Seven

He jerked away from fitful sleep and rolled over to blink up at Deery's smiling face as he hand withdrew. Quietly, she said, "Up, Lord Arc. The call is out, and you need your armor."

"My… Armor?" She stood and stepped back as he rolled over and sat up. A trunk had been set on his desk and a pair of Chastened in the blue uniforms they wore were waiting to either side of it, faces flat and impassive. He blinked, bleary eyed and confused and then got to his feet and stammered, "W-Wait, my actual-"

"Quickly." Deery grunted, shoving him gently towards the two Faunus and speaking to them. "He's never worn armor, or had it adorned onto him. Take care, but be quick."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Mistr- Hey!" He squawked and flushed as the two men descended on him, one tugging up his shirt while the other went for his thin sleep-trousers. He nearly fell back before he felt a pair of hands press him up and looked over his shoulder. "D-Deery?!"

"The call has gone out, Master." She reiterated simply and quietly, in a voice that was almost… Frighteningly empty and cold. Worried, he flicked a look over his shoulder and she went on quietly, "In barely more than an hour, the contingent marches."

"Why?" He felt a tremor run through the hands pressed against his back and turned to look over his shoulder. She smiled, but it was thin. Frail, even. As if made out of glass rather than flesh and blood. Worried, he yanked his arm free of the Chastened man's grip and murmured in a low rumble, "Deery, what is it?"

"Grimm." She answered simply, "Sighted two weeks from here by foot, towards the coast in the east. A pack of two dozen."

"Two dozen…" Less than five had slaughtered more soldiers in more armor than he'd ever seen and barely gone down. The grace of the gods had saved Jaune, then. And now he was being told to march after two dozen of the monsters?

His stomach turned at the thought and he could feel the blood rush out of his face.

His breathing quickened and his heart raced, blood roaring in his ear as his stomach tightened.

There was no way he could-

"Hey, now." He felt fingers on his chin that dragged his gaze back to the Chastened woman. "Breathe. All will be fine, you march with a hundred Brothers and Sisters of your Order, Lord Arc."

"Nicholas had soldiers, too…"

"Have faith." She said, releasing him and nodding for the two others to get back to work, one pulling the thicker, padded trousers up his legs while the other slid his arm into the sleeve of a gambeson coat with professional, practiced care and grace. They adjusted breezily to his every tumble and twist as they worked without complaint. While they worked, she said, "In the Gods, and in your Brothers and Sisters. The fallen Lord Arc did."

The silent message was also an obvious one-

'And now you need to do it, too.'

"Yeah…" He swallowed and nodded, "Yeah."

His panic didn't actually lessen at all as he hardened himself to what had to be, but, strangely enough, he did regain some form of calm. It was all a front, little more than self-delusion, but it let him breathe. Let him focus on all the things around him beside the coming Grimm threat. And calmed his stomach, thanks be to the Brothers on high for that. He was at least glad not to have emptied his stomach on his quarter's floors.

That would have been quite the shameful display…

Instead of thinking about that, he turned his attention to his armor.

It was simple, made up of a dark blue that was almost black gambeson thick enough to do its duty without giving him heat-stroke, with long padded sleeves. It laced up the front simply, tied by base cotton strands that were protected by a short-sleeved mail shirt that was slid over his head. It hung down just past his waist, cinched in place by a thick, heavy leather belt covered on the front, back and right side by thick steel circles to protect it. His thighs were covered by the mail that hung down, but they were also covered by a pair of chain-mail additions that wrapped around his thigh and were laced snugly at the inside, just beyond the curve of the muscle.

Heavy leather boots and gloves covered his forearms and lower legs, up to the knee and elbow. Both were topped by layered steel plates linked by thick, corded leather. The hands themselves weren't armored beyond simple round plates on the backs of each hand, and the fingers of his sword-side were left bare for dexterity, but the toes of his boots were capped by polished iron.

"How is the fit, my Lord?" One of the Chastened asked, tugging at his armor while the other tightened the leather cinches that kept his mail-sleeves taut on his upper arms.

