The Eyes of the World, Part Three (New)
The Eyes of the World, Part Three
As the commentators announced that the battle was over, Turnus found that his first thought was for Professor Lionheart.
Probably because the man was his houseguest, although that didn’t stop him from realising that it was a little strange for him to be thinking about the man at this time, as all the crowd around them — including his own people; Aventinus sounded like he was trying to wear out his voice with the volume of his cheering — exploded in enthusiastic rejoicing.
Nevertheless, in the midst of the ecstasy, Turnus did find that there was a part of him that felt a little bit sorry for old Lionheart. If Pyrrha had been a Haven student, then he, Lionheart, would have shared in the triumph and in the rewards that would follow her victory. As the man who had shepherded Mistral back to Vytal glory and their first triumph in that arena in many decades, he would have been honoured for his part in the great accomplishment. He would have been made a Companion of the Emperor, perhaps even an Agema Companion; there was even a chance that he would have been made a Captain-Companion; or else he could have been granted a Bronze Shield, or even a Silver Shield. He could — this was an outside chance but a possibility nevertheless — have been made Lord Lionheart and granted lands that would have enabled him to retire, his dignity enhanced and without risk of being diminished by later defeat, into that pastoral idyll of which the poets sang.
If Pyrrha had been a Haven student. But, of course, she was not, and so all of those rewards would remain out of Lionheart’s reach. Even if, next year or in some future but not too future year, a Haven student managed to claim the crown, then the weight of it would be far less because Mistral had won glory not long before under Pyrrha Nikos.
The rewards that would accrue to Lionheart would be correspondingly less.
As it was, and judging by the cheering of the crowd, by the dancing, by the shouting and the waving of arms, by the sheer joy that erupted out of their throats, by the energy that surrounded all these people of Mistral, great rewards would fall to Pyrrha and Pyrrha alone. She already had a Bronze Shield, granted to her when she had set a new record for victories in the Mistral Tournament, but surely, a Silver Shield was in her future now, to say nothing of admission into the Companions. How could Mistral’s greatest living athlete be denied? People had been honoured for far less than that in recent years, and amidst the spectacle of Councillors rewarding themselves with endless honours merely for doing their jobs and rewarding their cronies with the same for making campaign contributions, it would be a scandal if someone who had actually accomplished something were not to be appropriately rewarded for it by a grateful kingdom.
No, Pyrrha would be on the new year’s honour’s list. If the Council did not decide to rush it through sooner.
On what grounds could she be denied?
After all, it was impossible to stand here, in this crowd, and deny that Pyrrha Nikos had indeed accomplished something.
No one could stand here, in the midst of a crowd like this, roaring with delight, waving their arms in the air, showering beer and wine over the heads of their fellows as they waved their arms without regard for what they were holding in those arms — Turnus could see a doughnut flying through the air as it left someone’s grip — and deny that Pyrrha Nikos had accomplished something.
She had given Mistral something to roar about, to shout about, to sing about, to cheer about, and that was not nothing. That was not nothing at all.
No, that was quite something indeed. It had been too long since they in Mistral had something to shout about. Although Pyrrha Nikos’ victory in the Vytal Tournament would not restore Mistral’s fortunes, in the absence of anything that could or might restore them — if anything could short of a complete transformation of Mistralian society which would perhaps render it no longer Mistral in anything but name — it was no bad thing that they had something to shout about.
And perhaps, having something to shout about and cheer about, having had it proven to them that Mistral could triumph once again in some field of arms, that they were not doomed to suffer total, complete, and inevitable decline in status, wealth, influence, and all else besides, that they could rally … perhaps it was possible that someone — someone wiser than him — might give some thought to how they could avert decline in other ways than Vytal glory, how they might save Mistral.
He would confess that, though he could hardly do worse than the present Council of placemen and incompetents, he was hard-pressed to see a way; if Mistral were to become more like Atlas, then it would surely improve its condition in many ways, but … but then it might be less Mistral and more of a warmer, more southerly Atlas blessed with abundant farmland; but at what cost? Would the drive to self-improvement, or merely to improvement — for could improvement be called self-improvement if one was merely imitating someone else? — accomplish what Lord Fir and the eyes of Mantle had failed to do and wash away Mistral’s past, its history, honour, and tradition.
All the things that had brought them this tournament triumph?
And yet, what other chance had they to recover true greatness, in more than laurel crowns to set in the Temple of Victory?
He could not say. For all that he had seen much in Atlas to admire, nevertheless, there was much in Mistral to love.
No doubt, there was someone wiser than he who would divine some true and middle path, even if he could not name them and was certain that they did not sit on the Council.
Almost anyone could do better than the Council.
But now was not the time for such thoughts; they were thoughts for the future, for a possible future at the least, a future in which Mistral, emboldened by success, resolved to save itself.
Now was the time to celebrate the success itself. Now was the time to howl.
Or to clap, as Camilla was doing beside him, her pale hands colliding. A smile was set upon her face. She glanced at him with her red eyes.
“It is as I said, my lord,” she declared. “Pyrrha Nikos is touched by fortune. I daresay, every face in Mistral will be smiling until the winter snows arrive.”
“'Every face'?” Turnus asked, eyebrows rising slightly.
Certainly, Camilla had a point, based on the crowd around them at the moment. Juturna, who rarely seemed to have a good word to say about Pyrrha Nikos, was whooping with glee, both arms raised up into the air; Lausus had picked her up and planted her on his shoulders, hands on her thighs as he swayed a little back and forth, hooting in time with her. Opis was chanting ‘Thirty years! Thirty years!’ in spite of the fact that it had been more than that by now. Aventinus had tears in his eyes, even as he laughed with joy like a child.
“What face would not wear a smile, my lord, now that we have won the Vytal Crown?” asked Camilla. She chuckled. “The Princess Without a Crown is crowned now with laurel on her brow, and who dare frown at that?”
