A Taste of Knightshade

Every day, Jaune Smithson would wake up to the same routine.

A breakfast of potatoes with salt, and if he was lucky and the neighbor's horses needed new shoes, dry, too-spicy sausages on the side. Then he'd go downstairs and spend the day bent over an anvil, pounding nails out while the smith of the shop worked on more intricate matters like mending horseshoes, or straightening the edges of axes for the woodsmen. Sometimes, he would get a spear-head from the militia or, once, even a sword from the militia-captain, Lesser Cardin Winchester, and when he did he would let Jaune cool the smaller forge and watch him work.

Those were the good days…

The bad had been filled with burns from the forge, swollen fingers from nails that slipped as he worked, or the sword Jaune had broken when the smith allowed him to try and work it. Peter had broken Jaune's nose for that, and bellowed his lungs out. Although he'd come in later and straightened it for him. He hadn't said that he was sorry, though. No, old Port had been a great many things, most of them very, very bad now that he knew them, but a man who apologized was not one.

Every day had always ended the same way, though…

With sore arms, stiff shoulders, a pounding headache-

And dreams of adventure, of serving his Kingdom. Defending it from Mistrali pirate raids along the eastern coast, barely a day's ride from Ansel, and Menagerie's along the southern coasts with the navy. Or even serving in the Coastal Guard, fending off their land raids alongside the Orders. His shield wall bracing against infantry as the knights circled and turned to charge - their hammer, his anvil, formed up of a hundred men in tight formation.

But every dream ended with sun on his face shocking him awake in a dingy room with barely more than a bed, and barely space for more. And it was back to routine…

Until, one day…

It wasn't.

And never would be again.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Jaune woke up to sun on his face and rolled out of bed with a tired groan. He straightened, pressed his fists into the small of his back, and stretched it until it popped. Then he kicked his door open and made his way down the groaning, narrow stairs to his waiting breakfast in the side-room to the forge, which was half-kitchen and half storage, stacked high with crates of coal, iron and spare tools while a little round-table had been set against the other wall with more crates for chairs.

It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Such was life.

"Sausages." Jaune grunted as he fell onto his crate and reached for the plate set in the middle of the table, alongside the baked potatoes. "We just did the Winchester's horses last week, though."

"That we did, boy, that we did." Port grumbled, easing onto his seat and dropping a bulging sack the size of both Jaune's hands on the table beside the rest of the food. Jaune raised his eyebrow, looking from it to the man, and Port sighed and tapped a finger on the top, forcing little hunks of dried fruit to roll out.

"Are those oranges?!"

"Mhm." Jaune looked to him for permission and, when Port nodded, grabbed a few of the dried slivers. They tasted sour and sweet all at once and Jaune groaned for the rare taste. While he savored them, Port explained, "Detachment of soldiers came in, handed me spearheads, axes, hammers, even some mail."

"That'll take us all day…"

"That'll take me three, boy." Port corrected him, sighing and asking, "You even know what month it is?"

"No…?"

"You turned seventeen three weeks ago, boy." Port rumbled, drumming his fingers on the table while Jaune chewed and listened. His brows furrowed, and Port chuckled, "Your mother made sure I knew your birthday before the sickness took her. By the True Gods, boy, you think that spitfire wouldn't?"

"I wouldn't know…"

"Ah…" Port's moustache flicked as he pursed his lips and thought. "She was a lovely little thing, you know…"

"I know, Port." He sighed, desperately hoping to dodge another of Port's 'stories'. Especially involving his mother…

Everyone needed a smith now and again, and not everyone could pay. Putting those dots together with his mom wasn't a game he wanted to even think about.

"You're old enough." Port rumbled, "To join the soldiery. This detachment, it's a group of soldiers drawn up by the Order of the Preying Eagle. Grimm hunters, boy, right under the church."

"Grimm hunters…"

"No better place to earn a Knighthood, boy." Port rumbled, nodding respectfully, understandingly.

"I-I don't-"

"You think I don't recognize those eyes, boy?" Port snorted, shaking his head, "You crave your freedom, boy. Freedom and honor. I was the same, but… Ah, I couldn't make the cut with the Preying Eagle."

"Why not?"

"Does it matter, boy?" He scoffed, and flicked a thumb over his shoulder. "Painted a shield for you, and you can have your hammer. You know it more than well 'nough, and the Eagles use hammers. You'll fit right in."

