Chapter 1: Red-Hot
Chapter Text
Ruby swung her great cleaver, pivoting with her entire body to bring the heavy iron blade to bear. It clanged against her sister's buckler, biting deeply into the steel disc. Unfortunately for Ruby, it bit a little too deeply, and try as she might, the huge blade was well and truly wedged.
Worse still, Yang was no knight— she was a Huntress. The difference? A knight might give their helpless opponent a second chance, or at least take the moment to gloat, but Hunters had no such sense of honor, pride, arrogance, whatever you would call it. This much became evident when Yang took the opportunity to pull her buckler aside, ripping the wedge-shaped cleaver away from Ruby and leaving her open.
Yang's arm shot forward, hand covered by the steel guard of her reverse-gripped dagger. The reinforced cup smashed directly into Ruby's face, making the girl yelp as her Aura lit up around the spot of impact. She quickly relinquished her grip on the massive iron cleaver.
Yang's stance sagged with the new weight stuck in her buckler. While Ruby's hands dropped to her sides, she freed the now-useless disc from her lower arm.
Ruby pulled two weapons off her hips, one in each hand: a war hammer with a wooden handle, bulbous head, and pointy beak for the right, and a shortsword with a straight crossguard in her left.
Yang rushed forward quickly, knowing things could get out of hand if she let her whirlwind of a sister take the offensive. The girl could barely dodge away from Yang's straight, fast punches, and every step backwards only brought her closer to the wall of their home, where Yang could surely pin her.
Ruby was forced to act quickly. Rather than dodge backwards, she made a gamble on her Aura and dove forwards, bare shoulder barging directly into her sister. Yang stumbled back a step, giving Ruby just enough of an opening to flicker away, suddenly appearing behind the blonde from a spontaneous burst of red rose petals. She brought her war hammer down first, the blunt instrument whipping out to smack against Yang's face just as she turned.
But the blow never came. Instead, Yang's arm shot up towards the hammer, metal-shrouded fist cracking into the wooden handle and reducing it to splinters. The metal head thumped to the ground, useless. To Ruby's credit, she didn't hesitate to drop the splintered handle and swipe at Yang with her shortsword while her now-free hand reached for another weapon.
Yang wouldn't let her have it, though, eating the shortsword's measly swipe so she could grab her sister's sword arm and pull her close, delivering a steel punch to the girl's gut. The shielding soul-shroud that was her Aura wavered and buckled, barely clinging on by a thread. Yang pulled her fist back to deliver a final, Aura-shattering blow.
"Hey, hey!" Ruby whined, "I got you!"
Yang blinked, then realized the prick of cold metal against the side of her neck. A dagger of pure iron, uncaring as it effortlessly pushed past the brawler's golden shroud of soul energy. "Fuckin' cheater," Yang drawled, disappointed, "you suck."
Ruby grinned, skipping away as Yang relinquished her grip. "Hey, you're the one that broke my hammer. I worked hard on that!"
Yang rolled her eyes. "And I guarantee you spent twice as much time on the buckler you just fucked." She nodded to the steel disc, still stuck to her sister's giant, ugly iron cleaver. "Gods forbid you'd hit me with that thing."
Ruby waved off her concerns. "Psh, I wasn't even aiming for you. I just… uh…" She trailed off, gaze dropping to her feet.
"Didn't think it would go deep?"
Ruby absently nodded, realizing she'd have to spend hours slaving over another buckler. At least the hammer would be an easy fix— new handle and presto! Ol' Lucy was already on her sixth handle, anyways.
"Hey." Yang's voice snapped her out of her reverie, bringing her attention to the blonde. Her hand was out, as was customary.
Ruby half-heartedly clasped palms with her sister, the feeling that she had won fading with every passing thought of smelting, refining, casting, hammering, ugh. Much as she loved the forge, she hated the tedium that the craft entailed.
Honestly, if she weren't so good at it, she'd love to be a Huntress like Yang, or her dad, or her mom… or her uncle… or most of her friends. A life of adventure, the heat of battle, the fame, the glory! She'd do anything for that life.
But alas, it wasn't for her, not since her mom died, at least. Yang was already steeped in that lifestyle by the time Summer passed, but Ruby was young enough for Tai to steer her away from that life, and she understood that. She understood how dangerous it was, how rare it was for Hunters to reach their middle ages, and the kind of toll it took on those who did. She understood. That didn't mean she accepted it, though.
She hefted her cleaver, still stuck in her sister's buckler, throwing the blade over her shoulder. It was her baby, even if it was just a massive wedge of sharpened iron on a leather-wrapped handle, she loved it. The piece was an amalgam of farm tools, door hinges, nails, pots, and pans melted together and folded until they resemble the shape of a cleaver, then carefully honed and sharpened until even light pressure would split the flesh of her thumb. It was almost as long as she was tall, being a little more than five feet herself, and was completely unreasonable. Its heft was ungodly, and swinging it felt more like throwing the thing than making any kind of controlled, precise attacks like her sister made, giving it the nasty habit of pulling her with it.
But it wasn't for fighting people, since Huntresses generally didn't fight people. It was for Grimm— the otherworldly beasts that arose in times and places of crisis— and made of iron strictly for that purpose. The material was unique in that soul energy, the stuff from which Grimm are exclusively comprised, simply despises it, making it the best material with which to slay the beasts. That's not to say that it's the only thing that can kill them— a child with their bare fists could, theoretically, kill a Grimm if given the opportunity, but iron just made it so much easier.
Not that she'd ever actually tested it on a Grimm— her knowledge came second-hand from her sister or her uncle, or from illustrations, which were painfully rare to find. She'd only ever been able to use it with her uncle Qrow or her sister, who were nice enough to indulge her desire to train, even if her dad protested.
Ruby dropped the iron hunk on her work table, sighing as she dreaded remaking the buckler. With a small hammer and a lot of elbow grease, she managed to pry the buckler free, and proceeded to chuck it in her steel pile. It would be a job for tomorrow— the sun was much too low to be working. Ruby returned to her home, pushing open the door and rushing to the table when she caught the scent of her father's cooking.
"Nice of you to join us." Tai, her father, said over his cavernous, steaming stew pot. He didn't even have to look at his daughter as she tried to stealthily slink into a chair.
Ruby gave a sheepish laugh. "Ahah… yeah. What's for dinner?"
Tai grumbled something inaudible, then scooped a ladle full of stew into a clay bowl and handed it to his eldest child. When Ruby got one, she could see that it was some kind of meat stew with chopped carrot of diced onion. The scent hit her nose, making her stomach rumble loudly, but she held herself back until her father sat with them.
As was customary, they clasped hands around the table, and sent a prayer to Ozma— the watcher of the dead— to keep sacrosanct the soul of her mother, and to leave her unbound from worldly contracts. At once, they gave each other's hands a final squeeze, then let go. Ruby dug into her stew feverishly, uncaring of the drops that fell from her spoon and onto her chin and shirt.
"'Sho, Rubysh," Yang gulped down her mouthful and cleared her throat, "Ruby's getting a lot better. She actually beat me today. Can you believe it?"
Tai glared at his daughter. "She shouldn't even be fighting. She could get hurt." His eyes briefly flicked to the girl, who was just trying to stuff her face without any feelings of judgment.
Yang frowned at her father. "She's already been hurt from smithing."
Ruby winced, clenching and unclenching her right hand reflexively. If it weren't for the healing properties if her Aura, she would never be able to smith again. Her hand shouldn't have even been on the anvil.
"Well, she's still here, isn't she?" Tai glared at his eldest daughter, but his words shook the one he wasn't looking at. The unsaid words rang louder than anything else: 'unlike her mother'.
Ruby felt herself choke up, and the odd sound that croaked its way out of her throat got the other two's attention. Tai's eyes widened as he realized what he'd done, but it was too late. She was already crying.
Tai tried to make amends, but Ruby bolted away from the table before he could even open his mouth, leaving nothing but a trail of roses in her wake. She blinked straight into her room, body materializing from the cloud of petals and dumping her onto her bed.
She remembered the day she discovered her ability. It was completely by accident, Yang had appeared around a corner to spook her, and Ruby suddenly found herself in her mother's arms, meters away with rose petals floating off of her. She was so scared that she was dying, turning into a cascade of rose petals that would wither away and fade to dust. She had been crying so hard, and was so confused when Summer smiled and laughed.
Her door creaked open. Ruby threw a blanket over herself, knowing who the guest would be. He sat down on her bed, the straw mattress sagging slightly with the new weight. "I'm sorry, Ruby. I… I shouldn't have said that."
Ruby didn't respond, hoping he would take the hint and leave.
"I know you're not asleep, red. You snore like a bear."
Ruby groaned and turned, throwing the blanket off to show a scowl to her father. The man recoiled, wincing.
"Okay, okay, look, I…" he rubbed his neck, avoiding eye contact, "I'm sorry. I just…" he inhaled sharply, like he was holding something in.
Ruby softened her face, suddenly guilty as she saw his eyes, too, were watering up.
"It really hurt me, too. I don't want to go through that again." He said after a while, wiping his eyes before any tears could escape.
"But Yang is—"
Tai held a hand up. "Yang is different."
"How is she different!" Ruby shouted, sitting up suddenly.
Tai gave her a stern look, the softness draining from his face. "She's older."
"I'm sixteen! The same age as she was when she did her first hunt!"
"And she had already been extensively trained, had supervision from myself and your mother, and had already killed several Grimm." Tai stated factually, frowning.
Ruby threw her arms out. "So why haven't I been trained! You and Qrow could do it! It's not fair!"
Tai stood, crossing his arms as he looked down at her. "Ruby, no. It's too dangerous. You can't waste your talents by throwing your life away!"
"I won't throw my life away!" Ruby shouted, "I can fend for myself!"
"You've never fought a Grimm before! It's different from Yang!" He shouted back.
"Let me choose for myself!"
"You don't get to choose when your choice is going to get you killed!"
The room was suddenly void of all sound, the pressure of silence pressing on them both.
"I don't get to choose, huh?" Ruby stared him down, lip quivering as she fought to keep her tears in.
Tai scowled, matching her glare. "You're the best smith in Patch, Ruby. You could be the best damn smith in Vale if you don't do something stupid."
"Like get killed by a Grimm? My mom was stupid to get killed by Grimm?"
Tai recoiled. "That's not—"
Ruby rolled off of her bed just to stand and challenge him. "No, that is what you meant! You can't be mad at me because you're mad that my mom died! She's my mom!"
Tai's hand flew up, arm cooking back.
Ruby set her jaw and stared him down. "Do it. I'm stronger than you think."
Tai pursed his lips, hand shaking as he fought himself.
"I can take it!" Ruby shouted, stepping even closer to him, silver eyes challenging his.
Tai stared, eyes widening like he really was going to do it. But his hand dropped and he sighed. "No, you can't."
Ruby growled. "I can! Hit me!"
Tai looked away and shook his head. "I won't."
Ruby pushed him. "Come on! Let me show you! I can take it!"
Tai frowned before locking eyes with her again. "If you could, you wouldn't be crying."
Ruby touched her eye and sure enough, it was bursting with hot, angry tears. She stepped away from her father, scowling at him. "Fine," she said, gaze darkening, "I'll show you. I'll show you that I can take it."
Tai knew what was coming, but he was much too slow, the petals slipping between his fingers. Her red plume zipped out of the room, Tai chasing it as fast as he could.
He managed to catch one last glimpse of her before she disappeared: her unwieldy iron cleaver slung over her shoulder in its clasped leather sheath, with several more weapons dangling from her hips in various frogs, sheaths, and rings. She gave him one last look, moonlight reflecting in her silver eyes, before she disappeared in a cloud of rose petals.
Chapter Text
Regrettably, death did not find Weiss in her slumber, as she would discover, and an infernal ringing noise was piercing through the peaceful veil of sleep. She summoned every ounce of power left in her mortal prison of flesh just to pry each crusty eyelid open, revealing, to her disappointment, that life still clung to her bones. She groaned. She could hear the servant right outside her door, ringing that damned bell with that twice-damned smile on her thrice-damned face. If she had a javelin at her bedside, she would chuck it directly through the door and finally get that hag. Unfortunately, the only thing at her bedside was her mother's necklace, which she managed to scrape together enough wherewithal to throw around her pale neck.
The bell-ringing hag opened her door— without Weiss' permission, of course— and stuck her wrinkled turkey-neck through the gap. She locked Weiss down with those hawkish eyes and affixed her with a smile so bright it made her want to pluck her eyes out with a hairpin.
"My lady!" She greeted Weiss, her voice loud enough to split mountains, "goodness, I was beginning to worry you would not wake up!"
Weiss threw her legs over the edge of the bed, pulling most of the blanket to the ground with them. She looked at the fallen duvet, then back at her servant. "Sssuh…" Weiss' voice was like gravel, and clearing it did little to help, "someone will need to get that."
The bog witch looked down at the comforter, then back up at Weiss. "Yes, I imagine so! But first, we must get you dressed, you've got a busy day ahead of you!" She foolishly approached Weiss, placing the bell on the heiress' nightstand so she could help her up with both hands.
Spotting the mistake, Weiss willed the magic in her veins to coil around that accursed implement, chucking it into the opposite wall hard enough to crush the metal to the point of uselessness.
"Aaahh," Weiss feigned horror as poorly as she could, "a Geist has possessed your bell."
The hag's smile finally fell, and for the first time today, Weiss felt a little warmth enter her soul.
Exceedingly proud of her impudence, Weiss shrugged off the woman's help and stood on her own two feet, cold tile greeting her sensitive soles. When the servant tried to help her disrobe, she pushed her away. "I can make myself as the gods did without any assistance, thank you very much. Now, find your way from my chambers, return with something… mobile. If I have to wear more than one corset, I will skin you alive and fashion a passable dress myself." Weiss imagined she might even have a good deal of material left afterwards, what with how wrinkled the woman was. Under her breath, she added, "and perhaps some boots. I've always wanted to wear those."
The woman appeared aghast, but Weiss knew she was unfazed on the inside. She had tortured Weiss for long enough that she really should be used to the barbs. Regardless, she made herself scarce, finally giving the heiress some time to herself. She shut the thick door to her room and strolled to her mirror, where a gangly creature— more akin to a pale ghoul than any kind of human— stared back at her. She tried to ignore the way its piercing blue eyes bored into her own, the way it mimicked her every movement, and the fact that it was a perfectly fine mirror that reflected her form just as well as she should expect.
She found herself wishing to be in her sister's shoes. Would joining the Knights Imperiale put some meat on her bones? She closed her eyes, both to spare her eyes from gazing upon her own naked form as she disrobed, and to imagine her rapier in her hand, fighting to protect the realm instead of just providing her a means of recreation that nobody could begrudge her.
Her hag of a servant, Hulda, returned before long, a long grey dress pinched between her bony fingers. Donning her clothes was its usual affair, with slightly less seething hatred towards her servant than after she had been freshly ripped from the embrace of death's warm cousin. Before long, she found her unsightly frame hidden by the form of the dress. Hulda finished the fit by placing a navy corset around the grey dress, then scowling as she pulled it tight.
"So much give, my lady!" She crowed, intensely stoking Weiss' ire once more. "Have you lost weight? We will have to have these refit."
Weiss scowled. Truthfully, the corset looked no different from the last time she wore it. "Will it suffice for the day?"
Hulda looked like she was going to say no, but the withering look Weiss gave her told her to bury those words deep. "I suppose it could," she spoke carefully, eyes pleading towards the heiress, "though the fit will not attract many suitors."
Weiss rolled her eyes. No, not the suitors, she would die if she didn't have a gaggle of pimply, powdered boys in noble cloth orbiting her at all times. Truly, she couldn't bear the thought.
"My lady?" Hulda spoke up, as if she had expected Weiss to be urgently listening to her cawing.
"Yes, I'll be in the dining hall in a moment. Go." She dismissed her with a wave of her hand, the servant hesitating before finally leaving her alone again.
Ugh, if Hulda spoke true, her fit would do little to deter the line of boys she would have to indulge today. It was the only thing she was ever actually busy with, especially since her studies had been put to an abrupt halt with Winter's defection from the family. Somebody had to bear the entire burden of the Schnee line, though Weiss didn't understand why it couldn't be Whitley who father relied on for that. Though, with how little she actually got to see her brother, she couldn't be sure that wasn't the case.
Dreading the endless line of identical pasty faces, she wished they had a way of sorting themselves out rather than washing upon her as an unfiltered mass. Alas, Jacques Schnee was apparently too busy to be selective in who he wished to bed his daughter.
When Weiss arrived before the dining hall, she groaned. She could hear voices within— unfamiliar ones. It would be one of those days, she supposed, not even her breakfast would be free of suitors to entertain.
Hulda met her at the door, hiding her strain as she pushed the heavy oak open. Weiss didn't even bother looking about the rest of the table as she took her seat, hopeful that it would send the intended message: 'if you want me to entertain your whelps, wait until after breakfast.'
Weiss tore into the meal set before them as ravenous as she would be allowed— that is, not at all. She daintily lifted a tiny piece of honeyed ham, gently placed it in her mouth, and carefully chewed it like her teeth were made of fragile glass. The boys at the table watched with rapt interest, nearly foaming at the mouth as she chewed her food. If her rapier were at her hip, she would kebab their leering eyes and cook them for her breakfast. She stopped chewing. Perhaps that was a little far for breakfast. She would simply kill them. That was a notion with which she could break her fast.
She could tell they were getting bored of staring at her, because when they finished gorging down their meals like hogs, they began to oink at one another, talking about things Weiss could not care less about. Stupid, boyish things. Who won that duel, that race, that joust, that… tourney?
Tourney? Perhaps it was her relative freshness to the dialect of Vale, being from Atlas herself, but the word was entirely unfamiliar. She couldn't stop herself from asking. "Tourney?"
The boys all shut their maws at once, heads whipping to give attention to the young woman they had actually come to see. Only a beat of silence passed before they began gushing about it, emphatically speaking of the events before trying to boast how well they would've done if they'd been allowed to go.
Weiss shook her head, annoyed. "No, what is a 'tourney'? I do not know the word."
They shut up again, then let loose a field of 'uh', 'um', and 'ah' that could rival a prairie full of dumb cattle.
"Nothing to concern yourself with." Jacques, her father, asserted from the head of the table. His deep voice made the boys jump as if they had forgotten his presence. "It is in the domain of men."
Weiss fought tooth-and-nail to keep her eyes from rolling out of her head. "But it is clearly so interesting to my suitors, I would simply wish to know what brings so much elation to the hearts of my suitors."
Jacques could clearly see through her game, but he did not let that show on his face. "It is a low word," he said with a side eye at the blushing suitors, "for a tournament."
Weiss cocked an eyebrow— the most interest she could express while remaining ladylike. A tournament? She was still unfamiliar. "I assume that is a contest of some kind?"
Jacques frowned. "A contest of arms, yes, usually with noble houses competing for fame, a prize, or both."
Contest of arms? A prize? "That sounds interesting."
Jacques shook his head with a look of utter revulsion. "It is not for you to be interested in."
Weiss huffed, but returned to her meal. She barely got one more piece of ham into her gullet before it struck her. She turned to her father once more, loudly putting her fork down to get his attention. "I think it could be very useful."
Jacques swallowed his food before acknowledging her with a side-eye.
"It could be a fun way to ingratiate ourselves with the local nobility— we are still quite new here, after all— and could also serve to… process my suitors better." Weiss tried to propose nonchalantly, as the idea was actually sparking quite the fire in her belly.
Jacques frowned, but actually turned to fully address her. A good sign.
Weiss tried to look sheepish. "Well, father, you spend so much of your own time arranging these meetings without any guarantee of quality or success."
Jacques looked like he was going to object, so Weiss continued quickly.
"So, hosting a tournament would be a good way of finding the best of the best! It would be less work for you, all the locals would love it, and it would guarantee a batch of promising suitors!"
Jacques eyed his daughter. He could see something in her eyes, some kind of plot forming, but he couldn't not object to her plan. It was very tedious too arrange so many meetings with this soggy lot, so perhaps some filtration would be a good idea. He hummed. "I… will consider it."
Weiss suppressed a smile. "Thank you, father." Internally, she was jumping for joy. Less suitors meant less time entertaining them, and more time for herself! She could finally get some reading done, or practice more with her rapier, or do a dozen other things ladies did when they weren't burdened with an endless line of identical juveniles!
And when the tourney was over, she would entertain the suitors just long enough to be promising, then drive them all off and start the cycle all over again! She wanted to laugh. It was an impenetrable plan, proofed against any and all fools!
Right?
Notes:
i actually love this chapter so much, ive never had so much fun being so mean
Chapter Text
Ruby arrived at the docks of Patch and realized she was a complete and utter fool, so foolish that she could potentially classify as a new kind of fool, one that operated on a whole new dimension of foolishness. She stood in front of a thin merchant vessel with two masts, blankly staring at the swaying ship until her best friend came to greet her.
"Ruby!" Jaune shouted as he jogged up to her. "What can I do ya for?"
Ruby shook her doubts away and hardened her gaze. "Take me to Vale."
Jaune recoiled, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. "No way, your dad would have me hanged!" Under his breath, he added, "if your sister didn't get to me first."
Ruby stepped close, locking eyes with him. "You owe me, Arc."
"Don't…" he shriveled up, preparing for the words he dreaded.
"I'm calling in my favor."
Jaune groaned. "Anything but this, Ruby, please!"
Ruby shook her head and nodded to the ship's wooden hull. "Do this for me, or I will take back every single nail I gave, for free, for that vessel."
Jaune stuttered, putting his hands up. "Y-you wouldn't—"
Ruby stepped forward, getting in his face until the boy was backed up to the edge of the dock. "I would, and you know it." She hissed, pressing a finger to his chest.
Jaune looked at the ship, then back to her, then the ship, then her, and sighed. His hands dropped to his sides, defeated. "Fine."
Ruby stepped back immediately, a huge grin erupting across her face. "Thank you!" She squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Jaune blushed. "Just don't expect to be comfortable," he mumbled.
Ruby separated with a puzzled look. "Why not?"
"'Cause you're stowing away on my damn ship, Ruby!" He hissed, keeping his voice low. "Now get in the hold, quick, while my crew are still landed."
Ruby nodded and gave him a goofy salute, then disappeared in a plume of rose petals. She appeared below the ships deck, directly in the soggy, musty, cramped cargo hold. Rats scurried away at the sight of her. She grimaced, and began to search for a spot to hide herself.
She eventually found a place to stuff herself, though she had to take her baldric and cleaver off to do so. The numerous weapons clanged behind her, and the idea of the musty hold getting its salty, wet air on all of her weapons put dread in her soul, but she had already made up her mind. She would go to Vale, find a job, and prove herself to Tai. She may not be able to find a hunt without her Huntress' royal decree, but she could find something to test her mettle. And if she couldn't, she would find the damn Grimm herself, hunt or no hunt, and drag its bony plate to Patch for all to see.
She unclasped the brooch of her red cloak, the stuffy, humid air of the hold taking its toll on her. She even untied the laces of her linen shirt, pulling the off-white garment open above her bosom. She fanned herself and groaned.
There was thumping on the deck above, making Ruby scrambled more deeply into her nook. Thinking fast, she pulled a moldy canvas sheet from atop some boxes and covered herself.
The stomping boots came to the hold. Ruby stiffened and held her breath.
"Ruby, I know you're under there. It's Jaune."
Ruby slowly lifted the sheet off herself, giving her friend a sheepish look.
Jaune rolled his eyes. "Yeah, moving stuff is only gonna make it clear that someone is down here." He pulled the canvas away, setting it back in its original place. "I probably wouldn't have found you if you just stayed in there."
"Sorry, uh, I haven't done this before." Ruby replied, flushing with embarrassment.
Jaune chuckled. "I can tell."
"So…?"
The young captain sighed. "The crew will be back soon. The goods are already down here, so there shouldn't be any reason to come down and bother you. Just stay where you are, I'll get you when it's clear to come ashore."
Ruby nodded. Really, what was there to say?
Jaune pushed his blonde hair back from his face and sighed once more. "Alright. I'll grab my crew, I'll tell em I want to set out early, I'll treat 'em to some nicer Valian drinks at port. This stuff in Patch…" Realizing he might offend his best friend, he trailed off.
Ruby waved him off. "Thanks, Jaune."
Jaune shook his head. "Don't thank me, you're cashing in a favor. You'll need to find your own ship to get back."
Ruby nodded and tried to wiggle herself into a more comfortable position. What she ended up with as just as uncomfortable as she'd started, but when she felt the ship lurch and pull and pull away, she became still as a statue. The ship rocked and swayed, the water crashing audibly against the hull. Mere inches separated her from the endless, uncaring abyss of the sea.
She hugged her knees to her chest, squishing her tailbone painfully, but the added emotional comfort was worth it. If she screwed her eyes shut, she could imagine she was like a baby in her crib, rocked gently by her caring mother. Except her mother was the ocean, and the crib was nothing more than wooden boards affixed with nails she'd made in her own workshop, sweating and straining for hours upon hours for no monetary returns, only a favor. A favor that, minute by minute, separated her from her closest family in Remnant. At least it wouldn't be her only family.
She latched onto the idea, desperate for anything to distract her from the dread of being inches from a watery grave. She had no idea where her sister's mother, Raven, was nowadays, but she knew her uncle Qrow usually took missions around Vale. The idea of seeing him excited her, then terrified her. He would send her straight back home to Tai the moment he caught wind of her presence, all of this would be for naught, and her father would tighten her restrictions even more.
Perhaps it would be better not to show her face around the city. Her cloak, too, would be a dead giveaway to anyone who might recognize her, as much as that pained her. She stuffed the crimson garment deep into her pack. Thankfully, she still had a good chunk of coin from her last commission— enough to buy her a cloak, something to cover her face, and a place to eat and drink, at least for a night.
Patch wasn't actually too far from Vale proper, and it only took a couple more hours before she heard commotion from the deck. She felt the ship gradually slow all the way to a stop, then heard shouting from a familiar voice up top.
There was something like a stampede topside, followed by slow, methodical stomps in her direction. Fresh air rushed into the musty hold, and Ruby held herself as still as she could.
"Alright, Ruby, we're at port. You picked a weird time to come here, did you know what was happening?" Jaune asked as he came to her nook.
Ruby frowned, joints stiff as she got back to her feet. When she looked up to reply to her friend, his head was wrenched aside, face a bright scarlet. "What?"
Jaune silently pointed to her chest, which was almost completely exposed to the boy since she had unlaced it.
Ruby tied her shirt back up in a panic, muttering apologies all the while. While she didn't dislike Jaune, she certainly didn't want anybody seeing her like that. Not anybody that she knew, at least.
Covered once more, Jaune finally felt comfortable addressing her. "There's some kind of celebration happening, judging by the banners, fliers, and criers. Looks like a tourney being held by the Schnees."
"Schnees?" Ruby's nose wrinkled at the name. She didn't recognize it, though it sounded vaguely Atlesian. What was an Atlesian family doing hosting a tourney in Vale?
Jaune nodded and gave her a look when she remained oblivious. "You don't know them?"
Ruby shook her head. "I spend all my time in the forge, I don't really get involved in the matters of the upper houses." She said the last two words with a vaguely mocking tone. She didn't have anything against the nobility personally, but the thing's Yang had told her painted them as… unhelpful, to say the least.
Jaune raised an eyebrow. "They were a minor Atlesian house until the widow married a noble from Vale— James Vicenzi, though now he goes by Jacques Schnee, taking his surname from his wife. Why he did that, nobody really knows, but Imperial authority recently put the city under his official protection since Vicenzi owns most of the country's dust mines."
Ruby felt the information enter her brain to a certain point, but the moment Jaune started talking about Imperial stuff, she completely tuned out. Important noble who changed his name running a tourney to show he still valued the people of Vale. That much she understood, so she nodded.
"Well, the crew should be gone by now. You're free to go." After a second, he added, "and by that, I mean please leave, now. I have to offload this stuff before I can get back to my crew; I promised I'd buy their food and drink tonight."
Ruby nodded, throwing her pack over her shoulder. When she was finally free of the musty hold, the city of Vale greeted her with a pleasant sea breeze.
She gasped. Colorful streamers and banners flew from every post and building, bright colors starkly contrasting the white walls and drab brick of most structures. Fliers were everywhere, criers were everywhere, and the city was bustling with noise and activity.
She stepped off the boat, attention drawn to the nearest post. Looking at the flier on it, she saw what she surmised to be the Schnee family crest, and an illustration of two knights fighting. It was, of course, filled with black scrawling denoting huge, exciting words, but Ruby couldn't read. Thankfully, she didn't have to, as she could hear the nearby crier loud and clear.
The small boy rang a bell, holding a similar sheet to the flier and shouting, "our gracious protectors, the Schnee family, have decreed a tournament be held! Knights and warriors, tomorrow will be your day! Fight for the hand of Weiss Schnee, heiress to the Schnee name! Report to the market square to enter!"
Ruby's eyebrows rose. Knights and warriors? She didn't know who this Weiss person was, but perhaps she could make a name for herself here. All she had to do was defeat someone of renown and stature, someone who she could, without argument, definitively say is stronger than a Grimm, and then she was done! She could take such an achievement home, and Tai would have no leg to stand on! Genius!
Ruby had been to Vale only a few times, not enough to see it so decorated, but enough to find her way to the market square. Many stared at her as she passed, considering she was a lady in a linen shirt and trousers, with a belt full of weapons hanging at her waist and a sheathed weapon of unreasonable proportions slung around her shoulder. She kept a careful eye out for her uncle, even if she doubted he would be here, and found herself in the square before long. Before she could register, though, she needed something to cover her face.
Being in the market square made finding such an item simple. She acquired a long brown cloak without even saying a single word, throwing it over her shoulder and pulling the deep hood as far over her face as she could comfortably.
The place to register was quite obvious, judging mainly by the many criers, streamers, and tall poles with colorful banners and Schnee flags. She approached the booth nervously, her eyes frequently cast over her shoulder for anyone who might recognize her.
"Ah, here for the tourney?" A female voice greeted her, belonging to a ginger girl with a shining breastplate.
"Y-" Ruby felt her voice, high as it was, and realized she might want to fight under a different name. She cleared her throat, trying her best to make her voice as deep as possible. "Yes. Name's Ru… pert. Rupert the Red."
Ruby smacked herself internally, and the person at the booth hardly seemed convinced. "Ru… pert?" She repeated, then leaned in to look at Ruby's face. "Wait…"
Ruby prepared to bolt.
"Ruby?" The girl in question turned to run. "Wait, wait, it's okay!"
Ruby stopped, slowly turning to the person.
"You don't remember?" The ginger girl asked, then pulled her sword from its scabbard. It was a curved piece of simple steel, one which Ruby did remember. "My name's Penny, I commissioned this from you a few months ago."
Ruby was on the edge of cutting her losses and bolting for the port, hopeful to be able to stow away on Jaune's ship before he left, this time without his permission. "My name is Rupert the Red. I don't know a Ruby."
The girl, Penny, apparently, gave her a look. "Okay, okay, Rupert, your entry fee?"
Ruby fumbled for her pouch. "Entry fee?"
Penny nodded. "Three hundred gold pieces."
Ruby's jaw dropped, and she stopped searching. "I… don't have that."
Penny stared at her.
Ruby looked around as if three hundred gold pieces would magically appear at her feet.
Penny hummed, then leaned close to the smith. "Look, Ruby," she lowered her voice, "how much do you have?"
Ruby thought of how much she left with, and how much she spent for the cloak. "Thirty pieces?"
Penny's eyebrows raised and she dropped back into her stool. She seemed to be deep in thought, then made up her mind. "Okay. Fine."
"What?"
Penny looked over shoulder, then back at Ruby. "I'll cover your entry, but my next order is going to be free, okay? Whenever I want it, whatever it is, however many I want in one order, you make it. This sword is honestly one of the best I've ever had. And on top of that, you're quite cute, so do that and I'll put you in, okay, Rupert?"
Ruby nodded furiously, making Penny smile.
"Perfect. See you at dawn, Rupert the Red." Penny stamped a piece of parchment and handed Ruby the slip, then looked beyond her shoulder. "Next, please!"
Ruby stumbled away, dumbfounded by the run of her luck. All she had to do now was find a nice bed, for… all of 30 coins.
Great.
Notes:
rupert
Chapter Text
Ruby stalked into the market square, heavy iron cleaver slung at her side. She'd barely been able to afford a scrap of breakfast after essentially begging for a good price on her room, and the cheap accommodations had her back aching. Regardless, she had something to do.
Ruby approached the booth, this time attended by a different ginger girl with a maul on her back. "Good morning!" She said with an unfamiliar accent. "Your registration?"
Ruby stared blankly at her, then realized he probably meant the slip she got from Penny. She fumbled for her pouch, extracting the stamped parchment after a few moments. She turned and pulled her hood further out as she handed the paper over, hoping the ginger wouldn't question it.
The booth attendant stared at the slip. "Rupert the Red? That's an odd name."
Ruby tried her best to make a masculine grunt. "I, uh… didn't ask for it?"
The girl shrugged and placed the slip below her, throwing a thumb over her shoulder. "Go on back, you'll know when it starts."
Ruby sighed and rushed to follow her directions, moving as quickly as she could with the giant iron cleaver slung over her shoulder. The tourney grounds were wide and flat, a large area of the square cleared and fenced off with wooden posts and colorful pennants to give them space. Several benches lined one edge, where other entrants were sitting and eating. Ruby made her way over, keeping her face covered as best she could while scouting for a spot that was close enough to eavesdrop, but not too close to be suspicious. Thinking she found one such spot, she dropped onto a bench. The long plank groaned under the weight of her body and her cleaver, but managed to hold.
She relieved her shoulder of the cleaver's heft, laying it across her lap so she could look busy oiling it, instead of looking like she was trying to stalk her competition From what she could see, though, nobody seemed to be paying her any attention. A group chatted loudly beside her.
“So, what would you do with all that Schnee money?” It was a young blonde man with tanned skin and a bright red leather jerkin that extended past his waist. He wore it completely open, for some reason, and Ruby could see his chiseled torso beneath— the wanton public exposure making her blush. He also wore a pair of off-white breeches, extra baggy as they were fastened just below the knees, rather than at his ankles. Oddly, he wore no shoes.
“Schnee money? Please, we all know that money is Vicenzi. He just took that name to appeal to the Emperor.” Answered his friend with a scoff. His hair was a painfully bright blue, baffling to Ruby in both its vibrance and how expensive such a process would’ve been— her own red tips had cost an entire commission’s worth. His armor, though, stood out even more— a shining brass breastplate, fluted in the center and flaring out at the bottom. It nearly blinded Ruby, making it hard to appreciate the vibrant indigo shirt beneath, its slit sleeves highlighted with lighter blue tones.
"Eh, money's money, Nep. Gods know you need it."
The blue-haired boy— 'Nep', apparently— turned to his friend, clearly offended. This gave Ruby a good look at the weapon strapped across his back— a steel trident with a black leather-wrapped handle and a bulbous bottom. "I'll make you eat those words."
The blonde glared at his 'friend', and Ruby realized he didn't have a visible weapon. Entering a tournament without a weapon… she'd have to watch out for him. Thankfully, their conflict fizzled out just as quickly as it had arisen.
Ruby cast another look around the tourney field, and came to an unsettling realization: she was the only woman present, as far as she could tell. The other benches were populated with men and boys of various age, size, and armament, though they seemed quite well-appointed. It made sense, she figured, what with the astronomical entry fee that she managed to luckily skirt. All of them stole occasional glances to the stands, particularly the covered seating that would be for the lady Schnee, but nobody had come to occupy it yet. Only a few sat in the audience stands, none of them folks that Ruby could recognize.
“Hey.” A weight settled onto the bench right beside her, the accompanying person sitting uncomfortably close on the otherwise empty plank. The voice wasn’t particularly masculine, though Ruby couldn’t place it as feminine either. She turned.
The person beside her was even more covered than Ruby. Their black cloak covered their entire body down to the boots, and their face was wrapped in white bandages, save for their eyes, which seemed to be a burnt orange or dandelion color, though it was hard to tell from under the shadow of the cloak’s hood. “Uh… hello.” Ruby’s voice faltered, dropping as she remembered she was supposed to be a lad named Rupert.
“Rupert the Red, right?” The person seemed to be eyeing Ruby’s cleaver.
Ruby nodded. “Wh-what’s it to ya?” She tried to say gruffly.
Even with just their eyes visible, Ruby could tell they were suspicious . “You’re not a Knight.”
Ruby slowly shook her head, not trusting her voice.
The person chuckled. “Me neither.”
Ruby was starting to grow nervous. She really didn’t like the way this person was eyeing her weapon, or the fact that they knew her fake name, or the fact that they were trying even harder than she was to hide her face. It was creepy! In an attempt to stave off further conversation, Ruby just nodded and gave a thumbs-up.
“These soggy nobles…” The person drawled, seemingly talking to themselves more than Ruby, “just here to elevate their standing. No love for the sport. Probably had to be pried from their mothers’ teats just to come here.”
Ruby looked around, but nobody else was looking their way. “V-verily.” She grunted, hoping to appease her way out of the conversation.
The person whipped their head to Ruby, eyes wide with excitement. “So you agree!” They extended an arm over Ruby’s shoulders, pulling her close against their side. She felt leather under the cloak. “Gods, it is so hard to find people of sound mind in this damnable farce of a city.”
“Thank… you?” Ruby mumbled, holding her cleaver tightly.
“Let’s team up!” They suggested, gaze eager. Ruby opened her mouth to object, but the person just pulled her tighter against them, painfully squishing Ruby’s chest against their hard leather armor. The person looked down, towards Ruby’s cloaked chest, then back up to Ruby’s eyes, surprise clear in their wide amber irises. “You’re…”
Ruby grit her teeth in anger, pushing them away. She was just about to storm off, but the person grabbed Ruby’s leather vambrace, holding her still. Ruby affixed them with a boiling silver glare.
The person let her go quickly, hands flying up disarmingly. They, too, were completely covered in white bandages. “It’s okay, it’s okay!” They whispered loudly, “I won’t tell anyone, I swear!”
Ruby frowned, but slowly lowered herself back down to the bench, eyeing them the whole time. Once she fully sat down, the person looked over their shoulder and motioned for Ruby to come close. When she did, they pulled the bandages away from their mouth to whisper in her ear.
“Me too.”
Ruby pulled away quickly, flushing red as she wasn’t used to anybody being so close. Their lips were pulled into a wide, toothy grin, and Ruby was beginning to see an image of femininity about them. The voice, too, sounded much more ladylike when unmuffled. Oddly, though, Ruby could also spot some kind of thin, curling black lines rising over the crest of her jawline, peaking into a volute shape just under the bottom lip. When it was clear Ruby was staring at the marks, she covered her face again.
She looked back over her shoulder again, then back at Ruby. “So… you and me?”
Ruby frowned, rejection on her lips when she noticed how many other people had arrived at the square. Nearly all of the benches were full, and she could tell many others were forming groups as well.
“The first round is going to be a battle royale,” the bandaged girl explained, “being alone is welcoming failure.”
Ruby couldn’t deny her assessment, but she did have a question. “What if it’s just us left?”
She waved Ruby off, bandaged hand peeking out from her cloak just to do it. “They’ll call it off once the herd has thinned— it’s more like a qualifier round.”
Ruby’s brow furrowed. “Qual… fire?”
Ruby could see her eyebrows raise through her bandages. “You… don’t know what qualifier means?”
Ruby blushed again, suddenly feeling like an idiot as her gaze shot to her feet. She was a smith, not a scholar! Big words like that never found her forge. Did… did people think she was simple?
The girl put a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “Hey, uh, I’m sorry— I didn’t mean it like that, I just spend a lot of time around scholars. I know how you feel, I swear.”
Ruby nudged the hand off her shoulder and sat up once more. She couldn’t have a breakdown over a simple misunderstanding, she’d get nowhere if that was enough to get to her. She needed to be tough. She turned back to the girl, her silver eyes hard. “Why are you even here? They won’t let you court the Schnee if you do win.”
She seemed a little taken aback, but quickly matched Ruby’s gaze. “Why not?”
Ruby’s determined look faltered, the tables suddenly turned on her in a way she didn’t expect. She flushed red again. “W-well, you’re a… she’s… you can’t, or… well…”
The girl snorted. “I know that, I mean why not be here? I love to fight, and any opportunity to hit a noble simply cannot be passed up.”
Ruby pulled her hood around her red face. “That’s… why I’m here,” she half-lied, “to show that I’m strong.”
A small beat of silence passed over them, and it looked like the bandaged girl was going to speak again when a horn blew, followed by another, then another, a cacophony of trumpeting instruments rising above the entire square. A squat man with a poofy, feathered cap and a large white mustache took the center of the square, voice bellowing out as the horns finished their sequence.
“Loyal Imperial citizens of the grand city of Vale! Show respect as we are graced with the presence of this event’s organizers and our fine city’s sworn protectors: House Schnee!”
Ruby quickly rose to her feet, quickly spotting the royal escort: A trio of palanquins, flanked by soldiers with shining breastplates and brightly plumed helmets. The servants lugged the royal boxes all the way to the stands. The announcer shouted once more as the palanquins were set down.
“Lord Protector Jacques Schnee!” The first and most grand of the three palanquins opened to reveal a man who was apparently extremely important, and certainly fancied himself that way. He wore a bright blue, poofy overgown over a pale yellow doublet, with his hanging sleeves split to reveal the white cloth beneath. His jerkin was a deep blue, open at the chest to show off the doublet, and split around an extremely generous codpiece. His legs were covered in bright dandelion hose, ending in slightly darker duckbill shoes. He seemed to be swallowed up by his clothes— they were so gaudy and eye-catching that Ruby barely got a look at his face before he turned and made his way to the stands.