"Comfortable." A bit weighty, but then again, he was wearing a lot of metal, so some weight was to be expected. He raised his hands and clenched and unclenched his hands, getting used to the stiffness of the leather and the weight of the metal on his arms. Quietly, he added, "Thank you for the help."

"Oh, you needn't-"

"He has his ways. Respect them, Fox." Deery cut in, stepping around him with a thick, blue cloth draped over her arms. Smiling, she held it up and asked, "Is it to your liking, my Lord Arc?"

It was a thick cloth, obviously a tabard, edged in the same yellowish gold Nicholas had worn. The Arc colors, he was certain. One end was colored with the bright icon of the Order of the Preying Eagle, the golden bird of prey swooping down towards what would be the front bottom of the long cloth. The back was collared in the twin, golden crescents of the most noble Arc house.

His House, now…

It never ceased to set his anxiety working. Or his excitement.

Though, definitely mostly his anxiety.

It had a hole for his head and he let her put it on him, and then tuck it through his belt. She tugged it a few times to make certain it sat straight and without any unsightly folds, and then the two Chastened tied the thin laces under his arms. Finally, they draped a simple mail hood over his head which hung close around his head and neck. It was attached to the inside of a simple kettle hat and the mail itself had a thin cotton thread that cinched under his chin, to keep the hat and mail on and in place.

With it all on, he finally felt like the Knight he had come here to become. Every step chinked and echoed with the jostling of his mail and the scraping of leather on metal and cloth. And his movements had a certain momentum to them, leant by the weight of his armor.

He felt strong…

"My Lord." He turned to accept the wooden round-shield one of the Chastened offered him, the front painted blue with his House's symbol emblazoned across it. Finally, two more things were laid out on his desk. And when he looked to one of the Chastened with a question clear in his eyes, the man, Fox, explained, "We were unsure which would you wish to wear into battle, Lord."

"I'll carry the other, along with your few other things, in a carriage in the rear." Deery offered supportingly, "So do not fear losing it. Choose for your comfort."

"Right…" The sword was the obvious choice, an aged, Arc relic in a refurbished sheath that gleamed in the Dust-light. But… He didn't know how to use it. The older looking, dull iron hammer beside it, though?

Jaune had years of practice with hammers.

"Thank you." He nodded as he accepted the weapon and slid it into the loop of his belt. It was heavy, and made him lean a bit to one side to off-set it, but he took comfort in the little bit of home. Ready, now, he turned to Deery and asked, "So, what now?"

"You head outside to formation." She explained simply, "The march will come soon, and you need to be there."

"Alright." He nodded and turned for the door, then hesitated and half-turned to the woman. Unsurely, he asked, "Do I just, uh, leave the rest to you, then?"

She blinked her surprise, then chuckled, nodded and said, "Yes, you do. I'll see the room cleaned, your things prepared, and then get aboard the carriage to follow the march."

"Alright." He paid her a nod in farewell and turned to leave, "Take care of things, then, Deery."

"Yes, my Lord." She spoke to his back, "It will be done."

XxX----XxX----XxX

Breakfast had been set outside, as it always was, but now the courtyard was crowded by most of the two hundred men and women that made up his company. All were dressed much like he was and carried shields like his own, either painted a blank, flat and dark blue or with the iconography of the Order stenciled on the fronts. To one side of the courtyard a dozen horses were being armored and saddled by Chastened while more gallantly armored knights with long capes and heavier, shining steel plate talked.

"Arc!" He turned and stumbled back a step as a bowl of hearty, thick soup was shoved into his armored sternum. He looked up as Cardin turned to lean back against the wall beside the door he'd come out of and grunted, "Eat up, and quick. We're leaving soon."

"Y-Yeah, I heard." He nodded, setting his shield against the wall and grabbing the spoon left in the bowl. After a bite, he asked, "You, uh, know why, right?"

