He followed the Knight outside to where a carriage was waiting for them, but not the one Jaune had ridden in on.
This one was longer and fully enclosed, built of a dark, almost black, wooden fitted with brass accoutrements and shining silver nails. A blue and grey uniformed driver sat at the front on a raised, partially enclosed, driving seat with a blue linen overhang for shelter. Similar had been built at the back, but sat lower on the wider rear end of the carriage. A knight sat in that, with a dark oaken arbalest nestled in his arms and an eye locked on their surroundings. Four white stallions pulled the cart, with thick metal frames to either side to keep them in line and, from them, thick wooden shields for protection.
Ahead of the carriage sat two more knights in the blue of the Preying Eagle, with armor of the like Nicholas' soldiers had worn and long, barbed spears. Hammers rested on their waist, but the long shields and spears were clearly better for horse-back fighters - even Jaune knew that much. And between them sat a knight of the Emerald Path, inspecting the horses of the two knights to her side.
As they approached, though, she turned to them, smiled, and turned her horse, "Ho there, young Lord! How are you this morning?"
"I'm, uh, good." His brows furrowed for a moment before he realized, "You're the knight from yesterday."
"Indeed I am." She turned and slid off her horse with a practiced ease, then came over to them and smiled, looking him up and down and leaning in close to look into his eyes. She smelled of lilacs and oil, he noticed immediately, as he fought to neither flinch or flush. Finally she nodded and stepped back, "Your eyes are brighter and clearer than they were yesterday. Good."
"Y-Yeah." He coughed to clear his throat and bucked up a step while Bard chuckled. "Thanks, uh, by the way, Ma'am."
"Brother."
"But you're…"
"In the Emerald Path, all are Brothers." She explained simply, smiling between the cheeks of her barbute. "We use Sister amongst ourselves, but to you, we are all Brother. Though for this venture, you may refer to me as either Brother or Keeper."
"Uh, got it…"
"I was informed by Lord Oobleck that-"
"You were uneducated and uninformed." Bard interrupted, stepping forward and bowing at the waist politely, sweeping a hand and to one side and pressing the other to his chest, over his heart. "Quite kind of you, and of him, to think of our newest recruit's needs so highly. Bard Littlefinger, Knight of the Order of the Preying Eagle, at your service, Brother."
"I see." She blinked and, for a moment, Jaune could see confusion war with suspicion in her cool, almost amber eyes… But it faded before he could think about it and she smiled warmly and returned the bow. "Then, I suppose it is a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bard."
"Bard will do." He chuckled as he straightened, "Now then, are the horses well? I saw you inspecting them."
"They are, indeed." She nodded, walking with them to the step just below that door into carriage, "Such inspections were more formality than anything else. Your Order is rarely known for callous care of their animals."
"Rarely?" Bard chuckled, "That means we ever are! When and where? I'll see it rectified by my Lord Oobleck."
"That isn't necessary…"
"I disagree." She laughed, "It only happens during great wars. But then, all Orders are known for such at those times. You need not fret over it."
"I see, I see…"
"Um," Jaune felt bad for it, but he interrupted them, scratching at the back of his neck, "I-I'm sorry, but, uh, we never got your name?"
"Oh?" The woman tutted quietly and cocked her head, eyes glinting almost merrily. A far cry from the way she'd been the day before. But he supposed she'd been busy, and focused on her duties at the time, dealing with him. "Aren't you a bit of an aggressive one? Asking for a lady's name so candidly."
"E-Er." Shoot, had that been the wrong way to ask? Stammering and flushing anxiously, he said, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't know, w-was that rude?"
"It's fine." She waved him off, turning to head back towards her horse and adding over her shoulder, "And my name is Lisa. Keeper Lisa to you, that is, young Lord. And it's a pleasure to meet you, on a day that is not bloodied."
"Y-Yeah." He smiled weakly and then nodded and added with his own, awkward emulation of Bard's bow, "J-Jaune Arc, of the Preying Eagle."
"Order of the Preying Eagle." Bard chuckled as he straightened, and then did the bow again and chided him gently, "Less stiff, and better poise, like this, you see?"
