Chapter XXIX: Origins for a Dream of Destiny

Every time Jaune touched the bars of his cell, he felt weary. It was as if they sapped his strength from them, and they did. Jaune was more than aware of seastone: a material that acted the same way as water does to devil fruit users. He had tried every surface he could except for the roof, but it was all lined with seastone. Maybe they had left the roof just metal, but it would be risky to rely on that. Not to mention, he couldn't even touch it despite his height. He had spent the majority of the first day jumping just to see if he could. He hadn't tried swimming through a surface he couldn't fully reach yet, but he figured it might be similar to doing a pull up.

Giving up for the moment, he sat back down on his cot, thinking over his conversation with Ozpin. It had been much more tame than most of his interactions thus far, though he tried to pull the 'disappointed' card a lot. He felt more like a child getting reprimanded than someone in his actual position. He was glad that his cell had a window. Bars lined it even though it was probably too small for him to fit through anyways. He was able to stare out over the wide ocean and the blue skies. Just how long had it been since he made those his goal? He was only a kid when he made his decision final, yet it had never fully stuck with him. Worry and doubt always clouded his mind — could he really be enough to compete out on the seas? Yet, that fateful day when he learned he had the will of D, everything changed.

Perhaps it didn't matter that much. Maybe he could have gone out on his own anyways, gathered a crew, and journeyed across the seas. Yet, he wouldn't have done that without knowing his name. It gave him a sense of destiny, and that was what set him out to the seas. No what-ifs would ever change that.

Eleven years prior

Ansel was a quaint town. Rolling hills reached out into the distance, speckled by woods and cut by brooks. The winds, like the people, were relaxed, dragging the clouds along the azure skies. The meadows where the children played were dotted with flowers, specks of color that brought life to the green hills. Just toward the woods, a log wall was sunk into the ground, one that surrounded the entirety of Ansel. While there were huntsmen in the area, villages like Ansel were located so far from the kingdom's core that protection from grimm lacked. This was balanced by the smaller population which gave less negativity over all.

The Arc household was built on a small knoll. One side was steep enough to tumble down, and Jaune had many a time. Yet it wasn't far enough to actually hurt him. The flatter end had a trampled path that led both into the town and into the meadow below. Most days, Jaune would sit at the top of the steep end as his sisters would play in the meadow, running around with each other. Jaune once too enjoyed doing the same, but he grew tired of it. There was only so much of the sectioned field to explore before he reached Ansel's wall. Even the small section of woods inside was kept from him by his protective parents.

Ansel was a safe village, often a place for retired huntsmen away from the big cities. It offered a mellow refuge for a heart scarred by battle to rest. Jaune's parents never worried about him roaming the village, trusting their neighbors almost like kin. Though, the decision was mostly made by Jaune's mother, as his father was most often working. So, on the days where Jaune grew bored of sitting and watching his sisters play, which was most, he would wander through Ansel to see what adventure he could find.

While Jaune had the heart to explore, that same heart couldn't handle most of the mischief that came with it. No, he didn't want to sneak into someone's house; no, he didn't want to find anyone's diary; no, he didn't want to sneak out of the wall! It was almost as if the other boys in the village were going to grow up to be criminals! Jaune would never.

It was a pleasant day where Jaune's adventure-seeking brought him to the local pub. Ansel's Ales: a small cozy place mostly populated by retired huntsmen and passing huntsmen alike. The first time he entered, it felt like he had gone into another world. He had thought his home was stock full of things, both from his father's travels and from his mother's collectings, yet Ansel's Ales was more. Not an inch on the walls was left vacant, covered by paintings, pictures, decorations, newspapers, and more. The bar was crowded by stools, and the shelves behind were stacked with bottles every shape, size, and color Jaune could imagine. Tables were spread around the floor, circled by their own stools, all matching the same dark wood of the floor. On the far left was a set of carpeted stairs that led up to the next floor.

Jaune had mostly gone unnoticed, passing by the patrons who were too engrossed in their conversations to notice him. He made it to the bar and climbed one of the stools like it was a ladder. The bartender was a short, pudgy, kind-looking man. He had a thin, trimmed, white beard which just barely hid his rosy cheeks. When he looked up to notice Jaune, he cocked an eyebrow at the kid who had wandered to his bar.

"What brought you here, kid?" He asked in a gentle voice.

Jaune kicked his legs and tilted his head. "I was bored."

The bartender laughed, and so did a few of the patrons who had turned to see the newcomer. "Is that so, kid." The bartender began messing around with the glasses behind him. "Is there anything you would like?"

Jaune thought for a moment, then pointed at a cool looking bottle. "That one!" The man turned, and began chuckling to himself.

