blade from her fingers. Each blow sent waves of force cascading up her arms, wearing her down every time she blocked his blade. Which was probably exactly what he was trying to do: tire her out or beat her into submission, whichever came first.

Impertinent little ... Scowling, Weiss took the next blow at an angle and closed the distance, bringing them body-to-body and locking her hilt with his. The guard grinned and put his whole weight behind the sword, convinced she'd made a fatal mistake in getting this close to a taller, heavier opponent. Spinning aside, Weiss watched as the man stumbled forward, surprised by the sudden lack of resistance. The man tried to catch his balance, but it was already too late. Bringing her leg up and in, she lashed out as he passed, connecting right at the side of his leg.

A sickening crack resounded through the air, followed by the man's howl as he clutched his dislocated knee. The raucous cries emanating from the next room drowned him out, his scream joining the jumble of shouts and cries for more wine or food. The noise was loud enough that she barely even heard the sound of steel on stone as she kicked the man's weapon away, sending it clattering along the ground.

Satisfied that the injury would keep him down as long as she needed, Weiss turned back to the first guard, only to find him struggling to his knees. Grabbing the back of his head with one hand, Weiss slammed her knee into his jaw, his teeth coming together with a click before his eyes rolled up in his head. Letting go of his hair, Weiss let the unconscious man topple limply to the ground before turning on her other victim. The crippled guard was crawling towards his sword, dragging his wounded leg behind him. His fingertips had just brushed the hilt of his weapon when Weiss brought her own hilt thudding down into the base of his skull.

It was over. Panting, her heart pounding, Weiss let herself slump back against the wall. Adrenaline and the fury of combat quickly faded, leaving her an exhausted, sweaty mess. Her legs burned from running, her arms and shoulders ached from each blow she'd parried, her ribs ...

Shaking her head, she forced herself back to her feet. She didn't have time for this. Every minute she waited was another the red of the guard could spend hunting her down, another minute Yang was out there, trapped, or hurt, or worse ...

She needed to move fast; there would be time to count her injuries once she was outside of the city. Untying the sword belt from her waist, Weiss managed to swing it over her shoulder, tying it like a bandolier across her chest. It'll do, she decided, trying to settle the awkward weapon so it didn't choke her if she needed to run. Yanking the cloak off the first guard, the princess swung it about her shoulders, flipping the cloth so the plain underside faced out and shielding the guards' colors from sight. Punching the hood into shape, she knotted the cloak in place, settling it over the top of her weapon and hiding it from view.

It wasn't a great disguise. Not even a halfway decent one. Anyone looking at her closely would know she didn't belong there – apart from the servers and courtesans her father brought in for 'entertainment,' the symposion was strictly for men – but it might be enough to get her to the doors before someone sounded the alarm.

Hood pulled low over her face and wishing she had her sword in-hand, Weiss hauled the door open and stepped inside. The smell assaulted her first. The room reeked of wine and cheese, of olive oil and unwashed men. Chestnuts and honeycakes lay scattered across the low tables while supervised servants handled the party's seemingly endless supply of wine, filling cup after cup of the just barely watered-down alcohol. Dozens of conversations filled the room as nobles and guests rested on couches and benches arranged for their comfort, while a number of younger men lounged and played kottabos, using the dregs of their cups to try and knock a small target disk off its bronze stand. Their misses fell to the ground, painting the floor around the target a dark violet and contributing to the heavy, almost painful smell of the room.

Weiss caught all this out of the corner of her eye as she slid behind the crowd closest to the wall. Dodging an offered cup, she slipped between party-goers and chattering guests, hoping no one decided to look under the hood of their most recent arrival. Glancing around, Weiss thought she could make out a few dozen of the guests, all nobles from the city and frequent drinking companions of her father. The rest seemed to be there for the celebration, younger and poorer noble houses, rich traders, the odd philosopher or writer to add a twinge of respectability. At the head of the hall was her father, cup in-hand as he chatted amiably with one of the nobles splayed out beside him. Jaune sat awkwardly on his right, fiddling with his goblet and looking like he'd rather be just about anywhere else.

