Chapter 6 - Damning Decisions

The moon was still shining when Jaune Arc stirred from his restless sleep.

As he opened his eyes and looked out of the open window, he couldn't help the forlorn sigh escaped his lips.

Quietly shaking his head, he forced himself to look away from the distant moon, before another sigh escaped his lips as he instead took in the details of his room, barely distinguishable in the faint moonlight.

Where he'd have seen a wall of painted plaster and a Dust-powered lamp on a simple table, an ornate silver candlestand housed three half-melted candles on what could charitably be described as a thick wooden slab, greeting him along with a wall of dull cobblestone.

"... it really wasn't a dream, huh?" Jaune murmured to himself in a hollow voice as he forced himself to sit up, and took a moment to once again try and process just what in Oum's name had happened to him.

His last definitive memory of Remnant had been the attack at Amity, Beacon, and Vale, the death of that woman in the pod and Ozpin, and his desperate delaying action at the top of Beacon's clocktower.

After that...

... after the dragon had stomped on him...

... after half a dozen glass shards had punched through his abused Aura, and he'd fallen...

... after his vision had begun to dim, and his consciousness had slipped away in a flash of silver light,..

After all of that, he'd woken up in a strange and unfamiliar world, less than a week ago.

One that knew nothing of Aura, Dust, or the Grimm.

One that had monsters he'd never heard of, heroes he'd never heard of, and Kingdoms he'd never heard of (ruled by actual Kings, no less).

One that had a distant, unbroken moon gracing its night sky.

... the only explanation Jaune could come up with so far, was that he had died... and somehow been either sent to a different world, or sent so far back in time to Remnant's past that the moon hadn't even been broken yet, and Dust and the Grimm hadn't been discovered yet.

... which would have put him in a time long before the dawn of recorded human civilization on Remnant, based on what little he could remember from Dr. Oobleck's lessons.

... which meant that it may as well have been a different world, for all intents and purposes.

Jaune groaned and buried his head in his hands, as he desperately tried to think of a different explanation, one that didn't sound like it came straight out of a Mistralian comic book.

After all, he didn't feel dead... not that he knew what death actually felt like, of course.

But he still felt hunger, thirst, tiredness, and pain (which also helped rule out it just being a very elaborate dream).

If this was life after death, it sucked worse than Cardin.

But at the same time, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself at least conceding that he had probably died at the tower.

While the wounds he'd sustained didn't have to be fatal... the fact that he'd woken up without his friends around him said enough.

Ruby and Pyr would never have abandoned him.

A pang of worry shot through him as he thought about his friends once again, and he found himself desperately hoping that they'd at least made it out safe and sound.

Then he shook his head again, as the moment passed.

After all, he'd survived by himself for, what, five minutes?

If that was the kind of enemy they were up against, there was no way Ruby, Weiss, and Pyr together could have lost.

... though she had killed Ozpin...

...

Jaune forced that concerning thought out of his head.

After all... wherever or whenever he was... all he could do for his friends, was have faith in them.

Right now, more pressingly, he had to figure out just what he was supposed to do about his situation.

... honestly, was there actually anything he could do?

Even if he'd figured out what had happened (big "if"), he still had no idea how he'd ended up here (the Mistralian comics always just handwaved it with "Semblances", but even if Jaune did have such a Semblance (another big "if"), he had no idea how to even trigger it, let alone control its destination), or what he was supposed to do next.

... well, that wasn't completely accurate.

Of course, when he'd realized he wasn't on Remnant anymore, his initial thoughts (after blind panic and freaking out, of course) had been to try and figure out a way back home. But it had only taken a few minutes of proper consideration to rule that out as a realistic outcome.

Sure, this world had magic (if he took the stories the Knights of the Round Table told him at face value, at least), but their tales of King Arthur's Court Wizard (who was apparently a really big deal) had more to do prophecies and dreams than travelling to different worlds (or time travel).

And considering this world hadn't even discovered central heating and indoor plumbing, he wasn't crossing his fingers for a scientific solution to his problems.

So... if his return was off the table... what was he supposed to do now?

What could he even do?

...

Jaune slowly exhaled as he got out of bed, before slapping himself on the cheeks to psych himself up (an action with zero physical effect, thanks to Aura).

Ironically, the situation hadn't really changed since he'd gotten out of the forest.

After all, he was lost, and had nothing to his name, nor friends to call his own.

... okay, the last one wasn't completely true, but there was no way he could just impose on the Knights of the Round Table like that!

Especially not now, when they were apparently dealing with both border clashes and invaders from across the sea.

... but at the same time, could he really afford to turn down any help he could get?

Besides being a Huntsman-in-Training, the only experience he could really claim to have was working on the family farm, and he'd run away from home for a reason!