"But… But the forge-"

"Was here before you, boy." He growled, "Be here after either of us, too."

"B-But that shield's not-"

"Not every shield you hand in for a fix gets handed back." Port barked back, shaking his head and standing, pointing a finger at Jaune and bellowing. "Let me be clear, boy- You're done here. Fired. Don't join the Preying Eagle, or do, but you aren't welcome here anymore. You understand?"

"Y-Yes, Sir."

"Good." Port turned and pushed open his door, grunting, "Eat 'n go then, Jaune."

Half an hour later, dressed in his sturdiest wool trousers and the leather-fronted tunic he wore for the forge, Jaune pushed out the door into the forge. Port was already at work, bent over a spearhead, but he didn't even look up as Jaune took the little roundshield up and lifted his hammer. It was a simple, iron thing, but…

The handle was new, and wrapped in fresh leather, too, with a loop hooked onto a thick leather belt fronted by a simple round blate that would cover a bit of his stomach.

"Thank you, Peter." He called out, but the man ignored him, putting hammer to steel and continuing his work.

Jaune hooked the belt on and left without another word.

XxX----XxX----XxX

Ansel was never the wealthiest place, or the most vibrant either. The high, dull bronze dome of the small temple they'd been given had been enough to hold the hundred or so who had lived in the little cluster of houses. Their thatch roofs and old, dull brickwork always paled to the blue stone the temple was built on, but it was peaceful. Safe, even so comparably close to the coast-line. And it was happy enough, too.

And Jaune hadn't even hesitated to leave it all behind…

Such a fool, he'd been, back then...

XxX----XxX----XxX

The Order of the Preying Eagle had built their camp just a bit up the road that led north out of the settlement. He could see it half an hour before he got there, the blue banner flying high, hemmed in bright gold stitching with the red eagle emblazoned along its length, claws spread to either side, like it was swooping down on him to take him as its prey. Twenty minutes after he saw that he saw the first tents and the guards standing outside, dressed in their plated armor and resting their gauntlets on the tops of their tall, rectangular shields.

As he approached, one of the soldiers stepped forward, peering out from under his broad-rimmed kettle hat and asking, "Who goes?"

"U-Uh, Jaune Smithson, sir." He called back, stopping a few feet away and holding up his shield in a trembling, nervous hand. "I-I've come to offer myself to the Order of the Preying Eagles!"

"Ah." The soldier nodded, then shook his head and turned to pace back to his post with his partner. "No. Off with you."

"But-"

"I said no." The soldier called back, turning to shake his head. "Can't you hear, boy? You aren't gettin' in here. And if you can't get in, you can't join us. Got it?"

"B-But…" He hesitated, but only for a second. This was his chance, damn it! He wasn't about to let it pass by just because a guard said no. "T-That's not your decision! T-T-That banner means you have a captain at least! I demand an audience with him! It's my r-right!"

"And if I say no to that, too?" The man asked, hefting his shield and laying a hand on the heavy axe in his belt. "What then?"

"T-Then…" Gods, he was crazy… But he would rather die than slink back to Peter with his tail between his legs! Drawing his hammer, he snapped, voice breaking as he did it, "T-Then I'll force you!"

"Oh?" The soldier's eyes narrowed, and as he paced forward, he drew his axe. Jaune stood his ground, spread his legs as best he could like how he'd seen the militia do at drills, and let him come.

The man surged forward for the last foot and brought his axe up, but not down. Instead he stepped in and brought his shield around, towards Jaune's chest. Jaune wheezed as the blow forced him back, but got his shield up in time to catch the axe. Steel screamed and his arm did with it, and both felt like they were about to buckle from the force. The taller man grunted and loomed over him, turning to press the flat of the axe down on his shield and trying to push him down.

Jaune snarled and brought his hammer up, but the man blocked it.

Desperate, Jaune surged forward and slammed his shoulder into the man as hard as he could. The soldier didn't even move more than a step, and brought his knee up into Jaune's stomach for the blonde's efforts. Jaune hacked, choking on his breakfast come back as the man backed away and left him to sink to a knee.

"See, boy?" The soldier sighed, "Go- Ack!"

The man's eyes widened as Jaune's hammed came up, barely missing him by a few inches as he backed away. Jaune brought the momentum to an experienced halt and stepped in to bring the hammer back down. It left a dent in the man's shield as he backed away, swinging his axe between them so Jaune couldn't easily follow. Snarling still, and tasting acid, Jaune circled him, shield between them as the guard smirked.