"I-I see, yeah, uh, lemme..." Jaune tried again, keeping his warm straighter and doing his best to balance on his heels, pressing them together to keep his gravity centered as best he could and bending straight at the waist. "Better?"
"Much." Bard nodded and stepped up onto the step of the carriage to pull the door open. He waved for him to enter as Keeper Lisa returned to her horse. "Now, shall we?"
"Off to Vale, then?" Jaune asked, stepping into the blue-swathed interior and easing onto the padded cushion of his seat while Bard sat in the seat opposite him. The Order's emblem sat above them, fitted deeply into the dark wood.
"Not yet." Bard smiled, "But soon."
XxX----XxX----XxX
To an Order of Knights, two things are the most important two success.
The first is also the most obvious of the two, arms and armor fit and formed to fight with, be that in companies and regiments or one-to-one. Swords, lances, axes, plate, mail, gambeson. Without some or all of these even the most well-trained, courageous regiments of men and women would easily be slaughtered by the least of the Grimm, and even base brutes seeking to take from others what they wish as in the raiders and ravagers of men and Faunus alike.
The second would be the least obvious, to all those looking in.
Fashion.
One may not consider it at first, but a company of knights is often as fashion-interested and thoughtful as a court of ladies. Tabards in place of corsets, capes and cloaks in place of frills and silks. Colored cloths and stained leathers, brass, copper, silver and gold accoutrements, ornaments of rank. All marks of pride and heroics, of gallantry and heraldry, that turns every march to war into one great, long fashion show. And while they may not brag or prattle as the more inane courtesans and courtiers might, they judge each other.
The brightest brass.
The most sterling silver.
The grandest gold.
'Frederic is wearing his tabard off to the side again.' One might say, 'Surely he knows how to cinch a belt!'
All, marks of pride and vanity with no difference to those of the people at court. But, with one incidental difference - the calming presence it lends them.
Knights, gleaming and shining, with flowing cloaks and bright heraldry, becalm those around them. Peasants, base soldiers joining and serving them, and even each other. By standing side by side with those in matching armor and ornate ornamentation, under standards fluttering high overhead, even the most frightened can be convinced to stand. Against a vast army outnumbering them by orders of magnitude, or beasts ten times the size of a man.
In this way, the Orders have managed to protect their Kingdoms and villages against their enemies, beast and merely beastly alike. Even if such was never the intent. Even if such was only vanity and greed showing through.
An incidental success is still a success, though.
Is it not?
XxX----XxX----XxX
They turned off the main road about a third of the way to Vale proper, and came into rolling woodland dotted by wide estate farms ringed by low stone walls. Most grew corn and grains, but they passed more than one vineyard as they twisted and turned through the rolling hills that surrounded Vale's great mountains. All were filled by workers going about their tasks, working in the warmth of the sun to see the crops tended, harvested, or in one case, shipped out on the backs of a dozen horses and mules rowed before the estate.
Before he could catch himself, he murmured, "They look busy…"
"Taxes, most likely." Bard offered with a smile, pointing out a horse armored in layers of silvered chainmail, "That is a Knight of the Gilded Gauntlet. The Monarch's Moneymen, as some would call them."
"Moneymen?"
"They collect taxes and carry pay out to soldiers, Knightly orders, the like." He explained, "If the crown wants something funded, be that development projects, a defensive operation or a Grimm hunt, odds are good that the Gilded Gauntlet will have one or two of their number involved."
"So they… Pay the army?"
"Yes."
"And they keep the Knights running?"
"In a sense." He nodded, leaning back and explaining like a man born to do precisely that, "Most Orders are comprised of nobility, lords, ladies, that sort of thing. Many are funded by them, and attached to a handful of influential families. Others are funded by the church, to protect its interests. And yet more are funded by handfuls of villages and small cities that pool together to fund their own. All make money from the crown and the church, though, by way of commissions and the selling of prisoners to become Chastened."
"What even are Chastened?"
"You don't know?"
"Not really."
"Your church didn't teach you?"