“I take your point,” Turnus said; even those who were envious of her accomplishment would be well-advised now to keep it to themselves for the time being; there would be no talk of Cinder Fall now, or of her teammate and the allegations made against her. Pyrrha Nikos, the pride and glory of Mistral reborn, had restored to Mistral its own pride and glory, and nothing would be allowed to take away from that, nothing to detract from this moment of accomplishment, nothing to tarnish what had been restored. If anyone had any doubts about Pyrrha Nikos’ loyalty, her allegiances, her character, nevertheless, they would be well advised to shut up about it, at least for a while. Perhaps not until there was another Mistralian champion to rally behind, but certainly until a discrete interval had passed between then and now.
And some, like Juturna, might even find themselves being swept away by the drama of the moment and smiling anyway until the winter came to dampen the mood.
For himself, he had no envy, except perhaps towards Jaune Arc, that Valish peasant, and even that … this was not a time for envy.
“It is a great night,” Turnus declared. “A night to remember.”
Camilla nodded. “I would that your father were here to see it.”
Turnus’ smile tightened a little. “Indeed. He was never the greatest fan of the arena and the fighters, but he would have liked to have seen Mistral triumph and seen this city given something to crow about for once that didn’t happen generations ago.”
“Shall I…?” Camilla hesitated a moment. “Shall I get us some wine, my lord, and we may toast his memory along with Mistral’s success?”
Turnus half-scoffed, although he was sure that Camilla would not take it as him scoffing at her. “'Wine'? From here? Will it not be the cheapest dishwater swill imaginable?”
“No doubt, it will be nothing compared to some of the vintages in the wine cellar, lord, but if you require me to go to the house and back, I may be some time,” Camilla murmured.
Turnus laughed. “I assure you, I’m not sending you running anywhere; I was just … never mind, forgive me; my … snobbery was in poor taste.”
“As poor a taste as the wine on offer, my lord?” Camilla asked, a touch of mischief creeping into her voice like a child into a forbidden room.
“I have apologised!” Turnus cried. “Go, go — no, stay, stay; I shall get the wine — from here, mind you — and we shall toast; it was a fine idea.”
Camilla nodded. “Then I shall await you here, my lord.”
Turnus nodded in his turn, turning away from her in search of the nearest stall selling wine — assuming that anyone would be in a state to serve him; all the vendors were celebrating as enthusiastically as the spectators. Still, he had no doubt that they would still want lien as much as they wanted to celebrate. He just hoped the queue wouldn’t be too large.
“It’s a grand thing, isn’t it, my lord?” Aventinus asked, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s a really grand thing. If only my Dad were still around to see it.”
“He would have been proud?” Turnus asked.
“He would have been hopping mad that it was her and not him, my lord,” Aventinus admitted. “And jealous as a Valish merchant besides, but … he’d have been pleased for Mistral too, I’ve no doubt. He’d have been glad to see something go the way of this kingdom, as we all are.”
“Indeed,” Turnus said, patting him upon the muscular arm. “Enjoy the night.”
“And you too, my lord,” Aventinus said. His eyes widened as he looked up at the screen. “Gods, look at that!”
Turnus had his back to the screen. He turned around as the cheers of the crowd began to turn to gasps of shock. The cameras, he saw, had panned upwards, away from Pyrrha Nikos and her defeated Atlesian opponent, up to the top of the arena where — was that a nevermore? Were those explosions from missiles?
All cheering had practically died out now, replaced with murmurs of consternation and alarm from people who had no more idea of what was happening than Turnus did.
“Was that,” Juturna began, “was that a grimm?”
“Aye, it was,” Camilla murmured.
“And an Atlesian airship following,” Turnus growled, taking a step towards his sister. “Lausus, put her down.”
“Yes, my lord,” Lausus said, and at once lowered Juturna back onto the ground.
Another ragged gasp ran through the whole crowd as another nevermore descended upon the arena, landing on the forcefield that covered up the hole in the roof and beginning to peck at it with its beak.
“Are the grimm attacking the arena?” Juturna asked. “Has that ever happened before?”
Turnus’ brow furrowed. As far as he was aware, the answer was no. As far as he was aware, it had never been a risk. But it seemed to be happening now, nonetheless.
It was unlikely that those two nevermores were the only grimm in the air over Vale.
He glanced around him, seeing expressions of dismay where there had been joy only a moment before, looks of shock and astonishment replacing exultation and delight. The electricity that had been in the air was gone, replaced by a cold snap, a brittleness born of surprise and a lack of information. Many people — Opis amongst them — had their scrolls out, dividing their attention between the big screen up in front of them and the small screens in their hands as they desperately scrolled through their feeds for additional news about what was going on.
“Someone on the promenade says they can see grimm outside fighting the Atlesians,” Opis said. “They’ve taken a picture of it, here.” She held out her scroll towards Tarpeia, to show her.
“Camilla,” Turnus said. “Take Juturna home. Choose an escort.”
Camilla, the smile gone from her face, nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“You’re sending me home?” Juturna asked. “Why?”
Because this place might become a riot or a panicked mob soon enough, Turnus thought. The switch from joy to anxiety had been too sudden; it was like too swift a switch from hot to cold, too much too soon. He didn’t want Juturna here if things got out of hand.
“Because the celebration has been cancelled,” he said, a touch of sharpness in his voice.
“But—” Juturna began.
“Juturna,” Camilla said softly. “This is no place for you.” She paused. “And you, my lord?”
“I will stay here for now, see what’s happening,” Turnus said. And besides, while he might send Juturna and Camilla away, he was sufficiently conscious of his own dignity that he didn’t wish to be seen scuttling off the moment an unexpected reversal took place. What would people say if he was seen to be fleeing from the mere image of a grimm on television?
Camilla pursed her lips together, and for a moment, Turnus thought that she would argue with him, but in the event, she did not; she only said, “As you will, my lord.”
“And tell the others to keep their weapons close and stay in the house; I want everyone at hand,” Turnus added.
“Yes, my lord,” Camilla said. “Opis, Tarpeia, with me; Juturna, come.”
“Right behind you,” Opis murmured, and she and Tarpeia fell in behind Camilla as she walked Juturna away from the square and, more importantly, away from a crowd that was looking more fearful by the second.
Other people were starting to leave too. That would be all to the good, provided that it didn’t become a stampede of people trying to get out. Those that remained were looking increasingly dismayed, all their hopes of a few moments earlier crushed in the claws of those nevermores.
