Ironwood was quiet as he stared out at Emerald Vale, the city still bustling with activity despite it being nighttime. It was slowly being mobilised and prepared for the war that was marching on its doorstep, and said preparations were slow thanks to the suspicion and paranoia that had seeped into the terrorised people of Emerald Vale.

Winter's mercenaries had done their jobs well. An iron-grip of fear and repression had been forced onto the city, all in the name of order and protection. He didn't like the feeling of being angry at Winter, but as more and more nervous petitioners approached him during the few hours he set aside to hear and rule over matters of dispute he found it harder and harder to approach her as he had before everything had gone to hell.

People had been robbed, beaten, murdered, accosted and in some cases even raped. Winter had given sellswords free reign over the city, and the madness that had unfolded was bitterly predictable.

The fact that the decades of trust that had been built up between leadership and the led had been broken was one thing, the fact it stymied the war effort was another. Everything just seemed to be going wrong ever since he had made that decision to back Weiss. Wrong and then worse and then somehow even worse. He dreaded to think what new lows his life might sink to in the near future.

The tiredness that had seeped into his bones, what remained of them at least, was all encompassing. No matter how much fitful, uneasy rest he managed to get, he woke up each morning exhausted and ended the day exhausted.

Normally he would confide in Winter, but she had secluded herself after he rejected her false claims that she believed in the righteousness in what she had done and that it was the correct course at the time. Yes, security needed to be tightened, but that didn't mean murdering every Vacuoan and Mistrali in the city and driving away the rest. It was also clear she felt guilt in her actions, that she couldn't believe she'd made them in the first place. Goodwitch had tried explaining it away as the Mistrali Inquisition influencing Winter's emotions, but Ironwood did not believe that for one second, not when he saw the papers and reports Winter had left behind in her supposed 'state of madness'. She had been meticulous as ever, and he could clearly see the thought that she had put into writing the orders that sealed the death of a good portion of Emerald Vale's populace.

Whenever Ironwood had argued with Winter in the past, he would've turned to Nicholas, but he was no longer available for obvious reasons. That left Goodwitch, who clearly had some ulterior, but not necessarily malevolent, reasoning for bringing him back from the brink of death. It made him uneasy, especially with the ease with which she deflected any of his more personal questioning into the why she did what she did. Now wasn't the time for an unknown player to be making moves, let alone in his own house.

He turned away silently, heading towards his desk and reading his latest reports one last time. His army had grown to around twenty thousand strong, but that counted the City Guard, who would have to remain inside the city to ensure order but also because that was where they would fight the most effectively. They were locals who knew every little alley and backstreet, which would be an invaluable asset if Nicholas was to somehow break either the gates or secure the walls.

Whilst useful, it meant in reality he had less than half that number, ten thousand, with which to attack Nicholas' supposedly ever increasing host. Not to mention his scouts had yet to return from their mission to the borderlands with Vacuo. That was a worrying development, as the prospect of being caught between a pincer of Nicholas' rebel host and a Vacuoan horde was enough to make him feel a pit open in his stomach.

He lightly perused the reports for another few minutes, as if they could divine a wildcard of some sorts that could save him from this predicament. When none appeared and his eyes started to droop, he blew out the candles lighting the room and slid into his empty bed, human hand resting on the space where Winter usually slept, feeling the indent left by her body over the years and squeezing it softly.

"Goodnight." He whispered sadly, eyes fluttering shut and trying to imagine Winter's warm, comforting presence there with him. "I love you."

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Glynda huffed as she stormed out of Ironwood's office and made her way towards the gardens of the Governor's Palace, where Robin liked to spend most of his time when not studying, practising magic, eating or sleeping. He was unused to so much greenery, having grown up in the dark alleyways and shadowy street corners of the Emerald Vale, and it was…novel seeing him experience it for the first time.

Part of her just wanted to see him fawn over some flowers, eliciting the sort of feelings she felt when she saw a puppy chase its own tail once. Another part of her knew that another moment with Ironwood would make her head explode.

