Princess Morgan Pendragon, eldest daughter of High King Uther Pendragon and the Lady Igraine, student to the esteemed Court Wizard and Magus of Flowers Merlin, renowned young lady with the innocence of a fairy throughout the realm, secret Great Mother fairy spawned from the island of Britain itself, inheritor of Britain's primeval power and supposed heir to the throne, was not having a good day.
In fact, it was safe to say she was having the worst day of her life thus far.
Ironically, it was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of her life, what with the birth of her younger sibling and all.
But when she'd laid eyes on little Artoria, while a part of her, the one raised as a human, had immediately fallen in love with her adorable baby sister, another part of her, the one attuned to the Will of Britain, had instinctively recoiled at what it had perceived as its natural foe.
And before she'd been able to properly process and reconcile her sudden conflicting emotions, her father had suddenly told her that damned child was to inherit the crown.
Artoria, and not her, was to be the future High King of Britain.
Why?!
It wasn't fair!
What did Artoria have that she didn't?!
She might have been able to somewhat understand if Artoria had been born male, like she knew her father wanted, but both she and Artoria were female, and both shared the same blood!
So why had Merlin (and she knew that damned Magus had to be involved somehow) and Uther selected Artoria over her?!
And if all that hadn't been enough, she'd later overheard Merlin and her parents discussing plans regarding her marriage.
Sure, she'd always known that, as a royal, she'd have little say in who she would ultimately be wed to, and growing up under Igraine and Uther had left her with little delusions of romance...
And sure, the whispers surrounding King Lot in the court were generally positive, and she could certainly do a lot worse than him...
But she'd never even met the man before!
Was it really too much to ask for, that she could at least say she knew her future husband, or what he even looked like?
In the end, it was all just too much, and as her tumultuous emotions had threatened to overwhelm her, she'd elected to storm out of the castle, leaving its walls without an escort and going for a walk in the surrounding grounds by herself to try and clear her head.
It may not have been what was expected from a child of Uther Pendragon, who was supposed to instead bear it all with stoicism, but then again she was no longer Uther's heir, now was she?
That thought elicited a wry smile and a small chuckle from her, before they both died as she felt a pang run through her heart.
Just... why?
Why had they chosen Artoria over her?
In what way was she lacking?
Even as her feet continued taking her through the dense, and her thoughts continued to plague her, she found herself no closer to an answer, let alone any balm that could soothe her troubled heart.
And then she almost tripped over a body where it was lain, between the thick roots of an old oak.
While Morgan hadn't been expecting to encounter anybody during her impromptu excursion, she'd still subconsciously maintained a minimum level of caution as she'd strolled along the forest.
After all, even if the Saxons were still mostly focused on consolidating their hold over the Southern and Eastern coasts, there was always the chance that a raiding party might attempt to strike at the lands of the High King, the symbol of the Britons' resistance against their foreign invaders.
But even as she'd almost instinctively cast two dozen spells, a moment's study allowed her to quickly analyze the situation, after which she cautiously lowered her hand, satisfied that the man wasn't about to leap up and attack her and that this hadn't all been the signal for some unseen ambush.
Rather, by the looks of things it seemed that she had simply stumbled across the resting place of some vagabond, likely another wandering knight based on the state of his armor (and the fact that he even had metalarmor).
It didn't seem like his final resting place, though; despite the bloodstains, dents, and holes marring his breastplate and the lack of a sword in his scabbard, he bore no obvious wounds or injuries, and still drew breath.
If she had to hypothesize, he was probably yet another warrior from the continent, who had come to their lands seeking a new patron and liege following the fall of the old Empire and the accompanying aftershocks that had shaken now-former Imperial territories, and had barely escaped or triumphed in some recent battle.
In other words, nobody of any true importance, at least not here and now.
She would've simply walked away from the man after that, paying him no further thought, but then his empty scabbard caught her eye once more.
While the golden stripes accenting the scabbard were hardly unheard of (and a bit gaudy in her opinion; she was far from an accomplished swordswoman, but she'd still picked up a few things from Uther and Merlin, and couldn't help but feel the extra weight on the hip was far too much of a drawback), she'd never seen one made out of a white metal before.
Come to think of it, his breastplate seemed to be made of the same white metal, too...
It certainly wasn't silver, being too dull, nor was it lead or tin, not being nearly dull enough for those, and it definitelycouldn't be any of the other white metals she knew, considering those metals were all far too heavy and/or brittle to be practical as armor.