I hope you enjoy the hero's treatment, Jaune, Weiss smirked as she slipped out of sight behind a column. You two deserve each other.

She was barely twenty feet from the door when a clanging cut through the din. The chaotic babble fumbled and died, grinding to a halt as the assembled guests turned to their host. Lord Schnee was on his feet, his cup balanced on one hand as he addressed the assembled crowd.

"Friends, countrymen ... assorted freeloaders," he began to an odd mix of polite and uproarious laughter from the still-drinking men. "Before my guests manage to drink me out of house and home, I would like to propose a toast. To the glory of the gods, and of course, our most honored guest."

Raising his cup, Schnee turned to the blonde boy seated at his side, gesturing for Jaune to join him. His reluctance plain on his face, Jaune stood, crossing to stand at her father's right hand.

"I'm sure by now all of you have heard the story. How this young man rescued my youngest daughter from the monster terrorizing our city. How he led a band of our best soldiers and slew the dragon in its lair." At the mention of the dragon, the crowd burst into a chorus of grumbling – drunken, angry noises – only to quiet as Lord Schnee raised his hand. "He is a hero, cut from the same cloth as the titan for whom our city is named. Just as the world rests its hopes and dreams on Atlas, and on our fair city, so too do our hopes rest with him."

Rolling her eyes, Weiss managed to slip a little closer to the doors, trading the cover of a large man chewing a honey cake for a decorated column. What a load of crock.

"Since this is a day for happy news," the lord said, his voice booming through the packed hall. "I would like to say one more thing before we return to tonight's revels. There is nothing that can repay our debt to this man, not after all he has done for this city, not to mention my family. When he returned, I offered him any boon that was within my power to give. Gold, jewels, a seat at my council even, but alas, none of these were enough."

Puling Jaune closer, Schnee looped her arm around the shorter man's shoulders. "It brings me great joy to say that this young man has asked for my daughter's hand in marriage. It will be an honor to have a true hero, a dragon slayer, in my house."

Applause burst from around the room. Cups were raised in Jaune's honor, cries of appreciation for his efforts in keeping their city safe. In the far back of the room, eyes like shards of ice glared out from beneath one particular hood, promising painful, bloody retribution against the men who had the gall to try and decide her fate.

"I mean ..." Jaune tried to say, barely intelligible over the crowd. "We're waiting for the monster's spell her to wear off. But afterwards, I need to ask her-"

"Nonsense," her father said jovially. His arm tightened around Jaune's shoulders, pulling the smaller man even closer, and Weiss thought she saw Jaune wince as Schnee's fingers tightened like a vise around his arm. "What girl wouldn't want to marry the hero who rescued her from a dragon's clutches?"

What girl, indeed, Weiss thought, turning her back to the entire farce and moving for the door. If she could only make it past the guards ...

Just then, the rear doors she'd used burst open and a line of guardsmen flooded into the hall. The two men she'd taken out brought up the rear, slung over the shoulders of some of the reinforcements.

"Milord," the guard-commander said, bowing quickly to her father and his guests. "The Princess ... she's escaped."

The crowd's complaints at having their fun interrupted died as quickly as the cheer on her father's face.

"Captain," the lord growled, radiating fury as he stepped down from his seat. "Where exactly is my daughter?"

"Here, sir. There was no other way out, and the two men at the door were-"

"They let her past?" Schnee cut him off. At the captain's nod, the lord's face hardened, stone-cold eyes merciless as he turned to look at the two injured men being lifted by their fellows.

"Execute them," he said softly.

"My lord, I-"

"Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'I have found your daughter,' you are free to join them, Captain," Schnee snapped. For a second, Weiss thought the guard was about to protest, to beg for the lives of his men. Then resignation crossed his face, and he nodded, cowed into submission. Satisfied, Lord Schnee turned his gaze out onto the hall. "Go. Search the room. Find her before she hurts herself."

Nodding, the captain gestured to his men, and the guards started spreading throughout the room. Biting the side of her lip, Weiss shifted further behind the nearby guests, trying to get as much room between them as she could. It would only take them a few minutes to find her, to realize the small figure with the hood had to be the missing princess. She could either stay, wait for them to find her, or ...