“Lady Willow Schnee!” The second palanquin opened, and a bundle of brilliant navy silk spilled out, followed by a woman of surprisingly tall proportions. Her hair was tightly braided behind her head, and restrained behind a lattice of pearl-studded golden cloth. Her gown was a rich navy brocade, close to the waist and puffed at the sleeves, which were slashed and turned back to show the ruffled white chemise beneath. The gown ended in a wide band above her bosom, with the chemise extending all the way up to her neck. Her features were immaculate and matronly, nothing like the rugged, simple beauty that Ruby remembered of her own mother, though her eyes and face were distinctly empty, like she was completely devoid of anything below the surface. It was so distracting that Ruby almost missed the giant bump as she turned— she was very pregnant.
“And finally, Lady Weiss Schnee!” The third, least-adorned palanquin opened, and a girl stepped out. A normal girl, by all accounts. Her hair was bright white like her parents, and in a long braid straight down her back. Her gown was a solid ice-blue, but split below the bodice to reveal the white lace petticoat, then came up to an extremely low neckline with a white lattice partlet criss-crossed over her neck. Her bright cerulean eyes swept over the crowd, with some of the men making a show of swooning under her gaze. They drifted over her, went a little further, then snapped back to Ruby’s own silver eyes. She stared intensely, like she was looking for something, and Ruby worried that the ruse of Rupert would be over before it would even begin. Thankfully, after a moment, the heiress turned to follow her family.
Ruby released a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, only for the bandaged girl beside her to grab her hand, startling that breath right back into her lungs. Ruby pulled her hand away and looked at the girl.
She was holding her hand out, as if to clasp palms with Ruby. “My name’s Blake, by the way.”
Notes:
researching 16th century fashion has my head hurting
Chapter 5: A Bristling Circle
Chapter Text
Weiss’ gaze swept over the tourney square, trying to grasp what variety of aristocratic fop she’d be forced to share a meal with, and found herself surprised. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, she had yet to see, but it seemed like at least some of the boys present hosted a shred of rugged charm, especially that fellow with the bright red jerkin. Gods, she could see his muscles from here. The lack of shoes, though, was an instant turn-off, and she could tell by his tanned skin that he wasn’t Imperial— not that she had a problem with that, though father probably wouldn’t let him set foot in the palace.
The boy with him had a painfully reflective brass breastplate, so bright that she could only see his vibrant blue hair past all the glare. Next to him was some mysterious lad in a full cloak, carrying what looked to be a giant slab of square metal. Her gaze was about to move to the next person— another mysterious lad in a full cloak— when the other one moved, or the light struck him, or a passing swallow happened to be carrying a mirror that reflected a singular beam of light towards his face. Whatever it was, the sight offered gave Weiss pause.
She could see the boiling pools of silver from across the field, the hard, sharp cut of his jaw, among features that were assembled with grace and beauty that Weiss had only ever seen in women. But then the light faded, and Weiss was only left staring at the shadow under his hood. She looked over the rest, though the remainder of the competitors were unremarkable— boys in armor with brightly feathered helmets and sweeping capes— much of the same crop that had been entertaining her table the night before.
Her attention was caught when her father rose from his cushioned seat. He spoke loudly above the tourney grounds’ din, hands sweeping over his head in an overt display. “Noble fighters of Vale!” He called, “I have summoned you here today for a great many reasons!”
The fighters below watched him, gazes rapt.
“One such reason— for fun!” The fighters rose in a cheer, lifting their food and drinks above their heads.
“Another— to celebrate the coming of my son!” They cheered again, though this one seemed a little fabricated. Truthfully, Weiss doubted the assessment of the astrologer her father had ordered— her mother had clearly been proven to show an affinity for birthing girls. If she did manage a boy, though… Weiss shuddered at the thought. Her father was a wholly predictable man, but to the status of her heirship against a prospective brother’s? She had no clue.
“And finally— to see who in this grand city has the mettle to take the hand of my daughter, Weiss Schnee!” The cheer rose again, and her father gave her a look that commanded her to show herself off to the frothing masses. Trying not to show the disgust on her face, she deeply bowed to the drooling congregation.
Her father shouted across the field again. “Now, fighters! Great knights of Vale! Let the tourney begin!”
Ruby jolted up in her seat, hand flying to her cleaver’s hilt.
The announcer with the large mustache spoke up again, rushing his words. “Fighters! Fighters,” he shouted, catching everybody’s attention before they could start fighting preemptively, “please, gather ‘round the edges of the field! The first round will be a battle royale!”
Thankfully, the multitudes of fighters heard him before they could follow Lord Schnee’s early call, and begrudgingly sheathed their weapons as they retreated to the edges of the field. Ruby could see the groups gathering tightly among themselves, most being in couples or trios, though there were a couple groups of four. She eyed Blake, the bandaged girl who had proposed they team up, and nodded. Together, they retreated towards the edge of the field.
Ruby held the massive cleaver’s grip tightly, though she had no intention of holding it for very long. She may not have been told as much, but she had enough sense to know that killing these fighting boys would be a grave faux pas, and might end with a noble lynching. At most, she could use it to keep them at bay, maybe take a single swipe if she was careful.
Blake pressed close to her side, hands invisible under her cloak.
Ruby took a final glance across the field. Only a few yards from her, that Nep fellow and his friend were posed similarly to herself and Blake. The trident was in his hands, while his friend simply held a wide stance, his hands open in a martial style Ruby had never seen before. Though, come to think of it, the only one she would recognize would be her sister’s.
Other fighters covered themselves with colorfully adorned heater shields and menaced with swords long, short, or bastardly. She spotted a great many with bucklers and falchions, one with a rapier and a widely-crossed quillon dagger, one with a wickedly flanged mace in both hands, and a fair few with nothing more than two-handed longswords. For the most part, she wasn’t too worried, but there was one fighter that gave her a long moment of pause. He was extremely tall, and covered from head to toe in a suit of tarnished, scratched plate. Frayed strips of leather hung between his triangular tassets, and a large skirt of patterned cloth fell below his knees in the back, though the dye was so faded that Ruby couldn’t decipher the crest. A long pollaxe rested in both gauntlets, its head sporting a round blade, a long spike at the top, and a flat hammer in the back.
He stood alone, visored armet staring towards the announcer. The fighters around him stared, warily holding up their shields as if he would lash out at a moment’s notice.
“Red,” Blake whispered, “what’s the plan?”
“Plan?” Ruby panicked— was she supposed to have a plan? “Why do I have to make the plan?”
Blake’s eyes flicked down to her sword, then back up to her face. She shrugged. “Bigger sword.”
Ruby groaned, her brain struggling to formulate much of anything. “Uh… what do you have?”
“Knives,” Blake answered.
“That’s… it?” Ruby side-eyed her partner.
Blake nodded, a coy smile visible in her amber eyes. “Many knives.”
Ruby sighed. At least it was something to work with. Nep and his friend were pointedly staring at the towering menace of plate across the field, but Ruby could see the trio at her other side staring hungrily at her and Blake. The three boys had fresh, mildly handsome faces with classically pale Atlesian tones, with two carrying heaters and swords while the third held a longsword in one hand. Judging by their looks, they would face these three first.
“Okay, uh…” Ruby felt her brain working, now that she had a specific challenge in mind, “those three are going to come for us first.”
Blake nodded. “Obviously.”
“I can…” her thoughts hitched, but she forced them forwards, “I can break the shields, keep them off you while you focus on the other one.”
Blake nodded twice, stance lowering as she tensed. “Good plan.”
“Once we’re done with them, hang back until I can make a new plan. I have a feeling things are going to change very quickly.”
Blake nodded again, and didn’t have anything else to say. They waited against the edge.
Weiss found her eyes wandering back to that cloaked fellow. He had an odd, nervous energy about him that clashed with the massive, ugly cleaver at his side. He seemed quite used to its heft, even with his smaller stature, making Weiss wonder what kind of body he must have under that shirt. His cloak was slightly parted, but only enough to see the belt at his waist, with rings and frogs hosting a multitude of weapons. Did he plan on losing his weapon? She supposed that would be smart, the thing must be extremely heavy, but she had to discard the attractive idea that he would just be throwing that thing around like a beast.
Weiss caught herself and blinked hard. What was she thinking? She didn’t give a damn about any of these grunting apes, she was only here because she had to be! When this was done, she’d waste some time with whatever mindless boy crawled out of the dirt and took her hand, then send him home crying! Then she’d be free to herself for a whole season, or however long it would take for father to scrounge up the money it took to host one of these sweaty farces. She could picture it now— indulging in literature, dueling, practicing her magicks— all the things she didn’t have time for when father was making her babysit these milksops.
Ah, Port was making his way to the center again.
The mustached announcer’s voice rang out once more, making Ruby grip her cleaver tighter. She was ready, whether she felt like it or not. She had a goal, a friend, and a really big sword. Some part of her wished Tai could be there, or Yang, or even Qrow, anybody who could cheer her on from the stands, but all the faces were wholly unfamiliar.
She did catch one pair of eyes, though. Ice blue, and staring straight at her. Ruby was sure she couldn’t see her face from this distance, but it made anxiety tangle in her chest nonetheless. Of all people, Weiss Schnee was watching her.
“Fighters of Vale! Who is ready to fight!”
Cheers rose over the square. Weiss was still watching.
“Who will take the hand of Weiss Schnee!”
‘Me’s and ‘I’s filled the air, weapons were raised high. Weiss was still watching.
“Then gird your loins and steel your hearts! At my call, the first Schnee-Vale tourney… will—”
Weiss was watching. Ruby’s grip tightened. Blake pressed close.
“Begin!”
Chapter Text
A bell loudly chimed. Shouts rose. Blake bolted.
Ruby rushed to catch up with her as she hurtled towards the trio that had been eyeing them. Two raised their shields in front of their longsword-wielding comrade, but Blake leapt over their heads with inhuman ease, throwing herself at the other man’s sword. Her cloak flew open and her hands shot out, and a pair of knives thumped directly into the man’s face and made his Aura flare— a sign that it would break soon. Blake landed in a controlled skid, her pair of leaf-bladed daggers locking the man’s long blade against their curving quillons.
The two shield-bearers half-turned to help their friend, then wavered between that and facing Ruby, who was upon them before they could decide— and that indecision cost them dearly. As they turned in unison, Ruby’s hulking iron blade struck one of the shields edge-on, shearing cleanly through it and sending its wielder tumbling with a bleeding forearm and a flaring Aura. The momentum of her cleaver carried straight into the next boy’s shield, but his fared considerably better. That’s not to say that it fared well, though, as the unwieldy cleaver still dug into its center and ripped a splintered gash across its face, but at least it was intact.
Ruby fought against the cleaver’s momentum, muscles straining as she forced the iron wedge to come to a halt. This left her open, and she suddenly felt herself being slammed backwards by a broad, splintered shield. She stumbled back, her Aura absorbing most of the hit, and immediately let her cleaver clatter to the ground. She wouldn’t have another opportunity to catch them unawares, so she resorted to the multitude of weapons at her hips.
A quick inventory immediately flashed in her mind— a constant catalog she kept of her on-hand equipment: two shortswords, a slightly longer falchion, and a handax, with one steel knife and one iron knife sheathed above her rear. Her smithing hammer sat in a ring at the front-left of her belt, where Ol’ Lucy (her war hammer) would’ve been if she’d had time to give her a new handle.
She could see the boy moving to take advantage of her state of disarmament, shortsword above his head and a cry ripping out of his throat. His shield was to his side, giving him more range to swing down at the cost of leaving him wide open, which Ruby planned to take advantage of. She had a plan, and the sword was falling.
Weiss watched with rapt interest as the boy’s cloak flew open, revealing his front-tying linen shirt and baggy black breeches, with the former handsomely tucked into the latter, which in turn was tucked into narrow, turned boots of dark leather. Weiss could also see the belt at his waist, which bristled with a seemingly impractical amount of weapons. She watched his left hand fly to the broad hammer at the front— which looked more like a tool than a weapon— while his right hand yanked free a fullered shortsword with a v-shaped crossguard.
The hammer flew straight up, thrusting its wide metal top directly into the edge of the incoming shortsword. Weiss winced as the sword visibly deformed around the point of impact. The sword’s wielder hissed as the awful reverberation rattled his hand, even making him drop the shortsword. When he realized his mistake, it was too late, as his opponent quickly swept his Aura with his shortsword, making it flare and quiver before the hammer followed, shattering the shielding shroud and cracking into the side of his head. He crumpled to the floor.
Ruby could see the boy’s partner groaning as he lifted himself to his feet, so she threw her hammer at him. He tried to lift his shield, apparently forgetting that she had cleft the board beyond the point of usefulness. The hammer struck him in the face. He fell limp.
She was beginning to feel… a rush, a sensation of hot power coursing through her veins. She felt her hands shaking, not out of fear, but with unbridled energy, something she’d never felt before. She’d never felt this way training with Yang or even Qrow, but that was different, more like disciplined play than anything else. When that boy’s sword was coming down, straight for her head, and she’d instantly, instinctually concocted the plan to smash it away with her hammer— there was nothing like it. Her heart was smashing against her ribs. Her pulse was in her ears. She looked down at her shaking hands. This is what Tai had been keeping her from? Anger swelled in her chest.
“Red!” Someone shouted her way, the voice coming through gritted teeth. It was Blake, locking her opponent’s longsword between her daggers’ crossguards and leaving him wide open.
Ruby sprinted to her hammer, scooping it back into her left hand before rushing the man with a confident smirk. Her hammer arced from the side, a heavy blow aimed straight for his head.
His eyes snapped to her just before her hammer could land. He ducked low, easily dodging the blunt weapon as he slid back and pulled his sword from Blake’s clutches. Unfortunately for Blake, it was all happening too quickly for Ruby to stop the hammer, which was now on a collision course for the girl’s thoroughly bandaged face. It struck her hard, making her reel as her Aura flashed.
Ruby immediately felt all that surging power evacuate her body, replaced by intense guilt.
Weiss watched the boy she’d taken a reluctant interest in, wincing again as his opponent ducked under his hammer. He struck his partner directly in the face, and Weiss could actually see the moment his confidence was replaced with guilt, as he dropped his hammer and reached a hand out to his friend, only for the one with the longsword to come lunging straight for him. The sword’s tip made his Aura flash, and he was too shocked to recover before another thrust made the shielding energy flare. A third strike, this time a horizontal slash from high and left, whipped across his face.
Weiss gasped as the longsword pushed his hood against his face, slicing through both as it drew a red line from the boy’s ear to the tip of his nose. Weiss suddenly felt ill, and had to fight tooth-and-nail to keep bile from surging past her lips.
Ruby stumbled back, a sudden hollowness sitting in her chest and behind her face. She’d been cut. His sword had dragged its edge from her ear to her nose— she had seen her own eye reflected in the blade. She’d felt her Aura flee her, then the stinging burn slicing through her skin. She’d never been cut before. All the days of training, and they’d never hurt her. They’d… coddled her. This is what Tai had been keeping her from. Pain.
But Ruby had been hurt before. She thought hard of that day at the forge, the day she’d made a foolish mistake and smashed her right hand nearly to pulp, she remembered her scream filling the shop, the months of recovery— even after her Aura repaired her flesh and bones. She remembered the furnace, the day she pulled a glowing red bar from its mouth, only for it to slip through the tongs, then land flat on her thigh. The feeling of heat, the scent of burning cloth, then burning flesh, then the white-hot pain. It had been the first and last time she forwent her apron.
Her face burned with sharp pain, but it wasn’t the worst she’d been burned. She had been through worse, and she would go through worse, but that was just the price of the life that she would choose. Blood dripped down her face, trickling over her lips. Iron spread across her tongue. The swordsman lunged forward again, coming down with finality. His sword was red with her blood. Blessed heat pulsed in her veins again— she had a plan.
Before she could execute anything, though, a pair of knives struck the man’s head. The first bounced off as his Aura flared and wavered, but the second one cut across his scalp, making him reel. Before he could react, Blake’s boot came flying into the side of his head. He fell, sprawled across the tourney field.
Blake was in front of Ruby suddenly, concerned amber eyes staring into silver. “Red!” She slapped her uninjured cheek, making her blink. “Shepherd's crook— are you okay?”
Ruby’s hand went to the bleeding gash across her face. Her Aura would resurge soon, she knew, but she doubted she’d be able to give it enough time to do more besides close the wound. Her face would be marked forever. Nobody would court a slashed face like hers, but… she didn’t care. She was smith, anyway! Nobody would court a lady who was covered in soot and ash and sweat! Her bloodied fingers closed into a fist. This would be proof. She could leave now, show Tai her scar, show him what she had endured.
But… she didn’t want to leave. As she looked around the tourney field, she felt her mind working, excitement bubbling up in her chest. Every fighter she laid eyes on sparked a new strategy in her mind. Every weapon inspired a counter. The din of combat, she realized, was quieter than her forge.
Her eyes went to the stands. Weiss was watching.
Ruby wouldn’t disappoint.
Notes:
really fun to write these fights. also, deciding against giving Ruby pluderhosen was the greatest internal battle I've ever fought
Chapter Text
Blood rushed in her ears. Ruby backstepped, cleaver at her side as she dodged the rapier's tip. The duelist stepped forward and made a paltry swipe at Ruby's face. Her cleaver was too heavy to bring up in time, so the thin blade swept over her Aura uncontested. The swipe wasn't enough to make her Aura flare, but it did shimmer noticeably.
His offhand dagger followed immediately after, shooting out as he lunged forward and driving towards her sternum. She had no time to dodge, so she dropped her cleaver. The dagger was coated in red— but not from her own viscera, rather, it had impaled nothing more than rose petals. Ruby suddenly appeared behind the duelist, both shortswords drawn and slashing in a cross against his back.
The man's Aura flared, depleted. He turned to face her as he retreated, but Ruby wouldn't let him get on the offensive again. She pushed, shortswords swinging wildly. Whenever he made a thrust, Ruby just pressed into it, batting the thin sword aside with her own blade. She scored marks on his once-shining breastplate, but his upper body was far too plated to attack with her swords. Unfortunately, he seemed to know this, and purposely angled his body to keep his less-covered legs free of her range.
Ruby pursed her lips, but a simple strategy burst into her mind before she could get frustrated. She threw her swords.
The short blades arced through the air. To his credit, the duelist reacted quickly, his rapier sweeping down to bat away one blade, but he could do nothing about the other. It sailed end-over-end before the egg-shaped pommel smashed straight into his kneecap. He howled and dropped to one knee. Ruby booted him in the face. He fell limp.
For her part, Blake also seemed to be finishing up with her quarry— a short man with a falchion and a colorfully checkered coat of plates. His flat-topped helmet closed around his entire head, with a thin slit for sight and holes on the rounded front to breathe, but that coverage didn't stop Blake from attacking his head. She nimbly ducked under a sweep from the falchion, then popped back up to strike his helm with her pommel. Ruby could imagine the disorienting sound, and shuddered.
The well-armored man stumbled back with a mailed mitt cradling his head, but Blake pursued him with rapid jabs from her daggers. Most only hit the steel plates beneath the cloth, but a fair few found purchase between them. The man was helpless against the rapid assault, and soon found his Aura flaring. He raised his falchion above his head, but his opportunity to strike would never come as Ruby sprinted from behind and firmly planted both boots into his lower back. He fell forward, limp like the others.
"Wow," Blake panted, "I had— watch out!"
Ruby ducked without hesitation, quickly grasping the fallen man’s falchion.
She felt a heavy blade whizz past just above her, and popped up before he could swing again, falchion swinging preemptively to parry the expected blow.
Ruby felt immense weight against her wrist for only a moment, followed by the distinct and terrible sound of her sword breaking. Knowing the weapon would simply continue on its path, she leapt back.
"Red, that's, uh…" Blake trailed off when she saw the look in Ruby's eyes.
Weiss' eyebrows rose dramatically. One of the lone fighters had pinched that boy's cleaver after he'd discarded it against that duelist (who Weiss was pretty sure she recognized), and now had the gall to attack him with his own weapon? The cleaver rose high for another strike, but Weiss could practically feel the anger rolling off of the boy. The massive blade fell straight down, but only struck dirt.
Ruby affixed her thieving opponent with as much hate as she could muster. First he takes her weapon, then he buries it into the damn dirt? She felt personally offended. His arms wobbled as he tried to lift the blade again, but he was much too slow. Ruby charged him before he could react, wrapping her right arm around both of his elbows while she stabbed roughly with her jagged, broken sword. She struck Aura, then Aura again, then managed to make it flare with her third stab. By the time she was going for a swipe, though, her opponent had finally found the wherewithal to relinquish her cleaver and run away.
Ruby threw her broken falchion at the retreating boy, uncaring if it actually hit or not, then hefted her monstrous creation once more.
Across the field, she could see Nep and his friend working their way to the towering plate monster, uncaring even as they watched him drive his poleax’s spike fully through a man's breastplate, drawing a spurt of blood to contrast the shining steel.
“He's killing people!" Ruby shouted, averting her gaze as the stabbed man cried out and fell to his back, clutching the fresh hole in his chest.
Blake shrugged, seemingly unbothered. "There's no rule saying you can't kill here."
Ruby's head whipped to her partner in disbelief. "What? These people are landed! I may not be from here, but even I know the blood feuds these people start over a death in the family!"
Blake shrugged once more. "That's not really something I have to worry about."
Ruby looked back at the plated giant, but immediately averted her eyes again when she saw him stomp the bleeding man's helmed head flat. "We have to stop him," she asserted, gripping her cleaver tightly.
Blake shrugged a third time, but Ruby could see a little spark among her amber irises. "I guess it could be fun."
Ruby was wholly shocked by the sheer aloofness that her bandaged partner showed towards the murderer in their midst, but decided to extinguish the argument that rose in her chest. Now wasn't the time to argue, especially—
Ruby brought her cleaver up quickly, barely catching the two-handed mace on the blade's broad, thick flat. The menacing flanges ground against the iron slab, Ruby's feet skid against the immense force, and her opponent only pushed harder. She pushed, then completely pulled back, forcing the redheaded boy to stumble forwards. Unfortunately, the wild swings that followed kept Ruby from repaying the attack.
"Don't even think about it," he growled, interposing himself between the cloaked girls and the plated menace as straightened back up, "House Winchester will be taking the Schnee."
Ruby looked between the lady in the stands and the redheaded boy before her, but Weiss wasn't even watching them. Rather, she was watching Nep and his friend finally engage that maniac. From what Ruby could see, though, she was looking a little green.
The mace swung for her again, forcing Ruby to block once more with her cleaver. "Blake!" She called.
The bandaged girl was on him immediately, long knives flashing from her cape to swipe across his Aura. But, to Ruby's chagrin, the Aura didn't flare— it barely even reacted to the attack. Whoever this was, his pool of soul energy was massive. Blake tried to continue her assault, but the swing of the flanged mace forced her to leap away, her cloak billowing as she landed to reveal her carmine suit of leather armor. Ruby forced herself not to be distracted by the vibrant color, but the Winchester didn't seem to have the same self-control.
Weiss' gaze was torn away from the towering plate monster as a burst of vibrant rose petals suddenly appeared across the field. She watched it speed around the boy— one she recognized from House Winchester— who had somehow been distracted by one of the other cloaked fighters that so often stole her attention. The cloud of petals moved at a blinding pace, then reformed into the other cloaked fighter, the fascinating one with that unwieldy cleaver. She watched the rose petals coalesce into the shape of a person— first the dark boots, then the black breeches, then the white shirt. The umber cloak snapped together more quickly than the rest, billowing about his body as he appeared in the air, with his cleaver falling to the ground while he swung down with a handax in his left hand and a dagger in the other. The Winchester was much too slow to react, probably due to his heavy weapon and cumbersome armor. Weiss sneered. The Winchesters were always a haughty bunch, she'd have to extend a personal thanks to this cloaked lad for humbling one of their number.
Ruby's axe bit into his Aura, but was deflected as it flashed and shuddered— a sign it was closer to depletion. Her dagger followed before she hit the ground, having planned for his Aura to still hold. The point drove once into his Aura and finally made it flare, empty. She followed up with a slash as she landed, aiming for the less-armored backs of his knees.
Unfortunately for Ruby, he had no intention of remaining still. Before her axe could swipe at his legs, she saw one of them flex and move. She tried to blink away, but her Aura was too low. His spurred heel came up before she could react.
Her Aura couldn't put up a fight against the talon. Ruby felt the prick spur catch just under her brow, then rip straight up to her hairline.
The spur ran up her flesh like a plow through dirt, opening a sickening furrow that immediately poured stinging blood into her left eye. She started to cry out, but the spurred boot silenced her when it slammed into her face, the thickest part of the heel stomping her nose with a distinct crunch. Ruby fell backwards, back arching as she held her broken nose and screamed.
Weiss' stomach turned, dread filling her as the one fighter that was actually appealing fell to his back. He wasn't unconscious, thankfully, but he was a sitting duck for anyone who wanted an easy victory. She desperately turned to her father, but he wasn't even watching the tourney— he was talking up some woman!
Ruby bit her lip, forcing her cries to stay in her throat. Tears welled up in her eyes.
'I can take it!'
'If you could, you wouldn't be crying.'
Ruby growled, pushing herself back up on her elbows. She bit the tears back— she wouldn't cry, it was just some pain! She could take it! Ruby shut her left eye as the stream of blood tried to blind her.
Blake threw herself on the plated boy, knives desperately shooting out as she hoped to strike a gap in the armor— but she found none. He lunged forward, breastplate deflecting her stabs as a smirk rose on his lips. Blake tried to swipe her knives at his face, but he grabbed her wrist and wrenched it away, twisting the knife out of her grip before he yanked her towards him.
Weiss watched the other cloaked lad yelp and stumble directly into the Winchester's mace, his indigo Aura immediately flaring as the air evacuated his lungs. Weiss cringed, hand sympathetically covering her own chest.
Weiss watched him fall to his knees, desperately gasping for air as he clutched at his chest. The Winchester laughed as his pale Aura visibly resurged. He reached down to the lad— the one he just winded, that is— and yanked him up by his hood. He clawed and swiped weakly at the noble, but the Winchester just batted the knives out of his hands, then wrapped his gauntleted hand around the boy's throat.
Blake choked as she fruitlessly clawed at the hand around her throat, feebly kicking into the man's thick breastplate. His other hand began to pull back her hood, intensifying her panic.
He ripped the hood back, revealing Blake's bandaged face, her bright amber eyes, and her shimmering violet hair pulled into a long, tight braid. "Ha!" He guffawed, hand tightening around her throat as the other went to the side of her head, where he proceeded to rip the bandages away.
Weiss gasped as a long, pointed ear sprung out of its restraints, the appendage reaching straight back at least a handspan before ending in a sharp tip. The creature in the Winchester's grip writhed and struggled against his choking grasp, but he hardly seemed affected.
"Ha haaaa! I knew it!" He got in its face, probably close enough for the thing to feel the spit off his words. "Another shim for my mantelpiece!"
Everybody, even the fighters in the ring, turned to watch the spectacle. Weiss cringed, imagining the grisly process of preparing a fay for decoration. Animals as they were, their humanoid features were much too distasteful to decorate her own palace, though Jacques did sometimes try. She watched the creature wriggle and squirm, clearly growing weak before—
Ruby acted without thinking, moving so quickly that she didn't even register herself retrieving the cleaver until she'd already cleft his arm. The useless limb immediately released her friend, and Ruby rushed to catch Blake before she could hit the dirt, ignoring the screaming man behind her. She cradled her head, observing the girl. She'd never seen features like Blake's. Her face was long and sharply featured, her eyes large, nose pointy, and with cheekbones so accentuated they almost made her look gaunt. Her hair's color had a twinkling, undulating quality, giving it an uncannily fluid appearance. Most noticeably, though, were the long and pointy ears on either side of her head. Putting all that aside, Ruby shook her. "Are you okay? Blake!"
Blake’s chest suddenly heaved as she filled her lungs again. "You didn’t have to…" She mumbled between hacking coughs, "I could’ve… I…"
Ruby fumbled for something to say, something to comfort Blake, but the boy she'd disarmed yelled over her thoughts.
"What the fuck are you all waiting for!" He shouted, gripping his shorn, spouting limb, "Get them!"
Notes:
ruby's a durable lass, huh? well, for now, that is
Chapter Text
Weiss heard glass shatter behind her. She pinched the bridge of her nose, preparing herself for the tirade. She even heard her mother sigh from behind her.
"You all heard the boy!" Jacques screamed from behind her, making Weiss flinch as his voice ripped over the stands and across the tourney field. His hand was bleeding from the wine glass he'd shattered, and a splash of purple completely ruined most of his outfit.
Finally, everybody knocked out of their stupor at once. They cried out with one voice, and raced towards the cloaked boy's position— the one who had just cleanly hewn Cardin Winchester from his arm. Weiss cringed. It was such a shame, she had been really fascinated by this boy.
Ruby watched the blood trickle down her cleaver, then drip onto the floor. Her gaze moved to Blake, who was still struggling to breathe, then to the side, where the one-armed Winchester fled the field and left a splotchy trail of blood in his wake. Every second agonized its own passing. She looked up. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the Schnee watching.
The entire tourney turned on her. They charged ravenously, weapons and teeth bared, even getting into fights just to get to her first. She heard every thump of their boots against the ground. Closer, getting closer. She could see who would arrive first: a mailed fighter with a falchion and a buckler. Closer. She hefted her cleaver over her shoulder. Closer.
She was out of her league. She was wounded, and her Aura still had a few seconds before it would resurge. Her left eye was blinded by blood, her nose was broken, and her partner was still on the ground. She had the cleaver in her hands, with her falchion, hammer, and her iron dagger still hanging from her belt. It couldn’t be enough to win, and might not even be enough to survive after what she did to that noble boy. Oddly enough, though, the hopelessness brought a strange feeling of peace. An absence of being washed over her. All the stresses washed away, her mind emptied. She had something to prove.
Ruby leaned back, letting the falchion barely whizz by her chin before leaning fully forward, cleaver slashing down from her shoulder. It bit into the man's buckler, wedging into it just like it had with Yang, only this time Ruby had no intention of letting her sword be manipulated. She kept pushing the blade, wrenching the man's arm with the heavy iron slab as she turned her whole body with the cleaver's momentum.
The buckler must have been belted to the man's arm, because he could not relinquish it before it pulled the entire limb out of its socket. He fell to his knees with a yell, and Ruby swiftly stomped the steel disc off of her cleaver. Another was coming. She left the man to cry about his arm.
Two more with shields and swords— did they always come in pairs? These came face-on, unlike the last two, and she could also see that plated giant sprinting from across the field.
Ruby dropped her cleaver and sprinted to her axe, just in time to grab it and draw her hammer into her right hand before the shieldbearers reached her. The first one was on her quicker than she expected, and she had to ward him off with wide swipes from her axe while she danced backwards. The other tried to flank her and jabbed forward with his shortsword, nearly scoring a cut on her right shoulder.
She felt her Aura resurge, but gave it no time to work its healing magic on her. Instead, she used the tiny trickle of soul energy the moment it welled up within her to disappear into a puff of rose petals. The first shieldbearer stumbled forward, Aura flaring as Ruby reappeared behind him with wild, whirling blows from both weapons. He turned just in time to raise his shield high against her attack, but Ruby couldn't pull her axe off course before wedging it deeply between the boards in the shields center.
The shieldbearer bashed her, ramming the butt of her own jammed axe painfully into her chest before he swept his sword at her. She ducked and danced away, but the other shieldbearer cut off her path of retreat. Worse still, she could see other fighters encroaching on her vulnerable, recovering partner.
Ruby's eyes darted back and forth between her attackers, her pursuers, and the ones charging at Blake. She breathed deeply, marveling at her own calmness in the situation. She had a plan.
Ruby moved like lightning, hammer shooting forward as the first man charged her, shield first. The weighty smithing tool slammed into the butt of her own axe, sending an unholy reverberation up Ruby's arm. The attack was effective, though, as the added force wedged the boards apart, allowing the axe head to pass between them and jam deeply into the shieldbearer's forearm, eliciting a pained cry as he reeled away. Not finished, Ruby suddenly turned and kicked low, knocking the flanking shieldbearer's legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a thump and a gasp, but Ruby harried him with hammer blows before he could get his shield up, flaring his Aura and knocking him out with a swift kick.
Weiss watched in awe as the cloaked lad fought like a man possessed, then sprinted back to meet the fighters who sought to finish his fay partner. She supposed that was the honorable thing to do for an ally, but she couldn't decipher what would bring an honorable fighter— especially one who had the gold to ante up the preventative cost of entering the tourney— to risk his life for one of those creatures. She glanced behind her. Jacques had completely forgotten the woman he was flirting with minutes ago, and now raptly watched the tourney progress with folded hands and grit teeth.
Ruby sprinted to one of Blake’s assailants and cracked her hammer into the man from behind, the immense force completely shattering his Aura on contact and permitting her heavy tool to smash into his armet. The blow easily crumpled his decorated crest, then proceeded to rattle his skull as the helmet caved in. Ruby then threw her hammer at her other would-be assailant and ripped the longsword right out of the disoriented one's hands.
Ruby felt the sword's weight in her hands and realized she'd never wielded such a knightly weapon. She had no practice striking with it, thrusting with it, holding it, or anything of the sort. Yang didn't use a longsword, nor did Qrow, and her dad refused to teach her. It felt strange in her grip, nothing at all like her iron cleaver— the weight was mostly in her hands, rather than the blade, but she didn't have time to familiarize herself.
Weiss watched the boy grip the longsword like it was from another world, then desperately bring it back up to block his opponent. Her own fingers twitched as she watched the lad bumble aimlessly with the sword, his earlier skills having seemingly sloughed away the moment he gripped an unfamiliar weapon. She wished she could grip the sword in her own hands, even if she preferred the rapier, just to show this boy how much of an idiot he was being. She watched the dolt parry his opponent's longsword with the weak part of his blade, which immediately batted his terrible guard away and allowed his opponent to thrust.
Ruby leapt back with a hiss, chest burning where the longsword shallowly jabbed into her. She was given no time to recover, though, as the sword came slashing for her immediately. She held her sword higher to block this time, catching the blow closer to the hilt as the man locked their blades against each other.
The open-faced barbute did nothing to hide his maddened expression. His eyes were wide with bloodlust, and his smile was murderous. "Join your shim lover in hell, you cur!" He yelled, spittle flying into Ruby's face.
Ruby had no clue what a 'shim' was, but she didn't particularly like the way he said it, nor the way he implied she and Blake were going to hell. Or… the other thing. He pressed closer, but Ruby actually gave a little, letting her sword get pressed so close that it threatened to add another cut to her face. Suddenly, she thrust straight up and lunged forward to stab her opponent's face with her protruding crossguard. His Aura only slightly wobbled from the weak blow, but the surprise of the unconventional attack made him instinctively flinch back.
Weiss' eyebrows shot up her forehead when the boy struck his opponent with the crossguard, of all things, but she supposed she couldn't begrudge something that worked. He didn't let up against the stumbling sword-wielder, and began artlessly bashing his sword against him with wild overhead strikes. They were too fast for him to do anything but block, and he was forced on the defensive as they backed towards the fay he had tried to finish off.
Ruby felt herself sink away into that empty state of mind again, even as she wildly smashed her longsword against his, creating a din that wasn't too dissimilar to her forge on a busy day. She struck and struck, the repeated heavy blows making her sword bend into a disgusting angle.
The man became wise of her tactic (or lack thereof) eventually, and stepped to the side of one of her overhead blows, then shot a gauntlet out to grip the base of her blade. He wrenched the sword away, following up with a thrust through her wide-open guard. Ruby relinquished the sword, but couldn't bring her hands up fast enough. The point drove towards her throat.
The man's Aura flared, then a loud gonging noise rang off of his head, distracting him enough for Ruby to get out of the way of his strike. Behind him, Blake's hands were thrust out and splayed wide— she had thrown a pair of knives at his helmet.
Weiss gasped. She could hear her father angrily babbling behind her. That fay, still prone and breathing heavily, had saved a human.
Ruby couldn't let herself waste time gawking at her partner, only giving her a curt nod before she barged into him with her wide-bladed falchion drawn. She gripped his bevor, holding him in place while she violently smashed her sword's square pommel into his helm. He shouted and punched her in the side, but she held on tight and bared her teeth against the flaring pain from what was most likely a broken rib. With another hard smash from her pommel, his eyes finally went dull. He collapsed with a groan.
Ruby panted and wiped blood out of her eye. Looking about, she remembered that there were other people in the tourney, as evidenced by the tight ring they had formed around her. She found her cleaver clattering at her feet, tossed by the monster with the pollax. Even his bloodlust had been stemmed just to watch her fight.
"You cut my brother's arm off." The giant stated, voice ringing through his hounskull helm. "Good job."
He stepped out of the ring, making everybody jump when he moved. His armor loudly clacked against itself with every heavy stomp. Ruby let her falchion slip, then wrapped her hands around her cleaver's handle, only to find her weapon immobile, held down by the man's pollax. She matched his gaze through his helm.
A tinny chuckle escaped from him. "No, no, little mouse, I was just returning what's yours. There won't be any more fight from you, not today. I simply won't have it."
Ruby tilted her head, completely clueless.
"Look around you. Count the combatants. The ones still standing, that is."
Ruby begrudgingly did so, counting 18 fighters including herself. She looked back at him, still lost.
"Nary a mote of understanding," he hummed, "return tomorrow, assuming your head hasn't been completely scrambled. I look forward to seeing you.”
He locked her weapon in place with his pollax and stepped closer, invading her space. She could do nothing but watch; every ounce of energy had fled her the moment she stopped fighting.
"Congratulations."
She didn't even see the fist that put her to sleep.
Notes:
had a bit of a hard time with this one lol, but part of the reason is that i have also started writing the first chapter of Twilight Concerto ;0
Chapter Text
Ruby groaned to consciousness, her face equal parts sore and aflame. She tried to pass a word through her lips.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a vaguely familiar voice came from nearby.
Ruby’s eyes sluggishly peeled open. A dingy wooden interior greeted her, dimly lit by an iron rack of candles mounted on the wall. The room was shamefully small, and seemed in similar repair. Her gaze crossed the room again, towards the source of the voice.
She blinked at what she saw. A tall, lithe woman stood nearby, wearing nothing but an off-white tunic that was untied around her pale neck and chest, covered both arms, and ended just above her knees. It was worn very loosely, like a sleep garment, and altogether unremarkable, if not for the woman it was attached to. Her hair was the first thing Ruby noticed, mainly because it was an extremely vibrant purple that mesmerizingly shimmered, even where the meager light wasn’t hitting it. It spilled over her shoulder in ethereal waves that ended in gentle, loose curls. The sight was so captivating that the woman’s voice startled Ruby. “Red?”
Ruby immediately felt the memories surge back to her— Running away, the ship to Vale, the tourney, Blake, the fighting, cutting that boy’s arm off— her gut twisted and wrenched.
Blake scrambled back with a yell as Ruby spewed. “Shitting hell!”
Ruby held her head and groaned, her whole body now shaking. She fumbled for words, voice catching on itself as the rest of the tourney’s events found her mind. Her trembling hands slowly moved over her face, feeling at her right ear. The flesh was split along a distinct line, the area stinging as she gently traced across her face, all the way to the tip of her nose. “M-my… I…”
Her hands moved to find the next one, but a mirror was suddenly thrust in her face, courtesy of Blake. She gave the girl an attempt at a grateful look, then took the reflective square of polished metal. The reflection made her gasp.
A thin, red line split the right side of her face from ear to nose, creating a noticeable, though small, gap in the edge of her ear. The left side of her face, however, was much less cleanly marked. Her dark eyebrow was split into halves by a long line of thick, gnarled red flesh that crossed her forehead almost up to her hair. She barely remembered the longsword running across her face, but she vividly recalled that spur running up her skin like a farmer’s plow. Her fingers tightened around the mirror.
“You should go back to sleep,” Blake insisted, her smooth voice startling Ruby for the third time, “it’s nearly midnight, you’ll need your rest for tomorrow’s round.”
Ruby blinked. She had completely forgotten that more of the tournament was ahead. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for her things.
Blake seemed to pick up on her. “They’re under the bed.”
Ruby’s head dropped back onto her uncomfortably limp pillow. “Thank you,” she muttered.
Blake shook her head. “It’s the least I could do. I’d probably be dead if not for you… or worse, I suppose.”
Ruby eyed her. “Worse?”
Blake scoffed. “You saw. We… aren’t really welcome here.”
Ruby cocked her head. “We?”
Blake seemed taken aback at the girl’s ignorance. She pulled her shimmering hair behind her long, pointed ear and pointed at the latter appendage. “We.”
Ruby’s confusion doubled. “People with pointy ears?”
Blake stared at the girl for a long moment, letting her hair fall over her ear again. “You… Where are you from, exactly?”
Ruby hesitated to share, but figured Blake deserved to know about her after what they’d been through. “Patch, a little town on Vale’s island. I’m a blacksmith.”
“Not a lot of worldly knowledge, then?”
Ruby frowned. “No. I’m a churl with straw for brains.”
“S-sorry,” a light purple color rose over her cheeks, “I’m not really used to people who aren’t awful to me.”
