November 4, 81 GWE
In idealism, there was a hope. The world may not be beautiful, or kind, but it trended towards that end. Even when acting otherwise, people understood in their hearts what was the good thing to do and, if given a sincere chance, will choose that course.
Blake Belladonna might not be much of an idealist anymore, but she discovered today that she had still held on to a bit of that hope after all these years. She recognized it as it died.
"Traitor."
One word. To her pleas, to each and every reason she could offer, the White Fang General spoke but one word, a condemnation carried on the winds by his followers. With solemn gravity, the man cast judgment by leveling his firearm between her eyes, and hundreds of guns mirrored the motion.
Blake searched for the dissenters, people who must have their doubts about this situation and can therefore be swayed to lay down their weapons. She found none. The eyes looking out at her from behind Grimm masks were shining with purpose. Zealots, to a one.
They were idealists, once. No longer. A madness has taken hold.
In mania, a person may find an unshakable resolve, living life with the certainty that they and they alone knew what was real. They heed the words from within, whispers that fueled their paranoia, fear, and anger. The words that came from without, heartfelt they may be, twisted in meaning upon the journey to their mind. Truths appeared as sweet lies. Kindness, as weakness. Peace, as treason.
On that night, what stood before the General and his righteous soldiers, seen past a veil made of sure conviction's blinding light, was the enemy. A dark-haired, amber-eyed human.
"Traitor." So they judged her, voices ringing loud enough to drown out her pathetic attempts at deceit until she hung her head in impotent silence.
"Traitor!" They roared in vindication, for what was her muteness but the incapability to refute their logic? Proof, not that they needed more, of her guilt.
"I-I'm sorry."
The General nodded in satisfaction at the apology. He had known she was wrong all along. It did not absolve her crime, she deserved death and nothing less, but at least she admitted in the end the correctness of his course.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Yes, but it's too late for regrets now, traitor," said the General, unsympathetic.
"I'm sorry," Blake repeated, raising her head to reveal the tears that streamed down her face. Shoulders shaking, she was seized by wracking sobs.
"I'm so sorry. I've f-failed to save you. Just know that we will make a better world. That, I promise you."
Confusion bloomed on every face. Trepidation followed soon. They could not fathom the intent behind this answer. Her voice held grief, her eyes were that of a royal, aglow with boundless love and steely resolve. The words she spoke deviated from the confession of sin they expected. It sounded rather like a farewell.
And as light fell from the sky, turning night as bright as day, Blake watched over the faunus who had given up on her, who she gave up on, eyes never straying from the choice she made.
A great beam struck the center of the White Fang formation. A singular strike, it tore a gaping wound into the ground. Those of the grand liberation army who formerly stood there, vanished without even a final thought. Theirs was an enviable fate.
The main bulk of the battalion did not take a direct hit. Their deaths came slow, a death of heat and fire instead of instantaneous atomization. The closest to the attack had time to register the demise of their brethren and understand what would happen next. The last expression Blake would see on those faces were that of dawning horror.
Further out, where the intensity of the heat lessened, the brave White Fangs faced…they faced agony as the aftereffects of the shot charred their bodies. Limbs would separate from torsos, and crumpled to ashes as they hit the ground. They looked to her with regret, fear, a myriad of emotions, but most of all, with hope. They thought she might be able to save them. Blake held herself, fingers digging into flesh, and she begged for this hell to end.
It yet continued on, and the battalion became so very few, culminating in less than fifty where there once stood five hundred-odd. They formed the thin outermost edges that were positioned just far enough to survive, though the grievous burns may take some of them anyhow. Shell-shocked, they stared at the crater now visible in the middle of everything, at the bodies that laid in pieces and the piles of ashes swept into the air by the winds. When they found their voices, the air rang with wails of terror.
As for the General who led from the front, he lived—hardly scorched—to see the result of his gambit. Or he would, if he deigned to turn around. He dared not.
And he need not, for he can read the answer in its entirety from the reaction of Blake. Catatonic, the girl had fallen to her knees. Reflected in her blank eyes was the graveyard stretching on for a quarter-mile long.