"I suppose that's what I get," he muttered to himself. "Not that one, kid. Most of this stuff you can't have. Here, how about a juice." Jaune pouted but didn't argue as the man filled a small glass with some ice and juice. Gently, he slid it toward Jaune. Eagerly, Jaune caught the glass, much to the amusement of some of the patrons.

"So, you're bored, kid?" A man to his right asked. At Jaune's nod, the man asked. "Would you like to hear a story?" Jaune's answer was to give the man his undivided attention. "So, there was this time I was traveling through Mistral. Crazy weather at the time, it was…"

Jaune found himself enraptured by the man's tale. As it turned out, most of the huntsmen there had their own stories to tell, and Jaune loved it. No longer did he wait to grow bored on the knoll. Now he made his way over to Ansel's Ales every morning — after his chores, of course. Each day brought new tales for him to listen to, each more grand than the last. He wouldn't know it, but some of the huntsmen loved to exaggerate their expeditions just for him.

Then, when it was time for him to go home, he would search his home for stories to read. It turned out that his parents had plenty. A small study room, tucked under the stairs and under his room, was filled to the brim with books. Any library would put it to shame, but to a little Jaune it was everything. There were tales of heroes and villains, of worlds coming to an end and being saved, of adventure and conquest, and of dreams and freedom. They were far too difficult at first, but he gradually made his way through them the best he could. While Jaune's mother had taught him how to read, it felt like the books in their study had taught him a second time. He never even cared that much about the television or radio they had. Many nights, Juniper Arc would find Jaune curled up on the carpet of the study, books messily dropped about him. She would always carry him back to his room and drape his blanket over him.

Jaune's father became a goal of his. He knew his father was a huntsman, and a good one at that. Thus, the more he read and heard about adventure, the grander Nicholas Arc became in his mind. Without a doubt, his father was a hero, and that was exactly what Jaune wanted to be. Yet, Nicholas always seemed reluctant to lead Jaune down the path of a huntsman. Jaune never understood why. He heard more tales from strangers, and Nicholas wouldn't train him. It wasn't to say that Nicholas didn't love his boy, but there was a darkness in his eyes each time Jaune brought the subject up. Jaune would complain to the patrons at the pub about it, but none of them ever commented. They all, in some way, understood Nicholas Arc — even the ones that had never known him.

Jaune was undeterred, his dream to be a hero burning brighter than ever before. Yet, there was only so far he could get on his own. Each person that Jaune asked either would be gone far too soon or knew Nicholas, and respected his decisions. No one was around to train Jaune Arc.

One day, during the spring, Jaune trotted along the path to the pub. The flowering trees along the path had reclaimed their leaves and begun to bloom. The bright sun caught his eye as he turned the tight corners, eventually making his way there. He strolled in, headed to his usual seat at the bar, only to see there was someone else there!

Jaune walked up to the man and tugged at the bag of the red cape behind him. The man turned to look at Jaune. His black hair was messy, his chin was poorly shaved, and his eyes were a pale red. They looked odd — more than just the color. For some reason, they reminded him of his father's eyes.

"What?" He asked gruffly.

Jaune pointed to the stool beneath him. "That's my spot."

"Not today, brat." The man turned away from Jaune.

He just stood there, staring up at the man, but the man seemed determined to ignore Jaune's existence — or maybe he had already forgotten.

A patron sitting to the left got down from his stool. "Here, kid. I probably shouldn't be drinking any more tonight anyways." Jaune glanced back to his stool, but climbed up to the one offered to him anyways.

"See, brat. Wasn't so hard, was it?" The man tipped back a flask, letting the contents flow down his throat.

"You're mean," Jaune retorted.

"The meanest."

A moment later, Jaune's glass of juice was placed before him. The man glanced over and smirked. "Didn't know bars had that stuff. Figures that's what they would have for a kid like you."

Suddenly, Jaune wasn't so happy about his drink. "I'm gonna be a big, strong hero one day!"

"Sure you are." The man waved his hand dismissively.

Pouting, Jaune pointed to a random bottle. "Bartender, fill me a glass of that," he called in his best but poor attempt to mimic the patrons.

"No can do," Lucky, the bartender, responded. "Juniper would have my head if I gave you any." Jaune deflated against the bar. Glancing to his side, he saw the man giving him an odd look.

"What?"

The man smiled at Jaune's confusion, as if he was privy to a joke Jaune didn't know. "Oh, nothing. You just remind me of one of my nieces." He went to take a swig from his flask, but stopped. Pulling it away from himself, he squinted at the hole and tilted it until it was upside down: empty. "Loud and annoying," he muttered almost to himself.