Ruby’s frown softened until her lips were just slightly pursed. “Well?”
Blake became noticeably more sheepish. “I’m, uh, not from here.”
“Menagerie?” Ruby supplied.
Blake smirked. “Further than that.”
Ruby racked her brain for a minute, then looked at Blake with concern. “B-but… that’s… there’s… what about the edge?”
Blake blinked hard, eyebrows rapidly shooting up her forehead. “Shepard’s fucking crook, you…” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “there’s no edge, Red.”
Now it was Ruby’s turn to scoff. “No edge? If there’s no edge, then why do all the maps have edges?” She gave Blake a look like she’d posed an impregnable point.
Blake opened her mouth to argue, then realized she was talking to a girl who thought the world’s shape was dictated by a piece of parchment. “Okay, then, I’m…” Blake tapped her foot, trying to conjure a way to explain herself that the girl could understand, “I’m not from Remnant.”
Ruby guffawed. “Not from Remnant! Then where are you from, huh?”
Blake frowned, frustrated at the girl’s staggering, confident ignorance. “I’m from a different realm.”
Ruby gave her a smug, disbelieving look, as if she was in on Blake's joke.
"I'm serious," she deadpanned, "I'm from the realm of fay. The Shimmer."
Ruby stared at her for a long moment, the notion dawning upon her that Blake may not be lying. Her gaze moved to Blake's hair, then her ear, then over her sharp, almost inhuman features. "Either way, I don't know what that is."
Blake sighed. Finally, progress. "It's another world, quite identical to this one, except for all the fay." She pointed between herself and Ruby, "we generally don't get along well— us and humans. That's why we mostly stay in our home realm."
Ruby raised an eyebrow. "That's… it? No other reason?"
Blake shook her head. "Crossing the realms isn't hard for us like it is for humans, but there's really nothing for us here. Like I said, our worlds are parallel, most just don't have a reason to risk their lives by coming here."
"Then why are you here?" Ruby couldn't stop the question from pushing past her lips, even though she knew the fay girl would probably want to keep her reasons to herself.
Blake pursed her lips and stared at Ruby, a look of intense consideration briefly crossing her face before disappearing under a deadpan mask. "I have my secrets, I didn't go prying into yours."
Ruby squinted at her, as if an interrogating look would eke the information from the girl, then decided to drop it. She followed that with a shrug and a small smile. "Oh well! You'll tell me soon enough, since we're friends now."
Blake recoiled as if struck. "Friends? I never said—"
"No you didn't," Ruby agreed, "but I am!"
Blake blinked at the declaration, which was punctuated by an emphatically pointing finger from the cleaver-wielder.
Ruby took her silence as an agreement. She held her hand out to the girl. "My real name is Ruby."
"Ruby," she tried the name on her tongue, "Ruby…"
The girl in question smiled. "Rose, after my mother." She wiggled her outstretched hand, beckoning the fay.
Blake's eyes darted between the outstretched hand and the girl's innocent, joyful eyes. Perhaps, she reasoned, an ally wouldn't be so bad, especially in a world like this one, especially now that people knew what she was. She stared at the hand for another long moment, then met it with her own.
Before their hands could meet, Ruby lurched forward and clasped their palms together with a resounding smack. She pulled Blake close to her bedside, a beaming smile on her face.
After a moment, Blake shakily matched her grin.
Notes:
yeah ruby cant read and she thinks the world is flat
Chapter 10: In The Garden
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss sat in bed, wide awake. She knew she needed to sleep, especially with the next round of the tourney on the horizon, but the events of the previous day tormented what fragments remained of her waking mind. That fay… that boy… damn them!
Her hands balled into tight fists and battered her mattress while a growl rose in her throat. Damn them, damn them, damn it all! Those cravens had the gall to break into her tourney and humiliate Cardin bloody Winchester, all while one of them was a damn fay! Did they understand the repercussions? How it would affect her? Her dream of stringing brainless noble milksops along for the rest of her days was untenable, now! Never again would James Vicenzi host a tournament if it means a damn fay could get involved! Meaning it would be day in, day out, suitors upon suitors until she was finally shackled to one of the bastards!
She looked across her room, to her standing wardrobe where Myrtenaster lay dormant in its sheath. After a long moment of staring, she clambered out of bed. Her feet slapped against the frigid tiles.
She pulled the doors of the wardrobe apart. An entire rack of sleep clothes lined its interior, hiding her most treasured possession among them. She reached deep beyond the garments, then pulled her one friend free.
Myrtenaster sat in her palms like the memory of a familiar lover. She gently ran her fingers over the immaculately dyed sheath, its dark blue leather shining with swirls of silver filigree. Weiss' hand slowly moved up the supple leather, her fingers finding the handle by instinct. The navy leather hosted a criss-cross of silver studs, all protected by a tight, intricate webbing of steel that also came down over her knuckles. She pulled the handle slowly, gradually revealing each part of the blade. First, the ricasso— the first few inches of the blade that remained unsharpened, as was standard in Atlas— which bore beautiful, sweeping engravings, then the rest of the blade. Razor sharp, shining, and resplendent.
She held it close to her face, meeting her own icy gaze in the blade's reflection. This is what she would lose, she realized. There would simply be no time for it. Myrtenaster, her beloved, would sit in this wardrobe to collect dust. Her reflection trembled as her hands shook around the hilt.
They could fight. They could spend their days training and battling, going on adventures and creating legends, all while she languished in this godless mausoleum of a palace. Even that fay had more freedom than her.
She thought back to the tourney, to that cloaked lad with the cleaver and the belt of weapons. That boy frustrated her to no end. Who gave him the right to embody such freedom, even down to his wild combat style? He was clearly lowborn, judging by what Weiss had seen of his clothing under that cloak. A simple linen shirt with billowing black breeches- the garb of a peasant. Someone who spent their days toiling, laboring, suffering, but doing so in complete, abject freedom. An insipid life, lacking the finer things in life, but containing an undeniably broad experience.
Quite precisely the opposite of her own life, she mused with a hum. Perhaps that why why she found him so intriguing. After all, why would a lowborn shackle themselves to her? They would be thrusting themselves into a world they simply don't belong in, and for what? Riches? She couldn't deny she was rich, but what joy did that bring her? For the prestige? There certainly was prestige in the Schnee name, or more precisely, the Vicenzi mines that were under that name, though she couldn't see that rube grasping such an idea. So what was it? Her? She audibly guffawed. How bloody flattering, as if somebody would risk life and limb for her skeletal hide.
She caught her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Her ghoulish image scowled in return, clutching her perfect weapon in its bony fingers. She was a frail girl with a toothpick, too cowardly to join the Imperial Order like her sister, too ugly to draw a suitor that didn't make her want to trepan herself with a bread knife, and too weak to lift her sword against her gutless knave of a father.
The rapier shook in her hands, catching her reflection within its shining blade. She stared into her own eyes. Her breathing quickened. She could—
Weiss slammed the rapier back into its sheath, her lungs taking in too little too fast. She shoved Myrtenaster back into its spot with a mumbled apology. She tried to lay back down, but only found her mind torturing her with anxiety of the upcoming tournament. She was an idiot. At least, with her father's menagerie of boys, they were his age. Some of the fighters were easily thirty years her senior! Her insides twisted at the notion. She had thrown herself to the winds of fate on the thin possibility of a temporary freedom, and now she had to bear the consequences of her foolish choices.
She rolled off the bed and opened the door to her room. She peered down both ends of the hallway, checking for guards before she slunk away. Her bare feet quietly slapped the immaculate tiles as she wandered the palace, unsure of her own destination.
Before long, she found herself at the gardens. They were still getting the last dregs of the warm season, but the night air was pleasantly crisp, with a mild breeze tossing her nightgown around. Weiss aimlessly wandered the expansive garden. Her fingers drifted along the leaves of passing marigolds, petunias, hydrangeas, dahlias, and assorted flowers of every variety that would take to their soil. The stone-paved path wound through the whole garden, flanked by vibrant green plants and flowers of every imaginable color, and even some unimaginable colors that had been stolen from The Shimmer as trophies. She tried not to look at those too long, as they tended to cause headaches for humans who stared too long.
The path ended under a tall magnolia tree with wide, sprawling branches and thick leaves. The flowers had stopped blooming a month or two ago, and had shrunk to withered clumps of brown petals. Weiss reached up, standing on her tiptoes to pluck a leathery leaf from the tree. She felt it between her fingers for a second, then ripped it in half. She put the halves up to her nose, and took a deep breath of their sweet scent. She remembered clambering over this tree with Winter, perching among its branches while her father accosted them and her mother snickered behind him. Then Winter left. And now she was alone. The leaves fell from her fingers. She sighed.
She moved to leave, but spotted something in the corner of her eye, hidden behind the girth of the magnolia's trunk. A spurt of red among the greenery, struggling to rise under the tree's enshrouding canopy. Weiss looked over her shoulder, checking for any guards or fellow midnight garden-goers. Seeing none, she gingerly approached the plant.
It was a single shoot, rising from the dirt with deep green leaves and young prickles. If she weren't kneeling to analyze it, it would probably come just below her knee. It was a pitiful thing, clearly stifled by the greater tree above, but it stood out regardless. The petals were bright red and bundled in a tight bud, not yet ready to bloom. To Weiss' knowledge, roses usually bloomed earlier, but she supposed a warm nation like Vale could potentially host blooms for most of the year.
Weiss looked around again, because she was planning on doing something stupid. When she found no one, she checked again. The coast clear, she prodded the dirt around the rose. It wasn't soft, but it gave with some added pressure, so Weiss swallowed her hesitation and dug her fingers into the dirt.
The soil pressed against all ten fingers. She let her Aura pool in her hands, the energy of her very soul probing deep into the dirt. She felt around, searching for the rose's roots— she didn't want to kill the plant, after all. When she felt the plant's miniscule Aura brush against hers, she let out a small smile.
She sucked her Aura back into her hands, then spread it in a wide berth around the rose's roots. When she pulled up, the entire plant came free in its own soil, the loose material being held together by the shell of Weiss' Aura. She looked over her shoulder again, sighing when she found she was still alone.
Weiss snuck through the garden until she found a spare pot, into which she gently placed the budding plant. She filled the rest of the space with topsoil, granted it a sufficient amount of water, then carried it with her, all the way back to her room. There, she placed it on the windowsill. She would open the window before the tourney, and hide it on the alcove around the corner from her window. Hopefully Hulda wouldn't find it, she would just take it back to the garden. This would be Weiss'. Even if everything went wrong, it would be the one thing she could have to herself.
Notes:
very subtle, yes??? jajaja
Chapter 11: Meat Pie
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Shohowejaforalish?" Ruby asked through a mouthful of delicious meat pie, straight off an oven-cart-toting street vendor. They sat at a public table in the market square, in view of the tourney grounds. The sun had yet to cross the horizon, but the sky was turning blue regardless.
Blake stared at her, frown hidden by the bandages but belied by her eyes. She'd chosen to sequester herself under a different cloak than she'd worn (and been exposed in) during the tournament, this one being a dull dandelion hue. "Swallow, Red. Please.”
Ruby obliged, though perhaps too eagerly, as she swallowed a mouthful that was much too large and insufficiently processed, ending with the food painfully pushing down her throat and nearly making her gag. After waving off Blake's concerned look and taking a few deep breaths, she reiterated. "How do you afford this? The room, the food, your stuff, I haven't seen you do anything but fight."
Blake shrugged. "That's it, I just fight. I live off bets and winnings."
"Oh," Ruby's eyebrows crawled up her forehead, her voice rising with concern, "then how—"
Blake interrupted her with a raised hand. "Don't worry about me, I've got a good chunk to myself. Losing one tourney isn't going to ruin me."
Ruby looked around them, just to make sure nobody was staring. "Well, you didn't really lose."
Blake gave her a look. "If I go back, they'll probably arrest me. I'm better off in the shadows, for now."
A grunt of frustration escaped from Ruby's throat. She spoke with hushed anger. "This is so stupid! So what if you're a fay, you haven't done anything wrong! You have a right to be here!"
Blake looked over her shoulder, then turned back to her new friend with a sigh and grim eyes. "Look, it's… not that simple."
Ruby returned a quizzical look and a cocked head. "Whashyamean?" She said through another mouthful of pie.
Blake, thankfully, ignored her lack of manners. "Remember when I said we generally don't cross realms, since our worlds and resources are essentially parallel?"
Ruby answered with a nod, mouth still full.
Blake's voice turned quiet and ashamed. "It hasn't always been like that. Humans were… we found your Realm when we were at our pinnacle— a united empire whose influence stretched unchallenged across the Shimmer. But then we found your realm— a world full of these bald apes with strong bodies and flexible, intelligent minds."
Ruby swallowed, but didn't take another bite. Her eyes were wide with interest.
"You were… a catalyst. Or a wedge, I suppose. Either way, the discovery of the human race polarized the people of the empire. Some wanted to exterminate you, some wanted to conquer and enslave, some wanted to coexist, and some… really wanted to coexist." Blake's gaze slid away from her friend, shame obvious in her eyes.
Ruby stared blankly, not fully understanding the last point but listening raptly nonetheless. She rolled her hand, encouraging Blake to continue.
"The empire split into factions, and each faction did with the humans what they pleased. The hostile factions allied before the others could, and freely crossed the planes to murder, kidnap, and enslave humans indiscriminately." Blake looked down at her hands, then continued, "The humans, understandably, didn't take well to that, so when the peaceful factions tried to parley, they only saw the same faces as those that murdered and kidnapped their families."
Ruby leaned forward. "Then what happened?"
Blake sighed. "Humans banded together, unified by the invading fay. Though they were primitive at the beginning, we had no clue how quickly you could adapt. You took our equipment, our weapons and armor, our technology— then bashed it with rocks and sticks until you somehow bloody understood it." Her hand came up to cover forehead. "I still don't know how you people could unravel millenia of fay development in a scant few centuries."
"Three hundred years!" Ruby blurted, getting a few peeved glances that made her blush and hide her face. "That's… a long war," she added.
"Hardly," Blake contested, "it was the shortest war the fay had ever conducted. It was also our worst."
"The fay… lost?"
Blake nodded. "By the time the war was ending, everything had turned to hell. Civil war tore much of the Shimmer apart, including our own capital. Once the humans figured out how to cross the realms themselves, it was all over. We had never faced anything but fay on our realm, and that…" She cast a wary glance at Ruby's cleaver, which she could barely see hidden under the girl's cloak, "cursed metal… ugh. I don't know how you stand it."
Ruby looked down at her side, where her side-slung cleaver hung under her cloak. "What's wrong with it?"
"Iron," Blake spat like the word was acid in her mouth, "Is completely foreign to my realm. As such, our armor was like parchment in its presence, and our weapons shattered on contact. It is a vile construct, and I'm supremely grateful that you have since discovered metallurgy."
"So… the war?"
"It ended, like all things do. We made massive concessions as reparation for the destruction we wrought in the beginning. That's how you humans have our dust— we seeded your world with it. Like iron, it's unique to our realm." Bitterly, she added, "But your world loves the damn stuff. Unfair…"
Ruby sat back in her chair, feeling like her head was swollen with information. "Concessions? Reper… repa…"
"We paid you for beating us." Blake explained, voice deadpan.
"That's hardly fair." Ruby remarked.
Blake shrugged. "We started it, and we committed atrocities that remain unmatched… at least until the end of the war."
Ruby watched her friends gaze turned dark. "What… happened?"
Blake's ensuing scowl visibly furrowed her bandages. "You don't want to know."
"I really do," the girl protested in return, "clearly, the fay weren't the only ones who acted monstrously."
Blake remained silent and crossed her sleeved arms tightly over herself.
"It happened at the end… and you said it ended when humans learned how to cross realms… but we can't do that on our own. You can, though. That means…" Ruby visibly put the pieces together in her head, and an unpleasant recognition crossed her features. Blake watched it fade as the girl tried to dismiss it, then got confused, then it came back with a vengeance. Ruby was more clever than her limited worldly knowledge belied, but it was clear she didn't fully understand the specific horror inflicted by the humans, and Blake wanted to keep it that way.
Blake's hands tightly gripped her arms. "I… I understand. It was war, and we started it. Horrors abound on both sides, so who am I to complain?" She barely sounded convinced of herself, and her internal conflict was visible in her eyes.
"Blake," Ruby leaned forward and extended a comforting hand to her friend, "what happened?"
Blake looked at the hand, then back at Ruby, amber eyes begging.
"Y-you don't have to tell me." Ruby amended when she saw her friend's pleading eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."
Ruby began to pull her hand back, but found it grasped by Blake, her amber eyes meeting Ruby's silver with a spark of conviction. "I will tell you, I swear. Just… after the tournament, okay?"
Ruby gulped, the warm (even through the bandages) hand around hers paired with Blake's undeniably beautiful eyes to make her feel strange, her stomach and chest lifting and turning in a way she'd never felt before. She felt heat pool in her face. "Y-Yeah, okay."
Blake's eyes turned warm, like she was smiling. She relinquished Ruby's hand in favor of lifting her fork again. She scooped a piece of the delicious meat pie and pulled her bandages away from her mouth.
Ruby felt her heart pick up when she saw the girl pull the bandages away, and found herself sheepishly turning her gaze away.
"Gather, fighters!" A voice yelled, much too loud and much too close, making Blake jump and sending her scoop of hot pie into her lap. "Gather for the tourney! Gather, fighters, the tourney begins soon!"
Blake growled at her wasted food, then turned her gaze back to Ruby, who was blushing for some reason. "We should go."
Ruby, suddenly sheepish, nodded. "Yeah, we, uh, we probably should." She agreed with a nervous laugh.
Blake raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything. She hoped that girl wasn't losing heart— she had a lot of money riding on this.
Notes:
with how things are going i kinda wish i had saved the 'awakenings' title for here lmao 'meat pie' will have to do i guess
Chapter 12: Familiar Faces
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby sat in the stands, alone. She could see Blake watching from a far away corner, but the fay had refused to risk going back to the tourney. Ruby held a small piece of parchment, folded and bound with a thin piece of string, apparently containing the roster of the day.
She untied the slip and gazed upon the list. It was some of the highest quality parchment she'd ever felt, bright and clear in sharp contrast to the smooth, bold ink of the list itself. She marveled at the beautiful writing, then immediately felt dour when she remembered that she couldn't read it. She frowned at the parchment, as if that would cause the scrawlings to reassemble into something she recognized instead of the strange, winding glyphs they were now. A picture would've been nice.
She huffed and, in a rare moment of anger, crumpled the slip in her hands. She just had to hope the announcer would call their names.
A weight settled beside her, making her jump.
"Hey, 'Rupert'." It was Penny, her ginger hair brightly reflecting the morning sun. She smiled at Ruby, who cautiously returned the gesture.
"Uh, hi, Penny." She muttered, pulling her hood over her face. She really didn't like being recognized here, even if it was someone she could probably trust.
"You were insane yesterday!" Penny mused, scooching closer to Ruby to softly grip the girl's arm. "Like a whirlwind! I've never seen anyone fight like you do!"
Ruby pulled her hood tighter as she felt heat surge in her face. She really wasn't used to compliments on things that didn’t come out of her forge. "T-thanks, uh, it's nothing… I just, uh… yeah."
Penny got even closer, even going so far as to drape an arm over Ruby's shoulders. The contact made Ruby nervously search the stands— such a thing had to be a breach of propriety, or something!
Nobody was staring, nobody even batted an eye their way. She sighed. She supposed they just looked like two friends, or some such, and Knights technically existed outside of men and women's societal rules. She was also masquerading (or at least attempting to) as a man, so perhaps it wasn't so strange, but it certainly made Ruby feel strange.
"You'd make an excellent Knight," Penny insisted, leaning close to Ruby's ear, "We could even be on a team together!"
Penny was an extremely pretty girl, that much she could admit— especially by Ruby’s more rural standards of beauty— but that wasn’t a reason for this proximity to make her feel so strange! Ruby's arms wrapped tightly around her chest, hoping to keep the swirling feeling inside of her steady. She wasn't used to this kind of closeness with anyone but her sister.
"How do you feel about your match?" Penny asked, still close enough to set Ruby's face on fire.
"I-I-I, uh, I've… got it, haha," she nervously chuckled, "Yeah, t-totally, haha."
Penny raised a dark eyebrow at Ruby, gaze flicking between her eyes and Ruby's hands. "You sure? You seem mad."
"No, no, no, I'm not angry, I just—" her words hitched in her throat, the embarrassing admission stopping before it could start, "I'm just confident I can beat whoever I fight."
Penny hardly looked convinced. She unwrapped her arm from Ruby's shoulders and instead laid it over her hands, "May I see?" She asked, suddenly gentler than she'd been before. The warm contact made Ruby's heart beat doubly fast— was she really so unfamiliar with female contact? Penny was making her feel like she was almost shirtless in front of Jaune again!
Penny gently unfolded Ruby’s hands from around the crumpled slip, the meticulous movement making Ruby’s breathing hitch. Penny briefly met her eyes, and Ruby immediately looked away. She was… weird! It was weird! Everything was weird, she felt weird, what was going on was weird! Weird! But if it was so weird, why did she miss the warmth when Penny’s hands retreated with the roster?
Penny's eyes scrolled over the slip for a moment before she slipped her arm under Ruby's, using it to pull the girl closer. She held the slip up, finger pointing at the glyphs at the top of the list. "Wow! They put you first!"
"I-I can read!" Ruby insisted through grit teeth, equal parts frustrated and flustered.
Penny’s eyes snapped to hers, like she’d caught the girl. Smugness flashed across her face, immediately followed by a gentle empathy. “I never said you couldn’t,” she looked back down at the paper, “But now that you mention it, I’m having a hard time with that name. What’s it say?”
Ruby followed her finger slightly to the right, towards another set of equally unfamiliar black glyphs. She tapped the word.
"Well?" Penny urged, watching the poor girl struggle to pull miraculous understanding from nothing.
Ruby's hands balled into fists and she wrenched her arm out of Penny's grip, snatching the parchment back in the process. She scooted away from the girl, the strange fluttering of her chest replaced with anger. She huffed, avoiding the Knight’s emerald gaze.
"Ruby," she whispered, "it's okay. Lots of people can't read."
Ruby bit her lip and looked away, tears pricking at her eyes. She hated being as stupid as she was, it made her feel useless around people like Blake, and even her sister. She was a smith! She smithed and she was damn good at it! Why did it matter if she could read or not, people could just come and ask for a sword!
"Hey, I'm sorry," Penny muttered as she scooted back up to Ruby's side, "I'm not judging you, you're an incredible fighter and an amazing blacksmith— so what if you can't read, right?"
Ruby's arms tightened around herself. When it came from someone else, that notion sounded childish and patronizing. "Right," she mumbled in return.
Penny visibly recoiled from Ruby. "I didn't mean to—"
"Ruby."
Another voice. Ruby turned, heart dropping into her stomach like an iron weight.
The bench sagged as another armored person sat between Penny and Ruby, their plate a familiar dark color and of a utilitarian, unadorned make. They pulled their helmet off, long blonde locks spilling forth to reveal the face that Ruby had dreaded to see here.
"Yang, I can explain!" Ruby whispered as loudly as she could, hands flying up defensively.
Yang merely stared, red eyes and tight scowl locking Ruby down for a moment before fading back to lilac. Yang took her sister into her arms for a crushing embrace. "Ozma's balls, you had me so worried!"
Ruby tried to wave everything off. "I've been fine!” She wheezed, “I just needed some… time? To myself!"
Yang pushed her sister far enough away to affix her with a glare. "Ruby, I know what happened. Dad told me."
Ruby sagged, deflated. "I… please don't take me home," she whispered, defeated, "Not yet."
Yang squeezed her shoulders, her head dipping to meet Ruby's eyes, softly this time. She stared for a long time, thoughts visibly zipping around behind her irises. Ruby watched the conflict play out on her face— Yang never was able to hide her feelings. After a long while, her head dropped, eyes turning to the floor.
"Yang? Are you okay?" Ruby reached for her sister.
Yang's head stayed down, making it hard for Ruby to hear her words. "I heard you did pretty well in the first round," she muttered, "and you protected your partner."
"I just—"
Yang' head sprang back up with a beaming smile on her face. "I'm so proud!" She lunged forward again to tackle Ruby, gaining a good few annoyed looks. “My little sister is a warrior!”
"B-but dad—"
Yang squeezed her tighter, taking her words away. "Is an idiot! What did he think was going to happen, sending me here? As if I would drag you back home, kicking and screaming, when all you want to do is protect people!"
"Please—" Ruby wheezed, "you're killing me."
Yang finally relinquished her, allowing the blessed air to flood her lungs once more. "Just don't die, and try not to get any more of these," Yang gestured to the new scars on Ruby's face, "I don't want my baby sister's cute face to go patchwork."
Ruby panted, bewildered. She'd barely gotten a word in with her sister, but apparently that was enough to prove her conviction.
Yang smiled at her sister again, then jumped when Penny tapped her shoulder. "So, who are you?" Penny asked.
Ruby watched Yang's eyes slowly turn red. She turned her head, just enough to meet her eyes to Penny's. "I saw you leering at my sister. You're lucky you're a Knight."
Penny's eyebrows shot up as she was taken aback, then came down as she leaned forward with a hard look. "Oh? And why exactly am I so lucky to be a Knight?"
Yang turned fully, nodding to the tourney grounds below them. "Because if you weren't, I would've thrown you into that field and taken you on myself."
Penny squinted, hand slowly drifting to her scabbard. "How's my knighthood stopping you?"
"Killing a Knight would put my Huntress status in jeopardy," Yang's fists tightened as she seethed, "Even if that Knight is a lascivious cad."
"Huntress, eh?" Penny chuckled, "I'm sure the world wouldn't miss one less of you."
"Hey, hey!" Ruby interrupted, hand firmly on her cleaver's grip under her cloak. "Don't say that to my sister."
Penny frowned, then let her hand leave her sword. She turned her nose up at the two of them. "You're not worth it. Don't forget my favor, 'Rupert'."
With that, Penny left. Ruby could see Blake distantly watching them with wide eyes.
Yang spoke up first. "So when—"
"Fighters, turn your ears!" The mustachioed announcer shouted from the tourney's center, atop a squat wooden crate, "Would the first combatants please come to the center! Rupert the Red and Dove Bronzewing, to the center, please!"
"Heh, Rupert," Yang chuckled, "Very subtle."
Ruby laughed sheepishly. With a last glance at Blake, then one to her sister, she turned to the tourney.
Notes:
yes penny is extremely ooc but consider she is made of meat now and also its a nice contrast to twilight concerto penny
Chapter 13: The Rose and the Dove
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby took her position in the center, eyes frequently finding her sister. Yang never failed to catch her gaze with an encouraging smile. Ruby sighed, arms at her sides. Her hands were empty— she figured it may be smarter to gauge her opponent rather than have a weapon at the ready. Her cleaver still hung from her shoulder, ready to be dropped or drawn at a moment's notice.
Ruby flicked her gaze across the stands, towards the Schnees. The patriarch glared at her with barely constrained fury, while his wife was deep in a large glass of dark wine. Weiss, though, seemed to be in another world, thoughts drawn to something else. For some reason, she'd hoped Weiss would be watching.
She heard footsteps behind her, and turned to meet her opponent. Dove Bronzewing took his position a couple yards from her, bastard sword drawn. It had a straight blade and a pair of rings as handguards, with its thinner crossguard stretching out a little further at the sides. From what Ruby could see, it was a subtle and beautiful piece of work, enough to make her want to compliment it. Fearing her terrible man voice, though, she repressed her appreciation.
Dove raised his sword for the crowd, drawing a rolling wave of whoops and cheers, including a great many enthusiastic chants of his surname. He raised his other arm to revel in the feeling, then leveled his sword with Ruby's head. "For disrespecting this tournament, and the grace of House Schnee, I swear that your blood will soak my blade!" He shouted, drawing another round of rapturous applause, contrasted by a single 'fuck you, you withered whoreson!' from none other than Yang. Ignoring the heckle, he stared at Ruby through squinted eyes, his navy irises barely visible.
She could feel the revulsion rolling off of this man, who stood in a decadent suit of shining steel, decorated with vertical bands of brilliant golden filigree. His joints were well-covered, with the only gaps she could see covered in a layer of bronze scale and a similar scale coif on his head. His faulds and tassels reached low, with the latter covering all the way to his knees and backed by a skirt of chainmail. Cloth stretched from under his tassets, almost to the ground and split down the middle on both sides. The broad textile gave plenty of room for a full tapestry of beautifully vibrant dye, not in a simple pattern but actually depicting something. Some kind of battle— figures charging with swords and axes overhead, with their opponents cowering under their mettle. One of the armed figures held a bodiless head above him. Ruby squinted at the design— the lifeless head had long, pointed ears.
Ruby frowned. The crowd seemed to expect a speech from her in return, but she didn't have anything to say. The pressure made her reach her hands to her hood, seeking to pull it tighter over her face— then she saw Yang's. She was mad, but determined, hard eyes staring into Ruby's very soul. Yang puckered her lips and threw her head to the side, then pointed to Ruby with a nod to Dove. Ruby blinked. She knew exactly what Yang was telling her to do.
A strong, indignant anger rose within Ruby, inspired by her sister. She stared Dove down, allowing the gentle breeze to push her hood just enough to show the boy her shining silver eyes. A loud noise ripped out of her nose, then one from her throat. The crowd went deathly quiet.
Ruby spat at his feet.
A few gasps escaped the crowd, along with an angry shout from Jacques Schnee. Ruby briefly turned her eyes their way. Now Weiss was watching.
Dove, however, was furious. His eyes had widened in a death glare at the girl, and his sword was visibly shaking in his tight grip. He pulled his open armet from his belt, draping its chain aventail over his breastplate as he placed the helm on his head, then closing hinged visor over his incensed visage. He took a low stance, legs wide with his sword extended to Ruby.
"You're going to pay for that, Rupert," he promised, voice tinny through his helm, "I'll make you choke on that spittle when I crack your windpipe across my pommel."
Ruby's eyebrows raised at the mental image. She shrugged her sheathed cleaver off her shoulder, letting the leather-bound hunk fall at her side— it wouldn't do her any good, not yet at least. She could see his defensive style already, and a giant, heavy sword definitely wasn't the answer. She took another glance over his suit, searching for a weakness.
His chest, waist, and legs were impeccably covered. His arms, though, seemed a little less armored. The scale under-armor seemed to only extend past his armpits, and she could see his inner arms were covered with riveted splints of brown leather. What was extremely intriguing, though, was the fact that his armor completely ended at his left hand, with his plate vambraces flamboyantly flaring around his wrist. Ruby raised an eyebrow— what under the Watcher's gaze would compel a person to leave their hand uncovered? Was he just stupid? The fact she couldn't easily agree to that worried her.
The grandly mustachioed announcer, whose name Ruby still didn't know, gave her a disapproving look before raising his hand high above his head. "When the horn blows, you may begin," he declared.
Ruby tensed, knees bending. She decided her best option would be to test his defense, so she drew her longest blade— a broad falchion with a square pommel and a flat guard— into her left hand, leaving her right hand free. Her left arm escaped the cloak's confines, taking the falchion low and wide in an aggressive stance.
Dove stared her down. Ruby matched his glare. She could feel all the eyes on her: Dove, Penny, Yang, Blake, and even the lady Schnee. A part of her wished Tai had come to watch, too, but she knew that was wishful thinking.
The announcer's hand dropped. The horn blew.
Ruby moved first, lunging forward and bringing her sword up in a wild, aimless strike, just meant to test his reflexes and mobility. Both were excellent, to her chagrin, as he easily moved to parry the blade. He followed with a thrust, and much more quickly than she expected— she barely managed to back away.
His other, unarmored hand gripped the bottom of his hand-and-a-half sword to push another thrust her way, even faster than the last. He lunged with it, getting uncomfortably close to Ruby while she stopped the point on her falchion's flat. Ruby didn't have time to retreat before he barged into her with his shoulder, sending her to the dirt. She could feel his smirk taunting her through that helmet as his elbow cocked back for a thrust.
Weiss watched the point fly to the cloaked one's throat, only to skewer a flurry of petals. Was that the trick she'd seen earlier, when a vibrant burst of red caught her eye? Momentarily forgetting her impeccable manners, she leaned forward with interest.
Ruby reappeared confidently behind Dove, falchion slashing to his less-armored arm, only to be deflected with ease— an ease that told her he’d been expecting that.
"Ha!" He guffawed as he pressed her with slashes and thrusts, putting her on the backfoot once more. "A Semblance, huh? No wonder you get along so well with that shim!"
Ruby lunged back, umber cloak billowing in the opposite direction and briefly catching Dove's blade in its flowing cloth. He pulled the sword away with a frustrated grunt, leaving an unsightly rip in the edge. Ruby's eyebrows rose slightly, so focused on the battle she barely heard his words.
Dove pressed on regardless, harrying her with attacks too fast to parry. "You move quick, but your Semblance limits you," he smugly declared, "taste real magic, swine!"
Weiss' eyebrows rose at the declaration, and she nearly shot up out of her seat to warn the cloaked boy. It wouldn't have mattered if she did, though, as Dove's bare hand shot out too fast for her to react.
Ruby suddenly found a palm thrust into her face, sparking with violent orange energy.
"Dodge!" Shouted Yang from the stands. Ruby didn't hesitate to listen.
Weiss watched him disappear in another puff of red petals, which were quickly incinerated as a wild blast of arcane fire burst from his sparking palm, making Dove’s Aura visibly pulse.
Ruby reappeared yards away, back where they'd started, cloak covering her as she knelt and heaved air into her lungs. She'd never blinked so far before— she had no clue how taxing it could be.
Dove laughed loudly, opening his hinged armet just to show her his smug face. "And look at that! Not so easy when you don't have somebody else fighting your battles for you, huh?"
Ruby mumbled something, far too low for Dove to catch with her head down.
"Huh?" He yelled, stepping closer with a hand cupped to his ear. "Are you going to forfeit? It's the only way you'll get out of this alive!"
Ruby mumbled again, still too quiet. Dove scowled and raised his sword.
"Crook and cane," he cursed with a shout, "Speak with some fucking conviction! Your Aura is gone! Forfeit unless you want to paint these grounds with your innards!"
Ruby felt a trickle of power well back up in her soul, but it wasn't enough— not at this distance. Her eyes found Yang, who was barely able to contain her rage, then back to Dove. "I bet…" she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.
Dove stomped up to her and ripped her hood off her face, cold steel pushing on her throat. From the corner of her eye, she saw the young lady Schnee shoot to her feet, then get yanked back down by her father.
Weiss' rear hit the bench hard, making her yelp. What the hell was that idiot thinking? Port should call this off, now! He was just kneeling there, staring up at Dove! She couldn't even see his hands under that cloak, and Dove's big, stupid body was blocking the boy's face! Dammit!
Ruby stared up at Dove and grinned. "I bet you can't do it again."
Dove's eyes flashed with indignant rage. When he brought his his bare hand up to prove her wrong, she snorted, and hawked phlegm straight into his face.
He recoiled on instinct, distracting him just long enough for Ruby to shuffle under her cloak. Dove's palm sparked again.
Weiss reached out, but it was too far to stop him— she'd never practiced counter-magic at such a distance. She'd watch the only fascinating challenger be incinerated in front of her own eyes! She screwed her lids tight, but she couldn't keep them closed when she heard the blast. She had to see.
The arcane fire flared brightly, Dove's Aura flaring in tandem as his flames easily engulfed the cloaked boy. Weiss' heart sank. With his Aura depleted, the flames had nothing to feed their arcane presence, and so faded to thin blue smoke. Weiss watched— helpless, like always. The arcane smoke parted with the breeze.
The ground was scorched in an arc around Dove, parted by a giant slab of smoking iron. A frayed umber cloak fluttered behind it, its edges scorched black.
Notes:
i fucking love this chapter tbh super fun fight to write, and its not even over yet :) thx to my genius gf for the great title :))
Chapter 14: Thorns and Feathers
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby pressed against her hot cleaver, the smoking iron burning her even through her clothes. She was honestly surprised a part of her wasn't aflame, but she also had no clue what this magic was or how it worked, so she just decided to consider herself lucky. Regardless, she had no time for musing. She had a plan.
Ruby jumped up from behind her cleaver, silver eyes flashing as they met Dove's wide blues. She swung her hammer with all her might. This would end it.
The hammer slammed straight into Dove's open palm with a sickening crunch.
Dove screamed, arm flying back as he scrambled away with wild, warding swings of his bastard sword. "You bastard!" He seethed, holding his mangled hand close to his chest.
Ruby stared at the busted limb, her own hand sympathetically throbbing. She could see bones breaking through the skin in the back. Guilt sucked her victory away— she knew that pain, intimately. Her hammer fell to her side, arm limp as she stared. She tried to justify herself— he was going to slit her throat before she had taunted him into incinerating her instead, but that did little to ease her regret. Watcher's cane, she had cut that other boy's arm off, then kept fighting like it hadn't bothered her! Now, though, the memory of parting that boy's flesh reverberated through her hands, sickening her. At least that had been to protect her friend, but this? Had combat so quickly turned her cruel?
Weiss watched the boy freeze, gaze locked to the broken Dove. It had been a novel move, truly, displaying a speed and awareness that Weiss couldn't hold a candle to— but now he was motionless, finally giving Weiss an opportunity to see his face uncovered, though she couldn't get a good image from such a distance— nothing distinguishing save for the vivid red scars contrasting his pale skin. Weiss' hands clenched tightly. He needed to move, to fight, Dove wouldn't stand there forever!
"Move, move! Get him!" Shouted a voice from the stands, belonging to a plate-armored lass with flowing blonde locks. She stood above the crowd, hands cupped around her mouth to shout at the cloaked boy. Others quickly caught on, though, and shouted for Dove to do the same with encouraging chants and vicious jeers.
Ruby shook her head, thoughts breaking against Yang's crisp yell. Dove was just standing there, cradling his broken hand— this was her chance! Damn the boy's splintered bones, they would heal, just like hers did! She blinked forward, hammer swinging as she reformed from petals.
But it was too late, Dove had already reconciled with the pain in his hand and reacted quickly, bastard sword flicking out to bat her slow hammer away. He followed up head-first, his helmed forehead slamming into Ruby's uncloaked face. She felt her eyebrow reopen, stinging blood forcing her eye closed again as she repressed a girlish yelp. Ruby jumped back, panting. Dove stared her down, his breathing still not as heavy as hers.
Dove closed his armet back over his face and stood straight. Even still, Ruby could feel his hateful eyes boring into her. "Did you think I would go down easily?" He taunted, "You're even stupider than you look."
Ruby growled, expression souring. She was not stupid.
Dove smirked, sensing he'd struck a nerve. "I would suggest that the young Winchester had knocked some brains from your skull, but you clearly had nothing to lose."
Ruby's hand tightened around her hammer. She was a smith, not a scholar. She was not stupid.
Dove laughed at her. "Go on, say something! Are you mute?" He laughed uproariously, "Has your muddled breeding left you dumb, boy?"
Boy? Ruby seethed. He hardly looked more than a year older than her, she was no less of a child than him! She suddenly found her arm moving, an enraged yell pushing out of her as she threw her hammer hard enough to hurt her elbow.
Dove lazily stepped aside. The hammer thumped against the ground. Dove let out one last, cruel laugh. "You really are an idiot."
Ruby found her feet moving on their own, her hands blindly pulling from her belt of their own volition, finding an axe for her left and a shortsword for her right. She charged at Dove blindly, an enraged cry ripping from her throat. She swung from two directions at once, axe high and sword low.
Dove grinned at her reckless anger. His sword easily found the neck of her axe, expertly redirecting it right out of her hands as her shortsword bit fruitlessly into his steel tasset. She tried to follow up with a thrust to his inner arm, but he just pivoted himself to deflect it with his breastplate. This gave him the additional momentum to swing with his sword once more, which he did with gusto, slicing into flesh through Ruby's right vambrace. Blood trickled through the leather and her hand reflexively opened. The shortsword clattered to the ground. Ruby hissed.
Dove just kept slashing, forcing Ruby to draw her falchion into her left hand and use its wide blade like a shield. The bastard sword bit into the falchion's flat time and time again, leaving nasty scores as Dove hounded her with blow after blow, his face alight with joy.
Ruby desperately slipped her steel dagger into her right hand, the wound in her forearm making it much harder to hold. She leapt back from a slash, successfully baiting a pursuing thrust from Dove. She stepped aside from the sword's point and jabbed with her own dagger, perfectly aimed for his inner arm's weaker splint armor. Fear flashed in Dove's face.
The dagger struck the material, then fell straight out of her hand— her grip was weak, and the riveted leather strong.
Weiss watched the Bronzewing laugh his grating laugh for the umpteenth time. It was shameful, really, entirely unbecoming of a man of his stature— he had every opportunity to end this fight, but he preferred instead to gloat. With all her heart, Weiss prayed to the Watcher that this would come back on him.
Ruby watched her knife fall, heart mimicking its movement as it dropped into her stomach. She could see his gauntleted fist coming toward her, knuckles backed by his sword's handle. The cold steel bit her cheek, the seconds becoming sluggish as his hand made contact. She felt a tooth escape its confines. The forceful blow turned her head, her body following in turn. The forcefully excised tooth— a molar— fell past her lips, blood spilling out along with it.
Weiss turned her gaze away from the beating in front of her, landing instead on the blonde in the stands. She stood like she was going to jump into the field. Unfortunately, the good Knight Penny Polendina held her back. Weiss frowned.