“Fine time for this to happen, isn’t it, my lord?” Lausus muttered as he shuffled closer to Turnus.
“Mmm,” Turnus muttered, as he folded his arms across his chest. “It’s as though the gods heard our cheering and decided to punish our hubris.”
“If they wanted to punish us, my lord, then why did they send the grimm all the way over there?” asked Silvia. “Maybe it’s to punish Pyrrha Nikos’ hubris instead?”
“Punish her for what, winning?” Aventinus demanded. “Someone has to win; why not her? Why not us?”
“I was just—”
“Let’s not have any of that sort of talk,” Turnus said firmly. “Especially not here.”
Silvia bowed her head. “Yes, my lord, I’m sorry.” She paused. “Will that shield hold the nevermore?”
“I don’t know,” Turnus admitted. “No shield is impenetrable, but the creature may be killed before it can break through.”
“Even if it does break through, it’s dead anyway,” Aventinus declared. “It’s going to face our new champion down there.” He looked around. “All these people might take some heart then if they see Pyrrha Nikos cut that thing’s head off.”
“No doubt it would raise a cheer,” Turnus allowed. “But what else is going on out there that we cannot see?”
“Yes!” shouted Sky, leaping up into the air and raising her hands up so high that she bashed her fists on the ceiling. “Ow! But yes!” she cried again, lowering her hands this time. “Yes! She did it!”
River grinned. “Someone’s keen.”
Sky turned towards her. “We should all be keen; she’s practically family.”
“Someone’s compensating for something,” Kendal muttered.
“I—” Sky began, pointing at Kendal. But she stopped, no more words emerging out of her mouth. “I … might be doing that thing that you just said,” she admitted, without actually saying the words themselves. She paused, silent, waiting. “But that doesn’t change what I said; she is practically family, right? I think so, and I think you think so as well, and I know mom thinks so because she gave Jaune the engagement ri-hmmm.” She clammed up, her lips becoming very tight and very pale.
River leaned forwards and pushed herself even further forwards on the settee. “Mom gave Jaune the what now?”
Kendal closed her eyes and looked away. Here we go.
“Mom?” River asked. “Did you give Jaune grandma’s engagement ring?”
Mom said nothing.
“Girls,” Dad began, “let’s just focus on—”
“You gave Jaune grandma’s ring?!” River shouted.
“River,” Chester began, “calm down.”
“I am being very calm under the circumstances!” River declared. “You didn’t give Rouge the ring—”
“That’s probably for the best,” Rouge murmured.
“And you didn’t give me the ring, so how come Jaune gets the ring?” River demanded.
Mom sucked in a breath. “Because he’s the eldest son of the family, dear.”
“He’s the only son of the family,” Aoko pointed out.
“Yes, and that makes things much more straightforward,” Mom replied.
“That … that’s so old-fashioned, Mom,” River pointed out. “That’s … that’s almost backwards. Why should Jaune get Grandma’s ring just because he’s a boy?”
“Why should you get the ring at all?” Kendal asked, opening her eyes again. “If we’re going by strict age, then it would be Rouge—”
“I don’t want it,” Rouge said, a touch of a sigh in her voice. “As I said, it’s probably for the best that I didn’t have it. That ring … Grandma’s ring deserves better than to be tarnished by my unhappiness.”
“And it isn’t just Grandma’s ring, it isn’t just a family ring, it’s also Mom’s ring, and she can give it to whoever she likes,” Kendal went on. “And she wanted to give it to Jaune. That’s her choice.”
“And it isn’t old-fashioned at all,” Mom said defensively. “It’s traditional. Chester and … Chester proposed to you, so he got the ring; was I supposed to give him the ring so that he could give it back to you? Jaune is the boy, so he’ll ask Pyrrha, and he can ask her with the family ring; that’s all there is to it.”
“And what does a ring matter anyway?” Chester asked. “Compared to the two of us, and that little life growin’ inside of you.” He reached over her shoulder to place his hand flat on her belly. “Isn’t that what really matters? Isn’t that the important thing?”
“Of course it is,” River said, leaning back on the sofa. “I’m not saying that it ruined our marriage or anything. It just would have been nice to have been asked, Mom.”
“I must admit, I’m more interested in how Sky found out that Mom had given Jaune the ring,” Rouge said. “Why did you tell Sky but not the rest of us?”
“I didn’t,” Mom replied. “How did you know about that, Sky?”
“I am the Sheriff, Mom,” Sky replied. “I know a lot of things about what goes on around here.”
Rouge folded her arms across her chest. “You’ll forgive my scepticism.”
“Oh, just because none of the rest of you noticed that Mom wasn’t wearing her ring means that there’s no way I could have noticed that?” Sky asked. “Because I did. I noticed that Mom wasn’t wearing her ring, and, thinking back to when I’d last her seen her wearing it, I was left with two possibilities: either that Jaune’s team leader had stolen it and run off to Vale to sell or that Mom had given it to Jaune to give to the nice girl that he was obviously infatuated with. It was quite elementary really, a simple deduction. I’m surprised none of you realised.”
“Chester,” River said. “Will you be a darling and throw a shoe at Sky for me?”
“I think that we’re getting off the topic here,” Dad said heavily. “This is about Pyrrha, remember, the new Vytal Champion?”
“Yes, Dad, thank you, this is about Pyrrha,” Sky declared quickly. “Does anyone have any objections to me saying that she’s part of the family?”
Violet made as if to raise her hand off the carpet, but didn’t actually do it. No one else made any move at all.
“No,” Kendal said, speaking for all of them. “No, Jaune’s obviously taken with her, she was our guest at Dad’s party, and I think Mom was right to give Jaune the ring, leaving aside whether he deserves it more than anyone else … he’s going ask, and it was a nice thing to welcome her into the family. Especially considering that we weren’t all very welcoming to her when she was actually here.”
River winced. “Did you have to bring that up?”
“That is why,” Sky said, “I think that we should throw a party.”
“A party?” Rouge repeated. “A party for what?”