Jaune was aghast, gasping loudly as the man ordered another drink. Though, before Jaune could argue, the man's facade broke and he fell into laughter. "I'm messing with you, kid. You seem to have the same fire she does. I almost expect her to take out to the seas just like her uncle."

"The seas?" Jaune asked, his intrigue overshadowing his frustration.

The man took his filled glass, held it for a moment, then set it aside. The man's eyes came to life. "The seas are quite the place to be, kid. If you think huntsmen that just travel Remnant have crazy tales, then you've never listened to a pirate."

Those who could hear the man broke out in laughter. Incredulous mutterings about the claim rippled through the crowd although no one said any more. For all they knew, these would just be stories to entertain a kid. It was no different from what they had done.

"You were a pirate?" Jaune's eyes were wide as saucers.

"Still am," the man replied. "I'm just on a — break right now." He looked back at his glass, hand held out toward it.

"What's it like being a pirate?"

The man paused, then turned around in the stool, resting his arms behind himself on the bar. "Well, kid; the name's Qrow, captain of the Onyx Feather Pirates." Another round of laughter echoed through the pub. A man to the other side of Qrow slapped his shoulder in response to his 'cleverness.'

"Let's see here," Qrow scratched his chin. "I could tell you about the time I had to fight a sea king with a dagger."

Jaune tilted his head. "A sea king."

"Right. A sea king," Qrow repeated. "A giant serpent that lives in the sea. Each one is pretty unique, but they range from the size of, say, twenty men long to the size that they could swallow a galleon whole."

"Woah," Jaune leaned to the edge of his stool, forgetting his juice just the same as Qrow forgot his drink. Tale after tale, Qrow went on. The day dissolved into words, and night crept in to take its place. Soon, it was dark, and Jaune realized he had stayed too long.

His mother was waiting for him when he got home. Lightly, she scolded him as she brought him to his room. That entire night, Jaune couldn't sleep. Images of adventure far greater than the ones he had heard before swirled in his head. They faintly reminded him of one of the books he tried to read. Like many of the ones in the study, it was a bit too hard for him to really get, yet he felt a need to get through it now.

Jaune couldn't wait until morning. As quiet as he could, he crept down the stairs, wishing there was some way he could just go from his room to the study. Swiftly, he moved through the moonlit house. Once in the study, he searched and searched for the book. Then he found it. The book was different from all of the other ones. Part of what made it so difficult to read was the weird way the letters looked. While the other books had blocky letters, these were swooped and loopy.

He became so encaptivated by the book that he never noticed the door creak open and closed again. The night faded away into story until Jaune's eyes couldn't stay open any longer. When he woke up the next morning, he didn't question why the other books he had pulled out had been put away, or why the blanket from his room had been draped over him.

For the next few days of Jaune's life, he ran to the pub every morning to meet with Qrow. The man seemed to be an endless well of legends, having one for almost any question that Jaune asked. Many patrons would comment on the 'convenience' of it.

Toward the end of Qrow's stay, Jaune decided that was the sort of life he was going to live. All the while, Qrow loved pushing the kid's buttons. He could be shy at times, but he would easily get riled up.

"I'm not taking you on any adventures any time soon," Qrow promised him. "You're just a kid; you're not ready for the sea."

"Then I'll just become one on my own! You hear that? Someday, I'm gonna be a big, strong warrior. I'll be a hero, just like the stories I've read!"

Qrow ruffled his hair, giving him a speech similar to others he had heard countless times. This time, Qrow wrapped it up with something about lemons. He may have cool stories, but he was really weird sometimes.

As Qrow went on into another tale, Jaune let himself be drawn in once more. He didn't know it yet, but that was the last time he would hear any of Qrow's stories. The next day, Qrow gave him a hat, then he left. Ansel suddenly felt a lot more hollow to Jaune. The open fields felt empty and the stories the huntsmen told didn't feel the same again. He could tell they were trying to match Qrow's level of stories, making beowolves the size of houses and Ursas that made the ground shake with every step. Somehow, it wasn't the same.

Nicholas Arc came back to a son who was more determined than ever before to become a warrior. Jaune didn't use the term 'hero' as often as before, but Nicholas didn't quite catch on that Jaune meant to be a pirate. To Nicholas, it was all still the same song and dance of his son's dreams.

As the years passed by, Jaune found himself changing very much. School meant less time to sit around, listening to huntsmen talk all day. He never got into any sort of huntsman academy and still received no training from his father or the locals.

With homework, he would have had no time to read books in the study, but he found a way. There was now a trapdoor and a ladder connecting his room and the study which he used to access after he should have been asleep. It was a wonder he ever thought he actually hid it from his mother.

Without training and a knack for struggling in school, Jaune's confidence waned. He was good enough to make it by, but each day made his dreams feel more like just that: fantasies. During the day he would go about life no different to the other teenagers around him; however, at night, he would stare off into the horizon, imagining a world full of monsters, treasure, and adventure.