The man stubbornly refused to send out any men to escort Robin out of Emerald Vale. She had told him her reasoning was that he could send word to a powerful wizard she knew and request aid, but he either saw through her lie or did not believe it was worth it.

His claim that he needed every man, woman and even child working towards bolstering Emerald Vale's defences was an acceptable one, especially if his fears of being caught in the middle of a rebel-Vacuoan pincer was correct. But it also meant he did not want to send away a capable soldier to defend a boy trying to recruit a wizard he didn't even know.

Glynda partially felt that Ironwood could be trusted with the truth as to why she wanted to send Robin away and to whom exactly. However his stubbornness and martial demeanour made her hold back. It was by no means a flaw, being a strong military leader was valuable in times like these, but the problem was the Circle operated in the shadows, and James Ironwood was the sort of man who used blunt force to ensure his opponents were thoroughly defeated and destroyed. The methods were incompatible, and so he would remain in the dark until she had the Old Man's approval to induct Ironwood into the shadowy cabal.

For some reason, she felt like the Old Man would accept it. He despised military force, having lived long enough to see the damage it could inflict, but he admired certain aspects of it when utilised correctly, such as good leadership. For all his faults, particularly his stubbornness, James Ironwood was very much a good leader. A pall still hung over Emerald Vale due to the actions of his wife, but the dark shroud of unease was starting to fade as he galvanised the city into action against the threat of rebels and Vacuo.

Hmm. Vacuo was mostly inhabited along the borderlands with Vale, where the tribes of the Badlands scrounged out a living raiding across the border and fighting amongst one another. But a few years ago a wealthy younger son of a rich noble house from Atlas had set about establishing an orderly Kingdom somewhere on Vacuo's northern coastline. She had no idea if it had been successful, but she couldn't help but wonder what the likely small community of colonists would be doing now that Vale was under attack and their biggest competition was moving away from Vacuo's heartlands to commit said attack.

Would they help Vale? Would they use the opportunity to seize land usually roamed by Vacuoan tribesmen? Only time would tell.

She could guess which. She fought for mankind, but Glynda wasn't blind to its faults. They'd use the opportunity for their own gain at the lowest risk possible. It was the most sensible move, even if it meant help from there would not be forthcoming. If it hadn't already been wiped out by Vacuoan tribesmen that was.

Resolving to find out more about the state of long neglected Vacuo after she survived the coming battle, Glynda cleared her mind and headed to the gardens, where she sat on a stone bench and silently watched Robin run amok with a few younger servants.

She could only hope he could enjoy his newfound childhood longer than she thought she would. War had a cruel way of making people age before their time.

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"Arc's army is camping out on the outskirts of the South Marshes." The scout reported breathlessly as he hurried into Ironwood's office. "He can reach the city within the day if he pushes them further."

"Get some rest soldier." Ironwood said, standing suddenly. "Glynda, tell the captains to gather their regiments and prepare for battle. I want the word spread across the city, the rebels have arrived. Get ready for a fight."

Goodwitch nodded and left the room hastily, and Ironwood allowed himself to close his eyes and sigh sadly when alone before heading towards the barracks to get armed alongside his best men.

'I'm sorry its come to this Nicholas.' He thought to himself, not daring himself to say it aloud as he feared reminding himself vocally of his friendship of the man would make him weak, unable to do what needed to be done. 'Here's hoping you can see reason eh?'

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Ironwood rode at the head of the army that sallied forth out of Emerald Vale's gates. He had expended much of his wealth buying them the best equipment and weapons the cities blacksmiths could forge, but it made them a far more dangerous force despite their lack of a numerical advantage.

Around ten thousand men were at his back, and arranging themselves across the hills a few miles to the south of the city was a force at least twice their size, although Arc may have just been spreading his numbers thinly in order to intimidate the men who marched against him.

"Crescent formation!" Ironwood bellowed, the order carried down the ranks of men by his sergeants. The mass of steel moved slowly, forming a wall of death before the southern gate, archers on the walls ready to provide support. It was a challenge, one that Arc would have to meet according to Valean honour. "Shields!"

