'I do not own RWBY. It was created by Monty Oum, and is owned by Roosterteeth.'
'This is rated "M" for mature audiences.'

Note: Hello ladies and gentlemen… I know I should be working on my other stories, but it seems as though this idea has been consuming my mind since Christmas… So, here we go. I've got a general idea of how everything will go, and you'll learn as we go along…

So, while I don't even know what I'll end up naming it, or how much people will like it, I'm thinking this is a masterpiece in the making. Let's get going.

One King To Rule Them All

Chapter I

It was raining.

Mud. Blood. Water. Bone. Gristle. Tears. Arrows. Spears.

It mattered not what it rained, simply that it did, and that it was obscuring his line of sight.

Snarling as he reached upwards and wiped a heavily gloved hand over the front of his helm, he looked around, taking in what he could. Digging in his heels and turning right, he parried a blade before driving his own into the man's chest, dragging him off his horse with the power behind it.

He fell, and drowned in the accursed mud, gurgling and vomiting as he went.

Turning on his horse, Nicholas' hands tightened on the rains as it bucked, lightning striking beyond the armies, thunder following soon after. Digging his spurs deeper into the beautiful white steed beneath them, he felt them pierce the tough skin, entering the muscle.

Skittering forwards, it let him get close enough to another combatant to be useful.

Blocking the lance with his shield, he grabbed onto it with that same hand despite the jarring sensation of the blow ringing up his arm. Hacking off the shaft with his good, steel blade, he took it, driving it into the man's eye sockets, blood and bone spraying through the back of his skull.

Fool, using a lance like that in such close quarters.

Turning, he hacked away another blade before slashing upwards into the man's horse. Cutting the flank open, he watched as it crumpled, putting the man's head at swinging level. A mere second later, he was no more.

The lightning struck again, concussive thunder rolling through his bones.

"Rally!" He shouted, voice carrying over the din of battle, barely muffled by the steel of his helmet. Turning, he slashed an foot soldier, nearly cleaving the man in two as his spine caught the blade.

"Rally to me!"

Turning, his horse bucked and crushed another man beneath its hooves, destroying the mans chest and face, turning him into nothing more than another faceless soldier. Turning, he blocked a stray crossbow bolt before dropping the shield and turning, once more giving the cry to rally.

Barreling through the horde, Peter came through.

Like a monster made man, he slashed and flew through the horde, maiming them left and right with his insane strength. Grabbing a man by the throat using his weak hand, he grunted before tossing them into a swarm.

They briefly bolstered their morale, thinking number would save them, before charging.

Turning, he swung his axe, chopping the head off of a squire before he could even scream. The head rolled to the ground, bloodying the mud before two more joined them. Cleaving downwards with both hands, Peter drove his axe deep into the shoulder of one man before tearing it out and kicking him in the chest. Ducking under a wild swing from a panicked farm boy, Peter tackled into him.

Taking the haft of his axe, he thrust it into the poor lads balls, crushing his hopes of children before crushing his skull. Ripping the the axe from his skull, Peter barely noticed the dead body twitch before turning to Nicholas.

A monster on the battlefield. A genius away from it.

Wiping rain off of his great helm as it dripped through the visor and onto his face, he greeted Peter from his high horse, even while maiming another countryman. Quickly kicking another in the shoulder, he drove his shield into the man's forehead.

"They've got a mage Peter!"

He heard a grunt from the mustached man as Peter spun around an assailant. Tossing him over his shoulder and onto the ground, he broke his spine instantly. "Wait for our men to rally then charge the eastern flank!"

Nicholas nodded, picking up on it instantly. A old maneuver, which had no certainty behind it, yet it was more certain to work then simply flailing in this damned mud. "Our archers will watch the retreat as the cavalry moves to intercept!"

Nodding, Peter Port charged back into the fray, his esteemed consultant crushing skulls as he battled through the enemy knights. Rallying around him, part of the nearest company repelled the enemy creating breathing room as the rest of it rallied around Nicholas himself.

"To the king's side!" His men roared, their war cries growing louder as they congregated around him, fighting on all sides as they generally moved east. Turning to the west, he charged in himself sweeping the enemy away as though they were naught more than bugs.

In the distance, he could see Peter organizing the cavalry back into proper formation.