Was he laughing at him…?

Fury burned through Jaune and he stepped in, shield rising to catch the coming axe. Jaune thrust his hammer for the man's face in a blow that would ruin his pristine teeth, but the man ducked and let the blow glance off his helmet. Then again his shield came in, slamming into his chest to force him to the side and then into the side of his knee to force him down. As he fell, and armored knee caught him on the chin and the taste of acid was washed away by the taste of iron.

"Enough!" A new voice called as the guard backed away, even dropping his axe into the dirt in a sign of an end to their fight when instinct drove Jaune to follow. He turned at the sound of male shifting, and plated boots chafing on the stone road.

The man was only a bit taller than Jaune, barely a few centimeters, with blonde hair like his own that grayed in long streaks and a thick beard that ran down the front of his chest. Unlike the soldiers, he wore dark iron plated mail, with thick, smooth pauldrons edged in brass work and heavy, interlocking plating across his thighs and biceps. His lower legs and arms were both enclosed by solid, unmoving plates that tapered to points just above the joints, each edged in the same brass studwork. Like the other soldiers, the tabard over his plated mail was a dark blue edged in gold, but unlike them, it bore twing, golden crescents.

The sigil of the noble house Arc…

"A fine showing, boy." The man praised him, a smile stretching across a worn face as he rested his hand on the sheathed sword at his side. "A fine showing indeed. You wanted to speak with me?"

"Y-Yes, Sir." He nodded, turning and covering his face with his shield so he could spit the blood out of his mouth.

"Come on then." The armored man snapped, turning and jerking his head towards the camp. "Let us speak."

He was led through the astoundingly small camp by the man and towards the rectangular tent that stood surrounded by the four others. Inside it was strikingly simple, with a fine, fur-lined bedroll to one side and a table to the other. A map was on top of that, along with food and drinks the likes of which Jaune had only heard of in stories. The armored man paced over to it with him in tow and plucked a pair of goblets from the table, filling each from the wine bottle beside them and turning to offer him one.

Awestruck, Jaune took it and tasted a sip. It was sweet and heady, like fruit but with a burn to it that made him cough.

"Hah." The captain laughed, easing onto a thick chair obviously meant to take his armor and sipping at his own goblet. "First time with Atlesian frostwine?"

"T-This is Atlesian frostwine?"

"Mhm." The man smiled, "Always heard it was magic or some such. Always cold. Alas, but it's just very good wine."

"Y-Yes, it is."

"Please, sit." The man smiled, gesturing at the chair across the table. Jaune did as he was told and the man's smile softened as he pushed the plate of sliced and dried meat towards him. "Venison. Feel free."

"I-I couldn't…"

"I insist."

"Very well…" The sweetness of the wine was a perfect compliment to the smooth, juicy texture of the venison. Jaune groaned and the knight laughed, a bright, happy sound. "I appreciate the compliment, boy! Hunted 'n cooked it myself."

"I can tell." It was so fresh and soft… So unlike the dry sausages and salted fish he'd had when he could.

"Hmph." The Lord Arc nodded, gesturing to himself with an armored hand. "Nicholas Arc. And leave the Lord nonsense at the tent flaps, if it pleases you. Fight like you put up, I know why you're here, and those of the Preying Eagle are kin."

"U-Understood, Sir."

"Good." Nicholas nodded, "And your name is Jaune Smithson, no?"

"You heard?"

"I did." He nodded, "You wish to join us. To be a brother of the Preying Eagle."

"Y-Yes, sir." He nodded, smiling eagerly. "More than anything, I just want to protect people, Sir. A-And I believe I can do that serving with you and yours."

"And you understand what it is to fight a Grimm?"

"I…" He wanted to say yes, that was the easy answer. The safe one. But it wasn't the honest one. So, quietly, he shook his head and said, "No, Sir, I don't. How could I? I'm a blacksmith raised, if not born."

"Not born?"

"Adopted." He explained quietly, "By the smith. My father died with the militia, I was three. My older sisters died of illness, and my mother did too. It didn't take me, so… The smith did."

"I see." The man nodded, turning and pouting his goblet out. Jaune's brows furrowed and he explained, "For the fallen. Lost, in your case. It's tradition, when a brother speaks of his loss, to sacrifice a drink to the soul."