Any he was comfortable speaking his heart to knew about his desire to sail the seas, but they only ever humored him. At some point, he began to feel as though he was only even humoring himself. Then, he stopped considering it an option. Just when that happened was a bit blurry. He never truly lost faith that the Grand Line was real, but his faith in himself wavered too greatly.

Despite that, Jaune was too stubborn to give up entirely. If he couldn't become a pirate, he could be what he had wanted to be before that: a huntsman. His talk of dreams returned to that of heroes setting out to save the day. The stories he had heard placed the dangers of pirates above that of huntsmen. The accuracy of that went as far as Jaune's imagination. This led to him being far more sure in the path of the latter, even to the point he underestimated the difficulty of becoming a huntsman.

Jaune knew he couldn't get into an academy with his lack of training, so he acquired some forged transcripts and sent them off to Beacon. Waiting for their reply felt like forever. If his backup plan fell through, he would have nothing — nothing — left. When it came back with good news, tears were shed — and not just his own. His family was proud of him, even a reluctant Nicholas. Though, their departing words struck him.

It was such a simple phrase, and probably meant to reassure him, but instead it hurt. They told him not to worry if he was forced to come back home. They were supposed to be comforting words, but to him they felt as if his family didn't believe in him. It might have been him projecting his own doubts onto them. After all, he had faked his way into a combat school, hoping that he would learn to fight once he got there.

It was rough. His early experiences at Beacon left much to be desired, yet he was incredibly lucky at the same time. Despite how miserable he felt at times, he would never trade it for anything else. The friends he made there were priceless to him. By sheer luck, he got the chance to train and get aura — even learning about aura — that he had been withheld his whole life. Even when — no, especially when — his hoodie had gotten torn up, so he went home to find his second one.

He desperately didn't want his family to think he had failed, so he was very careful about sneaking there one weekend. Getting into the house and into the attic had been one of the most difficult and nerve wracking things he had done in life. Then it led to him finding his birth certificate. It was only a piece of paper, but one that reminded him of a man he had once met and a book he had once read.

Before leaving the house, he looked for that book in the study again. It wasn't as great of a risk since he had entered through his room's window, and the trapdoor was still there. To Jaune's dismay, the book was gone.

Present Day

Jaune traced the waves with his eyes, watching them rise and fall, crashing into one another. For so many years he had longed for this sight, and just when he finally had it, now it was through bars. Jaune sat, letting his frustration brew until he slammed his hand against the wall. A sudden sapping of his energy dulled the moment.

"This is stupid," he muttered. "I'm being stupid. I told them we'd get out of this, so why am I acting so defeated!" His voice crescendoed from a whisper to a yell at the end. Taking a deep breath, he slapped the sides of his face a couple of times.

"Okay. Okay; just look around and see what you can do." The room didn't offer much, certainly not in terms of inspiration. Out of everything he could see, the only helpful things seemed to be on the desk. It was, as it turned out, Ozpin's desk. Maybe if he could get something from it, it could help. The issue was that it was way too far away for him to reach. Or was it?

Jaune stared at the items he could see. There was a large scroll device, a thermos, and some notes. The scroll was definitely too far for him to reach, so that was out of the question. Yet, maybe if he could grab the thermos, he could extend his reach to the scroll. What then? Could it message some of the other marines? If so, maybe he could set up some false message about him needing to be moved rooms. That wouldn't guarantee any sort of escape, but it would give him an opportunity.

Jaune reached through the bars, careful not to touch them. He didn't make it far until the width of his arm was too wide. In an instant, his energy left him, causing his arm to grow limp. Jaune stared at the thermos, wondering just how he would get it.

AN:

I could have waited to get this chapter out tomorrow, but I fell in love with it as I kept writing. I don't know what all of you will think, but this had to be my favorite chapter to write. When planning out this story arc, I decided to have a more in depth visit to Jaune's past. It was supposed to be maybe just a scene of something like him meeting Qrow, and the memory giving him strength or some sort of anime bullshitery, you know? Then, as I was planning this chapter out, I decided that it deserves more time and development. Thus Jaune got a chapter pretty much to himself.

It was also pretty much a small break from the chaos and humor. Maybe that was another reason I enjoyed it so much. While I love writing humor and satire, I also enjoy writing serious things too. I guess this was just something different to have in the middle of my commitment to this story.

Well, as always, I love to hear what you all think. Was it nice to have a more serious chapter, or should I mostly stick to the humorous ones if I can? This chapter wasn't as necessary story-wise as some of the other serious ones, so I could have skipped over it.

Anyways, next chapter: Not a Watch