"A Grimm hunt." The large man nodded with an almost eager smile under the rim of his kettle-hat. "Off towards the coast somewhere. Why, did you think I'd be scared?"

"N-No…"

"Ah." Cardin seemed to realize something because his face fell, suddenly, and he turned to face Jaune bodily. "What happened to your father was a strange thing, Arc. Not normal. Don't be skittish."

"I'm not." He lied, and weakly too, judging by Cardin's sigh and chuckle. But the man was kind enough not to press it, at least. And after a few moments of talking he turned to head off, offering only a simple, "Gonna find Dove, make sure he eats up. We have a long march after all!"

"Yeah…" And there was another anxiety, too. He'd never been on a march… How bad was it actually even going to be?

He had no idea what to even expect.

"Lord Arc." He turned as the familiar voice approached him and smiled as Oobleck stepped out of the door beside him. He was armored similar to jaune himself, though he wore no helmet and bracers. When he noticed Jaune's gaze, he chuckled and explained breezily, "I'm afraid my armor is ceremonial, my young Lord. While I can fight, I do not."

"No?" He blinked, "But…"

"I'm a Knight of the Order?" He smiled, snorted, and turned to watch the preparing men and women with Jaune. "I am, yes, and as I said I can fight. I'm a rather widely renowned duellist, matter of fact."

"You are?"

"I am." He bowed his head, "Perhaps I shall spend some time, when we are together again, and impart a few tricks to you? Only if you are interested, of course."

"O-Of course I am!" He beamed, excitement rushing through him like a wild and rising tide. Then he blinked, pursed his lips and, curious, asked, "But, uh, why would you spend your time on that?"

"The next Arc head must know how to fight." He answered simply, and then added, under his breath and almost… Forebodingly, "You never know what's coming, my Lord. Preparedness is key."

"Yeah…" He sighed, "I guess so."

"You suppose so." The older man chided gently, "You have a role to play. Grammar and word choice are key to playing it."

"I gu-" He cut himself off with a grimace and corrected himself, "I suppose so, my Lord."

"Brother, not lord." He chided gently again, "Technically, you outrank me."

"I do?"

"You are the heir-apparent of the noble and ancient House of Arc, my Lord." Oobleck explained with a pleasant little smile and a sort of world-weary shrug. "I'm a lord by rank more than blood. As the Archivist of the Order, I'm a well-regarded man with access to wealth, prestige and privileges. Which, to get back to our earlier point, is why I don't fight. I'm meant to record, report and oversee, not actually take part in the fighting. All in the interests of the Kingdom's future."

"I guess that makes sense…"

"Jaune…"

"Right, sorry." He blinked, flicked a look either way and asked, quietly, "Is that why you… Tested me as you did?"

"It is." He nodded, "The future of Vale, and its people, is of my utmost concern. Mine and a handful of others."

"Other… Archive people?"

"Archivists." The man laughed brightly, "And yes. Some of them, at least. More importantly, though, as time is short… Have you considered your Vow as yet?"

"My vow…?"

"Deery hadn't gotten there?"

"No." He sighed, took a long drink from his bowl's broth and said, "Well, she mentioned it. But we were going to cover it tonight, after training. But, well…"

"The call to march puts that hope to an end." Oobleck sighed and chuckled, "Ah, the onward march of time… Ever a hindrance to the plans of mice and men, and Kingdoms of both, I wager."

"I… Don't think mice have kingdoms?"

"It's a saying, Lord." The man laughed, a restrained but bright little sound that he covered up with a cough into his bare fist. Shaking it off, he explained, "Your Vow is, well, think of it as a sort of… Promise. Between you and the Gods. A promise of what you will strive to do, in all things, in their sight."

"A promise to the gods…"

"I see you appreciate the weight of vows made to the gods." Oobleck nodded, evidently pleased at the reaction. In the proud but detached sort of way a teacher was pleased when a student understood something immediately, without explanation. Port had shown him that reaction once or twice, when Jaune grasped a more complex task properly. "You should think carefully about your vow, Lord Arc. It will shape your future in the Order, how people view you, and, ultimately, how you view yourself. In time."