Trudging back, his horse quickly took a cut to the knee from behind. Beheading he who did it as he flew off his horse, Nicholas turned, breaking the face of a man with his shield before stabbing another through their plate mail.

Kicking one in the shin, he was about to finish them off before his men pushed, ending the enemy before quickly retreating, him in the midst of his own men, bolstering their spirits even in this hell. Moving back, he quickly reached up, taking his great helm off before throwing it in front of him into the mud.

Visibility was a thousand times more valuable on foot than it was on horseback.

"Archers fire!" His voice rose over the clashes of combat, as steel rang against steel and the dead lay screaming, the pain becoming too much. Raining down the hail of death, the archers fired, their bows twanging back into existence from their position behind him.

Hitting nothing and few, the arrows rained down acting as nothing more than cover.

Turning, he heard the screams of his men and dove to the left, and out of the way. Landing in the mud, he did his best not to be trampled as his heavy plate pulled him down. Rolling to his back before spitting the mud out of his mouth, he swung, chopping off the hands of one who charged him, their blood spraying onto his chest as they wept, dismembered and broken.

The enemy cavalry had arrived apparently, bringing with them a wave of infantry into their ranks.

Getting to his feet, he ducked under a blade before kicking the man in the shin. Hearing something shatter, he impaled him on the imperial blade before letting him drop to the ground with a splash. Nicholas wiped the rain and muck from his brow before turning, his coif stopping some wet mud from slathering itself on the side of his head.

Drawing his blade from the chest of the fallen, he looked around.

All around him, his men were dying. The enemy had arrived, prepared, fresh, compared to the older, and worn units. With their greater numbers, it was only a matter of time before death awaited them.

Meaning that he too, stood no chance of making it out alive.

Diving back in with a shout to rally, the king charged, cleaving another in two leaving behind a torn mound of flesh. Thrusting a shield into a man's throat and breaking his neck, he turned before slashing another around the chest.

Turning, he saw his men repulsing them, just barely as the cavalry prepared to charge.

Then he saw him. The black rider. The horseman of war. He who started this whole bloody mess in the first place. Snarling, Nicholas threw himself forwards, another footman already taking his place in the messy line as he charged across the field.

Through the open space, and towards the horseman of war.

If Nicholas the Great was going to die, he'd make sure it was worth it, and not useless. He'd insure that his enemy's world collapsed, he'd insure that he'd die, heroic. If there was no way out, he'd create a way for his other men to bolster themselves, and live.

That is how a king must go.

The previously shiny plate of his armor had lost its sheen, its luster. Charging across the open ground, blade held high, he still made an imposing figure, charging through those who dared to get in his way. At his high height, he towered over them, charging recklessly through his own kingdom, towards them.

The glowing red eyes beyond the helm stared back at him, before his horse trotted forwards.

Lowering his lance, the horseman looked beyond his helmet. Then, the horse began galloping, charging down the lane with the lance leveled. Continuing his own mad run, the king spat to the side and into the mud before time slowed.

Glowing to life on his blade, the runes shone with a white brilliance, even as the lance moved forwards, towards his heart. Then, he moved, his blade flashing like quicksilver, as it cut through the haft of the lance.

Then, through the neck of the horse.

Cleaving through the neck of the horse, his blade continued onwards before slashing into the mud, spraying it upwards into his face, even as the black horseman went flying forwards. Wiping the grime from his face, as the blood and gristle from the horse sprayed everywhere, he saw his downed opponent, moving forwards to strike.

Then, the lightning struck once more, like a hammer from the heavens, announced by thunder as it crashed into the world in front of him, drying the land with his feet still trapped inside. His head rung out, even as the ringing in his ears pierced into his mind, scratching at the walls.

Their armies went quiet.

Through the din of continuing combat, Nicholas' focus rebuilt itself, over anything else in that moment even as the runes on his blade faded. Wrestling his feet free, he stood upon the now solid but quickly decaying land and charging towards the recovered horseman of war.

Parrying his thrust, the black plated warrior moved his mace downwards towards his knee. Letting it deflect off of his shield, he watched it imbed itself and crash into the ground. Pushing forwards, he moved to make the killing blow only for his wrist to be caught, and a mace drove into his side.