Ruby watched the small white chunk fall, and that's when the pain found her. It cracked across her left cheek, awakening the pain in her eyebrow and from her previously-broken nose. Her jaw, too, flared with pain.
"You dumb bastard," Dove huffed, "I'm going to kill you— purify Remnant of your taint."
Ruby stumbled, catching herself just in time to see his sword driving to her chest. The world slowed to a crawl, giving her a perfect view of the bastard sword that would soon kill her. She felt her pain drain away, her anger melt to nothing, the world falling away until she was in a void. It was just her, Dove, and the sword. Yang, too, was in the distance, yelling at her while somebody held her back. She felt eyes on her. Weiss was watching. She had something to prove.
Ruby's silver eyes flashed, her hands moving with inhuman speed. Remembering what had happened earlier, she gripped her cloak and yanked it up, allowing the sword to pierce it before she wrapped the cloth tightly around the blade and pulled.
Dove stumbled forward with her, Ruby stepped aside while her weak hand shot out— she wouldn't need an iron grip for this, just enough to force his hand open. With one wrench and pull, she pried his gauntlet open, relinquishing his grip on the sword. Still gripping it through the cloth, Ruby used the bastard sword like a war hammer to bash into his helmet, the thin crossguard concentrating all her strength into tiny points that nearly ventilated his helmet and made his ears ring.
Dazed, Dove tried to stumble back with a wild punch, but Ruby ducked low, well under the line of sight his thin visor allowed. Blind to her actions, he couldn't see her hand drop his sword and slip under his chainmail collar until she was already wedging his helmet up, opening his vision to her once more.
Unfortunately for him, it wasn't a good sight. Her cheek and eyebrow had leaked blood all over the left side of her face, and more slowly fell from her open, panting mouth. Her one silver eye— the other was shut tight against the flow of blood— stared into his soul, the silver iris shining with a focused serenity. He tried to move, depending on his meager Aura to protect him from a lucky blow as he retreated, but an ice cold feeling against his neck stopped him.
Ruby's last-ditch weapon, an iron dagger with a triangular blade and a wooden handle, had slipped into the opening she'd created, bypassing his Aura to threaten him directly. Her gaze was dead calm. He froze.
Weiss’ mouth hung agape, her emotions violently torn in another direction once again. Behind her, Weiss’ father seemed to be suffering under a similar emotional whiplash. Her mother just stared, eyes wide as she took an unsightly gulp from her large glass.
Dove's lips flapped wordlessly, each bob of his throat threatening to skewer him on the dagger. "I forfeit!" He shouted, so fast that it looked like he didn't mean to, especially when his eyes widened with betrayal.
Weiss nearly fainted with relief.
Ruby actually fainted.
Notes:
and thats the first bracket done! tons of help from my gf on this one lol :)
Chapter 15: Family Dinner
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss lightly pushed food across her plate, finding her appetite to be extremely lacking, especially after that last fight. Rupert's duel with Dove set the entire mood for the rest of the fights, and that mood was brutal. Several young men, some of whom Weiss had found to be respectable fencers, died in the field. Something about the first round had the fighters electrified.
She supposed she could understand— it had been an incredible fight, especially with Dove's magic on display against Rupert's sheer, desperate ingenuity— but the unprecedented level of violence that followed was just sickening. If she wouldn't be reprimanded for it, she would've stomped down there and given those brutes a lesson on decorum, especially when competing in front of highborn ladies such as herself.
Her father seemed pleased with the endless bloodlust, though, much to her chagrin as he loudly recounted every fight at their dinner, as if she hadn't been there. He relished retelling every gory stroke of a sword, every dying wail and bloody wound. Her mother, on the other hand, seemed to be in another world— one with seas of red wine, judging by how she numbly guzzled the stuff. Weiss watched with disappointment as she downed a large glass in two heaving gulps, then waved a servant over for more.
Weiss shrank into herself, suddenly wishing for Winter's presence. She desperately yearned for the days of their youth— the days playing in the garden, dueling with sticks and pretending to be adventurous heroes. Great snowball battles against their old servant, Klein. Her mother's laughter. The days before James and his Vicenzi money, before Winter left, before mother took to the bottle, before she was laden with suitors.
"Daughter? Look at me when I'm speaking, girl," Jacques demanded with quiet venom. "Don't go floating away like your mother."
Weiss felt a violent spike of anger stab into her chest. He was the reason her precious mother had fallen so far, and now he had infected her with his pestilent seed. Another Jacques would soon extricate itself from Willow Schnee. In the most grim recesses of her mind, Weiss had accepted that this would be her last sibling; having two children takes a great toll on a woman, and Willow was well beyond the prime birthing age. Coupled with her excessive indulgence of wine, she doubted her mother would survive labor. She felt that she should feel worse about that. Her mother was surely bound to join the Shepherd's flock, but Weiss could only feel relief. She wouldn't have to watch her drown herself in wine from sunrise to sunset, she wouldn't be subjected to raising another Jacques, and she wouldn't have to bear the abuses of the first one any longer. She would be free to join her first husband, her true love, in the Shepard's great flock of souls, forever protected under the Watcher's loving gaze.
"Damn it, Weiss!" Jacques pounded the table, making her utensils clang. She shook herself out of her stupor— she didn't even realize she'd been staring at Willow, who returned more than an empty stare. "Stop staring at your damn mother— she's got ballast for brains!"
Weiss sneered at the nautical expression— yet more proof that Jacques Schnee was nothing more than James Vicenzi, a mercantile man who used her name as nothing more than a boon to the Imperials— without that, his product would never be accepted in Greater Atlas. Regardless, Weiss pushed her anger to the bottom of her being. She pictured stuffing all into a bottle, one that would eventually burst and find its sharpest end lodged in James Vicenzi's neck. "My apologies, father, I was thinking about the tourney," she lied with ease.
Jacques hummed and dropped back into his seat. His anger simmered into a self-satisfied grin. "I suppose it was quite a brilliant idea," he remarked with a flamboyant swish of his cup. "I only wish I had come up with it sooner!"
Weiss hid her frown. She didn't expect to be credited, nor did she care to receive credit from a snake like her father. "Yes, father, you are brilliant."
Jacques gave her a brief glare before turning to his drink. He took a sizable swig, releasing a great sigh before turning to Weiss once more. "What do you think of the stock?"
"They are respectable enough," Weiss lied, hoping it would be enough to placate his desire to speak of suitors.
Jacques spoke up before she even finished her sentence. "How about the elder Winchester? William, I believe. Quite the lad, if you ask me. The Winchesters themselves are quite rich, as well, it would be a highly profitable arrangement."
Weiss cringed at the thought of that monster. "Perhaps a little too bloodthirsty. He did kill several young nobles in the first round, and nearly killed his opponent today."
"So he is a skilled fighter, what of it?" Jacques replied with a gulp of his drink, more conservatively this time.
"He does not know restraint, and could taint our name by dragging us into a blood feud." Weiss stated, her placating tone shifting into one that was more analytical. As much as she wished she could simply ignore her father, Weiss knew Jacques would make important decisions about her life whether she wished it or not, and while she couldn’t make her own choices, she could influence how others made them.
Jacques hummed. "Yes, the Winchesters do have that nasty habit. What of that, er…" He snapped his fingers, trying to bring a name to his mind. "Neptune! The Vasilias boy. He's quite skilled, he has good genes, and is well situated to inherit. House Vasilias itself is also quite respectable, though they don't have nearly as much sway as the Winchesters."
Weiss scowled. Neptune wasn't an ugly fellow, and he did show remarkable skill with that trident, but he wasn't without his unpleasant qualities, at least from what she had overheard at the many galas she had been forced to attend. "I've heard he's quite the philanderer," Weiss replied.
"So?" Jacques's eyes briefly darted to his wife, who seemed well and truly lost to the drink. "As long as you're pampered, what do you care?"
Weiss couldn't hide her scowl this time, so she tried to make a show of eating her food. The lamb had lost its heat long ago, but the seasoning was still good enough to appreciate, at least long enough to hide her disgust before swallowing. "He's quite the philanderer, father. The houses of ill repute hold him as an honored guest."
Jacques rolled his hand, nearly dropping the chunk from his fork. "And?"
"He's surely sired more than a few bastards, and that could make things needlessly difficult down the line. Worse, he may have contracted a… pox." Weiss made the last part up— she hadn't heard any such rumors, not yet at least— she didn't think the bastard point would stick too well with Jacques, whose flippancy on the topic was worrisome.
Jacques grunted, leveling his fork with her. "Crook and cane, child, you are particular. Who did take your eye?"
Weiss' mouth worked on its own, blurting a name before she could catch herself. "Rupert."
Jacques gave her a blank stare as he chewed another piece of food. "Who?"
At the boy’s mention, Weiss felt… odd. Heat pooled in her face, but she wasn't angry— not any more than usual, at least. Why was she so warm? "W-well…" She stammered, when the hell did she have a stammer? "The first round? You… don't remember?"
Jacques waved his fork. "Obviously not. Who did he fight?"
Weiss gulped. "The Bronzewing."
Jacques tilted his head, but Weiss could see the realization suddenly surge into his eyes. "What!" He shouted. "The shim lover? What in the hell is wrong with you?"
"He was protecting his ally!" Weiss defended, indignance rising in her chest. "At least he has the honor to protect his partner, and he hasn't murdered anybody!"
Jacques loudly dropped his fork on his plate, using his now-free hand to point at Weiss. "You saw his Semblance!" He sneered at the word. "Fetid half-breed! He couldn't even learn real magic— he's got shim blood!"
Weiss dropped her utensils and risked affixing her father with a glare. "That's not his fault. There are even some among the nobility that have fay blood! Who knows what happened to his ancestors— they could’ve been among the stolen!"
"They should've just died if they didn't want to be taken!" Jacques leaned forward, fork returning to his hands so he could make grand gestures at and around Weiss. "That is what's wrong with this world, girl, those half-breeds have gone around spreading their filth across the world, and we've let them have free reign for far too long! Now you have to scour the bloody nation just to comb out those of pure blood! Before long, there'll be none of us left! Those weak, scampering rats— they'll undermine everything!"
His rant left him panting, with a mildly crazed look in his eyes. Weiss just stared, silent. She had plenty to say— if those of fay blood were so weak, how could one defeat somebody like Dove? If they were truly so widespread, how did he find her so many suitors? Or did he not actually care about the purity of his precious bloodline— one which he technically invaded, since she and Winter were from Willow's first husband. Furthermore, she found his Semblance to be quite interesting, and its utility clearly could hold a candle to 'real' magic.
As it was, though, she knew Jacques wouldn't absorb any of her points. For that reason, she set her utensils back on the table and sat up straight.
"I'd like to be excused, please," she asked, perfectly polite as if her father hadn't just spouted some of the most psychotic nonsense she'd ever heard.
Jacques gave her a look. "What, you can't listen when I'm telling the truth?"
Weiss shook her head, her face finding a practiced neutrality. "No, Hulda wants to look over my dress once more before tomorrow’s tourney.”
She lied like it was second nature, quickly drumming up an excuse that he had no way of refuting. With a huff and a wave, he dismissed her. Weiss fled as quickly as she could.
She had a rose to check on.
Notes:
sorry this one took a while, been working on my cdl so i have less time to write, plus i fully rewrote this chapter since i didnt like the first go
Chapter 16: Shackled Hearts
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby pulled her cheek aside, groaning as she observed the noticeable gap in the back of her mouth. She probed the area with a finger and immediately regretted it.
“It could certainly be worse,” Blake remarked. “At least you moved up.”
Ruby moved the piece of polished metal over her whole face, catching her sister and Blake in the reflection. They both stood behind her, the former wearing a conflicted scowl while the latter seemed to be expressing genuine, if mild, concern. They were in a much nicer room than last night, paid for at Yang’s insistence and from her own coin purse, which was considerably fatter than Ruby had expected.
She stared deeply into the metal mirror, eyes roving over her entire face. Her eyebrow scar was still bright red since Dove had reopened it, and the second breaking of her nose had left behind a visible offset. The ear-to-nose cut had healed a little better, but the repeated strain of her Aura made it only slightly pinker than her split brow. She looked down at her right wrist and grimaced at the wound across her forearm. Her motor control had thankfully returned since she woke up here, but it was another scar to add to the pile. She wondered how she would look by the end of this.
Yang, judging by her pensive scowl, seemed to be sharing that thought. "Ruby," she started, voice unsure. "I'm not sure if this is… smart."
Ruby whirled on her sister. "Huh? But you—"
"I know, I know!" Her hands came up defensively, "I just… he could've killed you. And it looks like he wanted to! What did you do?"
Ruby threw her arms up in defeat. "How am I supposed to know!"
"Well, you did cut someone's arm off." Blake pointed out, casually gesturing as she leaned into the corner.
Ruby growled. "That wasn't my fault! He was going to kill you!"
Blake shrugged. "I'm used to it, I would've been fine."
"Fine?" Ruby scoffed. "You couldn't even stand back up!"
Amber eyes narrowed at the girl, but no refutation followed.
"And that other guy was killing people in the first round, like it was nothing!" Ruby added with a gesture imitating the man’s murderous pollax.
Yang jumped in with a raised hand. "Well he is covered head-to-toe in plate, while you," she gestured to her uncloaked sister, clad only in a linen shirt that came down to mid-thigh, "wear a cloak, at most."
Ruby looked between her sister and Blake with a frown. "I have vambraces."
"Had," Blake corrected with a snort. “Now you’re down to one.”
Ruby's hands balled into fists. "Okay, so what if I don't have any armor! I just won't—"
The simultaneous eyebrow-raise and head-tilt from both Yang and Blake interrupted her. "You won't what?" Yang sarcastically probed.
"Get hit?" Blake asked in perfect tandem, as if they had planned this conversation.
"So what do you want me to do, huh?" Ruby asked, frustrated. "Should I just quit?"
Yang opened her mouth, but Blake pounced first. "Of course not! Just… you know, be safe!"
Ruby pursed her lips. "And how do I do that?"
Blake's gaze deferred to Yang, who seemed conflicted. After a moment of thought, she slowly approached her sister and clasped her shoulders, casting a dismissive nod towards Blake. The fay raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and left.
When she closed the door behind her, Yang sighed. "You don't have to do this, Ruby. We can go back home, I'm sure dad will be happy to see you."
Ruby looked at her sister, features twisting with betrayal. "Happy to see me? Happy? He'll be furious!"
Yang shook her head. "He would've found you himself if he were angry. He sent me because he was too afraid you would just run."
"I wouldn't run!" Ruby shouted, shrugging her sister's hands off her shoulders.
Yang backed up, arms folding over her chest as she cast the smith a doubtful look. "Then what is this whole thing about? You ran away from home, Ruby."
Ruby recoiled as if the words had physically struck her. "I'm not running," she insisted, seething through her teeth, "I have to prove myself."
"Prove what, Ruby? What do you have to prove to him?"
"That I can take it!" She yelled, eyes screwing shut as her fists clenched at her sides. "I can do it! I can be like you!"
Yang gave her a pitying look that only made Ruby angrier. "You don't have to hurt yourself to prove that you're strong. We already know that."
"Do we?" Ruby stomped up to her sister, poking her chest. "Then why won't he let me hunt? Why won't he train me?"
"You're too young," Yang stated.
Ruby's face twisted as she relived the argument with her father. "I'm just as old as you were!"
"You're the best smit—”
Ruby growled and pushed her sister, making the older girl gasp in surprise. "I don't care! I don't want to spend the rest of my life at a damn forge! I want to be like mom! I want to make a name for myself, be someone that other people look up to!"
Yang stared at her sister, words lodging in her throat. She watched the anger slowly seep away from Ruby’s silver eyes, replaced by a carnal desperation.
"Please, Yang, please let me do this," she tearily begged, surging forward to grip her sister's arms.
Though they were swimming in tears, those silver irises burned with a fire Yang knew all too well. Equal parts hurt and unsure, she averted her gaze. "Just…" she sighed. "Please don't get hurt anymore. I'll give you my breastplate and my helmet. They probably won't fit, but they'll keep you from getting killed and keep your face pretty."
Ruby waved her concerns away with an unbothered scoff. "Yeah, with my face as it is now, this will probably be my only chance to get wed."
Yang just stared in response, making the atmosphere extremely stuffy when she didn't laugh at her joke. She stepped into Ruby's space with a seriousness the smith had never seen before, then took her face in her hands, leaning close to match her gaze. Curiosity burned behind her lilac irises.
"Uh, Yang?" Ruby's voice lilted with concern as her gaze drifted everywhere but sister’s.
Yang moved her head around, inspecting her from various angles before resetting her, then stepping back with a small, proud smile. “I suppose the young lady Schnee wouldn’t be the worst to find yourself wed to. She’d be lucky, if anything. I imagine those scars will come out quite dashing.”
Ruby’s eyebrows darted up her forehead, then came back down into a confused furrow. “T-that was a joke.”
Yang hummed, unbothered. “I wouldn’t judge, you know, I’ve found plenty of widows with a… spare bed, if you understand my meaning. Certainly beats paying for rooms like these, especially after a long hunt in a new town.” She let out a long sigh, eyes closing as she looked to be reliving a memory.
Ruby stared, understanding nothing. “W-huh? What are you saying?”
Yang’s eyes snapped back open, lilac gaze affixing her sister with disbelief. “You don’t…” she drifted off, thinking back to something. “That Knight— Penny, I think her name was— she was… you know, right?”
Ruby’s confusion doubled. “What does Penny have to do with this?”
Yang pinched the bridge of her nose. Had she really spent so much time away from her own sister? Had they exchanged so little of life outside of their training? “Ruby, she fancied you.”
Ruby reeled, head shaking instinctively. “What?”
“Obnoxiously so, I might add.”
Ruby threw her hands up, as if she could wave the conversation away. “That’s not— we’re not— she’s a girl, Yang!” She finished with a heated whisper.
“Well…” Yang wiggled her hands, shoulders high. “Knights don’t really work like that, but regardless, that means nothing.”
“Nothing?” Ruby shouted incredulously. “How… but…”
“Has dad not… talked to you? About any of this?” Yang's head tilted at her sister, bewildered.
Ruby slowly shook her head.
“Watcher’s eyes,” Yang swore under her breath. "Do you like boys, Ruby?"
Ruby wanted to answer immediately, to shout a confident 'yes' to her sister, but she found herself caught in her head. Did she? She supposed she might like Jaune, but… she wasn't sure. She wasn't sure of anything. She didn't even know what it was like to like anybody. "I don't know?"
Yang pursed her lips. "You don't know if you like boys? What about Jaune?"
Ruby felt her stomach knot up, and not in the way it did around Blake or Penny. More in a guilty way. "I… I don't know what that's even like. What am I supposed to feel?"
Yang closed her eyes and nodded, a pensive look wrinkling her brow. She seemed to be deep in thought. "You should… you should feel… scared. Or anxious."
Ruby recoiled. "I thought this was supposed to be a good thing!"
Yang's hands came up, imploring patience from her sister. "It is a good thing, but it's also a scary thing. You're scared that the person will feel the same about you, and that you'll have to have a long talk about something dangerous. You're scared they don't feel the same about you, and you'll have worked so hard for nothing. You're anxious about starting something new, anxious about somebody taking them before you get a chance. You want to be seen. You want them watching your every move." She opened her eyes once more, her lilac gaze meeting her sister's with a sage confidence that Ruby had never seen before. "Knight, boy, girl, it doesn't matter in the end. What matters is that you lived as you want.”
Ruby watched her sister in awe. Silently, she vowed they would talk more when they got home— outside of training. Yang was considerably wiser than her fists let on.
"That's why I'm a Huntress." Yang's eyes suddenly turned sullen and dropped to the floor before she lowered herself into the room's sole wooden chair. She stared at her hands for a long moment, then continued in a much quieter, much less confident tone. "I… I know I'm… pretty. Or beautiful. Whatever. I know. But I just don't care. And as much as I hate my mother, there is one thing that she did to inspire me. She left."
Ruby cocked her head and gave her sister a worried look, but wouldn't dare interrupt her when she was talking about Raven— she knew so little about her sister's mother, she'd left when Ruby was barely old enough to babble.
"As disgraceful as it was to leave, I understand why she did it. She was free as a Huntress. Once she got that royal decree, nothing could hold her down, no border, no debt, no beast— nothing, save for one." The words came so easily, with such clarity that she must have been waiting to get them off her chest, begging for someone to listen. "Love."
"Love?" Ruby blurted.
"It's the ultimate force, Ruby. It's romantic and silly, but it's true. Love is the strongest thing on Remnant, and that's terrifying. You can look at a person and dedicate yourself to their being for nothing more than a passing fancy, and they don't even have to share that feeling!" Yang raised her voice like she had been personally offended.
Ruby stared, not quite understanding what her sister was getting at, but listening raptly nonetheless.
"Raven loved me, and that scared her. Love is the world's greatest force, that also makes it the strongest shackle." Yang's head dropped low. She took a deep breath. "Not long before she left, she took me somewhere, held my hand and led me deep in the forests of Patch. When we were deep enough, she looked me in the eyes and told me that she didn't love me, and that she was going to leave me in that forest to die, that way she wouldn't have to kill me herself."
Ruby gasped, eyes wide. How had she never heard this before?
Yang mirthlessly chuckled to herself. "I knew she was lying. I saw it in her eyes; she loved me more than anything in the world, and she'd only taken me there because she didn't have the strength to do the job herself."
Ruby watched her tear up before she hid her face. She reached out to comfort her, but Yang stopped her. The Huntress shook her head and took another deep, shaky breath.
"That's what inspired me. Maybe not at the time, but I got older. The more I learned of the world— the more I learned of what's expected of me, especially as a lady— the more I understood why she did it. Raven had basked in the freedom of being a Huntress for so long, she didn't even know what it was like to be shackled until the chains were already around her." Yang faced her sister with pleading eyes, surprising her. "Don't you understand? She had the strength to abandon her love, to preserve her freedom!"
Ruby looked at her like she'd grown a second head. That was not where Ruby had thought she'd be going with this. "She left you to die in a forest," she stated.
Yang shrugged and looked away. "Oh, please, I ended up fine. I think she knew that would give me the fire I needed, like some lust for vengeance, at least until I understood."
"So… you're not mad at her?"
Yang scoffed, waving her sister's concerns away. "Of course not! She did what she had to do to stay free. I respect it."
Ruby blinked. She'd never known Yang to be this… philosophical, nor had she known Yang to be the kind of person that didn't hold a grudge. She wanted to dismiss it as them not spending enough time away from training together, but then she caught the tremble in her sister's fist, the way it was clenched, and the ghostly white knuckles on each finger. "Yang…"
Ruby watched her clam up, a barely-audible mumble escaping her mouth. "I understand," Yang insisted, hissing like she had to pass her words through grit teeth. "I'm a Huntress."
Ruby reached for her sister, and this time she wasn't batted away. Yang yanked her in for a crushing embrace. Ruby yelped.
"I love you, Ruby," the words pushed past Yang's lips with force. "Dad loves you too— that's why we're scared. We don't want you to get hurt."
Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but Yang clapped a hand over it.
"Let me finish!" She demanded. "We don't want you to get hurt, but I want you to be free to choose for yourself. Dad could never understand, but I do."
Ruby felt gracious tears pooling in her eyes, but her rush to embrace Yang was stopped by her strong arms, keeping her at bay. Ruby pouted.
"But, you are not allowed to die, do you understand me?" Yang commanded, her eyes hard as they bored into Ruby's. "If you die, I will pry you out of the Shepherd's flock with my own hands, then poke the Watcher's eyes out so he can't stop me from shoving your idiot soul back into your idiot body, then you will be grounded in the forge until I see ten times as many nails as you made for Jaune's ship. Is that clear?"
"Y-yes, ma'am!" Ruby stammered, hand flying over her chest in a salute.
Yang held her stern look for a few more moments before letting it melt into a smile. "Great," she sighed, eyes briefly shutting before opening with a new, playful spark. "So how about that fay, Blake? Pretty hot, huh?"
Ruby opened her mouth to spew denial, but another voice filled the room instead.
"You guys know I can hear you, right?"
Yang and Ruby turned, finding that same fay lass poking her head through the door. She entered the rest of the way, brow raised at the two as her arms crossed over her chest. She was talking to them both, but her accusatory gaze was focused mainly on the Huntress.
The sisters blushed, stumbling over each other with apologies and excuses.
Blake rolled her eyes and shut them up with a wave of her hand. “Please, humans aren’t my thing, anyways.”
Notes:
i have no clue how this got so long, but im pretty happy with it so nbd i guess
Chapter 17: Misfit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby mindlessly dragged a freshly-bought honestone across her iron cleaver, whetting it. The blade hummed in appreciation, satiating her need for background noise as she fell deeper into thought. Her eyes remained in the stands across from her, boring a hole in the seat the young lady Schnee would take. Her foot tapped incessantly.
"I got the roster," Yang called as she approached, breaking Ruby's concentration and making the smith jump. "Woah, didn't mean to scare you. Are you alright?"
Ruby nodded silently. Her face and wrist still harbored a dull, throbbing soreness due to her injuries, but she had been through worse. She wedged a thumb in the open arm-hole of her breastplate, pushing it up and out to relieve the developing irritation of poorly-fit armor.
"Sorry," Yang mumbled as she opened the roster. "Chafing is better than dying."
Ruby hummed in response. With practiced ease, she placed her cleaver back in her lap and clasped its leather sheath around it, then returned her stone to its pouch.
Yang leaned forward, lilac irises holding a mote of concern. "You okay? I know we talked about some serious things yesterday."
Ruby sighed. "I… I don't know," she admitted, "I just want to get this fight over with."
Yang cracked a smile and wiggled her eyebrows. "Eager to meet your future betrothed?"
Ruby flushed brightly, throwing her gaze to the floor. "N-no! It's… not like that. I just… I mean…" Her whole body sagged, deflated. "I don't know."
Yang's playfulness turned sympathetic. She wrapped an arm over her sister's shoulders, pulling her close as she sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have dropped so much on you in one night. Learning about love is scary enough in itself, but also laying the burden of my abandonment on your shoulders? Too much. I'm sorry, Ruby."
Ruby sighed, leaning into her sister's warmth against the chill morning. Still, she couldn't meet her eyes. "I don't even know who she really is, Yang. She's pretty, I think, but I… don't care? I really just want to win the tournament," she chuckled ruefully. "I probably won't even see her— going in there would be… a risk."
Yang cocked her head, brow raising at her sibling.
Ruby stood her cleaver up between her legs and rested her chin on the end of its hilt. "We're girls, Yang, and nothing is going to change that," she stated with a sigh. "I doubt the Schnees would be happy to find their youngest daughter out gallivanting with another girl. If they're doing this for suitors, that means they want children."
Yang shrugged. "Magic can do all kinds of weird things."
Ruby shot her a deadpan look, making the Huntress raise her hands in surrender. Ruby stared off behind her sister, where she could see a tall figure in a dandelion cloak watching them. Blake. A light blush came over her cheeks as she looked away. "I-I think I'm… okay with being alone. I'm much too rough to wed now, but I could find joy in being a Huntress. And even if that doesn't work out, I am the best smith in Patch. With some Huntress money, I could get my own forge in Vale."
Yang's brows rose, eyes widening at her sister. "That's… quite the plan, Ruby."
The smith shrugged in reply. "It's the smart thing to do, and no part of it includes 'the shackling power of love'," she quoted with her fingers in the air. "I'll be free enough."
Yang stared. Did… did her little sister have a better plan in life than she did? She'd just planned on living hunt-to-hunt, and it netted her fair coin so far, but now it felt… childish. How much longer would she live like a storybook hero? Caught in her own thoughts, she remained silent.
Yang’s attention was grabbed again when her sister moved, taking Yang's helmet into her hands. Ruby stared into the visor. It was a close helm, meaning it had a static bevor that came up from the chin like a long prism, then sharply plateaued at the visor’s horizontal slit, giving it a beak-like appearance. Ruby raised the helmet overhead, then draped the drooping cloth out over her breastplate. They had checked the helmet’s fit the night before, discovering that it would pinch and wobble insecurely without a buffer. Yang smartly remedied that with the purchase of a couple cowls, which were subsequently layered together and stuffed into the helmet itself. Altogether, they fit well enough to protect her most vital areas, though they pressed on her collar and limited her vision.
Ruby turned to her sister, half-heartedly gesturing over herself. “How do I look?”
“Like your armor doesn’t fit you,” Yang said with a snort. “Here, this’ll help.”
Yang reached over and pulled the girl’s hood over the helmet, the umber cloth more than accommodating for the armor’s size. When she pulled the cloak back over Ruby’s front, she couldn’t even see the poorly fit armor beneath, and the hood being up gave her a mysterious, intimidating look.
“Wow, yeah,” Yang marveled, proud of her handiwork. “That’s much better.”
Ruby tried to look down at herself, then huffed when she saw nothing but her peaked bevor. "I hate this."
Yang rolled her eyes. "It's really not that bad. Just keep yourself facing your opponent, and don’t get knocked down.”
Ruby groaned. “You make it sound so easy.”
“You get used to it,” Yang replied with a shrug.
Ruby sighed and pulled her visor up, opening her view enough to be slightly less claustrophobic. She kept watch across the stands again, as if Weiss would magically appear in her seat if she weren’t looking. And after everything she’d seen, that didn’t seem too unreasonable.
“Hmm, the roster says you’ll be fighting in triples today.” Yang mused as she read through the list. “Odd. Do they want the final fight to be a triple as well?”
Ruby cocked her head at her sister— or she would’ve, if there weren’t a helmet in the way. “You can read?”
Yang shrugged. “Short things like lists and hunt posters— how else would I get work? It’s just the long things I have a problem with. The letters tend to trade places when they’re too close together, like in books and such.”
Ruby frowned. Long or short, she couldn’t make heads or tails of the infernal glyphs. They just didn’t make sense to her, the way those things look is not what words are like, and Tai had never been a great teacher. Her heart sank. She wondered if her mother would have been able to teach her.
“Loyal Imperial citizens of the grand city of Vale! Show respect as we are once again graced with the presence of this event’s organizers and our fine city’s sworn protectors: House Schnee!”
Ruby jumped at the announcer’s boisterous voice, her eyes immediately flying to the trio of palanquins and locking on the rearmost of them. Weiss Schnee was in there. Anxiety rose in her chest. She didn’t know how to feel.
“It looks like you’re fighting against Alis-ta-ir Vaw… ks?” Yang said, breaking Ruby’s attention away from the arriving nobility as she pressed close beside her, roster held out for both to see. Her pronunciations followed her finger, each noise from her mouth apparently assigned to one or more of the indecipherable black glyphs. “And Nep-tun— no, Nep- tune Vas… woah. Vas-il…as? Ias? Vas-il-ias. Vasilias.”
Ruby felt a small smile turn her lips, alongside a loosening of the anxious knots in her chest. Yang didn’t judge her, she just went right to showing her. Even if it didn’t help Ruby understand, it made her feel much better.
So, Neptune. She surmised that he was the blue-haired boy, the one his friend called ‘Nep.’ Perhaps this Alistair was that friend, though she had no way of figuring that out herself.
“There she is,” Yang commented, drawing Ruby’s eyes back up to the stands, where the palanquins were set down. Jacques came out first, adorned with his usual garb of big, fancy clothes that swallowed him up. His wife followed, looking like a porcelain doll in a navy dress. Then came Weiss.
Ruby felt her breath hitch, her heart pumping hard against her chest. She didn’t care, she really didn’t. It wasn’t right— they were both girls, and nothing Yang said could convince her that anybody would be okay with that. Not that it mattered if they did— she didn’t care, anyways. Weiss was just an important noble with money she’s never worked for. She provided the means for Ruby to acquire her freedom. That was it. Her eyes were just stuck on her because of that bright blue, objectively beautiful dress, and it wasn’t weird the way her gaze lingered on her neck— that pearl-studded lattice was beautiful! She could be—
Weiss was staring at her.
Ruby immediately shrank into herself, face turning hot as those icy irises— strikingly visible even from a distance— bored into her. She watched the young lady’s shoulders drop, ever so slightly, and she was sure that there was not a ghost of a smile gentling her regal features— no, not regal, she had a normal face! Ruby itched to smack some sense into herself, but the damn helmet was in the way.
A chuckle beside her drew the smith’s boiling silver glare. Yang smirked at her sister, mouth hidden by the back of her hand.
“Shut up,” Ruby hissed, turning away.
Yang sighed. “‘I don’t really care’,” she mockingly quoted, self-satisfaction brimming through her voice.
With one swift move, Ruby extracted the whetstone from her pouch and chucked it at her sister’s head.
Notes:
yes i did take inspiration from the ds3 fallen knight set, thank you very much
Chapter 18: A God, a Fox, and a Flower
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss stared down from the stands, watching as three fighters entered the field: Alistair Vaux in a dazzling orange brigandine chestplate, Neptune Vasilias in his gaudy brass plate, and Rupert the Red in… actual armor. At least a helmet, and Weiss was quite sure she could see the shape of a breastplate under his shut cloak. Altogether, he looked like a beggar knight— a sellsword of high skill and poor repute. Though, considering how little she (and most others) knew about this lad, that could be the case.
When Port stepped to the center of the field, the stands went aflame with excitement. People whooped and hollered, bristling with energy as they stood to deliver words of encouragement and vilification.
Ruby watched the crowds rise around her, eyes sparkling behind her visor. She’d never seen so many people in such an excited state, and for her! It made her head swim, but she had to check herself. Ruby violently shook her head, trying her best to loosen the ego that she could feel building up— she wasn’t the only one they were here to see. She had to be humble.
“You got it!” Ruby heard her sister cry, making her chest swell with confidence. She could do it, she could—
“Skin that fay-fucker!” “Shim-born pest!” “Revenge for the Winchesters!” “Make that boy a eunuch!”
Weiss watched with pity. She could see the words’ toll on Rupert, made evident by the way he frantically looked around with each new insult. Fay blood or not, it was barbaric.
“He’s weak to spurs!” “Fall on your sword, you vile beggar!” “Gut him! Flay him!” “Rupert the dead!”
Ruby felt like the world was spinning around her, all the joy that had flooded her earlier drained away in an instant. The hatred from the stands was palpable— people were begging for her death. Her eyes tried to find Yang, but the incensed crowd was too wild to see her. She focused back on her opponents.
Alistair looked about the crowd with a smirk, reveling in their rage. Ruby could see his brigandine—
“Your mother’s a whore!” “Death to shim!” “Paint the floor, Rupert!”
Ruby growled. She stared at Alistair, forcing the shouts out of her mind so she could focus. His orange brigandine covered—
“Go to hell!” “Grimm take you!” “Black sheep!”
A dread horror hooked into Ruby’s chest— what kind of monster would say that? She wasn’t a black sheep. Her mother was with the flock, and she would be too. The Shepherd would welcome her with open arms, like all of his followers, and she would join the endless sea of pure white souls. She was not a black sheep. She—
The horn blew.
Ruby found herself quickly ripped out of her thoughts and thrust into the heat of two-on-one combat. She hadn’t heard the announcer— when had he started the round? Did the crowd really have her that shaken?
Ruby ducked low under a thrust from Neptune’s trident, then had to bob to the side to avoid Alistair’s wicked axe— she hadn’t even noted his weapon! She kicked out, sweeping Alistair’s legs from under him before rolling away. She left Neptune staring between Alistair and herself, visibly conflicted between taking advantage of the downed opponent or continuing their pursuit of Rupert. Ruby quickly unclasped her cleaver, the weight in her hands grounding her like a familiar memory.
Something struck Ruby in the back of the head, something soft and wet that she had to reach back and pull off of her hood— a rotten tomato, thrown from the crowd. She turned to the thrower with a scowl, only for another of the rancid fruits to burst against her bevor, flooding the helmet with its awful stench and fetid juices.
She turned away again, immediately coming face-to-face with all three of Neptune’s sharpened tines. She managed to duck under them, but they caught the fabric of her hood and yanked her back at an awkward angle, the fabric awkwardly pulling the helmet with it and pointing her visor down— essentially blinding her. She swung her cleaver wildly, forcing Neptune back. Behind him, she could see Alistair returning to his feet.
Ruby tried shaking the helmet back into an appropriate position, but that only made it worse, so she decided she was done with its hassle. With a growl, she ripped the helmet from her head, pulling her hood all the way back in the process.
“Woah,” Neptune’s eyes widened. “You’re, uh… pretty. Huh.”
Alistair pushed past Neptune, barging into his shoulder as he approached Ruby. “You should not have done such ‘arm to the young Winchester,” he said in an accent Ruby didn’t recognize. “‘ouse Vaux is sworn to their banner— we are bound by blood!”
Ruby stared, confused. “Vo? I thought it was Vawkes.”
Alistair growled and charged towards Ruby. Without missing a beat, she chucked her helmet at him. It struck his own helm with a hollow clang, forcing him back to the ground. Neptune laughed at the fallen man, then set his eyes back on Ruby. He surged toward her with a grin.
Rather than stay back and risk receiving more tomatoes to the head, Ruby charged to meet him. Her cleaver fell in an overhead arc, lumbering and dangerous. With ease, Neptune caught the huge blade between the tines of his trident. Ruby’s lips twitched into the tiniest smirk— he fell for it.
The moment their weapons collided, she unhanded the cleaver. The iron hunk still carried its momentum into Neptune’s trident, forcing it away as Ruby swayed under, hammer in hand. She popped back up, close enough for Neptune to hug her if her hammer weren’t driving straight into his unprotected jaw. The blow sent him stumbling back, but a push from Ruby’s free hand sent him the rest of the way to the ground, Aura flaring a bright cyan— depleted.
She rushed to finish him off, but found the wind knocked out of her chest as a heavy body crashed into hers. Alistair’s arms wrapped around her waist as he tackled her, easily scooping the girl up and stampeding away before slamming her into the ground. She gasped as air was driven from her lungs.
Ruby tried to get back to her feet, but Alistair kicked her back down, causing the meager remnants of her Aura to shatter with a red flare. He pulled a shortsword from his hip and leveled it with her face. “I will present your scalp to ‘ouse Winchester. A fitting gift for—”
A three-pronged pole of metal smacked into the side of Alistair’s head, sending him reeling with a cry. Ruby looked up to her savior.
Neptune met her eyes with a sympathetic half-smile. “You’re way too young to die. Get up and help me, while he’s still without his axe.”
Ruby nodded and scrambled back to her feet, leaving her fallen hammer in favor of her two shortswords. She charged the recovering Alistair in tandem with Neptune, their three weapons shining under the morning light.
Weiss watched Alistair collide with the other two, who seemed to have made an impromptu alliance. She would have to find some way to thank Neptune personally— sparing Rupert from death was extremely selfless, especially someone so vilified. Alistair tried in earnest to fight back against the two, deciding that the one he almost killed was his priority target. Perhaps, Weiss mused, he feared retribution.
His shortsword batted Ruby’s first sword away, but he quickly found his arm stuck between the tines of a shining trident. Neptune pulled his sword-hand wide, giving Ruby ample space to exploit— and exploit she would. With the flat of her blade, she smacked Alistair’s handsome face and made him stumble once more, allowing her a leaping follow-up with her pommel. She drove the blunt piece straight into his temple, freeing him of his consciousness. Relief flooded her chest.
But just as soon as relief entered her, it was driven out by a hard smack against her leg, courtesy of Neptune’s trident. She couldn’t suppress her girlish yelp, but quickly put ground between herself and Neptune via her Semblance. With space now between them, she gave Neptune a look of betrayal.
“What?” He replied with a shrug. “Only one winner, Red, and I’m not just gonna hand it to you.”
Ruby huffed. She was, in truth, extremely worried about his trident. It was such an unorthodox weapon, she didn’t have the faintest idea of how she should go about it. All she did know was that he was fond of using its tines like traps. With a quick glance, she searched the tourney grounds.
Her cleaver was across the field. Drat.
Before disappointment could take hold, though, an idea sprouted in her head. She had noticed Alsitair’s axe, with its long haft and bearded blade, was discarded much closer. A plan began to form.
Unfortunately for her, Neptune had no intention of giving her more time to think. His trident charged for her with rapid thrusts, forcing her to duck and dodge in fear that blocking would leave her weapons trapped. She needed range— as things were, he would easily be able to whittle down her stamina with jab after jab, all while his superior range kept him completely out of harm’s way.
Thinking fast, Ruby did the one thing that just kept working for her— she recklessly threw her shortswords at Neptune, forcing him to break his attack to avoid the flying blades. Ruby used the opportunity to speed across the field with her Semblance, exerting every last drop of her barely-recovered Aura until it dumped her out of its flurry and sent her tumbling painfully onto Alistair’s long-hafted axe. Her hands scrambled to grab the haft as she rolled, barely managing to scoop it into her grip.
Weiss watched the fight with wide eyes, especially when Rupert tumbled out of his roll with Alistair’s long axe in his hands— and almost directly below her. She stared at him, finally taking the opportunity to absorb every detail of his visage. His face was round, but his jaw was surprisingly defined and ended in a sharp chin. His features were altogether quite gentle— pretty, even, in a way that sharply contrasted with Neptune’s dashing, handsome looks. In fact, he actually looked quite effeminate, which made Weiss feel extremely odd— namely because of how tantalizing she found it. That also contrasted with his distinct scars— one across his cheek and one splitting his left eyebrow down the middle, much more wickedly than the other— and his offset nose, bringing a rugged balance to his unique kind of beauty. Above those things, though, it was his eyes that brought heat to Weiss’ face, even if they weren’t aimed her way. They were sharp and focused, brimming with energy and shining a brilliant silver. Weiss had never seen a color like them— the gleam she had caught before had just been a hint to their true magnificence. “Crook and cane,” she whispered. She was falling, and at a dangerous pace.