"I was usually busy." He shrugged and watched the countryside pass by as he explained, "My master and I would go for the hymn-singing and confessionals once a month, but… Well, we were too busy otherwise."
"You must have worked a smithy, then."
"Uh, yeah, I did." He blinked and turned to Bard, who met his gaze with those same narrow, appraising eyes. "How did you know that?"
"An educated guess." Bard shrugged and smiled, explaining off-handedly, "Smiths are usually left alone even in the most devout villages when they shirk Church attendance. Their work is seen as too important to interrupt, so as long as nothing too terribly heretical is found out, they are left alone."
"Huh…"
"Regardless, we're almost there, so I wanted to ask." Bard smiled, "How much do you know of the state of the Kingdom?"
"Not much." He admitted freely, glad of his 'bastard' state - no one could blame him for not knowing, and if he needed to know, he could count on being told. And without having to force his way through a dozen books in some dingy library, too!
Convenient!
"I see." Bard nodded, "I shall have much to tutor you on, then."
"T-Tutor?"
"Oh yes." He smiled, "Swordsmanship, history, manners, the law- There is much that would have been your father's duty to teach you. Why, I would be surprised if you even see the sun aside from sparring for the next fortnight!"
"Oh…" Jaune grimaced, "Joy."
"Oh, don't look so sad." Bard laughed, "It won't be possible to teach you too in-depth. No, you will need to study on your own for years after this. My hope is only to make sure you know enough to stand amongst our Order safely and honorably. A few weeks at most."
"Ah." Jaune sighed and tried not to look resentful, "Well that's… Better, I guess."
"You'll live, I'm sure." Bard smiled, waving a hand at the world outside and adding, "Regardless, welcome to the Old Warden's Keep."
"A keep…?" Jaune turned to look out the window and felt his pace quicken.
It was a fort more than a keep, with a single tall structure at the back built into a towering hill that climbed up into another and, finally, a cliff that led up to a decently large mountain that overlooked the forest and estates. A tall wall ran in a circle out from either side of the keep itself, with a single heavy, oaken gate backed by heavy iron reinforcements at the front and a pair of towers to either side of it. Outside, to either side of the gate, two small stone standings had been built, rounded and surrounded by crenelations like the towers directly above.
A pair of guards in simple chainmail stood on each with long spears in their hands and the same kettle-hats as the soldiers he'd seen die at Ansel wearing. Each wore the insignia of the Preying Eagle proudly, mottled with shadows from the leaves around them and the shelters above them. Thin, blue cloth which steepled high over the walls of the castle and the parapets and the forward bastions the soldiers stood on, held up by old looking iron rods.
As they approached, the guards outside the wall called out an order and the gates opened, groaning as the carriage passed inside.
Inside, the keep was everything he'd expected. A small smithy had cropped up beside the gate, and a third of the wall on the other side of it was taken up by a long stable that curved along the wall. On the other side of the gate, another building curved along half the wall, dotted with windows and lined by rows of tables, chairs, stools and spit-buckets. Soldiers came and went from it freely, chatting to each other as they did.
And, at the back, was the keep, standing twice as tall as the walls. It was squat, somehow, in spite of that. With a single tower that rose from its center and shone at its peak with an odd, too-bright fire-light nestled in an ovular tower shaped far too much like a mace-head to be accidental. The keep had a tall gate like the outer wall did, reinforced by the same iron, but unlike the outer gate it had a massive sigil engraved into it.
The sigil of the preying eagle, carved in gold on strange blue-steel.
Above it all, fluttering from a massive metal rod in the center of the grounds inside the dark, stone walls and held firm by long cables that stretched out to the wall, a banner flew with the Order's heraldry emblazoned across it.
"It is not much, but…" Jaune turned to Bard as he stepped out, "It will do. Welcome home, young Arc. At least, for a while. Until you're properly educated, at least enough to survive, and properly clothed at least!"
Home, in a keep of a Knightly Order…
One more step to making it all worth it. Now he just had to make sure not to disappoint Nicholas, or he would surely come to haunt him. And the last thing he needed was an actual ghost breathing down his neck.