"New blood, at attention!"

"That would be you, Lord." Oobleck nodded towards the gate into the stronghold, on which stood a tall man in Order armor.

He raised his voice even louder as silence descended on the courtyard and called out, "Out the gate! The holiest among us awaits you and your vow! Speak to them as unto the gods themselves! Truth and honor - only these things, lest the Grimm take you!"

"Think quickly." Oobleck said as the handful of men and women broke away from the crowd and moved towards the gate. Jaune turned back to him and he bowed his head and added, "But carefully as well. And be safe, as you march."

"Yeah…" He waited until the older man disappeared back through the door before he turned to follow the others.

Why did half his words sound like warnings and threats?

Outside the walls of the fortress, a small tent had been erected. It was made of blue cloth edged in the Order's colors, but over it flew the banner of the Kingdom of Vale. Not the Order of the Preying Eagle. A pair of heavily armored Preying Eagle knights stood to either side of the tent's entrance, plated armor shining brightly and ornately eagle-decorated tower shields resting in front of them.

His fellow young, fresh-faced knights stood lined up in front of it and he joined them in the surprisingly deep quiet outside the walls.

It felt like a march to a funeral…

After a few minutes of knights slipping into the tent, one at a time, and then emerging a few moments later, Jaune found himself at the entrance. And oh, his heart raced. It was as if he were preparing to face a Grimm already, or an execution. His stomach spun, his blood ran cold, and he could feel the panic trying to break through. Trying to drown him.

Then, a quiet voice called from inside, "Enter."

He hesitated for only a second, to take a deep and steadying breath, before he stepped into the tent.

Inside, the tent was simple… Nearly empty, even. Save for a simple wooden chair sat on a raised dais in the middle of the tent. It was ringed by thick candles set on brass shafts as tall as Jaune was, that cast the tent in a dim but warm light and filled the air with a heady scent. Incense and smoke burned at his eyes, but he ignored it as the old, wrinkled woman sitting in her seat gestured for him to come closer.

The woman herself was old and frail, dressed in a simple silver gown that matched her thin, gray hair. Still, when she gestured for him to do so, he sank to his knees in front of her and bowed his head in respect.

"Speak your name for the gods, boy."

"Jaune Arc, of House Arc." He answered and dared to look up to meet her gaze, to see if she desired more.

"Your name is heard." She smiled thinly, almost amused, and asked, "And your Vow? Your words for the gods, who even now stand behind me, shadowed from this world of beasts and sin?"

"I…" He froze, for a moment, and thought. His mind raced and reaching, looking for… Something, that he would be happy to live - and maybe even die, one day - for. He thought of old stories he'd heard, what about them had so enraptured him.

And, finally, he spoke, "I swear to protect all those innocents who should stand behind me, who… Who should need me. No matter what the consequence upon my head should be."

"A lofty goal, and a worthy one." The woman complimented, "Do you swear yourself to this, for now and for always?"

"I do." He nodded, "By the Gods."

Suddenly, she lashed out, producing a small wooden rod with a padded end from somewhere in her robe and slamming it across his face. So sudden, and shockingly forceful, was the blow that it sent him reeling back. He froze, half-standing, and turned to look at her in confusion and fear. Had he made a mistake?

But, instead, she only smiled warmly and bowed her head, "Let this be the final blow you take without answering in kind, young Lord. And may the Gods watch you most closely."

He nodded and, in spite of himself, offered a quiet, "Thank you."

Then he turned and took his leave, one hand rubbing at his bruised cheek.

XxX----XxX----XxX

'Let this be the final blow you take without answering in kind…'

That, at least, had been something completely, actually truthful. One of the few things the Church would tell me, in the coming weeks and months. For though I took many blows, from many places and for many reasons, I always answered in kind. Or had those I would call kin who would do so for me.

Through so much conflict, so much loss…

At least, until now, I was never alone.

XxX----XxX----XxX