Ruby stared at Neptune, who was catching his breath just the same as she was. She felt her Aura return, meaning his was back, too, and likely more intact than her own.
“You’re a clever one, Red,” Neptune called. “I’ll admit that much. But this is where it ends.”
He looked up to the stands, up to the Schnees, who Ruby hadn’t even realized were directly above her. From such a distance, she could actually get a better look at the youngest Schnee. When she tried, though, heat immediately surged over her face— Weiss was staring! Directly at her! She rapidly returned her own gaze to Neptune, who had placed his hand over his heart and raised his trident in reverence.
“Lady Schnee! I dedicate this victory to you, and to our love! May we know the joy of our entwining souls, marked by the defeat of the infamous Rupert the Red!” Neptune called, basking in his own glory. Ruby frowned.
“Claim victory in her name, and her hand will be yours!” Claimed a drunken voice, drawing Ruby’s eye back to the stands, where Jacques Schnee had gotten to his feet and raised his drink high. “Down with Rupert!”
Ruby looked back down to Neptune, who met her eyes with a wide grin. “Down with Rupert the Red.”
Notes:
ive been playing way too much for honor lately-- ruby's lucky that raider didnt try to hit his zone. in other news, ive officially got the first chapter of Twilight Concerto (sequel to Darkening Horizons) done, though im debating on whether i should wait till i have a second chapter done so i can post them first, lemme know what you think (if you care, its cool if you dont)
Chapter 19: Too Pretty to Die
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby let Neptune's words roll off of her— they were a long way from the violent spew she'd been subjected to at the beginning of the fight. If anything, they were encouraging. Neptune stared her down with a grin, the thrill of contest clear in his eyes.
Ruby kept a tight hold of her long axe— Alistair's axe. She still had a plan, but she would greedily take every second to recuperate that Neptune would offer. She huffed, getting a feel for the weight in her hands. The haft was lengthy and of a light wood, with dark leather strips riveted for handholds that weren't quite right for her own wingspan. The head was broad and heavy, with a beard that drooped so deeply it nearly met the haft. She idly swung the weapon, familiarizing herself with its weight. Feeling slightly refreshed, she cast a challenging glare at Neptune.
Unfortunately, he had long since decided her recuperation was over— his trident was held in front of him, pointing towards her. She couldn't discern what he was trying to do from such a distance, but it worried her nonetheless, especially when he closed his eyes and shouted loud. Wisps of cyan energy radiated from his skin.
"Fingers of the deep, I summon thee in trifold!"
The trident's tines glowed a bright blue, barely giving Ruby any warning before three tendrils of water shot forth and snaked towards her at blinding speed. She tried to dodge away, but the tendrils separated, blocking both her flanks as the third continued on its path straight to her heart.
Weiss watched, conflicted between feeling worried for Rupert and being impressed by Neptune's abilities. She hadn't seen water magic of that kind — perhaps it was a Vasilias spell-line, passed down with every new generation and kept strictly secret from outsiders. To control three extracorporeal limbs— she doubted she had that level of mental fortitude; she couldn't even control more than one of her own summons.
Ruby cried out as a tendril whipped across her left side, striking her arm before it wrapped around the limb. The other flanking tendril whipped and wrapped around her right leg, eliciting another yelp from the stinging pain. The two aqueous appendages splayed her grappled limbs apart, leaving her chest wide open, the third tendril drilling straight towards it.
The tendril impacted her breastplate with a heavy thud, blowing her cloak away from the sheer force. She wheezed, the air forced from her lungs.
Neptune stared with surprised eyes. "Wait, you didn't…"
Ruby felt the water whips straining to hold her, and she strained right back. The third limb remained uselessly spread across her metal chestplate, while the other two briefly quivered. Neptune's focus had momentarily lapsed when it turned out Ruby had actually donned some armor— did he really think she'd just been wearing a helmet?
The loss of concentration gave Ruby a chance, one which whe wouldn't pass up. She pulled her grappled limbs tight to her, her free leg kicking at the watery tendril while her unrestrained arm dropped Alistair's axe in favor of her own. The handaxe swiftly split the liquid around her arm, then swung down to free her leg. Unrestricted, she charged straight for Neptune, the tendril around her chest collapsing uselessly into itself as she gained ground.
Weiss watched Neptune's eyes go blank with the backlash of maintaining so many summons, then losing two at once. So many presences filling his head, seamlessly melding with his mind, only to be cut away. She empathized— she was familiar with that loss of being.
By the time Neptune had finally recovered, Ruby was nearly upon him. She charged with axes in both hands— the longest in her left, held just under the head to keep her sprint unfettered. Neptune looked around with panic, which then sharpened to determined focus. Two of his tines ceased their turquoise glow, leaving only the central one alight.
Ruby felt water spread across her breastplate until it seeped around the edges, coldly soaking into the cloth beneath before she found herself suddenly yanked forwards, the chestplate itself ripped away from her torso by Neptune's tendril. The plate clattered to the floor, dropped as soon as it was stolen. Before she could react, the tendril drilled into her exposed chest. Her Aura collapsed in moments.
Ruby cried out and fell straight back, the tendril following. It spread wide when she hit the ground, pressing hard against her chest and pinning her arms. She pushed against the watery limb, only for it to surge against her with twice the strength. Damnit, damnit! She was so close! Her eyes darted around, desperately searching for a solution while her mind worked in overdrive.
"Crook and cane, Red," Neptune entered from the peripheral of her vision, visibly panting as his Aura shimmered. The one glowing prong of his trident had noticeably grown in strength since he let the other two go, but it was clear that it was taking quite the toll on him. "You almost had me."
Ruby snorted, hawking a last-ditch solution from her throat, only to spit it into a watery muzzle. The central tine glowed brighter.
"Don't fucking do that," Neptune huffed.
Ruby continued frantically searching the field, finding nothing but the excited faces in the crowd, elated at the idea of her defeat.
"Watcher's gaze, man, just forfeit," Neptune let the watery muzzle recede. "It'll be a lot less painful."
Ruby thrashed and struggled, then slumped to the ground, her head rolling back.
She met eyes with Weiss. Her cerulean gaze was pleading, hands wringing together as she bit her lip. She looked at her with such need, such desperation— why did she care so much? Ruby closed her eyes. She was just a rich princess getting some entertainment, and Ruby was just a poor smith trying to prove herself.
"Last chance, Red," Neptune intoned, approaching her with his trident extended.
Ruby met his eyes with determination. Giving up was the last thing she would do— she could take whatever came next.
"Ah, damn," Neptune sighed. "I didn't want to ruin that pretty face of yours."
He flipped the trident in his hands, showing off the weapon's bulbous butt— perfect as both a counterweight and a blunt instrument. He stepped over Ruby, legs on each side of her pinned body. The weapon's blunt end touched her temple, then rose high. Neptune lined up his shot.
Ruby locked eyes with him. She could take it.
Suddenly, the weight on Ruby's chest disappeared, and the animate tendril of water simply collapsed into its base liquid, spilling and seeping into her clothing. Neptune's eyes briefly glazed over, then snapped back into focus as he quickly brought the trident back down.
But he was too late— his weapon struck nothing but petals. He turned, raising his trident.
Weiss sighed, leaning forward and pivoting to better hide the glowing wisps of magic that drifted off her hands. She wasn't sure if they'd been in range— her grasp on counter magic was shabby at best.
The plume of petals rapidly coalesced into an umber cloak behind Neptune, then formed the rest of their progenitor. Ruby struck at Neptune with rapid, unceasing blows from her handaxe. His trident caught the first couple, but a sudden boot to his chest made him stumble and catch a third. He cried out, Aura flaring, then wildly swung his trident, forcing Ruby to leap back.
But as quickly as she retreated, Ruby charged again. Just before she entered the trident's range, though, she tossed her handaxe skyward. She had a plan.
Neptune's eyes followed it up. Ruby smirked.
Realizing he had fallen for her trap, Neptune quickly flipped his trident back around. Oddly enough, she had approached at least a foot closer than she needed to— did she not know the most effective range of her axe? Probably not, he supposed, it wasn't even hers.
Neptune's trident easily caught Ruby's axe when she swung it overhead, the metal prongs locking against the wooden haft. Now the trap was sprung.
Before Neptune could force her weapon away, she pulled it straight back with all her might. The trident's metal ran smoothly against the wooden haft until its crossbar slipped under the axe's beard, caught like a neck into a noose. Ruby yanked back, ripping the forked weapon straight out of his hands.
Neptune fell forward as he lost his grip, empty hands groping nothing but air. Panic clear in his eyes, he frantically reached for the sword at his hip.
Ruby quickly lunged, ignoring the useless trident uselessly dangling between the axe's beard and its haft. She thrust the weapon forward. The weighty head bluntly struck Neptune in the face, drawing blood from his nose and a cry from his mouth. Another jab opened a shallow cut across his forehead.
"Okay, okay!" Neptune shouted, empty hands held between them. "I forfeit!"
Ruby stared into his eyes, demanding. Neptune rolled his own, then shouted loud enough for the world to hear.
"Fuck's sake, I forfeit!"
Notes:
tsk tsk, cheating already, weiss? shes whipped
Chapter 20: Fanning the Flames
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Well, at least the breastplate helped." Blake mumbled from the other side of the dressing screen, where Yang had firmly sequestered her.
The Huntress looked closely at Ruby's bare chest, observing the purple welt that Neptune's drilling tendril had caused. She gently poked it, eliciting a hiss from her sister.
"Please don't do that," Ruby muttered through gritted teeth. "It really hurts."
Yang sighed, then stood straight once more. "Eh, it's just a bruise. You're lucky that Neptune seemed to be an alright guy, if a bit of a showboat."
"Actually, the showboating seemed to help, too," Blake remarked.
Ruby nodded solemnly. All true things— if Neptune hadn't been such an honorable fighter, she would've died when Alistair threw her. Judging from how he had actually fought, though, she estimated that she could beat him in a duel, especially now that she knew his magic. He seemed to be better suited to fighting with a partner, anyways, perhaps that was why he traveled with that blonde lad. There was one thing that had her stumped, though…
When he had her pinned, and was mere moments from knocking her unconscious, her restraints had suddenly folded. She didn't remember exerting against them. If anything, she had accepted her fate. Then it all just collapsed. Had Neptune suddenly run out of magic— was that how it worked? She distinctly remembered his Aura flaring after that happened, but she also lacked any kind of grip on the concept of magic. "Uh, Yang?"
The Huntress hummed in response.
"Can you do magic?" Ruby asked, voice quiet and cautious.
Yang gave her a raised eyebrow. "Of course I can."
Ruby's head whipped up to her sister, surprise obvious on her face. That was the exact opposite of what she'd been expecting. "Wh- huh? But—"
Yang just shrugged. "Look, Ruby, I don't know how it works. I do magic, you have a Semblance. That's just how things are."
"Wait, wait, wait, what magic do you do? I've never seen you do magic!" Ruby accused.
"Yeah, of course you haven't seen it, I've never needed to do it at home," Yang answered defensively, her hard features softening as she realized her tone. "Uh, sorry, I didn't mean…"
Ruby watched her sister turn crestfallen for a few long moments, then look back up at her.
"I mainly use fire magic; I've really wanted to try branching out to other types of magic, but fire is the only thing I can feel without being able to read academic tomes, or taking any classes," Yang answered, holding her palm up to demonstrate.
Ruby immediately felt a surge of unbidden fear lance through her chest, spurred on by the bright yellow sparks that arced across Yang's hand. She scrambled back on instinct, her feet as frantic and uncoordinated as her exhausted brain was, causing her to trip on herself and fall into a panicked heap on her back.
"Woah, woah, sis! It's okay!" Yang claimed, dispelling the sparks from her palms as she held them up. She cautiously approached her sister, voice calm. "It's okay, Ruby, it's my fire, okay? I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”
Ruby panted, the panic in her eyes slowly fading as she returned to her feet. "I-I'm sorry, uh… I don't know what—"
Blake appeared at her side, laying a comforting hand on Ruby's bare shoulder. "It's okay, Red, it's not your fault."
Ruby looked up softly at the fay. Their eyes met. Ruby blushed.
"Hey! Get off my sister, you cur!" Yang broke the moment by appearing between her sister and Blake, and that was when Ruby realized a dire truth: she was still half-naked.
The smith squeaked, her shirtless form collapsing into a cloud of red petals that dashed back behind the dressing screen.
"Now look at what you did," she overheard Yang remark to her friend, voice stern but low.
"Hell did I do?" Blake retorted.
"Oh, you know."
"I can't help it if you two idiots are enchanted by my ‘fay wiles’," she mocked.
Yang audibly stammered, then growled. An indignant stomp followed. After a couple moments, Yang joined her on the other side of the divider, her cheeks mirroring Ruby's own— glowing scarlet.
Yang plopped into a stool beside her now-clothed sister, then sighed. "Damn that fay," she mumbled.
Ruby nodded silently, shirt in her hands. Her mind was assailed by thoughts of other girls, like Blake, and Weiss… even Penny. Rapscallion or not, she was the first person who had ever flirted with her, and so brazenly, at that. Even if she didn't grasp it at the time, she did now. Much as she wanted to shut it away, the truth was out: Ruby liked girls. The thought made her shiver. She'd never be able to squeeze that truth back into its box. Desperate to think of anything less tormenting, she turned to her sister. "Do you think you could show me again? It just… surprised me."
Yang gave her a cautious look, then slowly nodded. Her palm raised up once more. Yang's brows furrowed, eyes twisting shut as she visibly exerted herself. The sparks returned, causing another instinctive spike of fear to grip Ruby's chest. This time, though, she managed to keep a grip of herself. It helped that the sparks were notably smaller than last time.
“Wow," Yang grunted. "I've never tried holding myself back this much."
Ruby looked up from the sparks, at her sister's straining face. She hadn't considered that restraining the magic could be more difficult than creating it. "Let it go," Ruby requested, breathing deep to brace herself.
Yang pried an eye open. "You sure?"
Ruby nodded, excitement building in tandem with her anxiety.
Yang nodded in return, then clenched her open hand into a tight fist. She focused on it for a moment, then suddenly opened her palm. A blaze of fire erupted straight up, burning a bright, sparkling gold. Yang visibly relaxed.
Ruby's anxiety fully gave way to excitement— this was nothing like Dove's violent burst, this was art! The flames radiated intense heat as the plume shrunk, refining itself into a sharp cone of fire. It shook the air with a familiar noise— something close to the bellows-stoked inferno of Ruby’s own forge. "Wow," Ruby marveled.
"That is beautiful," came another voice, belonging to the long-eared fay that poked her head around the divider.
The blaze in Yang's hand suddenly faltered, stuttering before dying entirely. Ruby looked quizzically at her sister, but found the Huntress' eyes wide, bright blush on her face as she stared at Blake.
Ruby briefly panicked, hands flying to cover her chest before she realized she had actually put her shirt back on. She sighed, gaze turning back to Blake, expecting her to have disappeared.
But she hadn't. Her head remained craned around the dressing screen, eyes firmly on Yang. Ruby turned back to her sister, who was blushing even more intensely than before. "H-huh?" Yang stammered, making Ruby's eyebrows dart towards her hairline. "No, no it's just—"
"I've never seen flames like that," Blake stated, drawing Ruby's eye again. "And your control is remarkable, for an ignifer."
"I-ignifer?" Yang's voice had turned sheepish, and she now actively avoided Blake's gaze.
"Our word for flame sorcerers," Blake answered, gesturing to her pointed ears. "I think you call them pyromancers, or something like that.”
Yang looked back up, meeting the fay's eyes with a spark of conviction in her own. "I like ‘ignifer’ better."
Ruby's gaze darted between the two, the tension growing until it pressed on her shoulders. Their eyes refused to waver from one another. Ruby suddenly felt alien in the moment, like she was intruding on something, and squirmed in her seat.
"So what's your magic?" Yang asked, her gaze holding firm.
Blake matched her stare. "Wouldn't you like to know."
"I would love to know," Yang retorted, her expression serious but slightly… flirty?
Blake stared, words clearly behind her lips. Before she could let them out, though, a light dusting of purple crossed her cheeks. She immediately retreated back around the divider.
Ruby watched the spot she'd left behind, then turned to her sister. Yang wore a satisfied grin, shoulders sagging as she exhaled. She seemed to be basking in her own glory.
"So…" Ruby drawled, getting her sister's attention once more. "Why do you get magic and I don't?"
Yang snapped out of her reverie. "I dunno," she answered with a shrug. "I'm not really an expert on that kind of thing."
"You're hardly an expert on any kind of thing," Blake quipped from across the room.
"Wow!" Yang loudly retorted, eyes bright with a challenging smile. "Uncalled for! Perhaps you have a better answer?"
Silence replied, followed by the soft thumping of footsteps. Rather than walk past it, Blake simply folded the divider back into itself, opening the room around the sisters once more. Blake stared down at them, completely unreadable. "I don't."
Ruby and Yang shared a look. They didn’t believe her at all.
Notes:
ahaha... whati if i jsut.. did a ltitle bumbmleby... jk jkjk ahahaah... unless??
Chapter 21: Fleeting Desire
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Weiss."
The girl in question jumped— had he seen her? Did he know she'd used her magic at the tourney? That she cheated? That Neptune lost because she was obsessed with this stupid boy?
"Crook and cane, girl," Jacques drawled. "Don't be so paranoid. Just eat your damn food, you'll never bear children as skinny as you are."
Weiss tried her best not to relax too visibly. "Y-yes, father."
Jacques stared at her, but continued silently shoveling forkfuls into his mouth.
Weiss followed his example, lancing a few pieces of chicken with her fork before filling her gob. It was beautifully cooked, if a little under seasoned. She broke off a piece of her toasted bread as well, daring to dip it in the small bowl of rich brown gravy before taking a bite. It was delicious, the savory gravy perfectly complemented the herbs of the seasoned bread, creating a flav—
"Eat like a woman, Weiss," Willow said, her words melting around a drunken slur. "You're not a peasant."
Weiss felt anger immediately rise in her gut. Oh, now she deigns it necessary to speak? The hell was wrong with gravy and toast? "I'm sorry?"
Jacques nodded. "You should be, your husband will think you're a farm-bred sow if he sees you mixing your food like a curious child." He dipped his own toast in his gravy, then took a huge bite.
"But you just—"
"He is the lord of this house, and he may do as he wishes!" Willow loudly insisted, interrupting Weiss. "You will understand. Your husband will ensure that you do."
Weiss stared at her mother with wide eyes. She didn't know what to make of that threat, but it made her feel terrible regardless. Would Rupert really treat her so terribly? He was clearly of lowborn descent, and fay-blooded at that— did that make him better than the others? Or worse?
"Eat your food, girl," Jacques commanded.
Weiss closed her bedroom door behind her, then leaned up against it. She slid down the wooden slab, all the way down until she slumped onto the floor. She hugged her knees close to her chest.
She caught her mirror across the room, perfectly angled to give her a view of the corpse slumped against her bedroom door. It stared back with empty cyan eyes and a dead expression. It was nothing more than skin and bones, its papyrus skin pulled tight against every fiber of its being. Its hair was bone-white, frayed and frizzy, looking brittle enough to shatter with a touch.
Weiss forced her eyes away from her ghoulish reflection, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill forth. How much longer would she live like this?
She wanted someone to save her— to burst through her window and scoop her into their arms and whisk her away. Someone with crimson-tipped ebony hair and shining silver eyes.
Weiss slapped herself— she didn't need to be saved, this was all her idea! She just needed to hold out, survive until the tourney was over, then give the champion a few weeks of lip service before tossing him away. There was no way father could assemble another tourney as quickly as he did this one. He'd surely exhausted most of his goodwill by inviting so many nobles into his game, especially the Winchesters.
She'd have time to herself, just her and Myrtenaster. No suitors. No Rupert.
Weiss smacked herself again, hard , as if she could rattle the intrusive thought out of her head. Rupert was just a boy, and as much of a tool to her as she was to her parents. She could appease him with a few dinners, maybe a promenade. Yes… a promenade would be nice. She could imagine those dark locks blowing in the wind, the sun shining in his—
"Argh!" Weiss grunted, slapping her palms over her ears. That bastard tortured her! Every other thought was tainted by his memory! His hair, his face, his scars, his lips, taunting her! She was going mad— he was driving her mad. When she finally had him in her pale clutches, there would be hell to pay.
Weiss' eyes drifted to her wardrobe, where her weapon lay sheathed behind her sleep garments. Something bubbled up in her mind; a fetid, frothy idea born purely from the mental ooze of desperation.
She shook her head, then smacked herself for good measure. She couldn't do that! Somebody would catch her! She would be alone! It would be dangerous! She wouldn't let Rupert the Red, of all people, hold such sway on her mind. She wouldn’t let anybody have so much influence that she would even think of—
Dropping onto the grass with a huff, Weiss looked over both shoulders. The emerald glow around her fingertips faded, and the lattice of ivy behind her retreated from the palace garden's wrought-iron fence.
What under the Watcher's gaze was she doing?
Weiss looked back, but it was much too late now. That spell had taken a lot out of her, and to return home now would only draw her father's ire. She'd have to be careful, and conserve her energy. The illusory glyph of herself would only last as long as she could maintain it.
Weiss pulled her dark cloak tight around her, then did the same with her hood. Myrtenaster sat at her hip, the weight unfamiliar; she'd only ever carried it to and from duels, never worn it. She was lucky her old riding outfit still fit— she'd hate to have gone out in a dress, cloak, and sword.
Weiss shuffled away from the palace, her wary gaze on the setting sun. If she wanted to find Rupert, she would have to do it quickly.
Weiss took a wide berth into the city— she knew the main roads would be regularly patrolled. Thankfully Vale and Palace Schnee weren't too distant; the latter had been built when the former was just a hamlet, giving the city plenty of time to expand into the urban sprawl it was now. As it was, getting there didn't even take an hour. Before long Weiss' boots clomped against stone bricks instead of verdant grass.
Weiss kept her cloak tight about her as she entered the city, one hand resting on the rapier underneath. For the first time, she was well and truly alone. The notion coldly gripped her heart.
Regardless, Weiss didn't have time to waste being afraid; she had a purpose here.
She suspected that Rupert was staying close to the market square, mostly judging by his place in the stands: he was always there before Weiss arrived, and always in a seat that would've been crowded if he'd arrived later. Probably at an inn, as well. Weiss had a picture in her head of a rugged adventurer, and those slept in dingy inns. Her nose crinkled at the idea.
Weiss sighed, trudging on.
Notes:
shes finally free, a free bird :D this will surely end well
Chapter 22: In the Nest
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby tried to struggle against her sister's grip, but the Huntress' hold on her hand would not be broken.
"You'll be fine," Yang assured Ruby, leading her down the stairs of their inn. "Nobody's gonna notice you. And if they do, then they'll have to fight all three of us!"
Blake rolled her eyes, following close behind the sisters. "Don't drag me into this."
Yang shot her a smirk. "You don't have to come."
Blake glowered at the Huntress, which only seemed to brighten her look. "I'm not fighting anyone tonight."
Yang stopped, nearly causing her sister to trip into her. She turned to Blake with a challenge in her lilac irises. "If you're coming with us, you're standing with us, understand?"
The fay— who had bandaged herself once more to hide her identity— met her gaze. The two stared each other down for a long moment.
"She defended you," Yang whispered, unhanding her sister as she approached the fay. "You could've been killed, or worse."
"That doesn't mean—"
Yang pressed a finger to Blake's chest. " That is precisely what that means. Like it or not, you two are in this together."
The way Yang said that last word made Ruby cock her head. It wasn't in a romantic or suggestive way, but carried some other kind of implication— like they knew something Ruby didn't, and Blake didn't want her to know. Blake shuffled under her cloak, amber eyes turning away with… sheepishness? Guilt? Frustration? Past the bandages, she couldn't tell.
Blake grunted, seemingly conceding to Yang's proposal.
"Great!" Yang said with a bright smile. She grabbed Ruby's hand once more and dragged her fully out of the inn.
"Where are we even going?" Ruby groaned.
Yang looked back at her and smiled. "We're going to celebrate!"
"Celebrate?" Ruby questioned, trying to keep pace with her sister. When her rushed steps finally brought her to the blonde's side, her crushed hand was graciously freed.
"You're a runner-up, now!" Yang proudly stated. "Your first real fight, and here you are— winning a bloody tournament!"
Ruby winced as her sister loudly laughed, drawing eyes in the streets. "I-it's not that special."
Yang punched her in the shoulder, eliciting a pained hiss. "Don't say that! It's a huge deal!"
"You are quite impressive," Blake admitted with a nod. "You've defeated opponents who've doubtlessly spent weeks training under experienced Knights and fighters."
Ruby blushed at the complements. "Well, when you put it like—"
"There!" Yang interrupted, stopping suddenly. She beamed up at the building before them. Its ground level consisted of stacked grey stones framed by timber, with a dingy wooden door that had a rusted ring for a handle. The floor atop that one stretched a good few feet past the walls of the first, and had half-timbered walls with crossed bracings over off-white plaster. The sparse windows on the front were just open wooden lattices, freely spewing forth a cacophony of dissonant tunes and tones.
"Uh…" Ruby really didn't know how comfortable she was with this place. A creaking noise drew her eye to the hanging sign, but its contents continued to elude Ruby, especially since the already-indecipherable glyphs were scratched and well-faded
"The Crow's Nest," Blake sarcastically read, disgust palpable. "Very classy, Yang."
The Huntress threw her a smirk and a thumbs-up, then charged inside.
Ruby stood before the swinging door, unsure of herself. Behind her, Blake sighed.
"Come on, Red. Let's make sure she doesn't burn the thing down.
Ruby gulped and nodded, then fought a blush when Blake's hand landed between her shoulder blades, urging her forward. She turned to meet Blake's encouraging eyes, but a burst of movement drew her eye— something shrinking around a building's corner.
The hand pushed her forward, breaking her focus away from whatever she'd seen. The door creaked as it swung, welcoming Ruby into The Crow's Nest.
It was, quite possibly, the most repulsive environment she had ever entered.
Ruby looked around the rowdy interior with a crinkled sneer, Blake's hand guiding her aside until her rear landed in a dingy stool, at a dingy table, tucked into the tavern's dingiest corner. The air was stuffy and rank with an acrid mixture of urine and vomit.
Yang crashed into their table, throwing angry shouts behind her while she juggled a trio of metal tankards. She dropped into the seat beside her sister, one drink set for each of them.
"Uh…" Ruby looked at her sister, unsure.
Yang waved her off. "It's fine!" She insisted, words slightly mumbled— how had she already started drinking?
Ruby looked down at the metal cup before her, observing the amber liquid inside. It had a light foam at the top. She smelled it, then recoiled at the sour scent. Desperate for solidarity, she looked to Blake.
Blake pulled her bandages away from her tattooed mouth and took a deep draught from the cup, startling the smith.
Yang whooped as the fay poured the drink in her gob, fist pumping. She took a swig of her own to match, then turned expectantly to Ruby.
Ruby wilted under the stare. She wrapped both hands around her own cup, and brought the unfamiliar drink to her lips.
The moment the sharp flavor spread across her tongue, she sprayed it back out. "Crook!" She half-cursed, dropping the cup back onto the table. "Can I just have some water, instead?"
Yang deflated slightly, but nodded nevertheless, quickly fetching a clay cup of water from the bar.
Ruby looked into the cups contents and grimaced.
"Yeah," Blake's sidelong mumble complemented Ruby's disgust. "I would trust the beer better than the water, here."
A loud gulping noise drew Ruby's eye back to her sister, who set down her second empty tankard— wait, when had she gotten a second? Yang sighed, gaze challenging and confident as it found Blake's.
"I challenge thee to a duel!" Yang boisterously claimed. "Where the only weapon is booze!"
Blake sighed, mumbling something that sounded a lot like 'dust, I fucking hate humans' before she raised her tankard.
A few patrons separated from their tables and orbited theirs, leering gazes on the dueling lasses. Ruby shrank under the extra attention. Her arms wrapped tightly around herself, the stale stench of piss burning her nose. She hated this.
Blake nudged her, shaking her out of her reverie. "You can go, I'll make sure she doesn't get into trouble. You know the way back to the inn?" She whispered, the genuine care in her voice made Ruby blush.
She had confidence she could navigate back to the inn. The walk here couldn't have been too far. Ruby nodded, then turned to her sister, who was busy getting a head start on her game against Blake. "I'm, uh, going to the restroom," she assembled after a few seconds, her unsure voice completely belying the deception.
Yang, thankfully, was either too inebriated or too focused to notice, and sent her sister a thumbs-up. Without further hesitation, Ruby fled the table and escaped into the night air. She took a deep breath.
Finally, the stench of stale urine was purged from her nose.
Notes:
yes its the crow bar, yes i had to hold qrow back, yes i am sorry
Chapter 23: The Lovers
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby cast her gaze to the sky. The sun sat just below the horizon, leaving a gradient of darkening blues. The Lovers had yet to cross, but she could see the shattered moon's crescent making an early appearance. The city was relatively quiet, besides the drunken din behind her. She basked in it, drinking in every second of silence.
A familiar sound drifted to her ears, distant and quiet, but drawing her attention nonetheless. Hearing it now, she did not realize how much she had longed for that noise.
Ruby followed the sound, keeping her hood pulled tight whenever she passed a fellow wanderer of the night. Under the cover of her umber cloak, she kept a hand on her shortsword's pommel. Thankfully, most of the evening's patrons preferred to ignore her.
When Ruby finally approached the source of the sound, she found an older man pounding a rod of red-hot iron on an anvil. The sweet sound resonated through her body, drawing her even closer until she could peer at his work. It was a nail.
She watched him mold it into shape, then fold the top in on itself to form the head, which he flattened with his hammer. He checked the nails fit, then chucked it into a large box, presumably full of more nails. He retrieved a dirty rag from nearby and dabbed the sweat off his brow.
"Hello," Ruby greeted the fellow smith, making him jump. "Good work."
The man looked down at her like she had grown a second head. "Eh?" His voice was gruff, and extremely deep, matching his rough features, thick beard, and short, slicked-back hair.
"Your work is good," Ruby complimented, suddenly unsure of herself. She'd never talked with another smith before. "You made quick work of that nail."
The man looked between her and the box into which he had cast the finished nail, quizzical look not leaving his face. "Thanks? It's just a nail. One of…" he looked up, pensive. "Thirty thousand?"
Ruby's eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Thirty thousand? Why?"
He shrugged. "Job from the Imperial navy."
Ruby remembered her own quest for providing ship nails. She'd hated it then, but she'd love to be making nails now. "I'm a smith, too."
The man looked her up and down, then cracked a smile and guffawed. "Good joke, lass."
"I'm serious!" Ruby shouted, a little louder than intended. To prove herself, she pulled her cloak open, just far enough to show her hammer. She drew it into her hand, comforted by its familiar weight. "I made this hammer myself."
He stared, disbelief still clear in his ember-lit eyes.
"I made three thousand nails for a trade ship helmed by Jaune Arc, you could ask him to prove it."
The man shrugged. "I don't care to, it's much too late and I have nails to make."
"Let me help!" Ruby blurted, unable to stop herself. "I mean, please. I'm a good smith, I swear, you don't even have to pay me."
"I won't let some stranger waste my iron."
"I won't waste it!" Ruby promised, eyes pleading as she approached him. "I swear! If I do, you can take all of these!"
She pulled her cloak open, displaying her collection of hand-made weapons.
The man raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. He pointed a thick finger to the hammer still in her hands. "I want that one."
Ruby pulled the hammer close to her chest on instinct, protecting it. "You can't have my hammer!"
The man stared at her, then leaned forward, eyes challenging. He held Ruby's gaze for a long moment, but she refused to waver. Eventually, a grin pulled his lips. He chuckled. "Maybe you could be a smith," the man conceded. "I suppose I could use a break."
Ruby giddily ran to his anvil, but was stopped by his giant hand on her head.
"What's your name, girl?" He asked.
Ruby sharply inhaled and avoided his gaze. "R-Rupert," she lied. "And I'm not a girl."
The hand on her head turned her, forcing her gaze on the man. He stared at her for a long moment. "You're Ruby Rose of Patch, aren't you?"
Ruby's heart immediately pounded against her chest, hand moving to the dagger at her back. How? How did he know? Did other smiths just know about her?
The man chuckled. "I knew it. I've heard of you, mainly from one of my customers. She keeps gushing about her stupid sword, worshiping you like some kind of god."
Ruby gulped. Did he mean Penny? "I-I…"
The man waved her off. "I won't tell anyone, it's clear you're trying to keep it a secret."
Ruby sighed, shoulders sagging. “Thank you.”
"Now, show me what the ‘greatest smith in Patch’ can do," he said with a half-smirk, burly arms folding across his chest..
Ruby nodded, then approached the man's anvil with her own hammer. She gave the iron block a few solid taps, testing its resonance. It was perfect. The sound was music to her ears, and the vibration in her hand was a loving memory.
She searched the unfamiliar workshop, pulling out boxes at random since she couldn't read the labels. Before long, though, she found a multitude of iron rods. Ruby smiled as she took the familiar weight into her hands, then began pumping the bellows of the forge.
With the rod heated, Ruby set to forming the nail. The repetitive clanging filled her with familiar joy, and the tedious action brought a pervading sense of calm— one she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her mind, which had frequently been invaded by confused thoughts as of late, organized itself, tempering the things she didn't dare talk to Yang about.
Her hammer struck the glowing nail, forming a point, then an edge. She heated it once more, then pounded further up, better defining the nail's square shape. With the body complete, she folded and pounded a flat head onto the end. Her hand reached for another rod. Her foot pumped the bellows.
She feared Blake. And Penny. And Weiss. Girls, in general, or just her… strange infatuation with them. It was unseemly, unladylike— the way her gaze lingered on Blake when she wasn't looking. She reimagined her talks with Penny, this time with the knowledge she was flirting. She even thought of winning the tournament, of Weiss descending like an angel from the stands to take her hand. She thought of their lips meeting.
She pumped the bellows. The forge swelled with orange light and heat.
She feared Weiss. Greatly. She'd never even spoken to the girl, but terror gripped her heart every time she thought of her. She was falling hard, she admitted— and for someone who could never fall for her! Even if she won the tournament, she knew she wouldn’t be welcome. Girl or boy, it didn't matter— she was lowborn, and she'd mortally wounded a member of the nobility. They'd never let her set foot in Palace Schnee. And even if they did, they would throw her out for her unusual proclivities towards fellow women! And who was to say Weiss would share that taboo?
Ruby struck the nail.
Why did she care so much? Weiss was just a girl. She was pretty— beautiful even, but she was just a rich girl looking for a boy to wed. And here Ruby was, stealing that from her. She was too deep to pull out now, but she harbored a great guilt over it. Who was she to—
"Rupert? Rupert the Red?" A wholly unfamiliar voice came from behind, followed by a gust of chill air. Ruby turned to meet it.
Weiss Schnee stood behind her, hood pulled down to reveal the most beautiful face Ruby had ever seen— leagues above Penny and Blake. She allowed herself no time to admire it, though, instead turning back to her work and pulling her hood tighter over her face. She pounded the rod, not even noticing it had gone cold.
"I knew it was you!" Weiss said, her voice much too excited for Ruby to trust. Had she found her out? Was she here to kill her, as revenge for the young Winchester? Or was it because she would win the tournament on false pretenses, luring the Schnee heiress into her unnatural desires?
"I-I don't know who that is," Ruby claimed, voice raspy and low as she tried (and failed) to assemble a believable masculine tone.
"Don't act stupid," Weiss demanded, stepping into the smithy. "I've seen your face and your cloak— I know it's you!"
Ruby's hammer glanced off the nail, creating an awful noise and squashing the metal. There was no way Weiss had seen her face, she had— no, she remembered! Her hood had been pulled back by Neptune, she'd completely forgotten to hide herself that whole fight! She was asking to be found out! But… Weiss wasn't angry, at least it didn't seem that way. Did– did she still not know Rupert was actually a girl? It was possible, she supposed, but that ruse would be up the moment she saw her face-to-face… close enough to kiss.
Ruby shrank into herself, turning a bright scarlet.
Weiss approached, entering well within Ruby's personal space. She leaned forward and peeked into Ruby's peripheral to ogle what was under her hood. The smith turned, desperately trying to hide herself.
"Look at me, come on!" Weiss whined, reaching forward to pull Ruby's hood back.
Ruby leapt away, hood grasped tightly.
"I am your lady!" Weiss insisted. "If you can fight for me, then you can damn well listen to me!"
Ruby was in a panic. Weiss stepped towards her, forcing the smith to retreat. Ruby scrambled back so frantically that she nearly tripped over a huge, obvious tub of water. She stared down at the liquid's still surface.
Her reflection met her, judging her with an accusatory glare. She was a coward and an idiot for boldly entering the tournament and pulling the rug out from under this girl. Privileged royalty or not, she didn't deserve this.
Suddenly, the water flew up towards her face, forcing her back. The flying liquid formed an oval before her, miraculously suspended. She stared, briefly forgetting Weiss' presence as she marveled at the phenomenon. She got closer, finger stretching out to poke it.
The water turned to ice in a second— forming a smooth, flawless surface, one that reflected Ruby's face, lit by the amber glow of the forge.
"I knew it," Weiss whispered, suddenly appearing beside Ruby. "It is you."
Ruby felt her hood suddenly tugged away, then a hand pushed her, trying to force her to pivot towards Weiss. She scrambled back, nearly tripping over herself as she began to sprint away.
Before she could run, though, an invisible force yanked her by her shoulders, dragging her back to Weiss, where it forced her to face her. She tried to turn away, to preserve even a shred of her face, but Weiss grabbed her chin, forcing her head up.
Weiss met her eyes, then slowly scanned over every inch of Ruby's face. Her blood ran cold as realization visibly snapped into Weiss' cerulean eyes.
"Wait…" Weiss whispered, voice thick with disbelief. She gave Ruby's features another once over, then her eyes darted downwards. Weiss suddenly ripped her cloak open, hand relinquishing Ruby's face in favor of diving towards her chest, to confirm what she had clearly come to realize.
Ruby's own hand snapped out, gripping Weiss' wrist.
"You're—" Weiss' claim was interrupted as her face suddenly met Ruby's palm, the resounding crack echoing in the smithy. A red, hand-shaped splotch appeared on her cheek.
Concentration broken, the invisible force gripping Ruby disappeared, dropping her onto her feet.
"I-I…" Ruby stammered. "I'm…"
When Weiss opened her eyes again, she was met with nothing but a sparse scattering of rose petals. She looked about, catching no sign of the smith, save for one thing abandoned on the anvil.
He— she had left her hammer.
Notes:
wow!~
Chapter 24: Dead End
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby’s feet pounded against worn flagstones. She breathed hard, heart slamming in her chest.
She hit Weiss Schnee.
Weiss Schnee had tried to grope her!
She is a noble lady! She has the right to touch her subjects— that’s how it works!
Ruby’s head swam as the internal debate raged. Her feet beat the stones.
“Who is he!” Weiss loudly interrogated, finger poking hard into the blacksmith’s chest. “She!”
The smith shrugged. “Don’t know.”
Weiss’ face grew red, brows furrowing. “I am your lady! You will tell me who she is!”
“You’re not my lady,” he corrected, holding up his hand. A golden band adorned one of his fingers. “I’ve only got one of those.”
The heiress growled in frustration, her hand pulling her cloak aside to reveal her rapier. “I will make you tell me if I must, I saw you talking to her!”
The smith scoffed. “Oh no, a sword,” he mocked, and turned his back on her. “Whatever will I do.”
Weiss drew the sword, aiming to threaten him with it. Only, she found that he’d turned in the blink of an eye and wrapped his thickly gloved hand around the heiress’ thin blade. The smith wrenched the rapier out of her hand. “Hey!” Weiss shouted. “That is a family heirloom, unhand it this instant!”
The smith gave her a stern look, his gaze brimming with patriarchal authority. “Only if you get out of my smithy.”
“I will not! Not before you tell me who she is!”
He rolled his eyes. “She’s my apprentice, wanted to make a late visit to help with my order.”
Weiss eyes him. She knew he was lying— that girl was Rupert— but she had no way to disprove him. “Tell me the truth before I have you arrested,” she threatened.
“As if,” the smith countered. “Schnee girl, out this late, hiding under a cloak and wearing a sword? Your father would sooner have you arrested.”
Weiss floundered, lips angrily flapping. Not only was he immune to her threats, he had read her like a book! To be outwitted by a simple tradesman… she felt helpless. The heiress’ shoulders sagged. Her fingers absently traced the fading red mark on her cheek. “She… hit me.”
“You did try to grope her.”
“I did not!” Weiss responded, indignant. “I was just…” her words faded and her face turned red. What else could she possibly have been doing?
The smith shrugged and sighed. “I won’t judge you. Different people like different tools,” he remarked, holding up his own hammer to demonstrate.
“Wha…” Weiss trailed off, eyes moving to the hammer Rupert had left on the anvil. Her voice became absent, her words quiet. “She’s… a smith?”
The man snorted. He crossed the smithy with lumbering steps, back to the work area Rupert had manned before. He lifted one of his— her finished nails to his face and examined it with a slow turn of his wrist. A gleam of respect crossed his gaze. “A pretty damn good one, at that. Might’ve actually taken a good chunk off my work if you hadn’t chased her off.”