The red eyes of in the helm shone in untold fury, yet no words left its lips.

Rolling with the hit as his blade went sailing through the air to be lost in the muck, he crashed back to earth. Two of his ribs were broken at least. Rolling, he got up, shield on his left arm out before him, the previously gold engraving on it chipped, and cracking.

Then, the horseman lunged once more, brandishing his mace to the side.

Deflecting, he watched it bounce off before he received the back of the man's hand to his face, knocking him to the side. Twisting, he deflected the next hit, driving it into the ground before charging forwards and knocking the man away from his mace.

Dropping his shield, Nicholas ripped his enemies weapon out of the earth.

Taking the huge heavy black morningstar in his hands, he swung it at his enemy with all of his might, letting it carry him with it. The weight pulled him forwards, before it slammed into the ground previously bearing the weight of the black one.

Swinging it as he turned to generate quick momentum, Nicholas let the mace crush through the surrounding air towards his enemy with the intention of breaking every bone in his body. Rolling out of the way, the black one scrabbled in the mud before returning to his feet.

The same red eyes beyond the helm looked onwards, showing no emotion, yet infinitely enraged.

Dueling back and forth, they swung, clashing together. Nicholas was too slow to hit him, and the horseman was disarmed and unable to cause damage. They were at a standstill unpassable until their stamina gave.

Then things changed, and fire erupted around them.

Blown back, Nicholas had time to see a red robed figure in the distance, hood up against the rain as their hands waved about in the air, glyphs appearing in their wake. Circling around them, the fire encompassed their entire battle, even as the armies figured out what was going on.

Struggling to his feet, he was about to to drop a mace on his still downed opponent, before a pair of mucky and brown ice spears shot upwards from the ground, impaling his thighs. Crying out, he felt them touching against the surface of his bone as his nerves screamed out in pain.

Then it happened.

Twisting to one knee, the black one moved from the ground, ripping a dagger off of his belt, and driving it through Nicholas' armor and into the midriff below the plate. Feeling it slip in between his ribs, Nicholas felt the blood dripping off of his lips, even as his eyes struggled to stay open.

Then he moved himself, scrabbling up and down his armor before taking his own dagger, and plunging it into the visor of the dark knight who ended him. What little strength remained, he ensured it was buried deeply into his brain, before choking on his blood and letting it spill out onto his chin.

Now truly, the armies were silent.

Silent, as everything turned into nothing, for King Nicholas The Great.

~o0o~ One King To Rule Them All ~o0o~

Jaune awoke with a start, moving into a sitting position almost immediately. Looking around his dim chambers, his hand went from his bed to his bedside table, lighting the oil lamp kept there. Rubbing his eyes, he checked everything.

'Head? Check. Hands? Check. Legs? Those are fine… Is there a drip in the ceiling?'

Looking around his ceiling for any pesky drips, and around the walls for anywhere drafts could be let in, Jaune, finding nothing, relaxed back onto his pillows. Pulling up his covers further, he reached to his side, grabbing a book he was still in the middle of reading.

Yet still, the question did not leave his mind.

Secured in thick stone walls, as warm and comfortable as anyone could hope to be, yet he just woke up? No… Something was wrong. Jaune couldn't recall having nightmares, though he's had them before and not remembered.

No… Something was very different this time.

Putting his reading to the side, Jaune swung his legs out of the bed and onto the wooden floor. Crouching, he drew opened drawer of the bedside table, withdrawing what must be his only weapon in the world. A simple dagger, about four inches in length, made of cheap yet effective steel.

Padding quietly around his room, he strained to notice something, anything out of place. While he had no reason to be afraid in his own castle, there was always threats to his life. Things would never be perfectly safe.

That was simply the price of being a crown prince.

Hearing an uncommon creak on the stairs, one his family has eventually learned to avoid over their many years here. They knew how much that one creak in the stairs annoyed him, and never fixed it if only to torment him.

Seeing as it was the middle of the night, someone running a message was most likely. Walking over to the door, still prepared to draw and lunge should anything go awry, Jaune waited until there was a solid couple of raps at the door to draw his attention.

Opening it just a sliver, he saw who it was before opening it the rest of the way.

"Rather late to be paying me a visit isn't it Ozpin?" Jaune said, backing away from the door and walking back to his bed. Opening the drawer, he put the dagger away. Ozpin wouldn't harm him for the world.