Sky rolled her eyes. “A party for Pyrrha! To celebrate the fact that she’s, like, the big champ! We can invite her and Jaune and Sunset and those other two girls he sent us that picture of, the kid and the black haired girl. We can meet all of them! And, you know, considering … considering that we weren’t always that nice to Pyrrha the last time that she was here — and I include myself in that, although I will say that at least I didn’t believe that she might be cheating on Jaune, because unlike the rest of you, I only changed my mind once—”
“Some of us didn’t change our mind at all,” Kendal pointed out.
“The point is,” Sky went on, “that this can be our chance to actually be pleasant to Pyrrha and supportive of her and Jaune for the whole time that they are here, as well as to meet his other teammates and friends. This … this can be our chance to make amends.”
“We weren’t that bad,” Violet said.
“Yes, Vi, we really were,” replied Sky.
“I don’t know,” Rouge murmured. “Considering what happened to her the last time she was here, would Pyrrha want to come back? But, it would be nice to have some fun and laughter around here.”
“Are you saying we’re not a barrel of laughs?” asked River.
Rouge snorted. “I’m saying … that perhaps a party would be a very nice idea.”
“The arena is under attack by grimm,” Aoko said.
She said it in the same flat, affectless voice that Aoko used to say just about anything, but her words landed like the sudden sound of a gun discharged nonetheless.
“Aoko…” Kendal began, twisting around in her seat. “How do you know that?”
“It’s on the live feed,” Aoko replied. “People are reporting seeing grimm around the arena.”
“Well … they’re wrong,” Sky said. “They must be wrong. There’s—”
“What’s that?” Violet demanded, pointing at the television.
Sky turned around, and in the process obscured Kendal’s view of the television. “What the—?”
“I can’t see,” Kendal said. “Get out of the way!”
Sky didn’t reply, but she did move aside, shuffling out of the way so that Kendal — and River, and Chester, and Rouge stood behind the sofa — could see what she and Violet had seen.
“Sky!” Dad barked, half rising from his seat, because Sky was now blocking the view of Mom and Dad.
Sky retreated some more, as Kendal saw out of the corner of her eye, but her attention was mostly fixed on the television.
And at the grimm that she could see on it.
It was a grimm. It wasn’t one that she’d seen personally — the only grimm that she’d seen personally was a beowolf, thank goodness — but she’d seen pictures of it. It was part of her training, how to recognise common grimm around Vale and a degree of advice on what to do about them, assuming you didn’t have a huntsman or huntress with you for protection. With ground grimm, you ran; with airborne grimm, running wouldn’t do you so much good; you’d be better off hiding somewhere it couldn’t see and ideally couldn’t reach: woods, a cave if you could find one, somewhere safe and secure.
This was an airborne grimm, a nevermore. It was on top of the … something, a forcefield or whatever; there was a shield on the roof of the arena, but the nevermore, the big black evil crow with the white bone beak and skull, was sitting on top of it, pecking at the shield like the pigeons and magpies that pecked for worms in their garden.
Except that, once this nevermore was done pecking at the shield, then it would turn into the hawk they sometimes saw perched on the trees overlooking the lawn, to prey on those same pigeons and magpies.
To prey on Pyrrha.
Jaune…
“Run, Kendal, go!”
“But—”
“Go! I’ll catch up! I promise.”
Liar.
“A nevermore,” Rouge murmured.
“That’s right,” Dad said. “How did you know that?”
That’s right, how did Rouge know that?
“Um,” Rouge murmured. “I, um, Jaune told me about some of the monsters he’s fought.”
“Pleasant topic of conversation,” River muttered.
“The point is,” Rouge said quickly, “that they are, that Jaune said they aren’t that dangerous; I’m sure that Pyrrha will be alright.”
“All grimm are dangerous,” Kendal murmured. “All grimm can kill.”
“Well … but … Pyrrha’s just won the big tournament,” Sky said. “I’m sure that she can handle just one—”
“There’s no need to get alarmed,” Dad declared.
“Why?” asked River. “Is this normal? Are grimm supposed to attack at the end of the tournament like this?”
“I don’t think it’s part of the show,” Rouge said.
“No,” Dad admitted. “No, it isn’t—”
“Then that is alarming,” Mom said. “Don’t you think?”
“But it’s not just Pyrrha there, or Jaune,” Dad reminded them. “There have to be twenty, thirty, fifty students, maybe more, and the professors doing the commentary, and maybe Professor Ozpin too, for all I know. Even if that nevermore breaks through the forcefield, they won’t just leave her to fight it off by herself.”
“But what about the other monsters?” asked Mom. “Aoko, dear, what did you say about the live feed? What are people saying?”
“That they can see grimm flying around the arena,” Aoko said. “They can also see them fighting with airships. Probably Atlesian airships because they’ve been there all year, but there might also be some Valish airships as well.”
“Then I’m sure that they’ll take care of the grimm out there just like there are enough huntsmen and huntresses to take care of any that get into the arena,” Dad said. He put his hand upon Mom’s hand, squeezing it. “Jaune’s going to be fine, and Pyrrha too. They’re all going to be fine.” He paused for a moment. “But keep the TV on, so we can see what’s happening.”
“And Aoko,” Kendal said, “if anything else important comes up on that live feed, you’ll tell us, won’t you?”
“How will I know if something is important?” Aoko asked.
“You’ll—” Kendal stopped herself from saying that Aoko would know if it was important because, as much as they loved her, this was Aoko they were talking about, and she might not immediately grasp the import. “Just … any updates from a reputable news source — not the comment section — let us know, okay? Just … keep us informed, please.”
“Right,” Aoko said. “I’ll tell you anything that comes up. But at the moment, all the updates are about how nobody knows what’s going on.”
“I see,” Kendal muttered. She leaned forward and found herself almost against her will or better judgement, clasping her hands together.
Be safe, Jaune.
Be safe, Pyrrha.
Be safe, both of you. Take care of each other.
“Hey,” River murmured, putting a hand on Kendal’s shoulder. “Hey, they’re going to be okay. Like Dad said, it’s all going to be fine.”