His gaze turned on Weiss, whose blush intensified. She felt lesser around this man, like an intruder. Though, considering she was in his smithy, that was apt. “S-sorry.”
“Get out, girl,” he commanded. “I’ve got work to do.”
Weiss nearly moved to leave, but her gaze wouldn’t leave Rupert’s hammer.
“I said leave.”
Weiss reached for the tool, but found a thin line of silver blocking her path— Myrtenaster, held in reverse by the smith’s gloved hand. She met his eyes.
“Don’t forget your family heirloom,” he sarcastically intoned, lifting the blade until the hilt was right in Weiss’ face. She gingerly took hold of her rapier.
“T-thank you, ser…”
The man didn’t meet her eyes as he began setting Rupert’s nails into a crate— save for the one she’d gracelessly squashed. “Rainart, and don’t call me ser,” he said, speaking with unfamiliar somberness. “Don’t thank me, neither. Ain’t done nothing for you.”
Weiss absently nodded, defeat settling in her bones. She turned to leave, deflated.
“Oh, and take this,” the gruff voice made her turn again, finding a hammer being shoved in her face— Rupert’s hammer. “You’re still going to find her, right?”
The heiress blinked and took the proffered tool. It sat heavily in her hand. The head’s metal had been dulled from heavy use, but it was free of cracks or chips. She could picture it in Rupert’s hand, striking hot metal just as gracefully as it had struck Neptune’s jaw. It was heavy for an instrument of labor. If Rupert really was a smith, he would have to be swinging it for hours on end, bringing sweat to his brow and strength to his arms. Her arms.
Weiss stared at the tool. Why was she blushing?
“Girl!” The voice made her jump. “Get the hell out of my smithy!”
Ruby collapsed against a wall, heaving her lungs out. Her legs burned, and her feet were actively rebelling against their continued use. She cast her weary gaze around her; she’d landed herself in an alley with a dead end, flanked by storeys of crusty wooden frames and filthy stonework on all sides.
She slumped against the back wall, letting herself slide down until she sat cross-legged. Ruby sighed, defeated.
Tears pricked at her eyes, which she hastily covered with her arms. Lost, exhausted, and alone in the middle of the night, she sobbed. It was over. She, a simple girl of low birth, had smacked Weiss Schnee. She couldn’t go back to the tournament, not if she wanted to live her life outside of an oubliette— assuming they didn’t execute her outright.
Even if she could return, how would she? She was exhausted, and Yang and Blake were probably drunker than her uncle. Who’s to say that she’d even survive this night? She may not have experienced Vale’s nightlife, but she was not so ignorant to assume it was without wandering vagabonds, or worse.
Exactly the kind of people who would love to find her here, tired and lost, with nobody coming to her rescue. Ruby wailed into her sleeves.
Voices. Footsteps, heavily thumping outside of the alley. A spark of hope brought her head up. Had the Watcher guided her friends back to her?
“Fff… fuck’n… shit, mate,” the voice stamped that spark to nothing. Not Yang, not Blake. Men. Ruby’s muscles seized tight and she pressed herself against the wall, hoping to meld with its stones. “That fuck’n… bitch. The fuck does she think she— hic— is? I’m a paying cus’mer.”
“I dunno, Russ, you—”
“Fuck that wench!” The shout made Ruby jump, then shrink even further into herself. She knew that voice. “Sky gave ‘er what, ten gold pieces?”
“Dove, he—”
“He had the right!” They were coming closer. Ruby tried to reach for her weapon, but her whole body was frozen solid. “Ten fuckin’ pieces! She’s just a barmaid, so what if he touched her? She should feel honored!”
“Yeah, honored!”
“I guess…"
The voices encroached, then became clear as their bodies passed the wall. They continued their argument as they walked into Ruby’s view, confirming her worst assumption: Dove, the man who had nearly killed her in the tourney, walked drunkenly astride two others, arms aggressively flailing as he defended his friend. Thankfully, they passed Ruby’s alley without even looking her way, then disappeared around the corner once more. The smith sighed.
“Wait guys, I gotta piss, I’ll just…”
Dread once again sank into Ruby’s bones as Dove appeared around the corner in a rush, fumbling for his belt. He glanced Ruby’s way as he approached the alley’s wall, ignoring her at first, then doing a double-take. He met her eyes, hands freezing at his waist. “You…”
Ruby scrambled to her feet, then fell against the wall as her head rushed with dizziness and her exhausted legs gave out. Bracing one arm against the wall, her other reached for her ham—
Her hammer was gone. Why was her hammer gone? She’d left it on the anvil, of course, because she had slapped a noble heiress and then run herself ragged. Her heart dropped into her stomach, hand reaching for something, anything else on her belt.
“You’re Rupert the fucking Red,” Dove said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You fucked me.”
Ruby’s fingers wrapped around her falchion’s hilt.
Dove chuckled, quietly at first, before giving in to loud, uproarious peals of laughter. He craned his neck back to the entrance of the alley, shouting. “Lads! Look what I found!”
Notes:
yeah hazel never actually left lmao
Chapter 25: White Knight
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The rasp of Dove’s bastard sword unsheathing bounced off the tight walls of the alley. The crossguard, which had once been beautiful, was now dented and warped. Another reminder of their fight.
“I’m gonna fucking murder you,” he promised, words slightly slurred.
Ruby drew her own sword. She pushed herself off the wall and tried to steady herself on wobbling legs, only to fall to a knee. Dove looked down at her, smirking as his goons filtered into the alley behind him.
“The hell did— the fuck is that?” Questioned the one with spiky hair and a pair of thick sabres, both of which had handles like kitchen knives.
“Holy shit, didn’t he break your hand?” Asked the other, who had long, slicked-back locks of slate. His hand rested on a square-hilted axe that looked like a one-handed version of a halberd.
Dove responded to the latter question with a venomous glare before turning back to Ruby. He lifted and flexed the hand that Ruby had shattered just a couple days before, somehow good as new. “The wonders of a strong, pure Aura,” he mused. “A half-breed like you could never recover this quickly.”
Half-breed? Whatever that meant, it didn’t sit well with Ruby. She shakily pushed herself back up on both feet.
Dove charged her before she could even get her guard up, his bastard sword coming down hard enough to smash the falchion right out of Ruby’s hand. Her mind provided unhelpful reminders of their last fight— this is exactly how he’d almost killed her the first time. Before she could draw another weapon, though, Dove’s bare fist cracked into her chin, wrenching her head back with the blow and flaring her meager Aura.
Another blow came from Dove’s pommel, this time fulfilling the promise he had made to her before. His pommel smashed directly into her windpipe, making her choke and gasp. Her weak legs did nothing to hold her up, allowing her to fall back against the wall she’d been huddled up to minutes ago. She slid down the filthy stones, clutching her throat.
“What a fucking disgrace,” Dove remarked, words dripping with disgust as he sneered at the choking girl.
Ruby stared up at him, silver eyes wide and desperate. She tried to beg, but she couldn’t pass anything but thin air through her crumpled throat. Of all the places to die, alone in a dingy alley.
Dove watched her struggle with a glare, then pulled her up by her cloak’s front. He parted her cloak with his sword, searching her belt for coin before something else caught his gaze, much further up than her waist. His squinting eyes widened, revealing deep blue irises. “You—”
Ruby suddenly crumpled to the ground, too preoccupied with holding her neck to even look up at the noble who had almost killed her twice. The only thing that did enter her vision was a shard of ice, which soon evaporated into nothing. There was a scuffle around her, full of unfamiliar noises, but attempting to move her head up only awakened more pain in her damaged throat. By the time she could finally move, the alley was empty.
More footsteps came from around the corner, making fear grip her heart again, and when their owner came around, her pounding heart sank deep into her gut.
Weiss stared across the road, glowing rapier raised as she panted. Faint wisps of ice-blue energy rose from her skin. She maintained that vigilant pose for a long moment, then dropped it with a heavy sigh, her gaze turning to the alley.
When her eyes met Ruby, the smith scrambled back. Unfortunately for her, there was no room, and she could only press herself more tightly against the wall. With one hand around her burning throat, her other sought a sword.
Weiss quickly slotted her rapier into its sheath and rushed the girl, then was forced to stop when Ruby drew a shortsword. She leveled the blade with the heiress, trembling.
The Schnee held her empty hands up, steps becoming cautious and slow as she approached the girl. “It’s okay,” she quietly said. “They’re gone.”
Ruby didn’t lower her sword, but that didn’t deter Weiss. She could see the blade’s intense shaking, and slowly reached out to pinch it between her finger and thumb. The moment she did, she found the entire weapon dropped from Ruby’s grip.
The girl shrank into herself even more, holding her hand up. “Please,” she begged, voice broken. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Please don’t, not here, please.”
Weiss stared down at the broken smith before her. Rupert was gone, leaving nothing but a pathetic, desperate girl behind. The fighter, who had so easily dispatched men twice her size, was reduced to a helpless mess. Weiss had expected a fight, or at least some angry words, not… this. She crouched in front of the girl, but her voice failed her. Nothing escaped her lips. She didn’t know what she could say. Instead, she just watched the girl tremble.
Ruby began to sob, wincing as each bob of her throat brought a fresh wave of pain.
“You left this,” Weiss whispered, quiet words drawing Ruby’s wary gaze back up to her. Her pale hand was outstretched, fingers gripped around the smith’s hammer.
Silver eyes bounced between the hammer and the heiress.
“It’s okay,” Weiss insisted. “I’m just returning what’s yours. I’m… sorry. For what happened earlier.”
Ruby fully looked up, ignoring the pain in her neck in favor of staring at the girl like she was from another world. “W-what?”
Weiss had to repress a wince when she saw the girl’s face. Her chin was split open and leaking blood onto her huddled knees. Instead of speaking, she just nodded to the outstretched tool.
Ruby cautiously reached out and took hold of her hammer, nearly dropping it when the weight settled into her palm. She briefly considered battering the heiress with it, but she doubted that she had the energy, and it’s not like she even had a reason to. Whatever had occurred before paled in comparison to what she’d just endured. “Thank you,” she weakly muttered, returning the tool to its appropriate ring on her belt.
Weiss stared at the girl, who merely stared back, silver eyes swimming with tears. Even with her split chin and generally ragged appearance, she still held all of Rupert’s features. Some part of Weiss had hoped that they would disappear with the knowledge of her true gender, but they hadn’t, and she didn’t know what to think of that. She was still handsome, carrying a rugged beauty that made Weiss’ chest twist strangely, and the more she tried not to think of it, the more it troubled her. Hoping to distract herself from the unfamiliar thoughts, she reached below her cloak.
Ruby watched the heiress before her extract a square of white cloth, then hold it out for her. The smith stared at the handkerchief, confused. Weiss nodded to it, then pointed to her own chin.
“You’re bleeding,” she explained.
Weiss watched the girl reach for the cloth, then keep reaching until her hand suddenly gripped the heiress’ wrist. Weiss yelped as Ruby yanked her forward, arms encircling her shoulders and pulling her close. Weiss seized at the sudden, strange form of contact, but any protest was silenced when she felt the girl shake and wail into her shoulder. She found her own arms wrapping around her on instinct.
Ruby held her there for a long time, only releasing her once her shaking had ceased. Her sobbing persisted, but it had been reduced to silent, hitched breaths.
“Ruby,” the girl whispered, avoiding Weiss’ eyes as she dropped back against the wall.
“Excuse me?”
“Not Rupert,” the smith clarified, voice cracking. “Ruby.”
“Oh,” was all Weiss managed. Ruby. She had somehow forgotten that Rupert wasn’t actually her name. “Where are you staying, Ruby?”
The girl shrugged. “Somewhere in the market square.”
Weiss stared, then looked up at the night sky. It was dark, and the flanking buildings blocked her view of the moon. Though, she could see Remnant’s other orbiting bodies overhead. Eis and Blum danced afore the stars, the former marking the cold seasons to come while the latter signified the warmer seasons’ passage. The uneducated simply called them the Lovers, but Weiss had managed to keep herself far from that status, which was actually proving remarkably helpful; the Lovers moved from south to north, and what little she knew of Vale’s layout told her she was somewhere in the northeastern part of the city. The market was central to Vale, so moving south would most likely take her there.
Ruby tried craning her damaged neck to peer up to whatever Weiss was staring at, but found herself being pulled back up to her feet, courtesy of the heiress, who tried very hard to conceal the amount of effort it took to lift the girl.
“Okay, Ruby,” Weiss said, startling the smith. A cold hand found Ruby’s own, tugging her forward. “Let’s take you home.”
Notes:
aha gay
Chapter 26: Get a Room
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It wasn’t until they’d arrived at Ruby’s inn that Weiss realized she was still holding her hand. Their palms were clammy and warm, but Weiss didn’t know when she was supposed to let go.
Ruby looked up at the building in which she planned to sleep. It was remarkably similar to The Crow’s Nest, but the night was late enough to calm the inhabitants. Regardless, that didn’t make the structure seem any less towering, not unlike the ones that had trapped her in that alley. Her chin and throat throbbed with the memory.
“Are you going to be okay?” The voice at her side made Ruby jump, but gratefully returned her to the moment. The sweaty hand clutching Weiss’ eased its grip.
Ruby stepped away from the heiress, and her blood-encrusted chin rose so their eyes could meet. Under their hoods, silver met cerulean. “Why did you do this?”
Weiss gave the smith an odd look. “It’s late, I wasn’t just going to let you roam alone aimlessly.”
Ruby shook her head. “No, why did you do all of this? Finding me, rescuing me— you didn’t even have to give my hammer back. I could’ve got it back myself.”
“Gotten,” Weiss corrected. “You could’ve gotten it back yourself.”
Ruby briefly sputtered, cheeks blooming red. “Answer the question!” After an awkward pause, she added a quiet ‘please’.
The noble immediately opened her mouth to answer, but found her words to be lacking. Why did she do this? To find Rupert, of course. But why find Rupert? Just to chase some fleeting fancy? To act out against her father’s will? To claim some damn freedom in her life? She’d found Rupert, and found that she was a blacksmith named Ruby. Weiss could’ve left it at that. Her curiosity was sated, and her fancy was rebutted. Rupert was a girl. That was that. The passing fancy had passed, her search was over. Now she had to go home. Return to her toil. Latch closed, monkey dead.
“Well?” Ruby urged, silver eyes shimmering under the moonlight.
She had to go home— father would have her head if he found her room empty, and empty he would find it. Her illusory glyph fizzled long ago. Unfortunately for her, she had no desire to return. In fact, her desires pointed in the exact opposite direction. She stared into Rup— Ruby’s eyes. Something danced in her chest, its heavy feet pounding into her gut. Rupert’s features hadn’t left Ruby’s face. If anything, they were stronger. Her neck was bruised, her chin was covered in dried blood, her nose was offset, and her face was scarred in two places, but she still carried the same tantalizing beauty as before. “I… I had to find you,” Weiss answered dumbly, unable to grasp anything else.
Ruby let out a frustrated growl and turned to the inn’s door. “Well, you found me! What else? I’m sorry for ruining your tourney, okay? I’m sorry! I’ll leave, I’ll go back to Patch.” Back fully to Weiss, she muttered something that made the heiress’ heart leap into her throat. “I’ll stop living this lie.”
Just as soon as Ruby reached for the door, though, somebody else burst through. A mostly-bald man, drunkenly shambling while loudly speaking to his follower, who came out in a similarly disheveled manner.
Ruby leapt away on instinct, nearly knocking Weiss over as she barreled into her. The heiress kept herself steady by gripping Ruby’s shoulder. Before she could pull away, though, she noticed the intense tremble in the girl’s muscles, and the way her breathing immediately sped up to a panicked pace. The alley may be well behind them, but it was clear the smith’s mind hadn’t left it. “Let me walk you to your room,” Weiss quietly offered with a squeeze to the girl’s shoulder. It was the least she could do.
Ruby turned to deny the heiress, but another gaggle of drunks emerged through the doors, harried by a shouting bartender. She jumped, startled, then turned back to Weiss with a more accepting gaze. She nodded slowly, and the two made their way in.
Weiss crinkled her nose as they entered— she had been under the impression that urine was reserved to alleys and outhouses, but the building’s scent begged to differ. Regardless, she remained silent as she followed Ruby up the stairs, one hand on her rapier’s hilt.
They passed several doors before Ruby finally stopped. She cast the heiress one last look before reaching for her door’s handle—
“Fuck!” Came a cry from the other side, barely muffled by the inn’s (apparently thin) walls. The sound of objects tumbling followed. Ruby moved to rip the door open, but another mewling cry froze her. “Gods, Blake! I—”
Another sound followed, this one even longer and higher-pitched. Ruby shrunk back from the door, her face scarlet as she turned back to Weiss, who didn’t seem to be faring much better. “I don’t want to be here,” Ruby muttered.
Eyes wide and face red, Weiss nodded. Whoever this ‘Blake’ fellow was, Weiss didn’t want to see what he was doing behind that door. Instead, she turned on a heel and marched straight from the inn, Ruby at her heels.
When they were finally free of whatever brothel Ruby had decided to stay in, Weiss breathed a long sigh. She looked to the deep night sky, the open market square giving her a wide breadth of view to work with. The Lovers were still visible, but they would be gone soon, leaving the moon to shine alone.
“Now what?” Ruby asked, voice downtrodden as she came to Weiss’ side.
Weiss looked around the square, searching for a building that didn’t seem infested by squalor. Unfortunately, her urban sense was extremely lacking, so she just looked for one that didn’t have a drunkard slumped against its walls. When she thought she’d found an appropriate establishment, she snatched Ruby’s hand into her own, ignoring the now-cold sweat between their palms.
She pulled the smith into the inn, hopeful that no rank stenches would greet her. Unfortunately, the Watcher didn’t see fit to spare her nostrils, and she nearly bailed straight back out of the building. The only thing that kept her from ditching the place was Ruby’s anchoring grip.
“This is… okay,” Ruby conceded, voice thick with deep-seated exasperation.
Weiss frowned, but gave the girl a begrudging nod. Their clammy hands separated once again as they made their way to the innkeeper. He regarded them with pursed lips and a raised eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.
“Two rooms, please,” Ruby asked.
“Just one, actually,” Weiss corrected. “I’m not staying.”
The man snorted, then gave the both of them an appraising look. “Coin,” he calmly demanded, open hand extending towards them.
Weiss moved to supply him, but Ruby stopped her with a nudge and a look, one which told the heiress to let her handle this. Curious, Weiss let the girl reach into her own cloak and pull a pouch free. She made a show of sighing forlorn into the open bag before slowly reaching in and pulling free a pitiful stack of gold. Ruby leaned forward with begging eyes as she dumped the money into his hand.
The man stared, unimpressed. Ruby deflated, then begrudgingly gave him another stack, slightly less meager than the last. Weiss felt bad watching the girl give her money away, but she had insisted.
“Third from the left,” the innkeeper stated, then turned back to whatever he’d been busying himself with before.
The two went up their second pair of stairs that night, following the innkeeper’s directions until they both stepped into the empty room. It was a far cry from Weiss’ own bedroom.
Ruby removed her shoes at the entrance and proceeded to fall face-first into the bed. Weiss stared for only a couple seconds, then forced herself to turn around. Ruby was safe. She had to go home.
“Why did you ‘have to’ find me?”
The words nailed Weiss’ feet to the floor. “Pardon?”
“You said you had to find me,” Ruby recalled, now sitting at the edge of the bed. “Why?”
Weiss slowly turned, nearly gasping when she laid eyes on the girl before her. Ruby had shed her cloak, revealing her dark hair and rolled up sleeves, under which lay forearms that looked like they could swing a hammer for days on end. Weiss gulped, mouth suddenly dry. “W-well, I, er… I wanted to find Rupert,” she answered lamely.
Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes. “I know that, Weiss, but why?”
For some reason, hearing her name pass the smith’s lips made Weiss’ heart pound. Perhaps it was the informality of it, or maybe it was just the way it sounded, but she wanted to hear it again. “Rupert is… or was an honorable fighter,” she stated, the words slithering out like a lie. “I just wanted to congratulate him.”
Ruby’s shoulders sagged, but she continued to stare at Weiss like the heiress was holding something back. “Is that it?”
No. That wasn’t it. Not even close. Unfortunately, Weiss didn’t actually know what ‘it’ would be. “Y-yes.”
Ruby looked at her with a frown, then averted her eyes. “Well, Rupert’s gone. So what now?”
Weiss blinked. “Rupert’s not gone.”
“I’m not Rupert!” Ruby shouted, making the heiress jump. Her voice went quiet again. “I’m just me, and I’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“What?” Gone? Weiss shook her head. “You can’t be serious. The tournament is almost over!”
Ruby threw her hands up. “What else am I supposed to do! I got into this to prove that I’m more than just a smith, that I can fight and that I can handle it, but I can’t! Every single fight I almost die, and I would have died to a bunch of hapless drunks if you hadn’t rescued me!”
Weiss watched the smith’s head fall into her hands.
“I just wanted to prove that I can handle it, but I’m not strong enough,” the smith mumbled into her palms. “Dad was right.”
Weiss found herself stepping forward, reaching towards the girl. “That’s not—”
Ruby slapped her hands away and shot to her feet. She stomped into Weiss’ space, finger firmly poking her chest. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t act like it now!”
Weiss winced and recoiled. “That’s not true!” She reached up and grabbed the girl’s hand. “I know… I know that you’re brave. And strong.”
Ruby tried to retreat, confused, but the heiress only followed her steps. “Huh? I’m—”
“You’re an incredible warrior, Ruby, you fight like a genius!” Weiss marveled, unable to stop the gush of words now that it had started. “I’ve never seen someone do what you do!”
The girl was so caught up in complementing Ruby that she didn’t realize she was about to back her up into the bed. “Wait, Weiss, you—”
“So much style, and you do it with a giant meat cleaver! Brilliant!”
Ruby blushed. Her words weren’t getting through to Weiss, but Weiss’ words were certainly getting through to her. Words like ‘brilliant’ and ‘genius’ usually stayed far from her orbit— she couldn’t even read.
“And that fight against Neptune, when you took the Vaux’s axe? You were right under me! I nearly swooned!”
What. “Swoo—”
“Yes, swoon!” Weiss suddenly separated from the smith, her pale face now a bright red. “I mean, er, I did.” Trying to save some face, she let out a hollow chuckle.
Ruby folded her arms. “For Rupert,” she added.
“For, uh… Rupert. Yes,” Weiss responded, insides twisting with guilt. Why did that feel like a lie? “But—”
“But Rupert is a girl,” Ruby finished for her, frown intensifying. “And girls cannot fancy one another.”
The words struck Weiss, not because of their content but from the way she said it. It was true. Girls cannot fancy one another, it was a simple fact of life. But why did she say it like she was mocking the idea? “R-right,” Weiss responded, unsure of what else to say.
Ruby let out a frustrated growl, hands balling up at her sides. She began pacing around the room with heavy, angry stomps. “And that’s perfectly fair! Yes! People can do whatever they want so long as they don’t fancy the people on their own side! Feel free to murder in a tourney, or even on the streets— oh yes, you’re fit for the flock! Perfect!”
Weiss held her hands close to her chest. Wherever this was coming from, she wasn’t sure where it would end up.
“But trying to protect your friend? Oh, you’re a fay-fucking black sheep now!” Weiss’ eyes widened as the girl exclaimed. “It’s not like I would’ve been welcome into the flock, anyways. I’m unnatural. Girls don’t naturally like girls, but everybody else can! Everything except for whatever I do is perfectly okay!”
Weiss stared at the fuming smith. She held an anger that Weiss knew all too well— rage and disgust at the world around her, all turned back on herself and buried deep, stuffed into a jar that would inevitably break. “Ruby, it’s okay.”
“Don’t tell me that!” Ruby whirled on her, silver eyes swimming with angry tears. “You don’t know what it’s like!”
“Yes I do,” Weiss automatically countered, unbidden. She floundered the moment the words passed her lips, but there was no way to put them back. She met Ruby’s eyes, realization cresting over her face. “Oh.”
Notes:
ha hahaha hahahaHAhaha
Chapter 27: Perfectly Normal
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby blinked. “You… huh?”
“I… uh,” Weiss fumbled for words, anything to overwrite what she had just said. Unfortunately, nothing came.
“You like girls?” Ruby probed, whole body shifting to face Weiss.
Weiss tried to say anything to fix her mistake, but the position she was in left her dumb. Talking about girls, fancying them, while in a bed with the girl she may or may not have such a fancy for? It was too much to talk past. Red bloomed across her face.
A beaming smile split Ruby’s face. “You do!”
“I— I do not!” Weiss denied, scrambling out of the bed and thumping hard on the floor. She pushed herself as far back as she could. Her back pressed against a wall. She realized their room was tiny.
Ruby loomed over the edge of the bed, neck stretched as far towards Weiss as possible. “So I’m not alone! Yes!” The smith pumped a fist into the air and dropped down. She rolled onto her back, peering upside-down at the heiress.
Weiss gulped. She wished she could think about anything but how cute this girl was. “Alone?”
Ruby nodded. “Yeah, I thought my sister and I were the only ones.”
“Your… sister?” Weiss intoned.
“Yeah, Yang. Blonde, usually wears armor because she’s a Huntress,” the smith described. “Have you seen her in the stands?”
Weiss thought back, then nodded. That was her sister?
“She kinda introduced me to the whole idea, but she kinda talks about it like it’s a normal thing,” she remarked. “I think all her time as a Huntress might’ve given her some strange ideas.”
“Is it really that strange?” Weiss asked, suddenly insecure.
“Oh yeah. Really weird. I mean, girls can’t even have kids together.”
The heiress’ blush had only just started to settle down, but the idea of having kids with Ruby surged to the forefront of her mind and made it redouble. “W-well, it might not be impossible, per se. Magic can do strange things.”
“Well, it’s still not right,” Ruby stated.
Weiss blinked, then raised an eyebrow. Not right? So was she wrong for this? Did this make her a bad person? She certainly didn’t think so. Odd, maybe, but not bad. “Well who made you the arbiter of right and wrong?” Weiss countered, her challenging words rising with indignance.
Ruby flipped back over and propped herself on her elbows, clearly taken aback by the heiress’ shift in tone. “Huh? Arbiter?”
“Since when do you make the rules?” Weiss restated.
Ruby’s brow creased into a heavy furrow. “I’m not saying I make the rules, it’s just nature.”
“Nature?” The heiress pushed herself back to her feet and puffed her chest. “Is nature perfectly right?”
“Uh, yes?”
Weiss pursed her lips. An idea sparked in her mind, like a long-forgotten candle suddenly awoken. “Do you know what a cuckoo is?”
The smith nodded slowly.
“Do you know how they breed?”
Ruby recoiled, struck by the odd question. “No?”
Weiss’ gaze sharpened as it locked onto the girl before her, who gathered herself into a sitting position. “Cuckoos do not lay their eggs in their own nests. They lay them in other birds’ nests, among the other eggs.”
Ruby cocked her head. “Why?”
“Because they are parasites by nature,” Weiss recalled, quoting an old book from when she had time to read. “Their eggs hatch faster than the other eggs, and their young grow more quickly. Since they came out first, the cuckoo babies have more time to grow, meaning they will be considerably larger than the others in their nest. They will constantly hound the mother for food, stealing it away from the other babies. They can even force the other hatchlings out of the nest, where they will surely die.”
“That’s not fair,” Ruby stated.
“No, it’s not, but it is their nature,” she explained. “So who are you to say that nature is always right?”
“W-well,” Ruby stammered as she tried to produce a counter-argument. She never was good at this kind of thing. “We aren’t animals. We have our own rules outside of nature.”
Weiss hummed. “Oh, so it isn’t about nature?”
“N-no,” Ruby flushed with embarrassment, hands wringing. “We, uh… there’s just a way things are meant to be, okay?”
The heiress pursed her lips. “So you were meant to like girls? And that makes you, what, evil?”
“I’m not evil!” Ruby raised her voice in defense. “I’m just not—”
“Natural?” Weiss interrupted, her arms folding over her chest as she repressed a smirk. She loved an argument, especially one she was winning, but holding her victory over Ruby felt wrong.
Ruby stammered as she tried to grasp for something, but no answer came. She sagged. “I… I don’t know. I just… it doesn’t seem right.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know!” The smith whined. “Do you think it’s normal?”
Weiss’ smug satisfaction suddenly sank. She’d made a compelling argument, but she’d made it without reflecting the ideas onto herself. “W-well, I, er…”
Ruby pointed at the heiress with a smug grin. “See? I told you!”
Weiss’ arms fell back to her sides as her shoulder sagged. Was she really abnormal? She didn’t want to be, but she couldn’t just stow away her burgeoning feelings. She fancied girls. Ruby fancied girls. Ruby’s sister fancied girls, but Weiss distinctly remembered scampering away from that woman’s room when they’d heard her… fancying a fellow named Blake. “Wait, you said your sister also…”
“Yeah,” Ruby said with a nod. “I guess she liked Blake more than I thought.”
“Blake?” Ruby hadn’t mentioned a Blake herself, but that was definitely the name her sister had been calling. And if she was calling his name, didn’t that disprove that they weren’t alone in liking girls?
“She’s my friend,” Ruby answered. “Yang must’ve gotten to her when they went out for drinks.”
Weiss blinked. She had never met a woman named Blake.
The heiress sat back on the bed and folded her hands under her chin. So they weren’t alone, and she wasn’t so abnormal. She thought the idea would bring her some comfort, but it didn’t. It just brought clarity. She was normal. Ruby was normal. Liking girls was normal. Liking Ruby was normal.
The room became silent, and the air grew uncomfortably thick with epiphany.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Ruby said as she scooted beside the pondering heiress.
“No,” Weiss said with grim clarity. “It’s perfectly normal.”
Ruby blinked, but didn’t say anything. She joined Weiss in thoughtful silence as their gazes burned into a spot on the wall. Side-by-side, they could feel each other’s warmth, and hadn’t even realized that they’d been inching closer until Weiss fully leaned into Ruby. Rather than push her away, she wrapped an arm around the heiress’ shoulders. The strained energy of the room slowly melted as the two grew comfortable.
“S-so, uh, Weiss,” Ruby whispered. “Don’t you—”
The heiress’ warm body suddenly shook, then relaxed as she exhaled.
Weiss was snoring.
Notes:
sorry this took so long lol, this one was really hard to do. mainly because i finished the second TC chapter and im writing a third, but i also had a first draft that wasted a ton of my time. next chapter should be way easier to hit a stride with. again, sorry for makin yall wait so long for a short chapter. the end of this is finding its way to me a lot quicker than i expected.
Chapter 28: Enter the Guards
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Yang awoke with a deep inhale to hold back her wall-shaking groan. Eyes still closed, she rolled over and wrapped an arm over her sister, pulling her close and snuggling into her hair. She drew a long breath, expecting the familiar comforting smell of the forge, of heat, and of work.
Something else met her nose. Spice and lavender, both smooth and sharp. Her eyes flew open. A thick bundle of shimmering purple met her.
Yang panicked and shot out of the bed, tumbling gracelessly and making a great thud on the inn's creaky floorboards. What the hell? Why was Blake in her and Ruby's bed? Why was she sharing a bed with Blake? And why did she feel so… limber? The last time she'd felt like this was when— crook and cane, she'd done it, hadn't she?
She'd seduced Blake. While drunk, apparently, considering how little she remembered of the last night. Yang couldn't stop the grin that crawled over her lips.
A groan from Blake made her jump, but the fay didn't seem interested in awakening. Yang cast her gaze around the room, searching for Ruby, but finding nothing. She was absent from the room.
Ah, shite. The tourney. Yang had forgotten the tourney— what kind of idiot was she, getting drunk and sleeping with her sister's friend, staying up so damn late when the tournament was so damn early! "Blake, get up," the Huntress commanded. "We overslept, the tourneys going to start soon."
Yang approached the fay to shake her awake, but stopped when she noticed how her upper body rose past the sheets. Blake's pale skin was decorated with straight black lines that plunged down from under her chin, falling all the way to her sternum before dispersing into tiny dots that wrapped around her waist.
Her arms drew her eye even more, though not out of admiration for the girl's ethereal beauty. Her lips pulled wide as her expression pinched with pain. Thick, violent scars wrapped densely around the fay's forearms, spacing slightly out as they curved their way up to her shoulders. What could cause such grievous injury, Yang couldn't guess, but the unique form and the way each mark had a distinct hole… chains? She bent down to inspect them more closely.
Blake groaned and rolled onto her side, her arm dramatically lifting to plant her palm directly into Yang's face. Her Aura may have shielded it, but the surprise made the Huntress yelp. "Hey!"
Blake's eyes pried open with the same confusion Yang had faced just minutes ago. Here was Blake stark naked and in the bed Yang and Ruby usually shared, Yang being the only one still present in the room. Worse, the blonde shared her state of undress. Shite. They must have—
Yang interrupted her thoughts by shouting in a panic, as if wildly flailing her arms would cover up the fact she'd been staring at Blake's bare form. "We have to go! The tournament's gonna start soon!"
Blake stared at the Huntress, then flopped back onto the bed. "Eh, go ahead. I'm just gonna stay… here…" Her voice trailed, slowly drifting into a snore.
Yang huffed and stomped, but Blake's snoozing remained undeterred.
"Fine," Yang relented with a low growl as she began plucking her clothes off the floor. "Guess I'll go on my own."
She threw her apparel back on herself with reckless abandon, hopping madly as she tried to put on pants and a shirt at the same time. With imprecise stomps and kicks, she managed to slip her feet back into her boots, then threw a cloak around her shoulders. It was dandelion in hue, but she figured Blake wouldn't mind— it suited her quite well, anyways.
Before she could exit, something caught her eye. A giant leather rectangle— her sister's cleaver, snugly sealed in its sheath. She quickly lifted her cloak and tried her best to position it in a way that subtly hung off her shoulder. How Ruby did it, she couldn't fathom, resulting in an obvious rectangle pushing her cloak out. After a few more unsuccessful attempts to reposition it, she sighed and left.
The creaky floorboards heralded her path out of the inn, each plank groaning as she descended the steps. She heard voices before she entered the bustle of the downstairs proper.
"You 'ear about the Schnee?"
Yang's steps froze, ears perking as she eavesdropped.
"Which one?"
"The one they're 'olding the bloody tourney for, ya git!"
Weiss? The one Ruby had a crush on? Yang smiled, excited for the teasing she would soon unleash onto her blood relative.
"Fuck off, I don't… whatever. What about her?"
"I 'eard she got caught past 'er curfew."
"Who the fuck cares?"
"Ohohoh, mate, way past 'er fuckin' curfew. Leavin' an inn a few buildings down, this fuckin' morning. Got caught by the guard, apparently they'd been lookin' for 'er."
"Okay? When does this get interesting?"
Yang leaned closer, her interest piqued. What was this guy getting at?
"Mate! She fuckin' roomed with Rupert the fuckin' Red! Innkeeper fuckin' spilled!"
The whole inn went quiet, as if everybody in the building had an ear turned to this particular conversation. Yang's smile immediately vanished.
“Lord Schnee’s gonna ‘ave the dumb bastard, posted up extra guard just for it.”
"Shit, mate.”
Yang concurred. Shit indeed. She whirled on a heel and sprinted back up to her room.
“Blake!” She yelled into the space. “Get up! Get up, we have to get Ruby. It’s bad, she did something with Weiss. They’re going to fucking arrest her!”
Blake pushed herself up on her elbows. She stared at Yang with bleary, crusty eyes. “Whuh?”
Yang huffed and grabbed the girl by the shoulders. “I don’t have time to explain, come on!”
“Fine, fine!” Blake slurred as she slapped the Huntress away. “I’m naked, lemme get something on…”
Yang tapped her foot impatiently as the fay scoured their room for clothes, hands clenching as she tried her best to not angrily rush the woman she’d just slept with. “Blake…”
The girl in question tugged on a pair of pants of indeterminate ownership, then threw a shirt over her shoulders. She was too tired to care for the fact that it was obviously backwards. When she looked more than half done, she began searching the room with a lost look on her face. “Where’s my…”
“Fucking hurry!” Yang seethed. “Ruby is—”
“Hey! You took my cloak, you bint!”
Yang threw her hands in the air. “Who cares! Let’s go!”
Blake seemed to have scraped together some consciousness, at least enough to affix Yang with a razor-sharp glare.
“I
care. Unlike you all, I need to keep myself hidden, and you’re already asking for a lot— I’ve not even wrapped myself! So spare me a fucking moment and give me my damn cloak!”
Yang wasted a few moments feebly grasping for a response before grunting in defeat. She ripped the dandelion cloth from her shoulders and tossed it to Blake, who swiftly mantled herself with it. The fay took a few more moments to arm herself, then nodded to Yang.
Blake and Yang rushed across the market square, boots clomping loudly as they ran to the tourney field, which was blessedly close. It wasn't long before Yang could hear the announcer's unique voice ring out over the square.
"Another victory for William, hail to House Winchester!"
Wild cheering followed, accompanied by chants of 'Win-ches-ter! Win-ches-ter!'
Yang pushed her way into the crowd that spilled past the stands, her strong arms snaking out to push bystanders aside as Blake followed closely behind. Grunts and shouts followed after her, especially when her sister’s unwieldy weapon poked someone, but she dutifully ignored them. When they finally forced their way into the raised stands Yang found herself situated near Penny Polendina, who shot her a glare and a sneer. The Huntress didn't return it— she was too busy searching for Ruby.
"Now to the field, Rupert the Red!"
A deafening wave of boos and jeers crashed into Yang's skull. She desperately searched the stands, dread clawing at her chest as she finally caught sight of her sister. On the other side of the field.
Ruby looked lost as she waded through the sea of hateful bodies, hands covering her face as rotten fruits and vegetables were thrown her way. She had no armor, this time, it had been left in their room. Crook and cane, she was a bastard for doing that with Blake, or even just going out for drinks like that! It was clear Ruby hadn't wanted to go, and now she had to pay the price for Yang's mistakes!
The worst thing was the gnawing feeling in the pit of Yang's stomach. What she'd heard this morning— it worried her. Greatly. She looked around the stands. No Weiss. Jacques held a peaceful, satisfied expression as he watched her sister descend into the field's center. Oh no. It was—
Before Yang could rise, a firm gauntlet tightly gripped her shoulder.
"Don't," Penny insisted, face serious as she gazed down to the field. "You'll get gutted if you do, and I won't help you. I'm not the only Knight here."
Yang grit her teeth and tightened her fists. Penny was, unfortunately, correct. She could see almost a dozen other Knights in gleaming armor like hers, strewn across the stands with even spacing. She imagined she could take one Penny, maybe even two, but that many, plus however many guards were stationed nearby? She was good, but not that good.
She watched helplessly as Ruby took her position at the field's center. The announcer regarded her with an overdramatic sneer before raising his voice once more. He spread his arms wide as he turned boisterously to the crowd.
“Rupert the Red, welcome!” The announcer called before bowing out. The bodies packed tightly against the boundaries of the tourney suddenly separated behind him, splitting as a cadre of orange and blue-clad guards vaulted the fence and took positions around the field’s perimeter. They glared at Ruby as they formed up, then leveled their spears with her in unison.
Knights poured into the hole the guards had left in the crowd, including the ginger girl she’d met earlier, the one that wasn’t Penny and carried a large maul. They formed a much more claustrophobic circle around Ruby, swords drawn.
Ruby’s hands hovered over the weapons at her hips. The Knights had a barely-constrained hunger in their eyes.
"Rupert the Red," a different voice called from the crowd as another Knight crossed the boundary. She was tall and beautiful, with a high ponytail of bright red hair. She approached Ruby with cautious, controlled strides.
Ruby met her emerald gaze, thoroughly confused. The situation was seriously beginning to unnerve her, enough to keep her from blushing as this stunning Knight stared down at her.
"I am Knight Captain Pyrrha," she introduced herself with a curt bow. "Rupert, you're under arrest."
Notes:
got my cdl jajaja, sorry it took a while to post. had a whole lovecraftian body horror thing going down but it just didnt fit right. it was really nasty brah, way too grody for the vibe of this fic. maybe ill save it for TC lol
Chapter 29: Plucked
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Even over the clamoring crowd, Yang heard the Knight Captain's words. Ruby was under arrest. Her sister, who had done nothing but fight her ass off for nearly a week straight.
"W-what?" Ruby blinked, stammering as she tried to replicate a tone close to masculinity. "I didn't do anything, I swear."
Pyrrha pursed her lips, unfazed. "We know you've been cavorting with the young lady Weiss Schnee. Your guilt is not a matter of discussion. You are under arrest."
When Pyrrha reached forward, Ruby pulled back. Her hand flew to the hammer at her hip. "I haven't done anything," she insisted, trying very hard to sound masculine. "You can't arrest me."
Pyrrha gave her a pitying look. "I can."
Yang watched the two stare each other down. The moment Pyrrha moved, Ruby lunged for her. Yang tried to run in, but a pair of arms snaked around her waist, holding her back with great effort.
"Stay here!" Blake hissed. "They'll eat you alive, we can help Ruby later!"
Yang pulled again, then sagged. Blake was right. All she could do was watch her sister get beaten to a pulp.
Ruby thrust her hammer forward, but Pyrrha caught it in a gauntleted hand. "I cannot promise that I won't hurt you. Come quietly," she commanded, her voice never wavering from the monotone that she'd started with.