That isn't something his godfather would do.

There was a weary look on his face, even as Ozpin walked over to the singular desk in the room. Pulling out a chair, he turned it towards Jaune before sitting down and clasping his hands atop his cane.

"It is indeed your highness, and I'm afraid it's for reasons neither of us would wish for." Ozpin said, voice going quieter before they were enveloped in silence. Making himself comfortable on the blue sheets, Jaune sat on the bed, waiting.

"What sort of reasons are they?" He asked, voice coming out into the silence before he brushed some blonde hair out of his face. Jaune would have to get it cut soon, to be more presentable.

Ozpin looked up at him, the thin brown eyes looking from his spectacles wearily, as the oil lamp lit his face with a warm glow, though it did nothing to shed the words in that same warmth. "I'm sorry your highness, but your father is dead. Killed in battle against the black one."

Jaune's face fell, tears welling in the sides of his eyes before he looked back up at Ozpin, jaw tightening. Grieving would come as soon as he left. The entire world was on the move now. "The black one?"

"Dead." Ozpin said, releasing a deep breath before leaning back in the chair, suddenly looking a hundred years old. "A dagger through the visor of his helm, a second after the black one's dagger killed your father."

Jaune nodded, sighing before turning back up to him. Remain strong, just a minute longer. "Send for me tomorrow afternoon Ozpin, and we will go over the rest of it, and everything which has happened since then."

Getting up, and making to bow, Ozpin was about to before being stopped by Jaune's hand. Nodding, he clacked his cane onto the floor before walking towards the door. "Yes, your highness."

Sitting back down on his bed, Jaune lent backwards, his head coming back into contact with the mattress. Sinking into it, he reached his hands up, wiping his eyes before twisting back into a sleeping position.

Then, he let himself be enveloped in loss.

~o0o~ One King To Rule Them All ~o0o~

Jaune had never really considered himself good at anything. Was he above average in his tutoring? Yes. Was he above the average height in the kingdom? By four inches. Was he talented at chess? Indeed.

Yet, despite all of these things, Jaune had never been seen as fit for the position he holds.

Crown prince. A position in which you were expected, no, required to be perfect in every way. Charming, good looking, powerful, fair, cunning, witty, chivalrous, skilled. Perfect. Perfection was a constant battle, that he simply was never able to win.

So, he was Jaune Arc, crown prince.

Yet, the people saw him as simply, the king's son. He wasn't anything special. He didn't participate in tourneys, or whoring, not once has he been on a crusade, or through a military campaign. Every time he was out, there was not crowds following him through the capital city.

Virtually no one saw Jaune Arc as the crown prince, and certainly no one thought he was fit to be king. He was too awkward, too scrawny, absent, strange, and in some cases, his gate was said to have swung in the wrong direction.

Which, no, it did not.

He had no impending proposals from royal families outside of his own kingdom, and there was noone in line to fill that position either. Simply no one, deemed it worth making good with Jaune Arc, the king's son.

Of course, that would soon change. In what ways, he didn't know, but it would happen.

As he sunk further into the tub, Jaune let his arms rise out and rest against the rim. He'd had the servants draw him a bath, and asked them to leave his clothes on a bench to the side while he soaked.

Well, perhaps there was a good thing about him. The servants, the ordinary people he met liked him.

Dunking his head under the warm soapy water, he scrunched his eyes shut before running his hands through his hair, getting out any much or dirt which might have accumulated over the past week or so.

Done, he stepped out of the bath, leaving the water to it's lonesome.

Jaune Arc was by no means stupid. He was crown prince, heir to the throne. His father has just died, in battle, while the kingdom was still at war. The only remaining course of action from the advisors, and from the people, was to proclaim him king.

Something that they didn't feel him fit to be.

Was he scrawny? Not particularly. There was muscle there, and it was enough so that he could run away from any battles he encounters, or wrestle a attacker the same weight as himself, or lighter.

Was he awkward? Around extremely beautiful women without time to prepare, of course. Who wasn't when confronted with people who did everything in their power to make your life hell? His older sisters had taught him to fear women well enough.