Kendal would have liked to believe that. She would have liked oh so badly to have believed that, but considering what she knew, considering what she’d been through … she couldn’t accept it wholeheartedly.
Saphron covered her mouth with one hand as she watched Terra dancing around the living room, pumping her arms up and down, swaying left and right, bouncing on the walls of her feet.
It was a side of her wife that she didn’t get to see too often — even at the base Longest Night party, she was more fastidious and staid than this — and the sight of it here was all the more precious for being so rare.
Who would have thought that the Vytal Tournament, of all things, would bring this out in Terra?
If I’d known that, then I would have … okay, I don’t know how I could have arranged this, but I might have tried.
“I should film this for Adrian,” Saphron said, her voice shaking with mirth.
Terra beamed. “Do it. Go on, get the scroll. I’m not ashamed. It’s coming home! And…” She didn’t completely stop dancing, but she did slow down a little. “It’s pretty cool that it happened because of someone that we know. Or that we know the person who made it possible.”
Saphron grinned. “You’re right. That is pretty cool. Something that we are far too modest to crow about to the neighbours, of course—”
“Of course,” Terra agreed, amusement creeping into her voice.
“And I don’t think Pyrrha would like it if we did,” Saphron added.
“Although you’d think that name Arc would give them a clue,” Terra remarked.
“But,” Saphron went on, “it is pretty cool that we know her. She did great, didn’t she?”
“Oh, yeah, that was one of her best performances, I think,” Terra said. “You know, we should go to Mistral. I’ve got enough time off stored that I can take the vacation, you don’t have a job—”
Saphron put one hand on her hip. “It’s nice to know that you don’t consider raising our son to be a job.”
“It’s not a job you have to beg your boss to let you have days off,” Terra clarified.
“Fair enough, I guess,” Saphron replied. “What’s in Mistral?”
“The big celebration!” Terra cried. “Pyrrha’s Triumph, a public holiday; have you ever been to Mistral for a public holiday?”
“No, I haven’t,” Saphron said. “You’ve promised to take me, but the time has never been right.”
“Well, now the time will be right, for all three of us,” Terra insisted. “We’ll make sure of it. Pyrrha will ride through the streets on a chariot, accompanied by Victory, from the gates to the Temple of Victory where she will dedicate the spoils of her victory to the heavens. And the day will be a holiday, and there’ll be street parties, and we can see Jaune and Pyrrha, and … this might be a once in a lifetime experience. Who knows when a Mistralian will win the Vytal tournament again? If we miss this, I honestly think that we’ll regret it. I’ll certainly regret it.”
“Watching Pyrrha ride in a chariot through the streets?” Saphron asked. “I wonder how Jaune will react to that?”
“You’ll be able to see for yourself if we go to Mistral for it,” Terra pointed out.
Saphron chuckled. “Okay, that … that is a very good point. And it would be nice to see them, to congratulate Pyrrha in person.” She took a step closer to Terra. “Sample the delights of Mistral with you.”
“Well, we could make a week of it; there’ll be stuff going on around the Triumph,” Terra said. “If we can get away from my parents.”
“Oh, so this is going to be a family vacation.”
“We can’t go to Mistral to see the Triumph and not tell my mom; she’s more of a fan than I am,” Terra said. “Which means we’ll need to introduce her to Pyrrha, too.”
“Is she going to embarrass us?”
“Considering the way your family treated Pyrrha, I’m not sure you have any room to talk.”
Saphron blinked. “That … is a fair point. I guess I’m just worried that she’ll gush so much that it puts Pyrrha off.”
“She’s lived half her life in the public eye; I’m sure she’ll handle it with grace, however she really feels,” Terra said. She walked towards the television. “Anyway, let’s watch Pyrrha getting the laurel crown. I wonder if the Amity Princess will dare to show her face after that stunt with the email about Sunset.”
“I hope so,” Saphron replied. “It wasn’t as though she sent that email, after all, and she shouldn’t be punished for something that she didn’t mean to happen. And Sunset didn’t seem to bear her any malice over it; I don’t think she’s got anything to be ashamed of. If she’s the one who is supposed to present the honour, then I hope she’ll—” The words died in her throat as she turned towards the television. Her attention had been off it once the fight ended, her eyes on Terra, and her ears upon their conversation, deaf and blind to what had been going on in the arena.
After all, the fight was over; there wasn’t anything else important that was going to happen there, bar the presentation of the trophy, right? Pyrrha had won, and that was the end of the story.
Except, when Saphron turned back towards the television, she found that the camera wasn’t trained on Pyrrha; it wasn’t even turned on her defeated opponent Weiss Schnee, to capture her reaction to the loss; the camera was now turned upwards, to where a couple of missiles burst in the air.
And where a monstrous crow, an enormous bird with feathers as black as night and a head that was made of bleached bone, sat upon what looked at first like thin air on the arena roof.
Not thin air, a shield. A force field that covered the gap in the ceiling — they had some in Argus, installed by the Atlesian military — and the monster was sitting on it, attacking it with its beak.
“That’s a nevermore,” Terra murmured as she came to stand beside Saphron, putting her hand around Saphron’s arm.
Saphron glanced at her. “You’ve seen one?”
“No,” Terra said, “but one of my yearly CBT modules is grimm recognition and response.”
“So you know what to do about it?”
“According to my training, I should hide under a desk,” Terra replied. “Hopefully, Jaune and Pyrrha are a little better prepared.”
“But what’s it doing there?” Saphron asked. “I mean … that’s a grimm, isn’t it? So what is it … it’s attacking the arena, that can’t be normal!”
Terra stepped in closer to her, pressing her side against Saphron’s arm. “I … I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know if anything like this has ever happened before.”
“I’m calling my family,” Saphron said, fishing her scroll out of her pocket.
“Jaune?”
“No, not Jaune, not with that happening,” Saphron replied. “I just want to make sure that other people are seeing this too, that someone hasn’t hacked our TV or something.”
She opened the scroll with one hand but got a call before she could make one. It was from Rouge.
With her one free hand, Saphron tapped the green button to answer, and her elder sister’s face stared up at her out of the screen.
“Saphron,” Rouge said, “are you watching TV?”