"A devil, he is a devil…they were good men, good women… he is a devil…" The General chanted in a broken loop. The sidearm slipped from his hand and fell to lay in the dirt. In jerky, stilted movements, he raised his head to gaze above at the window up high, where a figure stood to observe the execution ground. In utmost impassiveness, the thing cared not for the carnage it had wrought, instead focusing its attention on the General in turn, regarding him as a curio, an object. The defeated man broke out in a warbling sob, and cringed away from the monster.
Jaune Arc peered down at the battlefield, and the battlefield looked back. The White Fang remnants, their leader, his forces, and that girl. None of them, in truth, expected that he would give the order for the ship to fire on the insurgents. The young princeling had not the stomach for it, they thought. The realization that he not only would, but did, tore something away. Their comfortable delusions, perhaps. Or a part of his humanity in their views.
Let them believe as they like. His plan proceeded, nevertheless. After confirming that his soldiers were taking the survivors into custody, Jaune grandly departed from their sight with a sweep of his cape, striding back into the shadows of the room to leave the onlookers with the impression that he was unaffected by what just occurred.
The Adjutant was the one person to hear him retching, and knew of the tears he shed.
Arcadian cannons were a very nasty way to go.
I asked for this war, let it be my course. I asked for this war, let it be my course. I asked for this war, let it be my course. I asked for this war, let it be my course.
I asked for this war, let it be my course.
-Accidental recording, meeting logs of prince Jaune Arc. File later deleted from system.
For Menagerie, the morning of November 4, 81 GWE was one of great uncertainty. Something happened in the night. Something set the Arcadians off. The story of the golden beam that erupted from the flagship made the rounds, corroborated by the hole in the ground at the White Fang's former headquarters.
Those who lived closest to the compound claimed to hear, or even witness, a battle taking place in the early hours. They said the White Fang took part, and that they were annihilated. Not many believed them. After all, Sienna Khan's runners were out and about to ask questions, as lost as everybody else.
Then, more news came in.
People were missing. Families and friends recounted tales of empty beds or a person stepping out to never return. Have the Grimm breached the walls? Did the Arcadians snap at last? The palpable fear drew in the Grimm, necessitating the airships to respond. The demonstration of a railcannon shot's effect on a pack of Grimm caused faces to pale, struck by epiphany. The missing faunus were the ones most vocal in pushing the invaders out. On multiple occasions, they promised to 'do something about it'. All of a sudden, the accounts of a battle did not sound so far-fetched.
The Arcadian soldiers who rolled into the market on their trucks displayed a different demeanor this morning. Quiet. Solemn. They made large purchases as per usual, and a couple of them offered smiles, but they did not tarry for long nor answered any queries. Always, they kept a careful eye on their surroundings, and stayed in a tight formation as if expecting an attack. The abrupt shift spoke volumes.
In the hubbub, few noticed the Chieftain's daughter running full tilt up the hill to her home. She carried word of grave developments, both local and worldwide. And while she was not privy to the separate plan to infiltrate the compound or the fate of the agents tasked with that mission, her intel coincided with the information sought by her parents and Sienna Khan.
Why did the Arcadians invade?
What laid in the desert?
"That Dust. It belongs to our people," Ghira lamented. "We won this land as part of the peace accords. All that the island encompasses is the rightful domain of faunus."
The claim rang hollow. A crack in the table by his fist was the testament to a rage that flared incandescent, summarily doused to leave him wallowing in regrets from the past. Had he known, had he been able to make decisions based on these facts years ago, Ghira could have vaunted Menagerie to the status of a world superpower. To discover that the dream to establish a Great Kingdom for his people had been so close to hand this whole time, the knowledge almost broke his heart.
Placing a comforting hand on Ghira's shoulder, Blake shook her head. "Don't think like that, dad. We haven't the means of turning the crystals into anything useful. Even crossing the desert in significant numbers to reach the deposits is beyond our power." She sighed. "As things stand, the Dust belongs to whosoever can take it."
"The Arcadians." Sienna hissed. Her rage still burned hot. Ghira harbored notions of civilian projects, but she understood the real lost opportunity. Cities may run on Dust, but so did wars. Sell a portion in exchange for weaponry, refine the rest into ammunition and fuel, and a sustained campaign against the enemies of the White Fang became possible. Putting the thought of victory aside, a demonstration of faunus might to the world at large would have guaranteed the sovereignty of the island. If only, if only.