Was he strange? Not particularly so. He enjoyed his books, his time at home, wandering the halls aimlessly if only to see how people were doing. Also enjoying the study of chemistry, he was dubbed a 'alchemist' or at worst spat on and claimed to be a 'sorcerer.'

There should be no reason they found him unfit.

Under his father's tutelage, under his advisors, under the strategic counseling of the great generals, he would, should, and can be a great king, who brings in a new age of prosperity to the kingdom.

Yet, people didn't know him.

Pulling on his white tunic, Jaune pulled on his black slacks before strapping on his belt and pulling on a fresh pair of socks. Putting on his shoes, Jaune stood before the looking glass, tilting his head slightly before combing his hair and making it look presentable.

Then, he ran his hands through, ruining the nice look entirely.

Stepping back, Jaune heard the door once more gain several raps at it's wood. Walking over, Jaune opened it. Bringing in a small draft compared to the window, the heavy castle door revealed a small boy, only eight or nine in age.

"Your presence is required with the royal council your highness." The boy said before bowing, and straightening once more once he felt enough time had past, which it had. "Come with me please."

Nodding, Jaune followed along numbly.

Things were going to go wrong. There would be a coup, or a assassination, or he'd be exiled, or burned at the stake as a sacrifice to the gods to bring back King Nicholas the Great. His father, great?

He was mediocre at best.

Following the servant boy down the twisting corridors of his castle, Jaune dismissed those servants bowing to him as he passed. The need not do such a thing, not to him. Arriving at the room, Jaune nodded and thanked the boy before sending him on his way.

Then, he listened.

"-ply can not!" He heard a loud voice shout, before there was a bang onto a table, and a glass fell over. Picking up what he could, Jaune noticed five, maybe six voice in the room? "He is inexperienced, stupid, and unfit!"

"There is no way in fucking hell that his boy can rule this bloody kingdom." The same man roared, kicking a chair over as it shattered against what he assumed was the wall.

"Yet he will, and you will not." Another voice came over, hyper yet collected compared to the first one. Coughing, this same man appeared to continue. "That is simply the way things have been, and will be, until sweeping changes are made to the kingdom."

Well, time to make an entrance.

Pushing the doors open with his palms, Jaune stepped into the room, letting his presence speak for him as they each turned to look at him in turn.

Bartholomew Oobleck. The royal historian. Tasked with seeing every event in history, from the very top of the ladder. He was to record everything, all events, all occasions, and keep it safe, and under lock and key.

With his regular outfit, he looked nearly like Jaune. White tunic, unbuttoned at the top, black slacks. The only thing making him different was the pair of spectacles, and the wild green hair atop his head.

Beyond Oobleck, sat Ozpin, hand of the king. Tasked with advising the king, he was to offer the best advice for the kingdom. He was tasked to not let the kingdom be run into the ground by some insane monarch, or fool of a king.

He was dressed in dark, dark green slacks, with a black tunic. His spectacles were much like Oobleck's, round on a wiry frame, even as the band wrapped around his arm proclaimed him as hand.

Beyond him, on the other side of the table stood Peter Port, legendary general. He was a round, portly man, but did not lack in strength as his muscles would show. Going by the dirt in his hair, and mud on his boots, Jaune would say he just returned from the front lines of the war.

Sitting, close to Jaune yet beside the red uniform wearing professor Port, was Henry Winchester, Cardinal of Vale. A man with massive influence, and large strength. He was in charge of so many things it was unreal. The church's tax, the important royal masses, the baptising of every last cousin.

He was an extremely powerful and influential man.

He was also the one who was yelling about how unfit Jaune was to be king, mere moments ago. Stepping in, Jaune bowed before the cardinal, at the waist as was required of him. Reaching his hand forwards, he clasped the larger man's hand before kissing the holy ring and moving back.

"You sent for me?" Taking a chair, he sat at the head of the table.

Nodding, Ozpin turned, his cane clacking once as the room quieted even more so than it had been before. Taking a drink of whatever was in the mug in front of him in sync with Bartholomew, he waited a moment before continuing.

"I assume you know why you're here?" He said, clasping his hands with the top of his cane in the middle of his palms. Looking around the stone room, Jaune saw the stained glass windows, the lights hanging from the rafters.

It was a large room, without a doubt, four walls, three windows on the westward one.