Was he really going to spend his afterlife doing what he'd run away from during his first life?

Thoughts of the knights he'd spent the past few days travelling with came to the forefront of his mind, and a small smile graced his lips as he came to a decision.

As Sir Mordred had said, being a Huntsman did sound an awful lot like being a Knight of the Round Table...

And he had agreed to help Gareth with her weird gun-lance. Just because he was dead didn't mean he wasn't an Arc!

Worst come to worst, he'd fail to live up to Sir Lancelot's expectations and leave. Wouldn't be the first time he'd felt like that...

At the very least, though, he'd have to figure out a way to tell Sir Lancelot not to bother helping him figure out where he came from; no point in wasting the man's time looking for a Kingdom that didn't even exist here.

But it wasn't like he could just tell them: "Hey, sorry to waste your time, but I just realized I came from a completely different world and/or timeline! Don't bother looking into my story; the stuff I mentioned don't even exist (yet?)!"

Even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

As Jaune tried to figure out a plausible reason that would get Sir Lancelot and the Knights to stop investigating his story, however, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

As it soon morphed into a pounding, Jaune quietly sighed to himself, and moved to open the door and see just who wanted to see him this early in the morning.

To his surprise, a familiar petite suit of armor was waiting impatiently outside the door.

Jaune blinked before finally finding his voice: "... Sir Mordred?"

"Heya, Vomit Guy!" Mordred greeted him familiarly, before tossing him a cloth sack.

Jaune grunted at the unexpected weight as he caught it, and unfortunately for him, that wasn't the last surprise of the morning.

Opening the sack revealed pieces of metal armor, causing his eyes to go wide.

Mordred took the opportunity to nudge him in the side with her elbow, before triumphantly demanding: "Hurry up and suit up, Squire! We're wasting precious time!"

-THE PREVIOUS EVENING-

"I must admit my surprise, Lancelot." Percival couldn't help but remark, as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "When you accepted Agravain's request to come back with Mordred, even I couldn't have foreseen that you'd come back with a new apprentice-"

"Hey!" Mordred hotly interjected from where she sat, still sulking about the fuss Agravain had raised over her little quest. "I'm the one who found him!"

"Of course, Sir Mordred." Percival quickly held up a hand to forestall him, knowing just enough of the brash young knight to know that he would escalate the situation if he didn't clarify his words. "I in no way mean to overlook your achievements; were not our current situation as serious as it currently is, I dare say even the King would raise a toast to your victory over the Addanc. My point, however, was that when we heard you had set off to slay a demon, I feel confident in speaking for us all when I say that none of us expected you to come back with another person..."

"Indeed, I was also surprised when Sir Mordred walked out of the forest with company." Lancelot answered truthfully, as Gareth poured water into his goblet and Mordred huffed in approval and relaxed, mollified by Percival's words. "To say nothing of when Sir Mordred relayed the youth's extraordinary circumstances to me."

"..." Percival quietly recalled the state the youth had been in, when he'd been welcomed into Camelot, and when he'd allowed himself to be led away by young Bors to a guest room. After a moment, he gave voice to his concerns: "Lancelot... if I may ask? Is the boy alright?"

"... physically speaking, Sir Mordred can testify that the Addanc failed to cause any wound to Jaune during their battle." Lancelot replied slowly.

"So the damage his armor sustained wasn't caused by the demon?" Percival blinked.

"Well, of course." Mordred scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What kind of Knight would let an unrelated innocent bystander get harmed like that?"

"You speak the truth, Sir Mordred." Lancelot gave the young knight a rare approving nod (while Gareth surreptitiously gave Mordred a look of shock), before continuing on: "But I believe Sir Percival would like to also know the cause of his injuries."

"Like I told you, he was like that already when I met him." Mordred shrugged, before retelling her account for Percival's benefit: "According to Jaune, the last thing he remembers before waking up in that forest was fighting against a dragon and a witch."

"A dragon and a witch?!" Percival's voice was full of shock as he looked worriedly at Lancelot. "Are you sure?"

"I sensed no trace of a lie from him when he told me his story." Lancelot answered confidently.

"In that case, then we need to send word to the King at once!" Percival insisted in alarm, jumping up from his seat.

"Peace, Sir Percival." Lancelot quickly held up a hand to calm the white-haired knight down. "As far as we can tell, the foes Jaune faced are not a threat to His Majesty's lands."

"Jaune fought the dragon and the witch in the Kingdom he hails from." Mordred clarified. "And he comes from some weird Kingdom really far away. He'd never even heard of Camelot, and the Kingdoms he does know don't even have Kings!"

"Just to be sure, we asked the surrounding villages." Gareth added from behind Lancelot. "None can recall seeing a dragon or a witch recently."