"Huh!" Roared his centre, the elite rock of his army. They were men who had survived dozens of battles alongside him, and they inspired the less experienced men on the wings to roar out a challenge at the rebels. Like a well oiled machine, his men moved so that their shields were held up and overlapped the neighbouring shield, spears resting on top of them. Ironwood watched and waited for Arc's next move.

War drums rolled over the hills and towards them. Ironwood smiled. More intimidation. He assumed that Arc's force was spread out thinly across the hills to try to intimidate his men, and that Arc did not like his odds. The flatterer.

"Drummers!" Ironwood yelled, and the small bands at the rear of his lines started to play a martial tune, rigorous and strong. He watched carefully, seeing some of the men standing straighter. Arc may have more drums, but he was too far away to drown out Ironwood's own drummers, and that told his men Arc feared them, as he was keeping his distance.

A lone rider trotted out from the hills. Ironwood rode out two hundred yards to meet him alone, staying within the range of his own archers and the range of the ones he presumed Arc had. He also rode carefully, not wanting to step on the traps that had been dug in preparation for the coming battle.

"Lord Ironwood." Nicholas said, face hidden and voice muffled by his helmet. "It's good to see you in good health."

"Likewise Lord Arc." Ironwood replied, taking off his helmet. Nicholas did the same, revealing a sickly face and sunken, tired eyes. "Have you come to lay down your swords?"

"I've come to ask you not to stand in my way." Nicholas replied bluntly, but there was an…oddness to him that made Ironwood feel like something was off about the man. He didn't seem entirely present, like his body was in front of him but his mind somewhere else. "And for you to join me. I am not doing this because I lust for power James. Vale needs to be strong, united when the Brothers come."

"The Brothers?"

"The Brother Gods." Nicholas nodded, making Ironwood blink. Nicholas had never truly been a religious man, seeing it as overly pompous and acting in a way that was 'do as I say, not as I do' with many priests living luxurious lives they often argued against as sin. "They want to destroy Remnant, and are using the Mistrali as their tools. Atlas is already lost, and we cannot let Vale fall. They are cruel beings James. You don't want to know what they have in store for us."

"Nicholas." Ironwood said slowly, pausing for a moment as he digested what he'd just said. "What are you talking about?"

"They killed Jaune!" Nicholas hissed, eyes wide and mad. "They took my heir from me, my boy! They butchered Saphron and they want to do the same to the rest of my family! I won't let them James! I can't!"

"I know." Ironwood replied reassuringly, even if he didn't. This…This wasn't Nicholas. "But starting a rebellion that divides Vale will only weaken it. Surely you must know that?"

"The Schnee are too weak to do what needs to be done." Nicholas said, contempt clear in his voice. "If it wasn't for them, Jaune would still be alive. First they stole him from me as a boy and now as an heir too. They are slaves to the Brothers."

"Nicholas-"

"Enough talk dammit!" Arc snapped, making Ironwood blink and his hand fall to the hilt of his sword instinctively. "Will you bend the knee or will I have to kill you?"

"I will not surrender Vale to someone who has lost their mind." Ironwood said bluntly, narrowing his eyes at his former friend. Killing him would be a mercy now. He'd clearly lost his mind after losing some of his children. "I challenge you to single combat. Winner takes Vale and we can avoid unnecessary losses."

"I have an army James." Nicholas grinned, the twisted smile only capable of being described as evil. "Why would I risk certain victory? I will order that your death is quick, my friend."

"Only those I call friends can call me James." Ironwood said coolly. "To you, it's Lord Protector."

"Very well, Lord Protector." Arc sneered, the act so wrong and out of character for his friend it genuinely shook him for a moment. Then he yanked on the reins of his horse and galloped towards his army. Shaking his head as he put on his helm, Ironwood did the same.

"Arc wants a fight!" He bellowed as he drew near the first few ranks of his army. "Let's give him one!"