"I believe I do, Ozpin." Jaune said, before straightening in his chair and looking around the room. The people called him awkward, but that was only around women. With other men, he was more so adept than they realized.

Henry's posture suggested he was displeased, while Port seemed to be calm if anything. Bartholomew seemed to be about to explode if the rhythmic bouncing of his knee was to be believed.

"Your highness…" Ozpin began before pausing, and pursing his lips. Looking down the table towards Jaune, he continued once more, finding steel in his words. "Your father was a great king, bringing with him victory after victory."

Jaune nodded, the mentioning of his father briefly bringing memories back to him before he banished them. He's grieved, he's wept, he's done everything his father would've wanted him to do. Now, was time to be strong.

"While he was certainly more than adept on the battlefield, and immensely successful in his crusades and campaigns, there were several problems with this one." Ozpin said, before gesturing to Peter, even while Jaune nodded.

The portly man's mustache moved with his mouth, the boisterous voice ringing true. "Every time before, he's struck in advance your highness. He's been the one to instigate the conflict, hiding his troops as they mobilized, creating his army from what they believed was nothing."

"However this time he didn't." Jaune said, finishing for him as Peter nodded, cupping what he assumed to be a flask of ale on the table before pushing it away.

"That's correct your highness." Peter said, his portly frame jiggling slightly as he fixed his position in his chair. "The Black Duke of the East rebelled, capturing the garrison in Dremestvard, buying himself time to prepare for our swift retribution."

"Time of which he used to gain an ally in Vacuo, increasing his armies and resources as the rebellions continued." Jaune said, taking in what knowledge had been shared with him during the time of war. Such rebellions were normally quashed, but the alliance made it difficult.

"He used tactics of the likes we'd never seen, striking then fleeing once more." Port said, twirling his mustache in his finger out of habit before noticing what he was doing and frowning. "We managed to route them however, and finally came back to the duke's own domain, where we engaged in final combat."

"We were making great strides to securing the victory, but the sudden change in condition swamped our troops, unprepared for mud." Peter said, and was about to continue before there was a snarl from Henry.

"They had a fucking mage your highness!" He said, slamming his heavy and meaty fist onto the table with significant power before continuing in his roaring. "One fucking mage managed to alter the tide of the battle so much that he died!"

Understable given the circumstances. The 'prophecies' had proclaimed that Nicholas would be the one to lead our kingdom into a new golden age. Which he couldn't do as he was now dead.

Meaning that the church had lost credibility, meaning that it had lost some people's faith, meaning that they had lost church goers. All boiling down to less money in the collection boxes, changing to less money for the Pope and his officers.

Mages had been a constant problem for the church, and whenever one showed up they'd be hunted with ferocity. For every mage, that was another person. It was another person who could perform miracles. A person who wasn't blessed by the Gods, or sent down to Remnant with powers from the celestials.

"One mage managed to create the perfect storm." Peter continued, ignoring his subordinates outburst in the room as he recounted the events. "The mud and lightning spooked our horses to the point they were more of a hindrance than a boon. However, we rallied and managed to push back. We were about to set loose the chargers before their own cavalry came in, crushing into our forces from where they were retreating into."

Jaune nodded, face growing somber. There was only one way that could go. Though, to keep a cavalry hidden for so long, and to use them for a surprise attack? That must've been the mage's spells, or a tactical genius at work.

"It was a slaughter, our men were overrun by the enemy heavy cavalry, and The Duke was at the head of them." He said finishing for Port, who then nodded in confirmation.

"I had been sent to reorganize the cavalry for our charge your highness, and was across the battlefield at the time, however, things looked bleak even from where we stood." Peter said, clasping his meaty hands onto the table. "Your father knew that he wouldn't be making it out alive."

Jaune nodded, putting his own hands onto the table. Mimicking body language and gestures made the other party more comfortable apparently. "So, he broke through the enemy, and took out the Duke at the cost of his own life."

Peter nodded, leaving it alone before sitting back in his chair with a mighty sigh. Taking a drink of his ale, he put it back to the table, now empty as Henry sat forwards, gesturing to Jaune more calm than before.