Her finger tapped against her cheek impatiently as she stared intently at the two pieces of metal, as if trying to will them to spontaneously combust for the crime of frustrating her by daring to exist without a convenient explanation.
Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and she reached out towards them with both a hand and her other senses, casting a simple Structural Analysis spell to determine their material and make...
And immediately withdrawing with a startled hiss as she sensed something enveloping his body, firing up a dozen spells in her mind and preparing to cast them at the thingthat lay in front of her, even as her sudden movement caused it to begin to stir.
What kind of lunatic wore its Magic Circuits as armor?!
-A FEW DAYS LATER-
Jaune Arc wasn't having a good day.
Okay, maybe that wasn't the most accurate statement.
Jaune Arc wasn't having a good week.
To be fair though, when one's week involves a terrorist attack during an international tournament, some fire witch and a literal Grimm dragon killing Beacon's Headmaster and attacking part of the school, and one's death at the hands of said fire witch and Grimm dragon at the top of said former Headmaster's office, it's probably very hard for that week to ever be considered "good".
And, as it turns out, waking up after your supposed death to find some girl standing above you, staring at you like you personally insulted her mother, and using some bullshit Semblance to fire a whole lot of bullshit at your exhausted body did not come close to making it better.
Nor did it help to find out that he'd apparently woken up in a whole different world (he was pretty sure, considering the Moon wasn't shattered here), that the girl hadn't used some bullshit Semblance to try and kill him again but had instead used actual honest-to-Oum magic, and, oh, that the girl wasn't just some girl, but was instead the eldest child of the High King of the land!
Evidently, somewhere in his life he'd made a wrong turn and ended up in a bad Mistralian comic; if he had to guess, it'd have to have been sometime between running away from home with the family sword, and trying to fight a Huntress who'd killed the Headmaster by herself, and her pet Grimm dragon, all alone.
... he couldn't say he regretted any of it, though.
When he'd run away from home to try and be a hero, he'd always known that it wouldn't necessarily have a happy ending.
And he'd never have forgiven himself if it had been Pyrrha, or Ruby, or Weiss, or Ren, or Nora, who'd died atop that clock tower instead of him, the fraud who'd cheated his way into Beacon.
And as far as he could tell, this world wasn't too bad; based on what he'd seen and heard, he was in a Kingdom much like Vale, with dense forests, thick trees, and lush vegetation, though their society was apparently still in a pre-Dust stage of development (likely since this world didn't really have Dust or an equivalent, or at least hadn't discovered it yet), and Grimm weren't a thing here (though they still had their fair share of stories of monsters and beasts in the forests).
The company, on the other hand, could use a little bit of work.
"You were just thinking something insulting about me, weren't you, Arc?" Morgan accused, levelling a cold glare at him.
"Of course not, Your Highness," Jaune denied innocently, meeting her sharp blue eyes with his own.
Morgan studied his face for a few moments, but Jaune had grown up with seven older sisters, and though the platinum blonde woman remained unconvinced she could find no trace of deceit in the Foreigner's face or tone.
Rather than admit to that, however, Morgan simply changed the subject with a huff: "Anyway, you were telling me more about odd Magecraft?"
"I keep telling you, it's not magic or anything," Jaune sighed, "it's just Aura, that's all. Every Huntsman and Huntress has it."
And the fact that he hadn't even known about it until Beacon's Initiation was something he'd take to the grave... which was a pretty poor saying, now that he thought about it.
"And yet you can't tell me the slightest thing about it, beyond that it is the supposed manifestation of your soul, and that you not only coat yourself but your equipment in it in order to protect both?" Morgan asked suspiciously.
"I, uh... wasn't the best student..." Jaune admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly as he did so (and feeling mentally thankful that Morgan had stopped restraining him during their conversations after the second day).
In his defense, though, his father had refused to tell him anything about being a Huntsman, and he hadn't even completed his first year at Beacon, nor had he gone to a combat school like most other people!
"I can see that," Morgan remarked drily.
Jaune could only pout at that, to which Morgan merely responded with a single raised eyebrow, challenging him to defend himself.
"Regardless," Morgan continued on as Jaune chose silence. "Have you never tried to experiment with your Magecraft? Seen what else it could do?"
"I was, uh, too busy trying to get the basics of Aura and combat down first..." Jaune elaborated, though he then added: "But most people that I know, they also have Semblances, which allowed them to do... stuff..."
"Stuff?" Morgan repeated, her raised eyebrow inching further upwards.
"Well, apparently it was unique from person to person," Jaune explained. "For example, my partner could control metal, and I had a friend who could move at super speeds, leaving a trail of petals in her wake, and another who could absorb lightning for a power boost."