"Death! Death! Death!" Chanted his warriors, and a swelling of bitter pride welled in his chest. Why did he have to fight Nicholas, and what in the name of everything sweet and true on this forsaken earth was wrong with his friend?

The thundering of hooves broke him from his thoughts, and Ironwood dismounted, his horse being led to the rear. He took a shield that was offered to him and joined his men in the frontlines, making sure the iron side of his body was the one that would face the enemy. He had already given out his orders, and so long his men held then the battle would be won.

He knew Nicholas, well he thought he did. Even if he was willing to commit to a battle beforehand, too much bloodshed would compel him to step forward and offer single combat to end it and stem the bleeding. For all his faults, he had always cared for those under his command.

The cavalry that had been hidden behind the hills on the flanks of Arc's spilled forth like water rushing from a broken dam. Their pounding hooves shook the earth and sent vibrations echoing up his bones. The men around him held firm, and he hoped the less experienced troops on the flanks did so as well.

The snorting horses and bellowing knights grew closer and closer, larger and larger, the sunlight glinting off of their weapons.

'Any moment now.' Ironwood thought, breathing calmly as the thundering waves grew ever closer. 'Any second…now!'

The first line of riders suddenly teetered and fell, as if the ground itself had swallowed them whole. Screams and pained whinnies filled the air as rider and steed were impaled on sharp spikes or dropped into a deep pit, crushed by the next wave of riders who were unable to stop their momentum and fell headfirst into the traps, crushing the ones beneath them.

The charge stalled almost completely, as confused knights who managed to miss the scattered traps halted their charge to figure out why the men around them had disappeared. Horns blew from above, and a shadow passed over them briefly as the first wave of arrows were launched, crashing into the ranks of confused and wounded and bringing a fresh wave of cries and falling armoured forms.

His men were silent, breathing calmly or breathing shakily. The men around him had seen bloodshed unfold many times now, and were silent professionals used to it. The men who weren't were too stunned at the first sight of real bloodshed and warfare to feel elation, let alone as the sounds of screaming men and horses drowned out the noise from the drummers behind them.

The bodies piled up quickly, and the rebel cavalry quickly withdrew to reorganise themselves. Some more fell as they were struck down by arrows as they retreated, but the main carnage and bloodshed had already been spilled. First blood had been drawn, and it rushed out of Arc's army like an open wound.

Arc's cavalry reformed quickly, forming a less tight formation to limited the losses of more volley of arrows and any further traps. It was the right move, especially as they were slowed trampling over the bodies of their dead and wounded to reach them. Their losses were minimal however, as they expected the incoming arrows and raised their shields. Thankfully his commanders on the wall stopped firing once they realised how minimal the effect they were having truly was. He had stockpiled plenty of arrows over the previous days, but they were spread out over the entirety of Emerald Vale's outer walls and weren't infinite.

Unfortunately it seemed Ironwood's first wave of traps had been a little too effective. The enemy were able to cross them easily on account of the bodies that filled them, and once they were once again on flat, open ground they were able to thunder forwards once again, though they had less momentum than they otherwise would have.

The hooves pounded closer, and James smiled for a moment from underneath his slitted helmet. Arc had numbers, but numbers meant noise when charging.

And if you couldn't see, you would have to rely on noise.

Mere metres away from Ironwood's first line of men, the ground opened up as men hidden in camouflage dugouts in the ground pushed aside their cover and shoved pikes up into the soft, unarmoured underbellies of the charging horses. The poor creatures screamed as their bellies were pierced and toppled over, sending their riders crashing into the ground and once again breaking up the enemy charge.

A few survived, but as they crashed against the waiting shield wall and spears they were unable to break through, only smack against the immovable object that was his army and die.

The survivors broke. Their losses had been tremendous and they hadn't even touched the enemy. Chaos unfolded as iron tight discipline turned into flighty panic, and his archers fired once more, adding onto the bodies piling up and leaving Arc with only a shadow of his former cavalry force.