"You, are his first born son, heir to the throne." Putting his red robed arms onto the table, Winchester moved forwards leaning towards the center of the table and towards Jaune. "I've been reassured, time after time that you will make a fine king. I believe, that maybe, under our advising, you could turn into a great king your highness."

Jaune nodded. "I will not disappoint your eminence."

He leant back, not quite satisfied but not so tense any longer. His white and red cassock framed him, as he pursed his lips before twisting his hands, one over the other in a grotesque movement of the fingers.

"May the brothers protect and guide you, your majesty." Henry said, his voice bestowing with it the blessing of the church, and the church alone. The shift from 'your highness' to 'your majesty' was also present.

Standing from the table, Ozpin, Bartholomew, Peter, and Henry then knelt, lowering their heads as Jaune stood, his hands firmly upon the table. They knelt there for thirty seconds, before Jaune felt it in himself to continue.

His heart shone with brilliance of success, and acceptance, but things were just beginning. "Rise."

Rising to their legs, all of the men in the room were taller than him save for Peter. Looking at him, Bartholomew opened his mouth for the first proper time this meeting. "I knew we'd be naming a king today!"

"All hail, King Jaune!" Peter said, his voice shaking the cups on the table, even as they responded with the call heartilly. They left out a title afterwards, to let the people choose their own for him.

"We will have the coronation in one weeks time, as your family and the other barons, dukes, and noble houses arrive." Henry said, before standing to leave the room.

Jaune bowed, going to kiss the ring again before he felt the man's large fingers tracing through his hair, and making him stand. Looking deep into his eyes, the brown eyed man patted him on the shoulder from his slightly taller height.

"Before you were 'your highness', now you are 'your majesty'." Henry said, his voice carrying with it authority. "I have been willing to change that rule for your father, and will be for you."

Leaving the room, the Cardinal Of Vale bid him good day, leaving, apparently in a much better mood than he had been when Jaune had entered. What he had seen, or what had transpired in the man's mind to make him change in such a way Jaune did not know.

Nor did he wish to find out.

Patting him on the back strongly, Peter Port stood in front of him. "We will arrange a new honour guard soon your majesty. We can't have you dying so soon into your reign after all."

The general left the room, not noticing the small smile that Jaune had on his face, even before Jaune turned to meet Bartholomew's waiting hand. Raising his eyebrow, he was about to question it before Oobleck looked down at the hand extended and not holding the coffee.

"This? Sorry about that, would you mind if I got King Jaune's first handshake?" He said energetically, in that way he always has. Jaune remembered him trying to teach him some things back when he was a boy. "You know, for the history books!"

Putting his hand firmly in the royal historian's, Jaune shook it making the man's eyes light up as he stepped out of the room, mug in hand and mumbling something about 'King Jaune's Hands' and their own chapter in his autobiography.

Now the only other one left in the room, his godfather smiled towards him, before taking a scarf out of his pocket and wrapping it about his neck. "How do you feel your majesty? It's a dark time for the kingdom, and we're not in a good state, but I think there is still hope."

Jaune nodded, a smile fully blooming on his face as he ran his hands through his hair. "Did I do the right thing? Honestly, I'm not even sure if I want the crown!"

Ozpin smiled, swirling his mug before finishing it off and putting it onto the table. "Everyone wants the crown Jaune, people simply don't know if they're ready for the responsibility that comes with wearing it."

Jaune looked up at him. He wasn't overly hopeful, but it never hurt to get his godfather's opinion in things like this. "Do you think I'm ready?"

Ozpin laughed, before walking out with his cane tapping against the floor. Stopping in the doorway, he looked back over his shoulder at the new king to be.

"In time, you'll be the one king to rule them all."

~o0o~ One King To Rule Them All ~o0o~

Note: Done. Hope the first chapter was interesting enough to capture your gaze! Next chapter is the introduction of several of his sisters, and Jaune's coronation. Now, things in this story might get pretty strange.

I'm talking mistresses, wifes, incest, and everything else from Game Of Thrones. Like politics! Who am I kidding, we all know why we watch it don't we?

It'll have all RWBY characters, except for the occasional OC, or his sisters, mother, and Henry. Now, I'm going to upload this, and you all are going to leave reviews telling me what you think. Interesting? Not interesting? Have good ideas? Questions? Leave it all for me ladies and gentlemen! Good day and good night!

-DragonManMax