Percival breathed a sigh of relief, before his eyes narrowed in understanding. "... is that why you specified "physically", Lancelot?"

"It is." Lancelot nodded and sighed, recalling how distracted and distant Jaune had been when they'd entered Camelot. "I believe he is currently in a state of shock."

"But he was fine before we got here!" Mordred pointed out with a frown, shifting uneasily as she recalled how she'd tried (and apparently failed) to reassure him.

"Sir Mordred..." Lancelot paused for a moment, as he thought about how best to get his point across. "Jaune simply didn't have the luxury of thinking about his situation until after he joined us, nor did he realize just how far from home until he spoke with us."

"So what, it's my fault for picking him up?" Mordred's tone took on a defensive edge.

"Of course not." Lancelot answered immediately. "While far from ideal, I'm sure even he would agree his current situation is a vast improvement over being alone and lost in a forest, waiting for countrymen who would never come. I feel he simply needs time, time to adjust to the reality of his situation, and perhaps something to keep his mind occupied."

"Wouldn't it be better to just get him back home as soon as possible, though?" Mordred spoke up again.

"It would, Sir Mordred." Lancelot conceded, before countering: "Unfortunately, that isn't a realistic option right now."

"Even Palamedes knew nothing of such Kingdoms as "Vale" or "Atlas", Mordred." Percival chimed in. "With Merlin still uncontactable, our best bet at actually coming into contact with Jaune's homeland is to go questing for lands beyond the great seas to the West, or the great deserts and mountains of the South and East, far beyond even the extent of the old Empire or Alexander the Great. Such an undertaking, while honorable, is simply not feasible with our current situation."

"... hmmm..." Mordred's frown deepened behind her helmet, as she quietly considered their words and reflected that the situation might have been a bit more complicated than how those picture books made things seem.

"In the meantime, based on the stories Jaune shared, being trained as a squire should be similar enough to his time as a Huntsman-in-Training for him to adapt, while being sufficiently different enough to help distract him." Lancelot concluded.

"But... Sir Lancelot... who will train Jaune?" Gareth quietly asked from behind her mentor. "Are there any full Knights of the Round Table currently in Camelot who can take on a new squire? I know Agravain doesn't currently have a squire, but the duties of his station leave him too busy to properly take on an apprentice..."

""...""

A silence fell over the room, as they contemplated Gareth's point.

And then Lancelot finally answered: "Squire Gareth... I was hoping that you could help train Jaune for the time being."

"Me?!" Gareth couldn't hide her shock.

"Indeed." Lancelot nodded confidently. "You may still be a squire, but you have already earned a numbered seat on the Round Table, and I believe helping train another potential squire will serve as valuable experience for you in the future, when you are a Knight of the Round Table and have your own squire. Rest assured, though; I am still your mentor, and I will provide assistance for you should you need it."

"I-I-I'm honored by your words, Sir Lancelot!" Gareth squeaked nervously, before shaking her head. "And I mean no disrespect, but I do not feel as if I am ready yet! Furthermore, I am barely older than Jaune! How could I possibly serve as his mentor?!"

"I believe that the lack of an age gap will only help you relate to him, Gareth." Lancelot tried to comfort his squire with a smile that would have made her swoon if she wasn't too busy panicking. "But if you have a better alternative, feel free to share it."

"Bors definitely isn't ready to take on a squire yet." Percival added simply as Gareth turned to him in desperation. While Bors may have been older and more experienced than Gareth, it was a simple matter of fact that Gareth, like her brothers Gawain and Agravain, was extremely talented; with a single lance she'd defeated numerous prodigious knights and kings to protect the honor of her friend, and even the King agreed that she could easily be the greatest of them all in time.

Mordred, for her part, simply studied her sister with a vague feeling of irritation, though she kept her peace

Ultimately, she felt a degree of responsibility for Jaune, since, as far as she was concerned, she'd been the one to both find him, and help convince him to come to Camelot. And while she may not have had the best relationship with the other Knights of Camelot, she would at least concede that she was still young and inexperienced; being unable to refute their points, she would trust that the men King Arthur and Agravain had selected and fought alongside were acting with her charge's best interests in mind.

But at the same time... did it really have to be Gareth?

Why did Squire Gareth the Ever-Perfect always seem to get everything?!

It was as she chewed on those envious thoughts that she saw it.

Gareth glanced at her for a moment, before hastily averting her gaze.

Her irritation grew as she perceived the act as her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire slighting her, and so she snarled: "Hey, aren't you forgetting that I'm a Knight of the Round Table too?!"

Author's Note: Nope, no excuses here. Just because I'd recovered from COVID didn't mean I didn't have to play catch up with my work.