"Ah." He blinked, "Wait-"

"Yes." Nicholas rose, hand splaying on the table between them as he leaned forward and proclaimed, "I dub thee Jaune Eagleson, son of the Order of the Preying Eagle. When we return to a city, you shall be granted arms, armor and training under myself personally. Until then, you shall fight only from the second line, behind the eight I brought with me."

"I-I…" Jaune blinked, "Thank you, Sir."

"Thank me when the Hunt is done, Jaune." He said quietly, turning and moving to a chest at the back of the tent. From it he drew a mail shirt and a simple, blank tabard. Turning, he held both out and explained, "My spare-cloth tabard and my spare mail. It will do, for now, as will that hammer."

"Thank you, Sir." He rose and reached for it, pulling the armor on unsurely until Nicholas chuckled and stepped in to show him how to cinh his belt around it to hold it in place, and how to tie the leather bindings of his tabard taught at the shoulders to hold it there, too.

Stepping back, Nicholas nodded, "A workable fit. You're near to my size, Jaune, which is fortunate enough."

"Yeah." He nodded, running his hands down the cold steel of the chainmail. Actual armor…

"Get some rest, Jaune." He grunted, nodding his head towards the door to the tent. "Come morning, we've a pack of Beowolves to hunt."

"Yes, Sir." He nodded.

He couldn't wait.

XxX----XxX----XxX

The next morning, just barely after the sun itself had woken up, Jaune was roused by the man he shared his tent with. He slipped on his armor like he'd been shown and made his way outside to where the eight soldiers had already begun breaking down camp, loading their tents and supplies onto a wagon with their sigil emblazoned on the side of it. They would return for it once their hunt was done and move on. When that was done, the eight soldiers formed a uniform line in front of Nicholas and Jaune both and began to march.

Into the forest…

The trees of the forests that dominated Jaune's little slice of Remnant were great, thick, towering oaks with wide spaces between them and canopies that blotted out much of the sun's shine. The ground below was bare but for the thic, hardy shrubbery and ferns that managed to survive on the dappling sunlight. But that all meant their force could advance in formation with little trouble.

Hours passed, and his legs started to ache…

Strong he was, definitely, but he had never needed to walk quite so far.

Still, he kept his quiet until Nicholas called them to rest. Then he let himself groan, and found a comfortable spot of dirt to fall onto.

"Not used to the walking?" A soldier asked as she approached, her dark eyes peering out from under her kettle-hat. He shook his head and she sighed, offering him a water skin and chuckling, "Yeah, neither was I, back in the day. You'll be right, no worries."

"T-Thanks, miss."

"Clay Eaglesdaughter." She answered, "Just Clay, though. Don't, ah, use the rest."

"Alright." He took a long draught from the waterskin and handed it back to her with a sigh. "Thanks a lot… That was a life-saver."

"It's no-"

"Grimm!" One of the soldiers cut her off as a primeval roar split the air. Jaune was on his feet in a heartbeat, turning towards the sound as the soldier fell back and raised his shield. The lupine monster leapt onto his shield and threw its weight to the side, staggering him to the side as a second just like it came up on his flank.

The young woman's scream split the air as its jaw closed around her head…

And then, all too suddenly, it stopped.

Her partner fared no better, collapsing under the weight of the Grimm as it leapt high and came down on him. His axe lashed out at its side and bit into flesh twice before the Grimm's armored paw came up and down to cave his skull in, the kettle-hat holding up as well as a tin one might have under the beast's force.

Snarling, the two wolves stood on their hind legs, crimson eyes burning hate set to armored, furred form.

The rest formed up into a shield wall, axes, hammers and swords glinting in the light. Nicholas formed up just behind them, the man drawing his sword and yanking his sheath free. It expanded, by mechanisms unknown and divine, into a kit shield that adhered to his arm. He raised his sword to call for calm, but the Grimm weren't waiting for them to recover, and charged towards them with roars that drowned him out.

Each leapt at the shield-man on the furthest flanks, bearing them down by weight and using their dexterous paws to rip their heads free. Blood sprayed over the dead soldier's brothers and sisters as Jaune watched.

No one panicked, though, as the massive, lupine creatures stood, each a head taller and a shoulder broader than the soldiers. Instead, they fell back, closing around their captain and forcing Jaune aside to enclose him. Each of the Grimm leapt for the middle, now, but the formation held, each soldier supporting the weight of the two together. One tried to loom over them and tasted Nicholas' long, glinting sword for its trouble, scoring across its chest and forcing it back.