Ruby yanked and pulled on her weapon, but something about the captain's grip was unnaturally sure. Opting to drop the hammer and leap back, she drew her falchion and an iron dagger instead. She held the falchion low to the ground, point towards Pyrrha, while keeping her dagger high.
The Knight Captain reached behind her back and drew a simple rod of plain steel, a little less than her forearm's length. It had no handle, head, or pommel— it was just a solid metal cylinder. She regarded her fellow Knights with a warding glance as her stance lowered. Pyrrha affixed the smith with a hard, emotionless look.
Ruby scanned her up and down, but it was like staring at a dead stump, or a rock. She couldn't get anything from her body language, her expression, or even her weapon. She assumed it was more than a simple tube, but was it safe to assume? Ruby tensed.
Pyrrha inched forward with quick shuffles, her eyes never leaving Ruby's. As she approached, she mimicked the girl's stance, even going so far as to nudge the falchion's point with her rod. She was testing her, Ruby knew, but that didn't keep her frustration from building at the woman's emotionless, unimpressed face.
Pyrrha nudged the sword again. Ruby growled.
Just before Ruby lunged, Pyrrha preempted her, rod running along the falchion's side until it reached the crossguard. Faster than Ruby could counter, the rod rotated and rapped her knuckles, nearly forcing her hand open as her Aura shimmered. Ruby jabbed towards the captain's face with her dagger, but found the blade's tip stopped by Pyrrha's open, flat palm, as if the dagger had hit a wall. Ruby's eyes widened in surprise.
Suddenly, the smith was on her back with her legs high above her. Air fled her lungs as she thumped against the dirt.
"Altogether disappointing," Pyrrha absently remarked as her knees pinned Ruby's arms. "You should have surrendered."
Pyrrha wore no helmet, leaving her face completely exposed. Planning to exploit that weakness, Ruby drew mucus into her mouth with a loud snort.
Pyrrha scowled and slapped a palm over Ruby's mouth. "Do not."
"Ruby!" A voice screamed from the crowd, forcing the girl's gaze to the stands.
Pyrrha looked, too, giving her ample chance to reach out and snatch the huge, sheathed weapon before it could crash into her.
While Pyrrha moved to catch Ruby's cleaver, the smith took her one opportunity and violently squirmed. The Knight Captain was heavy, but Ruby barely managed to get enough room to rip her arm free. In one fluid movement, she grabbed and tossed a handful of dirt into Pyrrha's face.
"Dishonorable brat!" The captain sputtered and reeled as dirt stung her eyes.
As soon as the Knight gave her more room, Ruby collapsed into petals. Her plume coalesced again around her cleaver's sheath— still in Pyrrha's hands— as her body reformed. She clasped the huge square of leather with her entire body, leaving her posed like a cat clutched around a high branch.
Pyrrha's earlier aloofness sharpened into sharp focus, but her eyes found Ruby too late, as she'd already begun twisting with her whole body. She managed to wrench the blade out of Pyrrha's grip just in time, as she blinked away half a moment before Pyrrha's hand would've gripped her cloak.
Ruby dropped to the ground a few meters away, dumped by her flaring, depleted Aura. With careful, deliberate movements, she opened the clasps that bound her cleaver. The leather sheath collapsed around the blade, falling like an open book. It felt good in her hands, heavy and strong, like swinging an entire anvil. With a small grin, she hefted it over her shoulder. Perhaps she should name it.
A dull, almost-absent pain arose from Ruby's thigh. It wasn't enough to stop her, but she looked down to address it anyways. She'd probably pulled a muscle.
A stout bolt with a broad, triangular head impaled her left thigh from the back. She absently reached to touch it— she couldn't feel it, how could she be sure it was real?
Ruby screamed as her fingers brushed the bolt, jostling the projectile in her leg. The dull pain awakened into something violent and sharp. The cleaver clattered to the ground, dropped by her shaking hands.
"Ruby!" Yang screamed, only for both Penny and Blake to force her under the rising clamor. People stood from their seats to cheer the girl's arrest, and feverishly clapped as two other Knights yanked her up by her arms.
Ruby cried out as she was wrenched up. She watched Pyrrha stomp up to the crossbow-wielding Knight with a furious scowl. She spat a few hot words at the man before striking him across the face. When she turned back to Ruby, she seemed more apologetic than anything else.
"Escort her to the palace. Lord Schnee wanted to see her personally," Pyrrha commanded, getting a couple of 'yes, ser' responses from Ruby's captors.
Yang inhaled deeply to cry for her sister, to inspire her to fight back, but she was cut short by the gauntlet that cracked across Ruby's head, knocking her out.
Ruby sagged like a sackcloth doll in the Knights' grip, a trail of blood following her limp body as they dragged her out of the tourney center. Even while unconscious, people continued to throw rotten food at her. Some even reached for her cloak, ripping off strips as the Knights dragged her through the crowd.
Yang watched, sagging into Blake and Penny's arms as they forced Ruby's limp form into a cart. She just watched.
Notes:
sorry these are slower now, driving the truck at work means ive got less time to write lol. also going out of town this weekend, so idk if ill be able to update. the good news is that im 3 chapters deep in my main fic now, just waiting for them to get edited (theyre way longer than these). anyway, thanks or reading, ive really appreciated all of yall's comments
Chapter 30: Frozen in Place
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Yang paced in her room, heavy footsteps making the floor creak loudly. Blake sat on the bed with her chin in her hand.
"Why did she have to do that," Yang grumbled, mostly to herself. "She just had to sleep with Weiss. How, even? How the fuck did she even convince her to spend a night in some soggy tavern, anyways? Gods, she's so fucked…"
Blake lifted her chin to respond. "Maybe we could—"
"What the fuck could we do!" Yang shouted, whirling on the fay. "My fucking sister is in goddamn shackles, and held at Palace fucking Schnee, of all places. They're probably gonna execute her!"
Blake rolled her eyes. "Yang, they won't execute Ruby just for sharing a room with her."
"It's not about sharing a room!" Yang seethed, restarting her stressed pacing. "It's about some no-name commoner breaking into a royal tournament and humiliating the nobility! She chopped a Winchester's arm off, Blake! It's fucked! Even if, by some fucking miracle, she gets out of this— which she fucking won't, by the way— she'll be hunted for the rest of her days! Nobles are bloodthirsty, they will have their recompense."
Blake sighed and stood, hoping to say something that would give her friend some hope, but suddenly found herself wrapped in Yang's strong, tight embrace. The Huntress buried her face in Blake's shoulder.
"I should've just taken her home," Yang lamented, audibly holding back tears. "Oh fuck, dad… gods, it's all my fucking fault."
Blake froze at the contact— she may have slept with Yang, according to what little she could remember of that night, but she stood by what she said. Humans could not be her thing, even if this one had snuck under her skin for a single drunken night. She pushed Yang back at arm's length, meeting her puffy eyes. "It’ll be okay," Blake promised. "We'll figure something out. I swear— Ruby will be fine."
The relief Blake expected to crest her face never came. In fact, what did come was the exact opposite of what she'd expected— fury, betrayal, disgust. Yang's brows furrowed into enraged lines as a sneer pulled her lips. "Oh yeah? How the fuck would you know?"
Blake recoiled, gobsmacked by the waves of anger that rolled off this girl. "I-I, uh, I'm sure—"
"Shut up! Shut the hell up, Blake, if that's even your name. You've just been using her, and I've been dumb enough to let you— you don't care about her, you're just scared of losing your fucking money!" Yang stomped into Blake's space as she shouted, finger poking hard into the fay's chest. "Yeah, I've seen all your fucking bets. Now I get why you kept pushing her to fight. She's your fucking cash cow."
"Hey!" Blake shouted and pushed the Huntress back. "I didn't push her to do anything!"
"Horseshit!" Yang exclaimed. "I saw those cuts on her face, they were here before I came. You should've stopped her!"
Blake shook her head, genuinely baffled. "I'm not her fucking mom, Yang," she stated. "She wanted to do this, who the hell am I to stop her? We barely know each other!"
"So you're making huge bets on this girl you barely know?" Yang sarcastically questioned. "You're either stupid, or you're lying."
Blake leaned towards Yang and gestured to herself. "I'm not lying! She's an amazing fighter, I really believe she can win this!"
"Well, she's not winning anything now," Yang sighed and stepped away from Blake, who remained still. The Huntress dropped onto the foot of the bed and put her face in her hands. "Gods, I should've… fuck."
Blake stood for a long time, just watching Yang sink further into herself. She watched her shoulders begin to hitch and shake. She was crying.
She slowly joined Yang on the bed, and risked laying a hand on her back. When she didn't react, she began to rub slow, calming circles between her shoulders.
"Do you think she's gonna get a trial?" Yang asked weakly, muffled by her own hands.
Blake could tell by her voice that she knew the answer to the question, so she just wrapped an arm around Yang instead. "I wish I could help," Blake mumbled quietly. "But I need to leave."
Yang looked up from her tear-soaked palms. "Huh? Why?"
Blake flushed red and pulled her arm away, then scooted away from the temperamental Huntress. "I, uh… I wasn't lying when I said I believed in Ruby. I really did, which means…"
Yang cocked her head in confusion, but her eyes showed the moment of her realization. "Wait, you can't—"
Blake shook her head with a rueful chuckle. "I'm dead broke. I gotta skip town before they come after me. Breaking out wasn't fun the last time I did it."
Yang's head shot up to meet the fay's eyes, but they were firm. She wasn't lying. "You've broken out of jail?"
A prideful little smile crept over her lips. "Mayhaps. Fay are very hard to imprison."
Yang nearly dropped her face back into her hands, but stopped when a niggling thought bit into her brain, worming its way between the folds and refusing to be ignored. She gave it audience, and let it spread its stupid, terrible, infectious ideas across her grey matter. It was just a thought experiment, she wouldn’t really do it— she wouldn’t dare! Of course she wouldn’t. It would just get the ball rolling in her head, one bad idea to help conjure up some better ones. She wasn’t serious about it. Something else would surely come.
Yang silently festered in her own thoughts. Nothing came.
"Uh, Yang?" Blake nudged her. "Are you okay?"
Yang remained taciturn for a few more moments before her gaze turned back to the fay. A small smile— the kind someone wore when they were about to say something stupid— pulled at the corner of her lips. "I have an idea."
Weiss ripped the sheets off her bed with a roar. She was such an idiot! Falling asleep in that sketchy inn, what did she think was going to happen! She'd barely taken two steps outside before the guards spotted her.
They'd hauled her off like some common criminal, not a shred of respect for a lady! And poor Myrtenaster… Jacques himself had ripped it off her belt and dragged her to her room. He threw her in when they arrived, and made her watch as he focused his Aura into his hands, using his magic to flash-heat the beautiful rapier until it melted to slag. He'd left her locked in that room, staring at the smoking lump of sword.
The worst thing was that she didn't know what would happen next. Angry as he was, Jacques hadn't said a word to her. She hadn't even seen her mother.
A familiar voice warbled through her bedroom door, dropping a weight of dread in her gut. It was her hag of a handmaid, Hulda, here to doll her up before she's forced to kneel at Jacque's feet. It didn't take long before the guards opened the door, letting the turkey-necked creature intrude in Weiss' space once more. Her wretched gaze quickly found Weiss.
Hulda stared at her with those birdlike eyes, remaining perfectly still until the guard closed the door behind her.
Suddenly, Weiss found herself being closely inspected by that buzzard of a woman. Her wrinkled hands drifted over various spots of Weiss' body, checking every inch of her flesh. "That brute!" She seethed, gesturing to the ugly bruise on the heiress' arm. "How dare he!"
Weiss was taken aback, eyebrows shooting up at her handmaid. "He… what? He's your lord, Hulda."
The maid pulled back, her wrinkly face puckering as she gave the heiress a disappointed look. "I don't give a damn," she stated. "I'm your servant. I'm here to help you."
"But I hate you!" Weiss blurted.
"Feh!" Hulda threw a dismissive hand out. "If you didn't hate me, I wouldn't be doing my job!"
Weiss blinked. Hulda became a new woman in an instant; gone was the wrinkled hag who tormented Weiss' every waking moment, her image replaced by a much more generous paradigm. It was her job to make Weiss proper, to wait on her every need, even if she wore her animosity for the older woman on her sleeve. She wasn't the same as her old servant, Klein, but he was a different man, from a different time, under a different household regime. Nobody could replace him.
Weiss' expression softened with guilt. "I'm, uh… Hulda, I'm sor—"
The handmaid threw her palm in Weiss' face, interrupting her. "Don't go soft on me now, girl! You'll need that fire at dinner."
Weiss shut up and swallowed her apologies, then screwed her eyes tight. She focused on her anger, her hatred for her father, how his repeated abuses had accumulated like toxin in her soul. She looked to the useless lump on the floor, her once-gleaming rapier. That stoked her ire nicely.
"There we go," Hulda said, following the heiress' gaze. "Keep your wits sharp, they'll do better than that thing ever could, especially here."
Weiss suppressed the grimace that she wanted to throw. It was hard to hear, but Hulda was right. This wasn’t a problem Myrtenaster could solve. Brimming with restrained anger, she wanted nothing more than to move forward. "Aren't you here to dress me?" Weiss asked.
Hulda's head dipped low. "Of course, milady."
When Hulda's hands reached to undo Weiss' current outfit, she slapped them away. "Just get my dress," she commanded. "I can disrobe myself. Bring something old, preferably in brown or orange. Get a hennin as well, if you can find one."
Hulda nodded slowly, catching onto the heiress’ idea. "At once, milady."
With that the handmaid hurried from the room, and Weiss was left alone again. Perhaps Jacques had thought he broke her when he melted Myrtenaster to slag, but she had no intention of bending to him. She had a plan.
Notes:
maybe i shouldn't have said this one would come out sooner lol, i forgot i was going out of town. sorry. we are getting closer to the end, i believe, and i've got three chapters lined up for twilight concerto, just waiting to get edited. Also, still looking to commission cover art for KotWR and Darkening Horzons, along with a cover for Twilight Concerto and some other illustrations I plan to include. if you know anyone, my dms are open on fanfiction and my gmail is ashendussst1414
**(SPOILERS below for darkening horizons)**
for anyone who cares, we've been doing a lot of brainstorming for Ruby's new weapon. i wont tell what the current form is, but rest assured it's still a scythe. we eliminated a sniper/scythe/sword, a double-ended scythe, and a scythe/handaxe, so have fun speculating what the new one will be. in terms of names, we're thinking something like Rose Harvest/Harvest Rose, Petal Storm, Harvest Thorn, or something to do with iron/silver. we had a really good name at some point, but my dumb ass neglected to write it down lol. if you leave a hella good idea for a name in your review, it might just make it in ;)
Chapter 31: The Scorpion's Den
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby groaned as consciousness returned to her. Her head was pounding hard enough to make her eyes throb, but intense vertigo overtook even that pain. She bent forward and heaved, ejecting bile. It only made her feel a little better.
She rocked back into her chair— oh, she was in a chair. Tied to it, actually. Okay. Desperate for a distraction from her pain and nausea, she inspected her surroundings.
The room she was in was solid grey brick all around, adorned only with splotches of black mold and grime, save for the door. It was like a solid iron slab, with a small part at eye-level that looked slidable. Unfortunately, not something Ruby could hope to blink through. And even if she could, she suspected that wouldn't end well for her— she'd have to navigate out of a prison she'd never been inside of while being harried by guards. She opted instead to remain still and focus on her Aura, letting it build and ease her migraine.
She had no means of tracking the passing seconds, but it felt like hours before somebody arrived. She jumped when clacking and shunting noises arose from the metal slab. The door moaned loudly on its hinges, opening wide to reveal a cadre of guards, including Knight Captain Pyrrha, with none other than Jacques Schnee in their company. Ruby blinked. She'd never seen him so calm and collected before, the only times he drew her attention during the tourney were when he screamed his head off.
"Rupert the Red," Jacques drawled, his escort spreading out to encircle Ruby. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
The way he said that made Ruby doubt it was true, but she couldn't stop her polite instincts. "Nice to meet you—"
A gauntleted fist crashed into Ruby's cheek, making her still-weak Aura flare. "Do not speak to the lord unless asked!" Pyrrha commanded, then turned to the side to address one of her underlings. "Fetch the scorpion."
The guard barked a quick affirmative and exited the room, disappearing around the corner. Ruby felt fear gnaw at her stomach— she didn't know what a scorpion was, but it certainly didn't sound good.
Jacques chuckled, drawing her attention. "It's so nice to finally have one of you in my clutches. If my whore of a daughter were here, I might thank her for givi—"
"Don't call her that!" Ruby shouted, receiving another metal punch from Pyrrha. Without an Aura, she felt the impact unfettered. Her headache reawakened with a vengeance, and she felt the gauntlet leave cuts on her cheek.
"Silence!" Pyrrha commanded, fist raising again.
Jacques stepped in front of the captain and placed his hand on hers, lowering it. "Please, Ser Nikos, allow me a moment with him. You may wait outside."
Pyrrha physically recoiled, her entire face twisting in confusion. "H-him? Sincerest apologies, my lord, but that's not a man. That's a girl."
Jacques laughed uproariously, making Ruby flinch as the noise bounced off the walls. He doubled over with his laughter and threw a hand on Pyrrha's shoulder. "Ser Nikos, Ser Nikos!" He wiped a tear from his eye and heaved in a deep breath. "Save your jests, please! A girl! Ha! Are you telling me Dove Bronzewing and Neptune Vasilias— two renowned fighters— were defeated by a woman? Ha haaa!"
Pyrrha watched him break once more into wheezing peals, thoroughly unamused. "Yes, my lord."
Jacques flapped his hand dismissively at her, still battling the mirthful aftershocks. "Oho, hoho, ah, Lady Pyrrha—"
"Ser Nikos, my lord," Pyrrha corrected.
"You are a funny one, lass," Jacques continued over her, ignoring the correction. "But no, Rupert is surely a man. Isn't that right, boy?"
Jacques turned to Ruby. She clammed up, unsure if she should actually answer after receiving multiple punches.
"Speak, lad!" Jacques commanded, glaring at the girl.
"Y-yes!" Ruby answered.
Jacques' angry scowl turned into proud satisfaction. "See? Now, Lady Nikos, please give me a moment alone with him."
Pyrrha opened her mouth to correct him, but snapped it shut after a moment. Defeated, she motioned the other guards to exit before she followed, then cast a final narrowed glare at Ruby. The door shut loudly behind her, leaving the room oppressively quiet.
After a long moment, Jacques approached Ruby. The heaps of gold jewelry about his neck bounced and jingled as he approached, his overgown swishing to and fro with each step. When he reached her, his hand shot out and grabbed Ruby's face.
"How old are you, boy?" He asked, tilting her head around and squinting as he inspected her features. "By your size I'd guess fifteen, but your voice is much too high, and I don't feel a single hair on this face."
Ruby squirmed as he felt her cheeks, but her bindings were tight and his grip was strong. Much as she wanted to blink into petals and slip out of her bindings, she had seen Weiss use magic, and she was unarmed. Jacques may have been an older man, but she didn't know what tricks he had up his sleeve.
Jacques sighed in Ruby's face. His breath smelled disturbingly of meat. "So… someone's finally bedded my Weiss."
Ruby struggled to talk past the hand squishing her face. "I didn't—"
Jacques silenced her with a backhand, then went back to inspecting her features. He pulled her ears, pulled her eyelids wide open, and even forced her mouth open to inspect her teeth. "Not bad stock, really," he mused. "If you weren't a half-breed, I'd be tempted to let this go. Weiss has been nothing but a nuisance, shackling her to a bastard would actually be a good way of getting rid of her."
His hand finally left her face, but her gobsmacked jaw remained open. What kind of father…
"But alas, a half-breed you are, and like a half-breed you will be punished."
Ruby desperately wanted to ask what half-breed was supposed to mean, but Jacques' foot came up to the chair beneath her, knocking it over. Her back hit the floor, the wood-back seat digging into her back and making her yelp. Unable to correct herself, she was forced to stare at the ceiling.
Jacques towered over her, glaring down with a sick grin. He breathed deep and opened his mouth, but a series of metallic raps interrupted him. Jacques' grin melted into a look of frustration. He turned to the door. "Yes?"
A voice— not Pyrrha's— barely managed to pierce the thick metal barrier. Ruby couldn't quite understand what was said, but she vaguely made out 'scorpion' among the words. She craned her neck to get a peek.
The door groaned on its hinges, giving way to a supremely gangly figure. He entered on disturbingly lanky legs, with an arachnid gait that sent shivers down Ruby's spine. As he approached, she got a better look.
He wore dirty leather boots with high heels, and ragged breeches covered him from hip to mid-thigh. Beyond that, he was naked, save for the filthy apron over his front. What was surely once leather had become thickly crusted with brown grime and red spots— he looked like a butcher. His body was thin but tightly muscled, and his plain face only served to highlight the sadistic joy in his sallow, maddened irises.
He bent down to meet Ruby's eyes, which was particularly disturbing because he didn't shift himself to do it. Rather, he simply folded his entire upper body forward, until his chest was parallel with his legs. The contortion elicited a number of pops and odd sounds from the man, but they only seemed to increase his elation.
His eyes, which were disturbingly yellow, bored into Ruby's, nearly close enough for their eyes to touch. His heavy breath was rank. He smelled like blood.
He didn’t straighten himself when he began to speak, nor did he distance his face from Ruby’s. His words were delivered point-blank. “You are a blacksmith, yes?” He hissed— not with any negative affect, rather, hissing seemed to be the default mode of his voice.
Ruby gulped and nodded, moving her head as little as she could to keep her face from touching his. He was so close that she could hear his lips split from his teeth and pull apart into a wolfish smile.
“Wonderful,” he mused. “You will be familiar with this, then.”
There was a slight shuffle of movement, but the man’s face took up almost all of her peripheral. She couldn’t see what he was doing until a thin, pointed black rod rose between his face and hers. She was intimately familiar with its form. It was a nail.
Notes:
Chapter 31: Ruby Gets Nailed.
guess i'll have to change the rating
Chapter 32: Chains at the Dinner Table
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"This is an extremely stupid idea," Blake stated as she fastened her blade-laden belts around her hips.
Yang observed herself with a hand-mirror. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, muffled through the bandages that covered her face. "You're a genius."
Blake rolled her eyes, which was the only expression visible past her matching cover of cloth strips. That was probably for the best since it hid the violet blush over her cheeks. "Shut up and open your cloak."
Yang's dirty smile visibly pulled her bandages. "Oh, yeah? Already?"
"Shut up!" Blake hissed, turning away. "I was drunk. Humans aren't my thing."
Yang chuckled and opened her cloak wide, displaying the rudimentary leathers Blake had loaned her. Being Blake's size, they hugged her much too tight— a fact which Yang seemed to know all too well. "Well?" The Huntress urged. "Did you just wanna peek, or are you gonna do something?"
Bake tried her best to not stare at the woman she'd shared a night with— Yang might see the terror creeping into her eyes if she did.
The fay clenched her hands tight and crossed the room, then searched through her things until she extracted a wooden tube with brass caps on each end. It sported a brass inlay with unique, but familiar designs; straight lines and volute curls, interspersed with a multitude of dots that resembled Blake's tattoos. Yang pointed to it curiously. "Uh, what—"
Blake held up a fist to silence her, then slowly removed the cap from one end. She gingerly reached into the hollow cylinder, and pulled out a single metal circle. She kept pulling, and another circle followed, interlinked with the first, but this one was black and mottled— cast-iron. Yang's eyebrows rose as Blake kept pulling and pulling, revealing more links of what was clearly a chain. It was about half a handspan wide, but at least a couple meters long by the time Blake had fished it fully from its impossibly small container.
The object sagged in her hands. Yang took note that the fay tried her best to avoid the cast-iron links. "A chain?" The Huntress asked dumbly, unsure of what else there was to say.
Blake gave her a grim nod. "Yes. A chain. My chain."
Yang watched the fay approach cautiously, then proceed to wrap it around Yang's waist. "Woah, woah, hey!" Yang protested, threatening to push the girl back.
Blake's amber eyes snapped up to Yang's, making her mouth clap shut. Blake continued to encircle the Huntress' hips with the strange links of alternating iron. When she was finally finished, she spoke. "Don't take this the wrong way, Yang. It's for Ruby's sake, okay?"
"Huh?" Yang shook her head, genuinely dumbfounded. "How am I supposed to take it?"
"It's my chain, Yang," Blake explained, as if that was at all clarifying. "I'm bound."
Yang looked between her link-laden hips and her… bedmate, for lack of a better term. "Uh, yeah. Of course. Bound. I'll, uh, take good care. Of it— the chain. Yeah. I… appreciate it?"
Blake gave her an empty stare, then a defeated sigh. "Crook and cane, what kind of backwater bumpkins raised you two?"
"Hey!" Yang bit back. "My dad is not a bumpkin . He is a Huntsman!"
"Yeah, well your sister thinks the world has edges."
"It doesn't?" Yang exclaimed, making Blake recoil.
Blake's hand loudly slapped over her face. She groaned. "Guess I walked into that. Whatever, that doesn't matter!" She reached out and pinched a link of forged iron between her fingers, lifting it. With her other hand she lifted her sleeve, and held the link to her scars. The shape was remarkably similar. "Binders, Yang! Do you really know nothing of your own history?"
"I can't fucking read!" Yang declared. "How am I supposed to learn history!”
Blake dropped the link and turned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Whatever. I'll explain it on the way. Just… come on."
Weiss made a show of struggling to sit in her frumpy, outdated antique of a dress. Willow Schnee, the only other person at the unreasonably large dinner table, gave her a distasteful grimace.
"Weiss," she hissed, "what in the Shepard's name are you wearing?"
The heiress in question straightened up innocently, but responded with a steel tongue. "Mother, sober enough to speak tonight?"
"You ungrateful—" the great doors to the dining hall began to creak and groan, heralding an additional guest. Willow's mouth snapped shut.
Port stepped through first, ever the first to lend his voice, even when nobody was asking him to. He bowed before those at the table, then gestured theatrically behind himself. "My ladies Schnee, your guest: Lord William Winchester— heir to the great House Winchester, Commander of the Blooded Cataphracts, unfettered of soul, blessed by the Watcher, born under the Crown of Flame, master of the pollax, champion of the first Vale Tourney, and lord of six iron bastions in The Palest Rift."
Weiss couldn't stop the impressed quirk of her pale brow. Such grand lists were usually just packed with meaningless titles meant to inflate the egos to which they were attached, but six bastions in the fay? One was an expectation, three was a bragging right, but six? That was a spit in the face of the decadent shim, and in The Palest Rift as well. From what she remembered, mainly from word of mouth and some uncollated map pieces, that was quite near their old capital. Six bastions arrayed in claustrophobic proximity to such a significant location… were they enacting an embargo, or preparing for a siege? Would their peace even last a century?
Weiss was forced from her thoughts when William loudly pulled a chair from under the table, having batted away a servant just to do it himself. He sat straight across from Weiss, his eyes locked firmly on her— no, past her. Through her.
William Winchester was a man whose lot in life rested solely on the battlefield, this much she could see with only a passing glance. His face was thoroughly decorated with scars, old and new, twisting and pulling the flesh of his forehead, jaw, and lips. His outfit was cut with regality, but he seemed completely separate from it, like an animal squeezed into human clothes. He fidgeted and adjusted his stiff leather jerkin, which was bleached white and worn over a doublet of autumnal coloration— orange sleeves, slashed to display the bright yellow cloth beneath.
It would be a handsome ensemble on anyone else, but on William, it only highlighted her earlier image of him. Here was someone who had skewered and battered men to death, completely disregarding the tourney etiquette she had expected. She didn't know how he had won the tourney, but she could only hope it had been miraculously bloodless.
The tournament— Ruby! Oh gods, if William was here, that meant…
"So, Lord Winchester," Willow's cold voice cracked over Weiss' thoughts like a chill wind, "Forgive our absence from your last match, but how was it? I imagine it was another riveting victory?"
William shrugged. "A victory is a victory. I only regret that Ser Wukong did not last very long. He was a creative opponent, but clearly had no experience with men of my stamina. Perhaps he expected me to be a clumsy oaf. If he recovers, I hope he will find me once more— give me a proper taste of his skill."
Weiss watched his eyes glimmer slightly, as though the thought of combat was the only thing that livened him.
"A true shame about that Rupert fellow," he noted, then took a hefty gulp of the wine they'd been brought. "He seemed of particular skill."
Willow waved a dismissive hand, while the other brought a swill of wine to her lips. "You needn't worry about him."
The bundle of anxiety that had been sitting in Weiss' gut only expanded. She was extremely worried about Ruby, and the vagueness with which the two spoke only spurred her paranoia. Desperate to move away and execute her plan, she pushed her fear down and summoned her airiest, most doting voice. "William, did you—"
William didn't even turn to look, he remained solely focused on Weiss' mother. "I saw Knight Captain Pyrrha have him carried away. That was on your husband's command, I imagine. Tell me, what gave you the right to deprive me of my battle?"
The anxious knots within Weiss whirled and twisted uncontrollably, both tangling and untangling simultaneously. Ruby was alive, taken away by Ser Nikos. They must have entrapped her at the tournament— that was how William had won a round early. They'd pushed him out to wed her as soon as possible, before the rumors could spread to the nobility. But why would they take Ruby alive? If they suspected her of 'sullying royal purity', they could have just executed her on the spot. Such quick action would be much more effective than a drawn-out trial.
But if she was alive, where would Ser Nikos take her? Vale had its own dungeons, and if Nikos had personally escorted her away, the only place she could take such a prisoner would be… here. Under her feet, separated by several feet of dirt and stone.
Ruby was alive, and here. If Weiss weren't so painfully enamored with the girl, she might be tempted to kiss William for revealing this to her. All she had to do now was play along, find some opportunity to slip out. Crook and cane, she might even belay the waiting— if things didn't go well, she would create an opportunity.
For now, though, she would wait for William to finish lampooning her mother. It gave her more time to think.
"E-excuse me?" Willow spoke with genuine surprise. She was not used to being questioned. "We are the royal authority here, Ser Winchester. We have the right."
William leaned back in his chair, making the seat groan under his considerable weight. He crossed his arms before him, developing a bored expression. "You may have imperium, but Winchester will always hold local authority. What you have done was a slight to me and my family, make no mistake, Willow Schnee."
Willow did not shrink from the threat, but Weiss could see how shaken he had made her. She refused to lift her wine glass, probably because that would show her shaking hand. They were alone with a man who had just threatened them, one who had just bested some of the greatest warriors in the city of Vale.
"And where is your patriarch?" William questioned, looking around. "Am I not worthy of James— oh, apologies, Jacques Schnee's attention?"
"He is, er," Willow briefly floundered, the word escaping her. "Indisposed."
William loudly skewered his food, making Weiss jump. She had forgotten they were at dinner. "Indisposed," he growled, "I wonder what that could mean."
"Lord Schnee's business is his own," Willow stated.
The Winchester blinked, unimpressed. "Let me guess— he's giving a stern talk to the one he caught cavorting with these used goods?"
Weiss recoiled as he jerked a thumb towards her, the sudden barb stabbing deeper than it had any right to. She and Willow shared a look of intense shock.
"Lord Winchester," Willow hissed, "need I remind you, that is to be your—"
William sharply lifted a hand. "Little Weiss is to be nothing of mine. She was to be Cardin's, but even that whelp deserves better than this… broodmare."
Weiss audibly gasped, scandalized. "Broo—"
It was when Willow's sharp glare silenced her objections, that Weiss realized her plan had come completely undone. She was going to make a fool of herself, somebody so unpalatable that any suitor would run to the hills, but that depended entirely on her suitor actually having some interest. William was completely immune, apparently. She was left silently bearing the dismissive, disgusted energy from William in tandem with her mother's rage and betrayal.
Thankfully, the door suddenly burst open, thrown wide by a panicked guard. The thick, oppressive energy of the room drained out into the hall, replaced by the guards pervading fear.
"Intruders in the palace!" He shouted into the dining hall. "Follow me, I will get you to—"
Without so much as a second glance, Weiss bolted.
Notes:
sorry i took a million years on this one again, gf got covid so ive been taking care of her. shes finally well enough to edit.
sucks this is ending soon lol, i really like the world. maybe itll get a sequel after twilight concerto, but i was also thinking of a mecha AU...
in other news, i really hope yall like twilight concerto. its a blast to write, im loving this new, disheveled fuck that is TC!Ruby. poor girl. oh and there's gonna be an extremely important oc who gets their own pov parts that will be mostly detached from the main story, like a window into what the white fang is doing over the course of the story, kinda. haha. theyre a swan faunus :) oh and they wont be romantically attached to any of the main cast lmao, i know how much i hate when that kinda thing happens so im just easing your fears.
anyway, yeah, im waffling now. i love writing, y'all. thanks for all the love and comments, it really means a ton to me, more than i ever expected it to lol
Chapter 33: Ties that Bind
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"So, you're like his slave?" Yang asked, slightly breathy as she ran.
Blake made a noise, half-objecting the Huntress' assessment. "Not by law, but in effect."
"Huh?"
"Slavery is illegal!" Blake shouted as a gust of wind loudly blew over them. "But there are no laws specifying what 'the spoils of war' include, so we're more like trophies!"
"That's fucked up!" Yang yelled in return, unsure of what else she could say to that. "Wait, you said 'we', were there more of you?"
Blake waited for the wind to die down before answering. The relatively small space between Vale and the Palace Schnee was mostly plains and hills, so there was very little barrier from the rolling gusts. "Nine, actually," she answered once she was no longer fighting the wind.
"So why—"
"I was the only one he trusted to gate him to the Shimmer," Blake interrupted.
"Why?"
Blake scowled. "I was the only idiot that wouldn't gate him a mile under the ocean."
"Wouldn't that kill—"
"Yes," Blake stated, resolute.
"Do you have to interrupt me every time?"
Blake let the question hang for a moment. "Not every time."
Yang groaned, but continued running in silence. Palace Schnee drew near; close enough that a pair of horsemen were coming to parley. A pair of guards remained at the gate, watching their coworkers from a distance.
Watching them approach, Blake realized how fragile her plan actually was. She'd never seen the Palace Schnee, and the jail she'd broken out of was in the city. Her plan hadn't accounted for a parley. She began to panic.
"Quick, show your face," Yang insisted confidently, pulling her own bandages down.
"What? Why?" Blake questioned. The guards were encroaching— the plod of hooves was audible.
"Just do it!" Yang exclaimed. "I've got a plan."
Blake wanted to object, but the guards were too close to keep arguing. She pulled the bandages off her face.
The mounted men approached, wielding a thin spear in one hand and a long saber in the other. Wide bands of steel covered their abdomens, plating them down to the knees. Much longer skirts of chainmail stretched down past their ankles, covering every inch most likely to be exposed to a passing blade. From the waist up, though, they bore no such protection. Slashed shirts covered their chests, with puffed sleeves that were tucked into thick leather gloves. Everything bore the Schnee colors of white, blue, and navy. Even their hats, which were like wide floppy saucers, had the same bright pattern.
Their horses were only half-armored too, with great steel plates that hung down around their front halves, and a chainmail hood around the creature's head.
To Blake, they were a supremely odd sight. She imagined they were great riders, but their fully exposed upper bodies left them vulnerable to arrows and long spears. Perhaps that was the point of having them at the palace. They could act as scouts, patrol the grounds, and serve as respectable liaisons.
"'alt!" One demanded, leveling his spear with the pair. "What business do you 'ave in the palace?"
Blake kept her head down, hiding her face. Yang spoke for them both, confident. "By royal decree, I'm here on a Hunt."
Blake heard their armor clank and jingle as they reeled with surprise. "You're what?" One shouted, incredulous.
"Prove it!" The other loudly demanded.
Blake tilted her head, just enough to peek at Yang. She watched the Huntress push her cloak away and pull her sleeve up to her shoulder, revealing an unreasonably toned arm. Blake battled a blush. Humans could not be her thing.
Yang pressed two fingers to her palm, and the air began to vibrate over her bare forearm. Lines of light briefly rose over her skin, then dulled and settled into dark letters. An entire script, so tiny Blake couldn't read it, sat on her skin like a magical tattoo.
One of the horsemen gasped, but the other maintained his composure. "There are no Grimm here," he declared, "we do not need a 'Untress."
Yang scoffed. "I have the right to exercise imperium in pursuit of my quarry. You have no right to stop me."
Blake hazarded a quick peek at the men, and felt a great wave of satisfaction at the way they grumbled and groaned. She didn't know Yang's vocabulary included words like 'imperium', nor did she really grasp the concept, but she chalked it all up to human oddity.
"And your partner?" The first horseman questioned. "Unters work alone."
"Not all of us," Yang stated, crossing her arms. "But you are right. I am alone, this is my bound."
Blake's head snapped towards Yang, who had confidently pulled her cloak aside to show off the chain about her hips. A twinge of anger rose in her chest. How dare she— she wasn't even using the word right!
The horsemen shared a few quiet words between themselves, then sheathed their sabers in unison. "Follow us," one called over his shoulder, "you will speak with the lord."
Blake watched the Huntress visibly repress a smile, which broke free the moment the men turned back around. She shot her gleaming smile towards the fay, then a wink as she sidled up to her.
Blake turned on her with fire in her eyes, but Yang held her hands up and preempted whatever she had to say.
"Look, I'm sorry!" Yang innocently waved her hands. "I was thinking on the spot, okay? Besides, you haven't even told me why we've got this thing."
Blake punched her in the arm, but kept walking. This wasn’t the time to be fighting, so she just sighed. "You did what you had to. Just… never again, okay?"
Yang seemed surprised by the genuine tone Blake spoke with, but nodded nonetheless.
"I still don't see why I had to reveal myself." Blake lamented, eager to move to a different topic.
"Well, a person covered in bandages is pretty suspicious," the Huntress answered, before her smile turned into a devious grin. "But I just wanted to see your pretty face."
Blake made an odd noise in the back of her throat— something angry and flustered— then pulled her hood further over her face. She wouldn't let Yang see her blush.
They followed the horsemen in blessed silence, all the way to the gate, where they had Yang repeat the song and dance of showing off her magical tattoos. Blake couldn't keep herself from watching the second time. The other guards marveled at the show of magic, completely bewitched, before mumbling among themselves. Blake could hear their poorly-hushed words. Complaining about the brazen Huntress, making lewd comments, complaining more, then finally settling on a simple agreement: this was above their pay grade. They'd have to see the lord.
Their huddle broke, and two guards set off to begin the process of raising the barred portcullis.
One rejoined the horsemen who had escorted them there, but Blake didn't see where the fourth went. Raising the portcullis was slow work, so the men chatted among themselves. The plan worked much better than it had any right to— who could've guessed they'd just be let in the front door? Yang had guessed it, apparently, judging by the smirk with which she lorded over the fay. Blake looked up to give her a nasty glare.
That had been a grave mistake, as the rolling plains of Vale had seen that moment fit to blow a strong gust her way, strong enough to catch her hood like a mast. Her hair spilled into the wind, her face revealed.
A hand grabbed her cloak and yanked her aside, forcing her to come face-to-face with a particularly ugly guard— the one who had escaped her field of view.
"Oy!" He yelled, throwing spittle in her face. "You that fay cunt from the tourney!"
Blake acted on instinct. Her free hand dove beneath her cloak and slipped a trio of knives between her fingers. She barged her shoulder into the one who had grabbed her, forcing him to stumble back, then sent all three of the knives his way.
The first two broke his Aura, but the third sank shallowly into his padded gambeson. "Worthless shim!" He cried. "Kill that bitch!"
Yang turned towards the sound— she'd been regaling the bored guard and horsemen with a tale of her most recent hunt— and grimaced. When she turned back around, she faced three men with drawn swords.
The horsemen reared back with their spears— she was well within their range— but Yang moved before they could strike her. One hand flew beneath her cloak while the other shot out towards the riders.
There was a brief spark in her palm, deceptively heralding what was to come. The sparks coalesced in the center of her hand, tightening and wildly smashing together before ripping the air with a deafening blast and a blinding spurt of sparks and light.
The horses panicked and loudly whinnied in fear, rearing up onto their hind legs and throwing one rider from his saddle. He fell straight back from the horse, and did not get up. While the other rider reined in his horse, the footman ran at Yang.
Meanwhile, Blake ducked underneath a wide slash from the man who'd recognized her. He tried to follow with a knee, but she pushed his leg back down with a pair of short knives, leaving them in the flesh before she scuttled back. The guard howled in pain and tried to chase after her, but stumbled and fell on his stuck leg. Blake acted quickly and kicked him to sleep, then turned back to Yang.
The Huntress didn't have the opportunity to take advantage of her foe's recklessness; the remaining rider had recovered faster than she'd expected. Yang was forced to jump away as his steel-barded steed nearly ran her into the dirt, the sudden scramble leaving her dizzy.
The footman charged her again, this time with renewed sensibilities. Yang drew her cup-hilted dagger in reverse, and reached for her buckler—
No buckler. Ruby had broken it. Damn.
Yang's lament was cut short by her opponent, who lunged at her with a probing thrust. Yang parried it with ease and shot her free palm out. The empty hand sparked and sizzled as magic flowed into it, begging to be released.
A horse nearly struck Yang, forcing her to leap back and roll away to narrowly avoid a stab from the rider's spear. She expected the rider to get more distance and charge again, but she did not expect that giant beast to turn so quickly and advance into her space. It cried and huffed, its steel armor clanking against itself with each stomp of its heavy hooves.