Morgan mentally took note of this new information, comparing it to her own knowledge of the Moonlit World. While she knew that comparing Parallel Worlds and making assumptions was an exercise in futility due to possible differences in the fundamental laws of reality governing each World Line, it still made for an interesting mental exercise, trying to find parallels between how the Magecraft she knew of worked, and the Magecraft of another World.
At the very least, it helped her remain distracted.
Though, if each "Semblance" was truly unique (and not hereditary), then how could masters truly teach apprentices (as Arc had claimed to have been) about the proper way to utilize their Semblance?
What if a master and an apprentice had Semblances that seemed incompatible, like lightning absorption and super speed?
... how would one even discover they could absorb lightning in the first place?
Were Semblances simply instinctive?
"And what's your Semblance?" Morgan inquired.
"Oh, uh... I... don't know yet..." Jaune admitted after a few seconds.
"... how?" Morgan pressed.
"They, uh, think I might be a late bloomer," Jaune offered.
"... is it possible for your kind to simply not have Semblances?" Morgan asked, ignoring his excuse.
"... maybe?" Jaune shrugged weakly. Sure, everyone in Team RWBY had one, as had all of his teammates... but Cardin hadn't had one, as far as he knew, nor had anyone else in Team CRDL...
Morgan simply studied the blonde man in front of her, as her natural instincts continued their war within herself.
The part of her connected to Britain held a certain distaste for the Foreigner in front of her, revolted by the existence of an Outsider from another World polluting the island.
But the Magus that had been tutored by Merlin himself couldn't help but admit to being curious about his whole existence, to say nothing of the way his Magecraft worked.
Moreover, unlikely as it may have been, helping him figure out how his "Aura" worked might offer her insight into improving her own abilities.
And since she had hardly anything to do in the castle now that everyone's attention was focused elsewhere...
"I'll look at my mentor's texts, see if he might know something," Morgan declared, before her brows furrowed and she muttered resentfully: "I'd ask him, but all he's got time for now is Artoria..."
Jaune didn't miss it, or the familiar look on her face, and while he had no idea just who this "Artoria" was, he knew Morgan.
Or at least, he thought he had.
Haughty, frigid, entitled, and a little bit of a bitch, she'd honestly reminded him a little bit of Weiss at her worst, the Weiss that Ruby had complained to him about occasionally at the start of their first semester at Beacon, especially with her pale hair and eyes.
But looking at her now, seeing the loneliness in her blue eyes and the undercurrent of bitterness that tinged her voice, and especially the way her long platinum blonde hair framed her face...
Jaune couldn't help but be reminded of his older sisters.
"What are you looking at?" Morgan snapped, as she caught him staring.
"Nothing, nothing," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, even as he mentally pondered his next course of action.
... well, it wasn't like he had anything else to lose...
"So... you have a mentor?" Jaune casually changed the subject to something that seemed like it was weighing on her mind, deciding to do his best to give her the opportunity to vent about it (without being too obvious; he doubted she'd appreciate it). "Who is he? And what's he like?"
"An incorrigible pervert and a bastard," Morgan sniffed as she unwittingly fell for the bait, before begrudgingly conceding to an attentive Jaune: "... but, as a magus, his skills and knowledge are certainly unrivalled..."
-FOUR AND A HALF-ISH YEARS LATER-
As Morgan looked around the cave, and found a distinct lack of blonde Foreigners ready to wait on her hand and foot, she couldn't help but begin tapping her foot against the floor impatiently, an unamused frown unknowingly crossing her face the whole time.
Just where in the Lord's name was that fool now?
She wasn't worried in the least about Arc, of course; fool as he may have been, he had been the equivalent of a squire in his world, and more pertinently possessed absurdreserves of Od (far more like Artoria's Magic Core than a typical magus's Magic Circuits, much to her irritation), which when combined with his odd soul Magecraft (or "Aura", as he kept insisting) meant she was reasonably sure he could probably take on an entire Saxon army and come out unscathed if he made an actual effort (and stopped being so soft and naive).
(She'd once theorized to him that he was just so ignorant that his body simply hadn't realized that it actually possessed limits, and had thusly elected to just keep going. The resulting pout he'd given her had been absolutely worth it.)
It was simply that her current visit wasn't a purely social one, to put it frankly.
She wouldn't say she needed to speak with him, of course, nor would she ever admit to desiring to speak with him; it was simply that there was something on her mind, and unfortunately he was the only person available.