The men in the dugouts hurried back, leaving the holes they'd been hiding in exposed so that any more attacks could be broken up as sections of Arc's men would have to paused or step into the ditches whilst other sections could keep on advancing, breaking up any formation they may have assembled.

Many of their weapons had been broken, so he sent them to the rear where they were given daggers and swords to deal with any wounded should Ironwood advanced or to fill gaps that could open up in the event of a brutal melee, which was likely the only course Arc could take now unless he wanted to lay siege or challenge him to single combat. His cavalry were too depleted in number to try and breakthrough and many would likely be fleeing far away from the battle as they peeled off into different groups. Some peeled away to the forest to the left or the fields to the right, and a large portion continued to retreat to Arc's main force. The others were likely fleeing, utterly broken in terms of morale by the sudden, brutal losses.

It was a miracle even some of Arc's cavalry were returning to his army rather than routing completely.

Minutes passed as Arc considered his next move. The stench of death was heavy in the air, and Ironwood sent out a few dozen men to finish off the wounded, who's tearful crying and howls of pain sent shudders down his spine.

Horns blew in unison, and the rebel army steadily advanced from their position on the hills. Ironwood's drummers did their jobs and increased the pace of their pounding, and he adjusted the grip on his shield slightly, eyes narrowed and focused on the approaching army.

It was undeniable he'd drawn first blood, but the battle wasn't won just yet, and knowing Arc he'd have a few tricks up his sleeves.

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"Open the gates!" The rider yelled, thundering towards the gates like a mad man. "The enemy isn't too far behind us!"

"State your business!" Yelled the 'captain' of the men put in charge there. In reality they were volunteers who were ordered to ensure no-one tried taking over the gatehouse for the North Gate to free up professional soldiers for the battle at the south.

"I'm one of the scouts the Lord Protector sent to the border!" The rider yelled back. "For gods sake man let us in! The enemy outriders aren't far behind us!"

"The rebel army is fighting to the south-"

"I'm taking about the bloody Vacuoans! Open the gates!"

"Let them in." The captain grunted, taking a dozen or so bored guards down to the gate as they admitted the stranger and his fellow scouts.

The gates weren't fully opened, and the captain frowned as he realised the one who had spoken was galloping away.

"Where the hell is your guy running off to?" He demanded one of the dismounting scouts, he stared at him weirdly. "Well?"

The man's cloak was thrown aside and before the captain could react, cold steel sank into his neck. He was shoved aside, and watched as the rest of his volunteers were butchered in short order before one of the strangers came over and finished him off.

Sun wiped the blood onto the cloak he'd stolen from the Valean scouts he had and his small hunting party had ambushed and killed days earlier. The act had earned his father's respect, and he'd been permitted to try his plan. Now to finish it.

They hurried up the stone steps of the wall and killed the remaining guards, who were running about trying to close the gates. The slaughter was one sided, and Sun did not feel any sense of triumph at besting them. These were not the feared iron men spoken of to scare little children to do their elders bidding.

They twisted the strange levers until the gates were open. Once that was done, he clambered on top of the wall and waved a stick carrying a bloodied flag bearing the symbol Valean's always seemed to have fluttering over their stone cities.

He waved it wildly, wondering whether his men had gotten bored and run off to join the main assault, when they spilled out of the forest suddenly, filling in the small field and hurrying towards the open gate of the city.

Bells began to toll and Sun watched as groups of Valeans hurried towards them. He took the weapons from the dead Valeans and shoved them in the strange metal wheels that made the gate move open and shut, breaking them and making them inoperable. It did not matter.

By the time the Valeans reached them, his warband had spilled into the city, screams and shrieks of terror rising into the air as they barged into houses and slaughter filling the streets as the surprised Valeans hastily assembled resistance was smashed apart in a sand storm of primal violence.

Part of Sun felt pride in his triumph, especially as his men moved on their own accord to defend him and killed the Valeans who had arrived too late to stop them.

Most of him felt overwhelming sickened as the screams echoed through the air and settled in the recesses of his mind to haunt him.