"Or Atlas," Blake reminded them. With the third faction absent (for the time being), it's too easy to fall for the thinking of 'us vs. them' against the Arcadians, and the last thing she wanted was for her parents and Sienna to dig in their heels. A reframing of the situation posited the real choice they faced: which of the two invaders they preferred, Atlas or Arcadia. "They would force us to mine the Dust for them to bring back to their Kingdom, where it will solely benefit the SDC. The prince is willing to cut us in, and his vision for the future involves putting that Dust to use in Menagerie. Cities, dad! Farmlands! We can become a Kingdom in all but name!"
"You are naive to think you can trust a human," Sienna refuted. "History is our witness. They tell us what we want to hear, then betray us when our backs are turned. Why would the humans build their cities here, when their capital is an ocean away?"
"Because they're hemmed in. Put up a single house on what Vale claims is their territory, and the Kingdom would go to war. They'd take casualties just trying to lay down a line of bricks."
On Ghira's other side, Kali nodded. "My daughter is not wrong. It's a problem of proximity. If the Kingdoms hear of a city being raised in a far-off corner of the world, they'd shrug their shoulders and carry on. When it's in their vicinity, they'd cause an uproar and demand control of it."
"Like in our situation," Ghira said, "because I am concerned about who will be governing these lands and heading up the Dust mines. I fear the scenario where our leaders are composed entirely of Arcadian humans, and faunuskind loses their voice altogether. A similar thing happened in Atlas and is what today allows the SDC to exploit our people with impunity."
"He said he would be fair—" Blake froze, realizing that she had veered too much to the prince's side of the argument. To others, it could signal that she was here to defend his position rather than work towards a compromise, a rather bad look after she took part in a clandestine meeting with him. Sienna in particular now observed her with a careful eye, one brow quirked.
Her father, on the other hand, let the comment pass; she felt worse for it.
"Yes, and I trust your judgment, Blake." You shouldn't, Blake thought. "So I believe when you said that he harbors no personal ill will against faunuskind. Yet, does that extend to the people below him? The marginalization of the faunus continued unabated under the rule of good people like the Warrior King of Vale simply because they cannot watch over their domain with omniscient eyes. Nothing guarantees that a subordinate he puts in a position of power will share his views in all matters."
Cat ears drooped in response. She wished she had an answer because this was a point she failed to bring up last night. Failed to even consider, in fact, though it seemed obvious in hindsight.
But, no, the language Jaune Arc used in their discussion suggested that he will be working closely with her father and Blake. The issue was moot, then. Unless…did that assumption extend to just this city? What ensures that the faunus miners and those who moved to the new settlements won't be treated as second-class citizens?
With some hesitation, she proposed, "We can negotiate the matter with him, can't we?"
"We can, but…how do I explain this?" Her father mused. "There are certain things said of Arcadian merchants."
"Just as there are 'certain things'—" She made air quotes with her hands. "—said of the faunus?"
Ghira chuckled. "Well, I suppose I have walked into that. What I meant is that the merchants are beholden to their own set of morality, one taking into account profits and Lien. Their trading vessels were the first to arrive on our shores, but they did so only once we had something worthwhile to trade. And now, at the very moment they discover a more lucrative opportunity, they send warships to these same shores. I worry that to maximize his returns from the Dust deposits, the prince will forever face the temptation to sacrifice our wellbeing. Given enough incentive, he might decide to renege on his word."
"Not gonna happen." Blake declared, smiling. The smile slipped as Sienna cut into the conversation.
"So sure are you, Blake? Such confidence you show in our enemy."
Yes, she wanted to say. The prince's position was more tenuous than they knew. The dream that drove him onwards extended beyond wealth, and he needed their cooperation as much as they did him. His entire future hinged on securing an alliance with Menagerie.
Blake kept her mouth shut. Had it been just her parents here, she might reveal the truth after swearing them to secrecy. That became impossible with Sienna hovering within earshot. The woman would pounce. An advantage to seize on? She was the type to take it without hesitation and push, push, push as hard as she could until—too late!—she realizes that she had irrevocably crossed the line.
The radicalization of the White Fang came to mind. There's a reason Sienna spends most of her time as High Leader trying to rein rather than reign. Blake wasn't going to risk letting her ruin Arcadia out of spite, not when Menagerie would fall alongside the Principality.