The decision was made for her. One of the guards checking the room came closer, his eyes falling on the tiny figure in the corner of the room, her face hidden. His mind came to the only reasonable conclusion, and as his eyes widened, he called out to the others.

"Milord, I found-"

He never got to finish. Bounding off the wall, Weiss slammed the base of her palm into his throat, cutting off the cry and leaving him gasping for air. Yanking her borrowed sword out of its sheath, she grabbed the man about the shoulders, pushing him in front of her as she started back towards the doors. With a shout, the rest of the guards rushed towards her, only stopping when her blade came up to rest against her captive's throat.

The rest of the guards ground to a halt, blades coming out of their sheaths as she stared them down. Concern for the fellow kept them from rushing her, but it was a short-lived strategy at best. If they managed to get behind her, or cut her off, she'd have nowhere to go.

"Wait! Let me talk to her!" a high-pitched voice cried, as Jaune pushed his way through the line of guards. "Weiss, please. No one here wants to hurt you. I know you're confused, but-"

"Jaune," Weiss said, trying to keep as many guards as she could in her line of sight. There were too many of them; if they flanked her, she wouldn't stand a chance. "Do us all a favor, and shut up."

A look of utter shock crossed his face. "Look, you don't know what you're doing. This is all that dragon's curse messing with your head. If you'll just put down the sword-"

"I know exactly what I'm doing and there is no spell, you moron," she growled, taking a step back as the guards advanced. "Is it so hard to believe that after my own father nearly killed me, I wasn't particularly keen to come back?"

At that, the line of guards split as a tall man with graying hair stepped forward, coming to stand by Jaune. Her father's eyes were cold as he stared down at her; there was no trace of mercy, or affection, just that same hard look she'd seen countless times before.

"I'll kill him," Weiss said, pressing the sword a little closer and hauling her hostage back towards the door. It was a bluff, but if she could just make it a little further ...

"Go right ahead. I was planning execute him anyway," her father said. "Anyone who lets himself get captured by a woman doesn't deserve a place among my men."

Weiss' stomach dropped. The guard's life might have been enough to stop his fellows, but not anymore. He was effectively dead already, either at her hands or her fathers. There was no reason for the rest of the guard to stop, and the threat of her father's anger meant they'd probably do just about anything to keep from ending up like the gasping man in her arms. Her hostage might as well be made of parchment, for all the good he'd do her.

Her father had called her bluff. Worst of all, he knew it.

Lord Schnee's lips twitched with the barest hint of a smirk. Knowing he'd already won, he turned, taking a swig from his cup as he walked back to the party. "Guards, take her bac-"

A shout from beyond the door cut him off.

"Hey, you can't just-"

Before the speaker could finish, something heavy thudded against the doors, making the thick wood shake in its hinges.

"What do you-"

Another thud as something weighing about as much as a grown man in a guard's uniform slammed into the barred doors.

With a horrendous crash, the double doors at the end of the hall burst open, splinters flying as they slammed into the walls behind them.

A woman stood in the doorway, framed by the night's shadows and the two unconscious guards lying at her feet. Blonde hair hung down past her waist, spilling around her tunic and moving almost with a life of their own. One hand rested on a sword belted at her waist, the other was wrapped around the crushed remains of the door-handle. Firelight flickered in her blood-red eyes, and the smoke from the torches almost made it seem like streams of smoke licked from the sides of her mouth.

"Hey," she said to the silent hall, tossing the ruined piece of metal aside. "Sorry to interrupt your shindig, but I'm looking for some cowardly prick named 'Jaune.'"

Whew. Really worked down to the line on that one. It may be a bit rough in places, but I really wanted to get it out this week - I'll probably go back and do one more edit before the last chapter.

As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated - especially since I hope this chapter alleviates some of the concerns some people had after the last couple. Also, I usually respond to any of the reviews if there's a question or critique in it, so if you have something you want to ask, please feel free.

Now it's time to wait and see if Ryn does any more response posts when she reads this.