“Yes,” Saphron said. “You?”
Rouge nodded. “So you’ve seen—”
“The grimm,” Saphron finished for her. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
Rouge swallowed. “Dad says that there’s nothing to worry about,” she said. “Dad says that there are a lot of huntsmen and huntresses there besides Jaune and Pyrrha who will take care of things, and there’s no real danger.”
“That sounds like the sort of thing Dad would say to try and keep everyone calm,” Saphron pointed out. “Do you believe him?”
Rouge hesitated. “I’d like to.”
Saphron managed a wan smile. “So would I.”
“You should believe it,” Terra declared, leaning across so that Rouge could see her, her head and face almost pressed against Saphron’s. “The Champion of Mistral will not fall. The former Champion, anyway, and Vytal Champion what is more, the Evenstar of Mistral and the reclaimer of our pride will not fall, not to one nevermore or twenty or two hundred such! She has triumphed today and will triumph tonight, though all the grimm in Remnant come to Vale, still, Mistral’s valour will shock them all! Have faith in Pyrrha. Have faith in Jaune, and in Sunset too, since she can’t be far away, and I have faith in Arslan and the sons and daughters of Haven who didn’t make it quite this far but showed their courage nonetheless.”
Saphron looked at her, even if she had to lean back a little to do it. “Do you really believe that?”
“I do,” Terra declared. “Mistral’s champions have been in the forefront of battles against the grimm for generations and always have delivered Mistral to safety and to victory, and with the support of the Atlesian military as well, how can she fail? Have heart, all of you. It’ll all be okay, I promise. They’ll all be okay.”
“And these champions, who have led the fight and delivered victory,” Saphron said, “have they always come home at the end of it when the battle was done?”
Terra was silent for a moment. “I have faith,” she said. “And so should you.”
That was certainly an answer; it was not the answer that Saphron would have preferred by any means, but it was an answer nonetheless.
No sooner had the fight concluded than Councillor Aspen Emerald was beginning to mentally compose his statement.
He would write it himself, without any help; he had found that filtering his words through a half-dozen public relations people with PPE degrees — Aspen himself had read Geography — tended to remove his unique voice and render his words rather bland, stale, and, well, like the products of a half dozen PR people. And in any case, after three successive press secretaries had resigned from their posts because they found his voice a little too unique in some instances, Aspen found it was easiest just to speak for himself, in his own words.
Straight-talking … he couldn’t quite claim straight-talking honesty with a straight face, not anymore, but the incident with the press last night had certainly shown that he still had the straight-talking aspect down flat when he wanted it.
He would obviously be less blunt in his statement about the end of the Vytal Festival; there was hardly any call for him to go on the attack here, nobody wanted to hear him savaging Pyrrha Nikos or Weiss Schnee for … what would he even savage them for?
No, this was a moment for rather softer language, for triumphalism without being obnoxious about it, for reflecting the mood of the people of Vale while also leading that mood towards a feeling of success.
Yes, success, triumph even. The Mistralians had not even waited until Miss Nikos had won the tournament to begin working overtime to claim her as one of their own, on the grounds that she happened to have been born in Mistral, but mere accident of birth could not change the fact that she was a Beacon student and had won the tournament under Beacon’s colours, fighting as a representative of the Valish Academy in the Kingdom of Vale.
Might he have preferred it if a Valish student had won the tournament? At one time, perhaps; he should probably be more honest and admit that there was very little 'perhaps' about it; he would once have preferred it if a Valish student had won the tournament, disliking the way that a lot of high-performing foreigners trooped down to Vale, were educated partially at the expense of the Valish taxpayer, and then left again. It was still somewhat of an issue — he would have preferred more of them to stick around in Vale — but at the same time…
It was a hard thing that these children did. It was a hard line of work they were poised to be launched into. Too hard for some of them to bear it, and all the demands that it made on them.
Yet they had fought for Vale. Miss Nikos had fought for Vale, and would do so again no doubt in the years before she departed for Mistral’s far-off shores. If that wasn’t enough to encourage him to let go a little of his curmudgeonly attitude towards non-Valish like her, then what was?
If it wasn’t enough to give him and Vale some claim on her in opposition to her Mistralian birthplace, then what would be sufficient?
This was a victory for Beacon Academy, and Beacon was in Vale, which meant that this was a victory for Vale, regardless of what kingdom Miss Nikos happened to be born in.
That was what people wanted to hear, whether he believed it or not; nobody in Vale wanted to congratulate the Mistralians on their victory, nobody in Vale wanted to join in a chorus of that awful song they insisted on polluting the air with — get over it, for goodness sake! Your self-pity is as insufferable as your sense of entitlement — they wanted to hear that Vale had turned a corner, that the sun was coming up again, that Vale had won and that it would keep on winning.
Aspen was sat in the living room of the First Councillor’s official residence. Aspen had decided not to go and watch any of the matches in person, for all that it might have pleased his son to have done so, partly because he was busy, partly because, unlike his son, he just wasn’t that interested in the tournament, not enough to want to spend the matches high up in the air unable to get away when there was a perfectly good view on the television and he could get up and go into another room whenever he wanted to, and partly because, today, he had been worried that he might get booed by the crowd. It was never a good look when that happened, even if some engagements made it unavoidable.
Bramble was sat on the floor in front of him, his Vytal cards spread out across the carpet — something he wouldn’t have been able to do if they had been up in the arena. There was some sort of game that you could play with them, apparently, but Aspen didn’t entirely understand it, except in as far as it was cheaper than the online game which Aspen wouldn’t allow him to play.
Of course, even though he wasn’t that interested in the fight, he had still made sure to post a picture of himself watching it to all his social media accounts — with a pint of beer beside him, because it was never a bad time to play the everyman figure.
It had been, he had to admit, a reasonably diverting fight. At times, he had gotten engrossed in it.
But now, with the fight over, he turned his mind towards what he would say about the result of the fight.
“I speak for all of Vale… On behalf of all of Vale, I extend… I have no doubt that I speak for all of Vale when I extend our congratulations to Miss Pyrrha Nikos, of Beacon Academy in Vale, for her outstanding victory in this, the Fortieth Vytal Festival. Miss Nikos has added yet another victory to Beacon’s long list of victories in this distinguished tournament, and the reputation of Beacon burns a little brighter because of her achievement.