It helped that he wasn't a bad listener, of course-
"Oh, Your Highness? Is that you?"
Morgan immediately turned around, hands dropping to her hips, and levelled her best glare at the source of the voice even as she fumed: "Took you long enough, Arc. Didn't I send a familiar over?"
"You did," Jaune conceded, before raising his arm and displaying his peace offering: "But I didn't expect you to arrive so soon, so I thought I had time to hunt a bit of game for us for dinner."
Morgan eyed the dead rabbits with a neutral expression, though internally she was far less composed.
On the one hand, she was royalty, and rabbit was a poor meal for a future monarch.
On the other hand, she couldn't really blame Arc for the lack of choice meats, considering he'd been living in a cave in a forest for years.
What ultimately tipped the balance firmly in favor of the latter opinion, however, was that the years had made her familiar with his culinary abilities, and so, after a haughty sniff, she regally seated herself on one of the chairs she'd decorated the cave with, before she snapped her fingers, and a pair of her familiars brought in a basket filled with some simple ingredients and foods, which Jaune accepted good-naturedly, familiar enough with Morgan by now to simply be thankful that she wasn't making a snide comment about rabbit meat (not that it ever stopped her from stuffing her face with his cooking).
Don't get him wrong; he considered Morgan a close friend (namely by virtue of not really knowing anybody else in this World), and he'd gotten to know her well enough to know that there was definitely a heart buried deep underneath that harsh exterior, but that didn't mean he was blind to the fact that she could still be a haughty bitch if (when) she so desired.
If she was content with just lounging around today, he certainly wouldn't complain (in fact, it was probably safer if she just remained where she was while he cooked).
He doubted lounging around was all that she'd come here for, however; if it was something so casual, she wouldn't have made such a fuss about him not being in the cave, and she certainly wouldn't have sent a familiar just to inform him of her impending arrival.
But he also knew her enough to know better than to pry (or at least, to be too obvious about it), and so he instead busied himself with cooking, all while keeping an eye on the princess where she sat, and taking note of the way she was fidgeting ever so slightly.
In the end, it was halfway through her second helping that she finally spoke: "So, Merlin and Uther have finally remembered about my existence."
"Oh?" Jaune made a noise of interest as he looked up from his own food, waiting for Morgan to go on.
"Specifically..." Morgan had to pause briefly to recollect herself, before continuing on with feigned nonchalance, refusing to allow Arc to see her weakness: "They have decided it was time to address my arranged marriage."
Jaune couldn't help but wince; thanks to her countless rants on the topic he could safely say he was an expert in the myriad of ways that Lot, Lothian, and Orkney sucked.
"Have they listened to you and cancelled it?" Jaune asked hopefully.
Morgan could only snort in amusement at his hopeless and unwarranted optimism, before her face fell and she explained into her plate: "The opposite, in fact. Uther will be going to fight Vortigern soon, and left behind two decrees before he commits suicide-by-fratricide.
"The first, was that Merlin was to take his precious heir, Artoria, to be raised by Sir Ector, one of his most trusted and renowned knights.
"The second, was that I was to be wed to King Lot of Orkney, as soon as possible," Morgan finished bitterly. "I am to depart for the North by the end of the week."
A stunned silence enveloped the cave following her declaration, as Morgan continued to examine a particularly-interesting stain on her cutlery, and Jaune stared at her, trying to figure out what to say.
Finally, Jaune carefully asked: "Then, what will you do now, Morgan?"
"What else can I do?" Morgan laughed hollowly, not even chastising him for daring to use her name without permission. "Even if I am no longer the heir, I am still the eldest daughter of the High King of Britain, and I still have a duty to Uther's will."
"..." Jaune recognized the helplessness and resignation in her voice, and took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, before asking: "Can I tell you a story?"
Morgan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that, unsure of what that had to do with anything, but ultimately she decided to humor him, and imperiously allowed: "Go ahead."
"So... there was a boy," Jaune began. "The boy grew up on a farm, and wanted to be a warrior, a hero, like his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father."
Morgan barely suppressed a snort, more than able to figure out that Jaune was talking about himself, though she continued to listen anyway, curious to see where he was going with all this.
"But the boy's parents disagreed, and refused to allow it, allow him to receive any training, no matter how much they fought," Jaune continued his tale, his face falling as he remembered the numerous fights he'd had with them about it. While he couldn't say he knew Uther Pendragon, he knew what Morgan thought of him; at the very least, he knew his parents did love him.
"... so what did the boy do?" Morgan gave him a thoughtful look. If his parents had disagreed, how had he ended up as a squire (or Huntsman-in-Training, as he'd called it)?