"I have convinced him to see some things my way last night. He'd listen to me," she offered instead, and blinked in befuddlement at the change that stole over the faces of everyone in the room. Her mother clasped a hand over her own mouth in shock. Her father looked lost for a second before sighing. He gave a nod to show he understood, but his slumped shoulders belied a deep sense of sadness. Sienna was…odd. A flash of disgust, followed by a calculating expression and the barest trace of a sly smirk.
"Ahhh. That would work, I suppose," Sienna nodded sagely.
"Blake, do you really— no, you do. I will not insult you by doubting your resolve." Ghira amended. He peered down into his hands, thinking in silence for a time before continuing. "I-I suppose that does ensure our people have an avenue to sway his decisions. Just be careful, my daughter."
Persuasion…successful?
Blake wanted to know what was going through their minds, but at the same time, she did not. Still, the important thing was that she seemed to have made progress in getting Menagerie's leaders to the negotiating table. One more step taken on the road to a new world.
One more step, and many to go. Blake geared up to tackle the next point of contention.
-o-
Under the evening sun, every pair of eyes was turned towards the sky. The object of their focus, the prince's flagship, floated at a gentle pace above the city on an approach to the Chieftain's Manor.
At a time where Vale might experience its first snow of the season, here Blake waited in light traditional clothing as the daytime Menagerie heat cooled to the comfortable sixties. As agreed, she had disarmed and made certain all her people followed suit except for the guards posted midway down the slope to thwart would-be interlopers.
The status of her parents demanded that they stand front and center at the top of the manor steps. A higher vantage point to send a message, it presented a picture of dignity. Once he arrives, the prince, though a conqueror, would walk to and look up at the rulers of the island.
As their daughter, Blake was also on the staircase, located off to the side on the bottom step. In truth, she had the pick between this spot and where her parents were, but Sienna occupied the next one up, and Blake thought it prudent to always station her body between the High Leader and the prince in the event the woman underwent a change of heart to attempt an assassination. She considered it a nonzero chance, since at present Sienna was growling under her breath, the sound getting louder the nearer the airship came.
The ship touched down, prompting Sienna to hiss in Blake's ear.
"We should be fighting them, no matter the odds. A glorious final stand for faunuskind. Instead, I am to castigate my brethren as rogue factions and laud the takeover of my home by a human. Damn you for forcing this peace upon us."
That. Is. It!
Blake whirled to glare at the High Leader. "They disobeyed your orders, and intended to execute me! That goes far past rogue to become outright rebellion!" Her anger flared twice as hot when the other woman scoffed. Ignoring decorum, she grabbed Sienna by her top and pulled her down to eye level. "You have been a thorn in my side throughout this whole afternoon for the sake of some misguided sense of ego. That stops now. You will do your part. The world is changing and these talks will decide the place of our people in it. If all you can offer is pride, then your pride I will break!"
To that ultimatum, Sienna hummed in thought, sounding…almost impressed. It may be Blake's imagination, but when the woman answered, her tone held a note of approval.
"By your will, then, Blake Belladonna."
They continued to stare at each other, and the High Leader was the first to break eye contact, her gaze flicking above Blake's head.
"So that's him…"
During their hushed conversation, a ramp had extended from the aircraft to the ground to precede the opening of the ship's doors. Descending that ramp between a vanguard of Arcadian soldiers and a retinue of aides was the boy she met not so long ago. He walked in a practiced gait, projecting an unhurried air without actually meandering. The outfit he wore featured a lot more gold filigree and embellishments on top of the white base he favored, and he sported the same blue cape. The emblem of crown over twin crescents fluttered in the wind.
Despite herself, Blake shivered, for sunset's light had cast the prince in a malevolent glow. The hard set of his jaw, the grim expression, they spoke of a cold man resolute in his mission.
It was his eyes that told the truth. They gleamed with a lively eagerness, with a mania.
With victory.
Author's Notes: Learning from books is fine and good, young prince, but to experience it for oneself…
An ally in the other camp to pave the way, and success was a foregone thing.
Channeling a bit of your inner conqueror near the end there, Blake; a familiar turn of phrase that would make this story's Jaune raise an eyebrow.