“Under myself and under my distinguished predecessor, Novo Aris, this government has ensured record funding for Beacon Academy, ensuring that our historic high standards have been maintained and that Beacon continues to attract talent from all across the kingdoms of Remnant.
“Truly, Beacon Academy lives up to its name as a beacon of— oh, no. No. No, that’s awful.
“We are committed to ensuring that— no, that doesn’t follow on.
“We believe that Beacon’s multinational student body is a shining example of the values of diversity promoted by the Vytal Festival, but also a key source of Valish soft po— no, that’s too bald, you can’t talk about soft power; it’s supposed to be subtle.
“Something something diversity,” come on, Aspen, this is supposed to be your job.
“—continues to attract talent from all across the kingdoms of Remnant and will continue to do so in future, a shining ambassador for this kingdom and all of its values.
“Though she was born in Mistral, we proudly embrace Miss Nikos as one of our own.” Take that, Mistral; wind your neck in. “She brings honour to this kingdom in the tournament, just as she has repeatedly defended it in battle over the course of this year.
“What a year this has been for Vale. What a tumultuous year we have had. A year, I must confess, that has not always been marked with triumphs. I took office in the shadow of an act of terrorism, amidst a wave of crime and insecurity, but since I took office…”
How do I make this sound as though I’m not throwing Novo under a bus?
“I took office in the shadow of an act of terrorism, but over this year, we have seen a wave of crime and terrorism successfully suppressed by our brave officers of the law and our gallant huntsmen and huntresses of Beacon Academy. We have seen our defences restored and renewed and strengthened as never before. We have brought down our enemies, and even now, they await the justice of our law. Like Miss Nikos, whose victory we celebrate tonight, Vale has overcome all the challenges that it has faced over this year, and now, I feel quite confident in saying that a brighter future awaits both Miss Nikos and the kingdom.”
“Dad!” Bramble cried, pointing at the television. “Dad, look at this!”
Aspen blinked, and looked, and all thought of his remarks at the conclusion of the Vytal Festival vanished because there was a grimm sat on the Amity Arena.
There was a grimm — one of the flying ones; he couldn’t remember the name of them — sat on top of the Amity Arena, or at least, it was on top of the forcefield looking down into the arena itself.
And what was worse, behind it, Aspen thought that he could see other grimm weaving through the skies, pursued by airships — Atlesian, Valish, or both.
Aspen rose from his seat, his eyes widening. A grimm? Many grimm? He had known that there were grimm gathering outside, but General Blackthorn had told him that they wouldn’t attack, and while Blackthorn had been acting a little strangely, nevertheless … nevertheless, Aspen had wanted to believe him. When Professor Goodwitch told him that grimm hordes would sometimes retreat without an attack, he had wanted to believe her.
He had wanted to believe that they had time and could prepare a counterattack at their own leisure.
It seemed he had been wrong about that.
It seemed the grimm horde had decided to attack after all.
And he was learning about it from the television.
From the damn television!
Aspen swallowed. “Bramble,” he said, “go to your room, now.”
Bramble looked around and up at him. “What’s going on?”
“Go to your room!” Aspen snapped. He took a deep breath and forced himself to speak more calmly. “I … I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, but … I need you to go to your room and stay there, please. Mrs. Hughes!”
Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, came in just a second later. Her face was pale, and Aspen guessed that she, too, had seen what was happening. Her voice trembled a little. “Y-yes, sir?”
“Take my son to his room and make sure that he stays there,” Aspen said.
Mrs. Hughes nodded. “R-right, sir.” She held out a softly shaking hand. “Come along, lad.”
“Mrs. Hughes,” Aspen said as Bramble got up and went to her. “It will be alright. I know that this must seem alarming, but, defended by our Atlesian allies and our own gallant forces, not to mention our exemplary huntsmen and huntresses who—” He realised that he was slipping into giving a speech, and forced himself to stop. “All will be well. Vale is not without defenders, far from it.”
Mrs. Hughes took a deep breath. “Of course, sir. You know best, I’m sure.”
As she departed with Bramble, Aspen hoped that he had managed to give her some cause to feel a little better.
He hesitated for a second, torn between going to his office and staying here where the television was to see what was going on.
He decided to remain here, for the moment at least. He didn’t want to blind himself, and no one else was telling him anything at the moment.
He reached for his scroll where it sat on the table beside his chair.
It went off before he could reach it. Aspen fairly snatched it up off the table, ripping it open to see that it was Ozpin calling him, voice only.
He fumbled, tapping the button to take the call the first time, only making it the second time.
“Good evening, First Councillor,” Ozpin said. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”
“I hope this is about the grimm I can see perched on the Amity Colosseum,” Aspen muttered.
“Ah, you’re watching the television,” Ozpin said.
“Yes, I am,” Aspen replied. “I was just about to call you.”
“I thought it best to inform you, Mister Councillor,” Ozpin said. “At present, the grimm activity is restricted to the air, with various flying grimm moving towards and around the Amity Arena. General Ironwood’s forces are engaging them. General Ironwood believes, and I agree with him, that under the circumstances, it would be best not to try and evacuate the spectators from the arena until the grimm around the colosseum have been, at the least, thinned out in numbers.”
“And if they get into the arena?” Aspen asked.
“Then I trust that Professor Port and Doctor Oobleck will lead the students — supported by the Atlesian troops on guard — in protecting the people,” Ozpin told him.
“I see,” Aspen murmured. “And the grimm aren’t moving in anywhere else, it’s just the Amity Arena?”
“For now.”
“You think that will change?” Aspen asked.
“I don’t know,” Ozpin told him. “But I would be remiss if I assumed that it would not.”
“Yes, I suppose you would,” Aspen muttered. “What about the Valish forces, what are they doing?”
“Nothing, as far as I can tell,” Ozpin said blandly.
“'Nothing'?” Aspen repeated. “Nothing at all?”
“No, First Councillor.”
“Have you heard from General Blackthorn?”