It fell away, but never released the woman's shield, wrenching her out of formation.

The other side of the shield wall buckled and fell without the depth of the formation to hold them up, braced from the other side. As they succumbed, the shields angled until the other Grimm could stand on it. And then it leapt, high into the air, and slammed back down with all the weight of a cow.

Two soldiers were crushed by it, but those beside them set on the beast with fury. The Grimm turned and caught the wrist of one in its jaw, and then turned more, snapping out with a hind leg to pull the soldier into pieces. Flesh parted before armor, but parted it did, and the soldier collapsed like a metal sack of fresh meat.

The other buried her sword in its spine and the Grimm roared, but did not die. Instead it turned and threw itself onto the woman, its bottom half useless but top a mess of flailing, black limbs. Heart pounding, Jaune watched the woman hide behind her shield and turn, searching. Nicholas was fighting the other, ducking and weaving expertly but failing to find purchase to kill the beast.

Desperate, dark eyes turned to him as the Grimm's claw closed around the edge shield and tugged it aside frantically-

"Clay…" He murmured, heart stilling for the briefest moment before he charged, hammer raised.

It came down on the side of its head as its jaw closed on Clay's own, crushing it in a pulpy mass before Jaune could brain it. It collapsed on top of her and Jaune froze, staring at the black body and white armor. His first Grimm kill and… He knew the stories as well as anyone, it was a Beowolf, but larger.

Alpha Beowolves?

Gods…

"Gah!" Jaune turned to see Nicholas fall, the Grimm's jaw wrapped around the forearm of his sword arm and paw forcing his torso away. Steel shattered and the arm flew towards Jaune as Niocholas collapsed and the Grimm loomed over him.

A bronze-hilted sword fell free from limp hands and Jaune reached for it, standing and charging, the sound of his blood roaring in his ears.

The monster saw him coming and rose, but Nicholas intervened, grabbing a sword from the bloodied mud with his shield-hand and lancing it into the monster's guts. It roared and Jaune leapt, burying the sword in its chest deeply enough it stuck and he hung there, eyes closed as the beast wheezed.

And then collapsed backwards, with Jaune astride it.

Two kills, then…

He shook of the pride in him and scrambled off of the monster and to the captain's side. Kneeling beside him, Jaune asked, "Are you-"

"Dead." The man wheezed through a laugh, "Just waiting for it to catch up to me. Alphas… We should have brought more men..."

"I-I'll go for help."

"No." The man wheezed, grabbing Jaune by the throat and pulling him back to his bloodied face. "No… You're to head straight for Vale, with our cart."

"What?"

"There aren't many of the Preying Eagle, Jaune." Nicholas coughed, "My company and four others. Our n-name is old, but… Our ways don't appeal to many. Our methods, even fewer. You have to… Report our losses."

"I…" He squinted his eyes to pinch the tears away and then nodded, "Yes, Sir. I'll do it, no matter if an army of Grimm gets in my way."

"Good… Lad." Nicolas wheezed, "You… Killed an Alpha with Crocea Mors…"

"I-I did."

"Then… It is yours…" Nicholas wheezed, "Along with… My name."

"Your… Name?"

"You look enough l-like me." Nicholas grinned, his teeth stained in blood. "My sword-arm- Get the glove off, and take my ring. When you get to Vale, present it to Lord Batholomew Oobleck, t-the Grand Archivist. Tell him… Gods I hate the name, b-but tell him you are the son of the Yellow Death."

"Son…" Jaune blinked, confused, and asked, "But we just met. Why would you-"

"The House of Arc is a House of one, Jaune." He snarled, yanking Jaune down to his face by the throat and staring madly into his eyes. "The name spread h-hope! Without it… The people will fear…"

And fear would bring the Grimm to those places that believed in the name so much.

"Your duty…" Nicholas gurgled, "Protect… Innocent…"

"I will, on my life, I will protect the innocent in your name." He swore as the man's head fell back. Then, he let the tears spill, whispering, "I will, Nicholas."

An hour passed before he returned to the cart and horses, Crocea Mors in his hand, sword at home in its sheath. Sore, bloodied hands set it in the cart and then he pulled himself in. A whispered command set the horses moving, the reins hanging limply in his hands as he stared ahead, eyes drained of color.

Jaune Arc rode to Vale…