"He took the family sword and scabbard, and ran away from home in the middle of the night, determined to get to an Academy and receive training," Jaune recounted.
Morgan's look became unamused, and though she knew she should have expected something like that, she still remarked: "Sounds like a fool."
"... maybe..." Jaune had to concede that point, the smile on his face turning sad as he glanced at where his old breastplate hung.
And as Morgan followed his gaze, and saw the punctured metal, she heard him quietly speak: "But let me ask you something; do you think the boy regretted any of it?"
Morgan simply looked back, wondering just what he was getting at with this.
After all, she knew Jaune Arc; of course the fool didn't regret a damn thing!
All he cared about was that he'd helped someone, regardless that he'd defied his parents, fled his home, and even died...
... oh.
Oh, that's what he was getting at.
Morgan's eyes narrowed as she realized just what he was saying, and while a part of her ruefully praised him for successfully and sneakily tricking her, the rest of her furiously snarled: "This and that are different; your situation and mine are hardly comparable!"
"Of course," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, before nodding and making the occasional chagrined noise as she went on to expound to him, in great length and detail, just why he was a fool for even thinking his story was similar to hers.
After all, he knew her well enough to know that, if she was really insulted, she'd have just left after getting one final jab in at him.
Rather, it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him.
He wisely kept quiet about that, of course.
Morgan, for her part, refused to relent in her tirade. After all, she was the inheritor of Britain by the island's own Will and Holder of its Mystery, and true heir of Uther Pendragon, even if he and Merlin had chosen another.
Even if she wanted to, she couldn't just abandon her duty to her land!
... if she were to disobey Uther on this, then what?
Run away from home chasing a dream like the fool in front of her?
She'd be disowned by that damned man!
... but he'd already treated her as nothing more than a spare since Artoria had been born, hadn't he...
After tens of minutes, as she ran out of steam and slowly wound down, she finally finished, in a quiet voice: "... Britain means everything to me, Arc... it's connected to me, belongs to me, in a way you can't comprehend with your limited senses."
Jaune knew that she wasn't making a jibe at his intellect with that statement (possibly for the first time); she'd demonstrated her magic and enhanced senses before, back when they'd first met.
"And if I were to leave, and be disowned, if I were to renounce my claim to it... what would I have left?" Morgan asked uncertainly, shaking her head. "... who would I even be, if I were no longer a Pendragon?"
Similarly, Jaune knew that he couldn't really relate to her status, considering he'd just been a farm boy in a Kingdom that hadn't had a King in generations, and she was a princess in a world with magic and dragons.
But he could relate to her as a person, and after thinking about his response for a bit, he carefully answered: "Well... you'd still be Morgan, right?"
As Morgan's head whipped back towards him, Jaune immediately held up his hands, pre-emptively forestalling any response as he quickly explained: "I mean, even if you're no longer royalty... all your experiences, everything you've learned, what makes you, you... it'd all still be there, right? Nothing could change the fact that you're stillMorgan, right?
"And whatever you choose, no matter what happens... you'd always still have me, Morgan," Jaune continued, encouraged by the fact that she hadn't ripped his head off, before quickly adding: "After all, that's what friends are for, right? ... we are friends, right?"
Morgan snorted in amusement at his sudden uncertainty.
At the very least, she did know she could count on him; even discounting the fact that he didn't have anyone else to rely on, Jaune Arc was just that kind of fool.
Seriously, what kind of person his age went around proudly saying things like "strangers are just friends you haven't met"?!
... it still felt good to hear, however, as she met his eyes, she couldn't help but feel an odd sense of reassurance.
Oh Lord, his damn naivety was contagious!
Even so, however, she still felt her intended response dying right at the edge of her tongue, and something else instead slipped her lips: "... then, what about the Kingdom? King Lot possesses many troops, due to the need to protect his lands from the Scots and Picts to the North, but that distance also insulates him from the Saxon threat. My marriage was to be a political tool, meant to tie him to the Britons in the South, and ensure that he has an interest in assisting us in the fight against the Saxons."
This time, it was Jaune's turn to raise an eyebrow, as he in turn countered: "I'm sure there are many more ways you can think of, to help your Kingdom and your people, Morgan."
And as Morgan's pale blue eyes searched and studied Jaune's deep blue eyes, cynically searching for any hint of a lie, any sign of deceit, their sharpness slowly began to soften, as their owner found herself slowly agreeing.
And a wild, unthinkable plan began to form in her mind.