“No, First Councillor.”
“What the—?” Aspen bit back his response. Ozpin didn’t need to hear it. “Thank you, Ozpin. Do you think General Ironwood has this in hand?”
“For now, I think so, yes.”
“Then I’ll let you get on with it,” Aspen said. “Keep me informed if anything changes.”
“Of course, First Councillor,” Ozpin said. “If I may, don’t worry too much; this is nothing that General Ironwood’s forces can’t handle.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“One can rarely be sure about anything, especially not a battle,” Ozpin said. “But, in this matter, I believe in James.”
“It seems we had all best believe in him,” Aspen said, half growling it. We have little choice at the moment. “Goodbye, Ozpin, and good luck.”
“Thank you, First Councillor,” Ozpin replied, and then hung up on him.
Aspen found he couldn’t begrudge the man that; he must feel very busy at the moment.
He only wished that someone else seemed to feel busy too.
He called General Blackthorn. The commanding officer of the Valish Defence Forces took a long — unconscionably long, in the circumstances — time to answer him, time enough to set Aspen’s foot tapping up and down while his pulse quickened.
Yes, in such a situation, General Blackthorn was hopefully busy, but he could have an aide answer for him, couldn’t he? He could respond somehow! Aspen Emerald was the First Councillor of Vale; he had a right to be kept informed when his city was under attack!
At last, after too long, Blackthorn answered, and answered personally.
“What is it?” he demanded.
Aspen sucked in a breath and bit back a remark about Blackthorn’s tone. This wasn’t the time. “General,” he said. “Have you been watching the Vytal Tournament?”
“I have better things to do than waste my time on such nonsense,” Blackthorn said.
“Well, if you had been watching,” Aspen told him, “you might have seen that there’s a grimm perched on top of the Colosseum! And Ozpin tells me that there are other grimm surrounding the arena.”
“Yes, that,” Blackthorn said. “I’m well aware of that.”
“Oh, well that’s alright then!” Aspen snapped. “Nice of you to inform me that there is a grimm perched on the Amity Colosseum which is above this city! What are you planning to do about it? Ozpin informs me that it’s only Ironwood’s Atlesians that are bothering to defend the Arena and all aboard it; what are our pilots doing?”
“We’re completing our final preparations,” Blackthorn replied, his voice sounding a little stiff and unnatural.
Better late than never, I suppose, Aspen thought. “And then you’ll join the Atlesians in repelling the grimm?”
“We’re about to sortie now, Councillor,” Blackthorn told him. “I assure you, everything is well in hand. Very soon, everything will be taken care of.”
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I could not help but think of this:
Ah yes this comes back time and time again, Pyrrha claimed by Mistral despite attending Beacon.
I mean, can't we compromise and say this was a victory for both Vale and Mistral?
Yeah, preparing to attack the Atlesian and Mistralian militaries, you backstabbing...
breathes
Controlled by Sonata... Controlled by Sonata... Controlled by Sonata...
Really, anyone in the upcoming battle who is regarded as a traitor is either evil or mind-controlled. Aside from tag-alongs, the sole exception is Amber who is selfishly trying to save her own skin.
Blackthorn will become a thorn in Aspen side soon enough, it seems like Sonata’s manipulation is as strong as ever. So Vale will attack Atlas during a Grimm Invasion, causing more death and damage than it would have been before, and just causing more chances for more Grimm to invade. The Battle of Beacon will be a tempest of betrayals, it seems.
I am curious to see what is Lady Nikos and Sunset’s reactions to the events, and what exactly is Tempest’s plan for the Fall; just kill everyone and steal the Relic on the chaos?
11826734
Yeah, honestly I was kind of thinking of that myself.
Yeah, 'Golden Shields' (Chrysaspides) supposedly didn't show up until the Roman Emperor Alexander Severus. I'm not overly clear on the details of that, but it's definitely outside the Hellenistic period by 250 or so years. :)
This chapter is monumental. The horrified reactions as the world watches is just as big a win for Salem as anything else this night.
The night where all of Remnant is reminded that we are not the dominant species of this world. The dream is over. After tonight, no one will be a child anymore.
Thanks for the chapter
Nice chapter. But, i have a question. About the fic itself. How far are you planning to take it? From the remaining chapters that are not yet re-written it seems that the fic will and after the fall of Beacon. Do you plan on Writing more? Going into volume 4 and beyond? Because is so, i am all up for it.
11827274
Yes, it will continue after V3, but when V3 ends I'm going to take a bit of a break before I continue.
11826740
Imagine how the Fall is likely going to look from the historical perspective.
Like fifty years down the line, there is a 'Battle of Britain' style documentary based on what the hell happened there. No mention of Salem because that would likely still be covered up, but just the rest of it.
Sonata might be remembered in infamy as a grimm cultist with a semblance that allowed her to manipulate and control others, which she used on chunks of the Valish military. But Historians are going to be having a field day trying to untangle the clusterfuck that's incoming.
11827336
I mean, that depends if we get something similar down the line to canon Volume 7 & 8 where Ironwood hatches a plan to tell the world about Salem.
11827336
Or somehow they will blame Sunset, because reasons. 😆
Something I just realized about Ruby that worries me?
Looking back in the early fic, she used to be just like Canon RWBY. Slightly naive and didn’t value her life too much, but all within very acceptable reasons. When you think on it, her way of thinking first began to turn dark after Cinder’s reveal as the enemy. Back during the hunting mission in Mistral, Ruby was unbothered by Cinder’s disturbing views. “You took the oath of a Huntress like all of us. That means you’re a good person who’s still doing the right thing!”
Then Cinder betrayed that. It was around that time that Ruby first started turning more judgmental of people who didn’t live up to the romanticized ideals of a Huntress. She also became more ruthless towards our enemies, even willing to break promises of ceasefire if it meant eliminating a threat to the kingdom. But I also can’t help but notice that each of those ruthless proposals of hers was always towards Cinder. The first traitor to Ruby’s ideals.
Then Sunset’s secret came out, and we all saw how Ruby drastically turned worse. Which means… will she get even worse after Amber’s selfish betrayal?