It was then that Yang realized she'd never fought a horseman before. Perhaps it was because she'd ridden many horses, or simply because she thought they were cute, but she had no grasp on how terrifying such a beast could be. It stared at her with those black eyes, huffing up a storm. Bigger than any horse she'd ever ridden, she could feel how heavy it was, how easily it could cave her chest in.
Struck with fear, she was too distracted to dodge the next stab from the rider's spear. It hit her dead in the chest, and she felt her Aura come within an inch of flaring away. The horse chuffed with satisfaction and suddenly charged, its master's saber raised to cleave the Huntress as he passed.
Yang found herself suddenly pushed to the ground as a pair of boots smashed down onto her shoulders, then pushed off. Forced to her hands and knees, Yang was thankfully spared from the long saber's slash. She craned her neck to see whatever had stomped her to the ground.
A dark mass flew through the air, the wind blowing its shimmering violet tresses. Blake had apparently found the moment apt to launch herself off of the Huntress' shoulders and wrap herself around the rider. Yang marveled at the fay as she locked her legs around the man's torso and harried his face with rapid blows from her knives.
With both hands occupied by long weapons, he was powerless to stop the girl as her slashes flared his Aura. A final strike from her pommel dug into his skull, and he fell limp in the saddle.
Yang stared. Blake was a fine lass, if a bit stubborn, but she could've been happy with their one night together. She certainly could've, if Blake had not done that. Yang, who seldom let herself become comfortable with a single bed, suddenly found such a lifestyle unappealing— compared to being with Blake, at least. One night just wasn’t enough.
Unfortunately her gawking left her open to the footman that she'd completely forgotten about, giving him a free shot. His shortsword split her feeble Aura, and managed to bypass the leather armor as it lodged into the meat of her shoulder. Yang spun with a hiss, pain clearing away her distractions.
Yang did not fear pain, nor injury— nobody hunted Grimm without one or both— so she did the first thing that came to mind. She grabbed his sword, holding it tight enough to cut her hand, then slammed her head into his face. The guard stumbled back, but her grip on his blade kept him from escaping the boot that sank into his gut and exhausted his Aura. He doubled over, dropping his sword in favor of holding his stomach and dry-heaving. Yang cracked him across the head for good measure.
A loud clang of metal drew her eye, and she found the high of combat suddenly draining out of her body. The sound was from the portcullis slamming closed. The palace, and by extension Ruby, were closed to them. There would be no rescue.
A hand landed on Yang's shoulder, and she whirled on the fay who had exposed their deception. Hot words were on her lips, but Blake didn't even seem intent on speaking to her. She just opened the Huntress' cloak like nothing had happened. "Two hundred paces? Roundabout, should be…" the fay mumbled, almost inaudibly.
"The hell are you doing?" Yang exclaimed as Blake began unwrapping the chain from her waist. "Can't you see? We can't get through!"
"You can't," Blake corrected, unbothered, "we can."
Yang watched her unclasp a section of her sleeve, exposing her scarred forearm. She scowled at the soulless metal, but wrapped the chain around her arm regardless, leaving some still tied about Yang's waist. "The hell does that—"
The world flushed to black, the deepest black, so deep that it swirled with reds and greens and shimmering violets. She fell into an endless pit, an abyss, a crack in the firmament, pulled by the iron links around her waist. Lilac eyes traced their trail, but the chain disappeared beyond the gloom of the infinite deep.
She fell for ages, along an axis with which she was distinctly unfamiliar, plummeting into a deepening pool of nothing. Just when she feared that this would be her eternal fate, though, the endless, undulating darkness burst like an abscess, birthing her once more into a world of crisp air and warm sunlight.
"—mean?" She huffed, on her hands and knees, eyes frantically searching her surroundings. Tall walls, guards with Schnee colors, a closed portcullis surrounded her.
She was in the palace grounds.
Notes:
sorry for the wait, hopefully the length makes up for that lol. im not getting as much time to write as i used to, and my writing flows arent lasting as long as before.
anyway, man do i love these horsemen. i really wanted to come up with something unique, and the image in my head is super dope-- these dual-wielding, half-hussar, half-landsknecht guys... so friggin sick! hopefully i can find an excuse to write them more, who knows. maybe if/when this gets a sequel. and to think i almost missed them, since this chapter was actually going to be a ruby chapter. It didn't fit as well as this and was a little too graphic for this story's tone. i know my other work makes it seem like i love torturing ruby, but i really dont. i promise. i mean, i *do*, but only because i find the intense emotional turmoil to be satisfying and the idea of provoking it in my readers gives me a sick sense of schadenfreude.
anyway, thanks for reading. i love seeing yalls comments, you give me a lot of insight. till next time.
Chapter 34: What's a Father, Anyway?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss smirked as she listened to her mother's clacking heels fail to chase her down the hall. Benefits of an egregiously ugly, out-of-date dress— it drew so much attention that it hid her boots. As such, she remained unfettered. Well, not completely.
Her old-fashioned skirt swung around like a damn church bell, and felt like it weighed about the same. It was rigid and nearly impossible to run in, something which she should have considered for her plan.
But Ruby was here, and nothing would stop her.
Guards frequently flew past her, towards the growing commotion elsewhere in the palace. She could hear the distant ringing of steel echoing down the halls.
"My lady, you need to—" a guard tried to stop her, but Weiss had no intention of listening. She lifted a hand and summoned a blast of blinding light to her palm, causing the guard to yelp and stumble back. She relieved him of his shortsword as she passed.
With a means finally in hand, she ducked into one of a thousand empty rooms in the palace and began hacking away at her dress. Ugly as it was, she still felt dirty for cleaving the garment. But Ruby needed her, damn it! The dress became tatters in minutes, and she was back to madly sprinting down the halls, clad only in her humble grey kirtle and her white smock.
Her boots loudly thumped across the hall as the heiress sprinted faster than ever before, sword held out to her side. Thankfully, after one of many turns in her route towards the dungeons, she began to move away from the commotion. Guards no longer passed, the sound of clashing steel faded, and the halls became populated only by the clomping of her boots.
These parts of the palace were generally avoided by her ilk, evident by the gradual transition from gaudy, decorated walls and floors to more utilitarian stone and wood, absent of paintings and tapestries. She knew the dungeon was close, she just had to go through the armory, perhaps even grab a more fitting weapon on—
The armory wooden door slammed open, and a figure stomped out. "I swear to the fucking Shepherd," Knight Captain Pyrrha grumbled. "I am going to murder that— Lady Schnee!"
Weiss jumped as the Knight bowed before her.
"My lady," Pyrrha fretted as she rose. "What're you doing here, there's an intruder!"
Weiss bit her lip. Why would she be going to the dungeons, think, think! She perked up as an idea struck. "I'm here so—"
"You're not here to see the prisoner, are you?" The Captain's eyebrow rose at Weiss. "I suppose I could understand, she did drag you into that… ugh, 'inn'."
"She did not—" Weiss immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, but the damage was already done. Nobody was supposed to know Rupert was a girl!
Pyrrha's eyebrows only briefly before she fully tipped back, a relieved groan ripping past her lips. "Gods, thank you! I knew she was a girl, nobody would listen!"
"Y-you knew?"
"Of course I did!" Pyrrha laughed. "I'm not blind!"
Weiss gulped.
"Well, I'm sure you'll correct whatever misunderstanding is going on here," the captain said with a chortle. "Just… wait, whose sword is that?"
Weiss looked down at the sword in her hand, then back up to the Knight Captain. "Mine?"
Pyrrha nodded. "Of course, I've heard your ladyship is quite the duelist."
Weiss opened her mouth, but Pyrrha suddenly recoiled.
"The intruders! Pardon me, my lady, I got carried away!" The Captain began to run in the other direction. "Stay safe, don't go without an escort, your father is with the scorpion!"
Even if the words were rushed, they made Weiss go cold. As soon as Pyrrha disappeared around the corner, Weiss burst into the armory and began rifling around for a better shortsword, or a rapier, or even a longsword, anything so long as it would stab better than the dulled thing she had now. Weapons clattered to the floor around her; old, chipped, bent, dull, useless all! She would not face the scorpion without a proper—
She turned to search for more weapons, and what she found quickly brought her thoughts to a grinding halt. A giant block of leather, clasped around a rectangular wedge of black metal. Beside it was a belt with two shortswords, an ax, and a dagger. The falchion, second dagger, and hammer laid in a pile atop a brownish cloak. Weiss scrambled over to the confiscated weapons— absolute proof that Ruby was here. She lifted the belt.
It was heavy, but not as heavy as it should be. Weiss slid the hammer, falchion, and iron dagger into their places. Better, but dust was the thing heavy! How was she going to free Ruby if she had to carry this and her cleaver?
Weiss answered her own question by simply donning the belt. It hung slightly loose about her kirtle, weighing heavily on her hips.
A loud grunt filled the room as Weiss hefted the stupidly large cleaver— gods it was like lifting an entire anvil! The hell was wrong with that girl! No wonder her arms were so…
Weiss, for no other reason than to complete the ensemble, threw Ruby's cloak around her. It smelled nice.
Cleaver around her shoulder, Weiss pushed open the door to the dungeons. It loudly creaked into the empty darkness. Light was scarce, but Weiss followed the few lit sconces deep into the underbelly of Palace Schnee.
The silence was pervasive, and the lights were so infrequent that they made the dark spaces seem infinite. One step after another, Weiss trekked through the dark halls.
She lost track of time as she walked, with most of her bearings being sucked away as she navigated the silent, dark dungeon. She only knew to follow the sconces. It was all she had, her only road to Ruby. She'd be here somewhere.
A piercing cry tore through the silence, followed by loud, babbling pleas. Weiss ran faster. She knew that voice. Her hand found a shortsword. Whatever she saw, whoever she saw, Weiss vowed to repay any pain done to Ruby.
She nearly ran past the giant iron door, only halting when another guttural scream pierced the dungeon. It was like a solid block of metal, but she could see it was unlocked. Whatever guards had been here were long gone, probably departing just before Pyrrha.
"Stop!" Cried the girl on the other end of the door. Weiss grabbed the handle, ready to yank it open.
"Ugh, do shut up," came another voice, one that made Weiss' heart jump into her throat. Her father. She'd been so blinded with saving Ruby, she'd forgotten who it was that brought her here. "This is getting tiresome, and she's not giving us anything new. Let's get this over with."
Pure, unbridled rage filled her veins. Weiss ripped the door open.
Ruby hung limp in a chair, blood dripping from her face and onto her lap as she bit down on her screams. A man, lanky and altogether hideous, crouched beside her form, mallet in hand. He marveled at the girl’s shoulder, where a black circle contrasted her pale skin and eked out a stream of blood.
"What in the hell do you want? Can't you see we're busy?" Asked Jacques. He didn't even turn towards her, he just kept staring at the limp, bleeding girl before him, idly jotting words in a small book.
Weiss stared at him, her whole body going numb as her hand moved on its own. With his back turned, Jacques could do nothing to stop the blade from piercing his back.
Notes:
some people deserve to get stabbed
Chapter 35: Guardian Angel
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby stared at her lap, watching the blood dribble past her lips and soak her breeches. She could barely feel her own throat vibrating— she was screaming, or groaning, making some kind of noise that she couldn’t distinguish past the pain. It was everything in that moment; blinding, deafening, screaming, burning, piercing pain. The first nail had given her all that, but had left her aware. The second nail, though…
She hadn’t felt it in her flesh, she’d felt it in her soul. It had driven itself into a part of her being, impaling everything that went beyond the skin, the muscle, and the bone— her Aura, her thoughts, her feelings, she felt it all ripped away when that iron spike violated her form. She wasn’t sure why she was here, anymore, what they’d put her in this chair for. Or how she got here. Or… anything. She just felt pain.
Somebody lifted her chin, some guy with big clothes and a white mustache. Should she know him? Something told her she should. He pivoted her head around and scowled. “This is getting tiresome, and she’s not giving us anything new,” he muttered, the words bouncing off her mind. His gaze turned somewhere past Ruby. “Let’s get this over with.”
There was movement beside her— oh, there was a person there. It was a man with dark hair and a scary smile, with a mallet in his hand. Why was he so happy? Was she supposed to be happy, too? The other one wasn’t smiling.
She felt her head fall back down, no longer supported by the fingers pinching her chin. Ruby stared at her lap, watching the blood dribble past her lips and soak her breeches.
There was a noise, then a voice. “What in the hell do you want? Can’t you see we’re busy?”
Another noise, louder, like that voice but not with words. Just a sound. More movement beside her, fast and with a shout. “Lord Schnee!”
More noises washed over Ruby. Something loud, metal hitting something. More voices. Something really cold filled the room, then disappeared. A clang, a shout. A slam of metal, heavy enough to shake the room. Something hit the floor.
A pair of hands lifted her face, showing her the prettiest lady Ruby had ever seen. She looked like one of the Shepherd’s own, an angel sent to finally collect her soul. Her voice was like a song. “Crook and cane, Ruby,” oh right, that was her name. “What did they do to you?”
Her throat vibrated, but she didn’t feel any words come out of her. For an angel, this lady looked really angry. Were angels supposed to have blood on their faces?
The angel moved her head around, then began looking around at the rest of her. She must’ve seen something really bad, because the anger on her face got way worse. Maybe it was the nails.
“That bastard,” she swore. Ruby didn’t know angels could swear. She was learning all kinds of things today. “I’m sorry, Ruby, gods… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.”
Apparently angels could be at fault for things, but Ruby had no clue what that’d be for. It was really hard to keep her eyes open. That wasn’t good. She didn’t want to stop looking at the angel.
“Stay awake, Ruby, stay awake!” She demanded. “Please, stay with me.”
Ruby felt her throat vibrate again. She’d try her best, but that probably wouldn’t be enough. Wait, weren’t angels supposed to take her away? Why would she want her to stay?
With her gaze held up, she could see movement behind the angel— a door opening, two people standing in the threshold. Ruby couldn’t see their faces, or really anything else. They just looked like a pair of cloaks. The angel jumped and turned, dropping Ruby’s head. Darn. She didn’t want to stop staring at the pretty lady.
Voices again, the first one loud. It pulled a thread in Ruby’s brain, but she couldn’t tell why. “Get away from her!” Wait, no! Don’t make the angel go away!
“Fuck me,” another voice, another emotion tugged for some reason. More movement, more hands grabbing her face. The new person had bandages over their face, but pulled them down to reveal another pretty angel-lady. She wasn’t as pretty as the first one, though. “Did they fucking nail you?”
The first voice lunged at Ruby’s favorite angel and seized her by the collar. “You piece of shit!” She yelled, fist raising high.
Ruby felt a surge inside of her, and her throat began to vibrate again. She strained with everything she had left, but it was barely enough. She only got a few words out. “Don’t… hurt… angel.”
Every head whipped towards her. The first thing dropped her angel and rushed to Ruby, pulling its bandages away to reveal a face and a mop of blonde hair that felt distinctly familiar. “Ruby! Gods, you’re okay!”
“She is not okay,” stated the other one, the one with amber eyes. “She’s dying, Yang, they… Gods, they nailed her.”
“Is that what those are?” She asked, looking at Ruby’s shoulders with rage and disgust. Her eyes were a vibrant red. “I thought that was—”
“It is,” interrupted the amber-eyed lady, who turned to the first angel with hatred in her eyes. “Apparently Imperial law isn’t cruel enough for some humans.”
Ruby’s angel rose to her feet and responded with anger in kind. “I didn’t do this! It was my father!”
“And you just watched,” spat one of the others— there was too much movement, too many voices for Ruby to distinguish anything. Everything began to blur and meld. Words, shapes, colors, melting and swirling together.
“No! I fucking stabbed him!”
“Oh yeah? I don’t see his body anywhere.”
“He… got away. He had help, I couldn’t…”
The voices grew distant. Everything, even the pain, began to sink away. Ruby felt nothing, like an empty hole was growing inside of her, pulling everything into its depths. Nothing followed it, no peace, no pain, no joy. Just emptiness.
“Fuck, she’s dying,” the voice was barely a buzz, even if it sounded like it was a shout. “Yang, make sure nobody gets in! I need to get these out.”
“Get them out? They’re fucking—”
“Just go!”
There was a pull on her arm, and a lot of pain came with it, but it just flowed into the growing abyss.
“Schnee, get the other one, now!”
“How do—”
“Just fucking yank on it! On the count of three,”
Another pull, more pain, not that she could grasp it. It just fell into the pit like everything else.
“One,”
So distant, that sound.
“Two,”
What was her name again?
“Three!”
Pain came first, a waterfall of it. So much all at once, rushing into that pit like a roaring river, enough to prove that its depths were not infinite.
Air. Shockingly cold, filling her lungs, flooding the pit.
A sound— her own. Her throat tore with a scream, so loud that it nearly filled the abyss.
Colors. The red falling from her face, soaking her black breeches. Pale skin. Amber, cerulean eyes. It all washed together, splashing into the hole, nigh to the top.
Memory, driving like a dagger into her brain. Her forge, burning bright and hot, her anvil ringing as she hammered at her work. Her cleaver wedging into Yang’s buckler, running from her home, stowing away in Jaune’s ship, stepping into that tourney, meeting Blake, fighting for her life, cowering in an alley, Weiss finding her, talking to her. Each piece fell like drops in a bucket, but it wasn’t quite enough.
She just needed one more thing.
A pair of bloody hands held her face, bringing it up. Weiss met her eyes. Her lips moved slowly, her guardian angel giving her the last piece she needed. “Ruby?”
Right, that’s what it was. Ruby.
How could she ever forget?
Notes:
fucking loved writing this chapter, i hit an insane flow and got the whole thing done in one sitting. and yeah, i guess scary abyssal pits in people's souls is now a motif of mine lol. poor ruby, amirite? shes really been through it. wonder why shes so affected by iron tho???? im sure ive been extremely subtle as to why that would be /s
anyway, probably wrapping up within the next chapter or two. maybe three, maybe four with an epilogue. who knows, not like i outline this one
thanks for reading! and hey, we made 10k hits! wild. i really didn't think people would like this one that much, especially with how short each chapter is, but it's a very pleasant surprise :) i really appreciate all of yall. ill try to respond to your comments, so please feel free to leave them! and again, thanks for the love :)))
Chapter 36: No Turning Back
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss, with a single tug mirrored by Blake, ripped the iron nail from Ruby’s shoulder. Blood immediately followed, spurting from the hole and splashing across Weiss’ face. Deep, bright crimson energy shot out of the wound with sparking tendrils, latching on to the edges of the wound as it surged back to life unfettered. Weiss watched it pulse, the red energy aggressively pulling the flesh back together. Smoke rose from the injury. A nauseatingly saccharine scent burned its way into the heiress’ nose.
That was when Ruby screamed. Her back arched with the shriek, forcing her to strain against her bindings. Weiss flinched from the harrowing noise. “Ruby!” She found herself saying. “It’s okay, you’re safe!”
She barely seemed conscious, but Ruby managed to look at her once she’d evacuated her lungs. Her face was a bruised mess of blood from the reopened wounds she’d acquired during the tourney, in addition to a split lip and the various cuts on her cheekbones and jaw. “W-Weiss?” She strained, her eyes unfocused.
Weiss couldn’t stop the smile that erupted across her face, nor could she keep herself from surging forward and wrapping her arms around Ruby’s neck. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed into the girl’s collar, “gods, I’m so sorry, it’s my fault—”
Ruby yelped in pain as she was hugged, but she dared not ask the girl to move. The prettiest lady in all of Vale had her arms around her.
“This is all very sweet,” drawled Blake beside her, “but we need to get you out of here.”
Ruby looked around the room, her eyes taking a while to finally focus again. “Where…”
“The Schnee dungeon,” Blake answered, “ her family’s dungeon.”
Ruby watched her extract a knife and use it to indicate the heiress around her neck. Ruby looked to her, then back to Blake with a look of shock and disgust. “S-she…” she rasped, then let out a hacking cough that sprayed blood on Weiss’ cloak. “Saved me.”
Blake rolled her eyes with a groan, then began sawing away at her friend’s bindings. When her arms were finally freed, the first thing she used them for was hugging Weiss. The heiress continued to cry into her collar. Ruby would have loved to stay there forever, but the uncomfortable multitude of things poking her from behind Weiss’ cloak made her pull it apart.
Her belt, adorned with all her weapons. “Weiss?” Her voice was hoarse and raw, barely more than a whisper. “Are you wearing my things?”
Weiss pulled back, but no further than an arm’s length from the smith. “W-well, of course I am!” She replied defensively, her face blooming red. “I wasn’t just going to leave it there!”
Ruby smiled fondly, drawing an exasperated groan from Blake. “And my weapon?”
“Gods, I wish I could’ve left it behind,” Weiss snarked through her sniffles, “I nearly broke my back lugging it here.”
Ruby tried to laugh a little, but every movement made her shoulders flare with fresh pain, along with a strained groan. “A-alright, help… someone help me up,” she requested, hiding her pain behind her teeth.
Blake and Weiss lifted under each of her arms, bringing the smith back to her feet.
"My belt?" Ruby stared expectantly at the heiress.
Weiss actually started taking it off before Blake stopped her. "No, Ruby, you're not getting your belt back," Blake pointedly responded with a side eye at the heiress. "You are delirious and just came back from the brink of death."
The noble girl groaned as they dragged her out of the awful room, with Ruby leaning fully on Blake as Weiss had to lug the smith's cleaver around. She never thought she'd be jealous of a fay, but following them, watching Ruby tucked close under Blake's arm, definitely stirred something within her.
They found Yang deeper in the hall, following her earlier order to hold off any newcomers, where she was locked in a stalemate with a trio of palace guards. Their winged ranseur spears kept her well on the back foot with careful, probing stabs that kept her from bouncing around their guard.
Thankfully, she wasn't alone. A flying knife rang the center guard's helm like a bell, dazing him, rendering him incapable of avoiding the telekinetically-launched hammer courtesy of Weiss. The blunt tool caved his helmet like paper, breaking a hole in their line.
Yang launched forward to exploit the gap, leaping between the two guards and forcing their long weapons to lock against each other awkwardly as they turned. She gripped a pole with her free hand, yanking its wielder in towards her steel-cupped fist. He yelped as his Aura crumpled, followed by teeth dribbling out of his mouth. For good measure, Yang threw him at his buddy, who crumpled like a particularly weak sack of potatoes.
"Come on!" The Huntress shouted, beckoning her friends. "We're fighting our way out!"
Weiss stayed behind Ruby, both to watch their backs and keep her brooding hidden. She didn't know these ruffian women, besides the fact that one was a fay and the other was Ruby's sister, and that they were… involved. What that entailed for a fay, she shuddered to picture, but a small part of her was comforted to be around the like-minded women. At least she'd know some people when they all landed in the lunatic asylum. "So, what's the plan?" The heiress shouted down the hall, panting.
She watched Yang look back at Blake, shrug, then cringe. "Uh, we're… fighting our way… out…"
Weiss groaned. "That's not a plan!"
"She's right," Ruby concurred, her voice straining with each step.
There was an uncomfortable silence, only occupied by shuffling feet and loud panting.
"I gate us out," Blake called after a while, her voice echoing off the dank stones. "But I'm not gating a Schnee."
"Hey!" Weiss shouted. "Why the hell not!"
"You don't deserve it," she spat, "you should just stay with your family, princess."
Weiss' voice cut through the air like a lance of ice. "What the hell did you just say to me, you shim harlot?"
Ruby's steps faltered as Blake suddenly stopped, and she felt her gut twist terribly. "Weiss!" She scolded, her ragged voice buckling under itself. "Be respectful! Blake saved my life!"
"But she's a—"
Ruby interrupted her with a sharp silver glare. "She's a friend, Weiss, my friend. And since we need you to escape, you're going to treat her with some respect!"
The heated words left Ruby panting and wincing back from the ensuing pain. Everybody, even Yang, had stopped to stare at her. Weiss gripped the shortsword tight. She'd really side with a shim over her— heiress to the Schnee name!
For whatever that was worth. Jacques had been in such a hurry to marry her off— an obvious ploy to deprive the Schnee name of heirs that weren't of his own blood, leaving it only with whatever spawn he'd put in her mother. She doubted he'd bat an eye at disowning her. Or worse.
"Wait," groaned Blake. "We don't need her to escape, Ruby, I can just gate us out of here."
“Mhm, mhm…” Ruby nodded pensively. "I don't know what that means."
Blake smacked her forehead. "Teleportation, Red. Anywhere I can picture."
"Wow," Ruby marveled, "completely unlimited?"
Blake winced and hissed. "W-well, not exactly. And, er… I've never really…" her words trailed off to complete silence.
Ruby nudged her fay friend. "Blake? You've never really what?"
"Gated more than one person," she admitted shamefully, her face blooming with a violet blush. "At the same time, at least, and it gets unstable in quick succession."
"Wha— I thought this was supposed to be simple!" Yang shouted from a few meters away.
"Well I thought we'd be able to get in without using it!" Blake bickered, relinquishing Ruby so she could physically articulate her snark upon Yang. The smith, still much too weak to hold herself up, began to fall.
She found her savior in Weiss, whose face went red with strain as she outstretched her hands and gripped her with a familiar invisible force. Slow, labored steps dragged the heiress to the floating girl, and Weiss just barely got close enough to scoop Ruby into her arms as the telekinesis faltered. She caught the girl with a strained noise— she was even more dense than she looked.
"Weiss," Ruby weakly cooed, "my hero."
Weiss gulped. Much as she wanted to hold her here forever, her legs were beginning to shake. She pushed up with all her feeble might. "Not… time… for jokes," she panted as she righted the smith, leaving her hand around her waist as support. "So, what kind of coal-brained scheme have you concocted, and what do I have to do with it?"
Ruby leaned into the heiress, definitely because she still needed the support. "I made it up about ten seconds ago," she stated, as if that would inspire confidence in Weiss. "We're going to take you hostage!"
Notes:
ahahaa yes this plan will definitely work. depending on the planning ability of a person who had both feet in the grave literal minutes ago will DEFINITELY not get you smoked by Pyrrha
ah man how am i gonna write myself outta this lol
ps might not be able to post TC chapter this weekend, its still unedited and im gonna be out of town. if its not out on the weekend it should come monday
Chapter 37: The Thing About Pyrrha
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Turn right," Weiss mumbled, the group turning at her command. "Remind me why I can't have anything? You're going to get yourselves killed if I'm just dead weight."
Ruby, who seemed to be slightly swaying on her feet as she followed close behind Weiss, reached forward to give her a reassuring pat on the back. "Because you're a hostage," she explained. "It'd be suspicious if we let you be armed."
Weiss rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes, that's the part that's suspicious. Not the fact that it was obviously me who broke you out, and that I nearly killed my father to do it."
Ruby hissed, realizing she had a solid point. "Do you think you could hide a dagger?"
Weiss bit her lip. "Maybe? Depends on if it'll fit in my boot."
Ruby's belt jingled and clanked as she extracted her steel dagger, comparing it to Weiss' footwear. "Sorry, I don't think—"
A loud sigh interrupted her as Blake dropped back from her spot at the front with Yang. "Here, princess," she drawled, passing the heiress a small blade— one of her throwing knives. "If you lose it, I will flay your body and turn your tanned hide into a new cloak."
Weiss slowly took the knife as the vivid image processed in her brain. "Wow… thanks," she sarcastically intoned, squinting at the puny weapon. "I'll be sure to use it if we're accosted by… I don't know, a small rodent? Perhaps a vicious gang of infants?"
Blake easily pinched the blade before Weiss could stow it. "I could take it back."
Weiss looked to Ruby for support, but the smith just gave her a mildly chastising look, one that told her 'just take the damn thing and say you're sorry.'
It made her feel like a peasant, being scolded by these commoners, but Weiss grit her teeth and managed to mutter a strained 'sorry'. For Ruby.
Blake leaned closer, pulling her bandages under her ear for dramatic effect. The long appendage sprung free, accompanied by a cupped hand from the fay. "Sorry, what was that? Huh? One more time, princess, I don't think I—"
"Blake," Ruby's voice cut across like a cleaver through the arm. "Just stop. She said she's sorry, so let's move on."
Blake recoiled, blinking hard before slowly returning to Yang's side. The two shared a couple hushed murmurs, but didn't waste any more time in leading the group once more.
Weiss looked back over her shoulder, shooting a grateful smile towards Ruby. She slowed down a little to fall instep beside the smith. "Thanks, Ruby, that fay is—"
Ruby held a hand up before she could say anything else, and it suddenly struck Weiss how tired the girl looked. Dark bags around her eyes, sickly pale skin, swaying with each step; her Aura had clearly taken a lot of energy in its initial burst of healing, and her blood loss hadn't yet been compensated. "Please, Weiss," she muttered, "I really like you, but I need you to be good to my friends. Not just for this, but for my sake, okay?"
Weiss watched the smith half-trip over her own feet before smoothly catching herself and playing it off as adjusting her cleaver's strap. Shit, was she a bad person? "O-okay, I'll, er… try to do better."
Ruby nodded, a relieved puff passing between her lips. "Thank you."
Weiss nodded numbly, then returned to her spot in the group's middle. "L-left here," she directed, her voice cracking as her exposed vulnerability still seeped into her words.
Blake looked over her shoulder, but didn't say anything. She just nodded, faced forward, and turned left with Yang.
Their advance remained uncontested as they cautiously crept through the halls of Palace Schnee, occasionally having to step over the unconscious bodies that Yang and Blake had left behind from their initial entry. Ruby passed dozens of downed guards, each one armed and armored with quality equipment, and felt proud of her sister. Her and Blake must have been a brutally efficient, but extremely calculated duo, judging by the distinct lack of blood under the incapacitated. There were plenty of broken limbs, cuts and burns, along with general bodily damage, but Yang had managed not to turn these men into corpses. Her self-control was truly impressive.
"I don't like this," Blake thought aloud. "Getting in here was like pushing through an army, but now it's just… empty."
"I'm feeling it too," Yang concurred.
Ruby wasn't really feeling much of anything, she was too focused on not collapsing. Still, she kept a palm resting on her falchion— she expected a professional Huntress like Yang to have superior instincts.
"They're surrounding the castle, there are only a couple exits." Weiss stated, her voice grim as her hands began to shake. "They're not going to let us leave."
Yang scoffed and raised a fist. "As if they could stop us!"
"They really were a sorry bunch," Blake added, "I imagine the four of us can push out."
"Are you insane?" Weiss suddenly shouted, stopping the group with her loud stomp. "They'll be facing us with the entire regrouped guard, plus Pyrrha bloody Nikos!"
Yang raised a dismissive brow. "She can't be that strong, there are four of us."
When Weiss caught Ruby's frown, she realized they were thinking the same thing. "She could beat every single one of us within an inch of our lives," Weiss exclaimed, "with one hand, blindfolded! Do you even know what she is?"
"Human," Yang immediately answered, "which means she—"
Weiss let out a loud whoop of laughter and melodramatically doubled over. "Is that really what you think?" She let out another cackle and wiped away a fake tear. "I suppose an oaf like you—"
"Weiss," cold, sharp, and right next to her ear— Ruby, whose dark-ringed eyes highlighted the threat within her boiling silver irises. "That is my sister."
Weiss scrambled away from the suddenly-terrifying smith, who did not move to pursue her. "S-sorry, Ruby—"
A sharply pointed finger from Ruby directed Weiss' vision to the Huntress towering behind her. Yang looked down at her with a smirk
Weiss shrank back, caught between Ruby and Yang, and muttered another ashamed apology. When a hand landed on her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Okay, we get it," Blake drawled, "Now let's stop spooking the princess and get back to what matters. Weiss, what do you mean about Pyrrha?"
Weiss stared up at the fay with wide eyes, backing away. Had… had Blake just defended her against her own friends? Weiss shook her head, but didn't find herself clearing away the impossible scene before her. It took a long moment before she could eke out, "Right, er… Pyrrha isn't human."
Ruby immediately recoiled from thr information. "Eh?"
"She's a fay, then?" Yang asked in return, her eyebrows peaking.
"That doesn't make sense," Blake stated, "she looks perfectly human."
Weiss shook her head, her earlier shock fading. "She's extraplanar," she claimed, "sort of."
The word shocked precisely one person in their group— Blake, the only one who knew it. "So… she is from the Shimmer?” The fay asked.
Weiss chuckled, her head slowly shaking. "No."
Blake's eyebrows furrowed deeply. "She's a daemon?"
"Worse," the heiress explained, "Pyrrha Nikos is from the Ængvaldr Chasm."
Blake recoiled, her back straightening as her eyes widened in shock. "She's fucking what."
Ruby and Yang stared as the two threw around meaningless mouth-noises. "Uh, what?" Ruby piped up.
Weiss, smugly content with blowing the fay's mind, casually explained, "There's a space between all planes, so large and empty that normal magic users can't cross it without an immense well of energy and an enormous amount of risk. Fay have it easy since their gates fold the space between them, allowing them to freely travel, but anybody else has to form a magical bridge so long that it takes years to cross. If the bridge's energy source flickers for even a moment, every single person on it will be cast into the Chasm's infinite depths, doomed to fall until they starve."
Yang raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Okay? So what's Pyrrha got to do with it?"
"Who's Angvald?" Ruby asked in tandem, her voice overlapping Yang's.
"Ængvaldr," Weiss corrected, her pronunciation barely different, "was the first man to cross the Chasm into the fay realm."
Ruby blinked. "Wait, wait, I thought we went to war against the fay."
"We did," clarified the heiress, "Ængvaldr is the one who showed them our realm, thus allowing them to gate to it on their own."
"That's insane, why did—"
"They threw him into the chasm afterwards," Weiss stated. "Legends say he's still falling, sustained purely by his rage at the fay's betrayal."
"Oh, please," Blake scoffed, "Ængvaldr stole from them!"
"That's a lie, pure sh— fay propaganda." Weiss argued, "But even if it were true, your punishment for petty thievery is death without trial?"
Blake laughed deeply and stomped back towards the heiress, extending a finger to poke into her chest. "Ohoho, that is fucking rich considering Ruby—"
"Okay, okay, guys!" Ruby placed herself between them, her arms extended. "We're getting off track. What's Pyrrha got to do with this?"
"Ruby, she's from the Chasm," Weiss elaborated. "Can't you see the problem there?"
"No?" Answered Ruby.
Yang was beginning to flush red from frustration, her foot rapidly tapping on the stone floor. "I still don't get how she's not human," the Huntress said.
"Looks can be deceiving," Blake refuted.
Weiss nodded— agreeing with the fay again— and sent a cautious glance down the hallway. "Our scouts found her naked and trembling, hanging halfway out of a planar tear, apparently just a few hundred feet from the Palace. Sure, she looks human, but identification magic has only stated the opposite— she's everything but human."
Ruby and Yang stared blankly, the latter speaking for both of them. "Then… how does she look human?"
Weiss chuckled and shrugged. "Ask the Watcher."
So nobody knows. Ruby shivered at the thought. "And that means she can beat us?" The smith asked, her hand tightening around her falchion's pommel.
"Handily," Weiss confirmed. "Whatever the Chasm did to her, it made her into a bloody force of nature. Father was lucky to bind her into fealty before somebody else could.” After a tense silence, she quietly added, “Gods, somebody like her could probably tear the empire in two.”
"Crook and cane…" Ruby whispered.
"Shitting hells," agreed Blake.
"Fuck," Yang concurred.
They stood in uncomfortable silence for a long while, only occupied by the sounds of their breathing and the passive clanking of Ruby's various equipment. Even when she was nearly motionless, her things had a nasty habit of hitting each other.
"Well…" Ruby broke the silence, her voice quiet and hopeful. "Is there another way out? Some sort of… secret tunnels? Catacombs?"
Weiss frowned. "Probably, but my father has chosen to keep that knowledge to himself."
Ruby huffed. "I really hate that guy."
Weiss hummed in agreement, her fingers tapping her chin as she imagined every way out of the castle.
"Well…" Yang started, her voice unsure. "Blake can still gate us."
When Ruby's bright, hopeful eyes turned to the fay, she felt her heart tug with guilt. "Err… not from here, no. And like I said, it can get very unstable after the first. Especially with all four of us."
"We can take our chances," Ruby suggested.
Blake shook her head. "Sorry Red, but unless you want to find yourself suddenly buried twenty feet underground, I really wouldn't recommend it."
Ruby's gaze fell to her shoes, downtrodden.
Weiss frowned at the sight. Even if the smith insisted she treat the fay like a person, she still found herself deeply caring for the dolt. Seeing her wilt put a damper on her… thoughts…
Wilt.
Weiss’ chin rose high, a glint in her cerulean eyes. "I know a way out."
Notes:
kept you waiting, huh?
sorry this took so long lol, was visiting family in tx and didnt have access to computer ;-; yo how about pyrrha tho? how tf did she do that?? crazy huh? oh gosh golly this things gonna end soon, the only way ill be able to expand more on it would be if i wrote a sequel.... ahahaha jk jk,,, unless?? fr tho i dont wanna stop writing this and there's a ton of stuff to still expand upon so expect a sequel. sorry mecha fans, that one's gonna have to wait
anyway, thanks for reading :)
Chapter 38: Mother Knows Best
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Yang peeked around the last corner— empty, as expected. With a quick gesture, she motioned the group into the short hall.
Down the stretch of empty corridor was a large double-door, almost as huge as the doors at the front. "I thought we were going to the gardens," Ruby remarked, "why's there a big door?"
Weiss stepped forward, wrapping a hand around one of the ringed handles. "The wall here is shorter, but the door would keep it isolated if we were besieged."
Ruby opened her mouth to ask another question, but the words were stuffed back in her throat as pure magnificence greeted her, courtesy of Weiss opening the door.
Flowers of every shade and hue assaulted her vision, starkly contrasting the vibrant green backdrop of dense plant life. Every surface teemed with flora, save for the outer wall, which aptly fit Weiss' description.
The stones still reached taller than a man's height, but it was only topped by a slightly shorter stretch of wrought-iron fencing. It was considerably shorter than the rest of the palace walls, almost certainly to allow light into the garden.
"We still can't get over this," Blake stated, crossing her arms as she frowned at Weiss. "Did you just bring us here to waste time? Or is this some kind of trap?"
Weiss whipped around to the fay, nearly blurting a barrage of defensive insults before she caught the chastising look from Ruby. With extreme effort, she recomposed herself and addressed Blake with venomous cordiality. "No, Blake, I did not bring you here as a trap. I brought you here because I can get us out of here."
"And how do you know that?" Replied Blake, unmoved.
"This is how I escaped," Weiss nonchalantly answered. "It was quite simple."
Blake rolled her wrist, imploring the heiress to explain.
"Watch," Weiss requested as she kneeled in front of the wall, then slipped her fingers into the dirt. "I can use the plant—"
"Weiss?"
Everybody turned at once, weapons drawing. If Weiss hadn't needed to catch Ruby as the spin made her collapse, it would've been impressive.
Hiding her strain as she helped the smith right herself, Weiss muttered, "Mother."
Even if she hadn't said it outright, it was obvious— this woman, especially when viewed more closely than tourney stands allowed, was the spitting image of her daughter. Save, of course, for the more advanced age and extremely pregnant belly.
"I knew you'd come here," the woman slurred, taking a swig from the dark bottle in her grasp. She cast a slow look back around the garden. Fondness slowly crested her face. "Do you remember our gardens?"
Weiss sighed. Running into her mother was not what she'd planned, but at least she wasn't trying to kill her. "Of course I do," she answered.
The Schnee matriarch didn't seem to register her daughter's answer, and just kept talking. "Frolicking, reading, your little play-fights with Winter… snowmen…" her drunken voice drifted off, "little snowflake…"
"Mother," Weiss felt her heart tug her towards Willow, the memories too touching to ignore, but Ruby's hand kept her still. When she turned to the smith, she was greeted by an empathetic shake of her head.
"Who are your little peasant friends?" Willow asked. When she actually looked at her group, her eyes snapped to Ruby, and she began stomping up to the girl. "You— Rupert!"
Ruby rapidly sheathed her weapon and defensively raised her hands, but Willow didn't immediately attack her. Instead, she merely stood a couple feet from the smith, a dopey smile rising over her lips.
"So you're my Weiss' little toy," she drawled, her hand reaching out to cup Ruby's face. She moved her around, her features scrunching up as she grew pensive. After another moment of observation, her hand suddenly flew down and pulled Ruby's cloak open. "You are! Ha! Hahaha haha! Gods— and Jacques really— ha ha haaaa!"
Ruby watched the woman lose herself to laughter. She doubled over as she backed away, spilling drops of deep wine as the bottle wildly swung.
"You know, Weiss, I don't really see why your father is so worked up about this, you're just having a little fun," she took a gulp that made even Yang shiver, "Watcher knows I've done the same."
Ruby looked to the heiress. She was, as one could expect, mortified. What few ounces of color residing within her skin had long since fled, leaving her paler than a sun-bleached bone.
"Whaaat?" Slurred Willow. "Please, I know you've seen me… sneak off with Leliandre."
Weiss' mortification somehow doubled. "Leliandre? The cook?"
Willow giggled. "Lily, Lily…"
"Mother, stop!"
"Why?" Willow asked.
"I am not…" Weiss fumed, her face going beet red before she stomped up to her mother. She gripped her bottle-hand at the wrist, seething as she spoke. "I am not sneaking out for a bloody tryst, mother. I am leaving. With Ruby. She's…"
"Leaving?" Willow's eyes went wide, then sharpened as she suddenly slapped her daughter. "Leaving me? You're leaving me with him? With this… thing he put in me? You'd leave your own mother, just for the first girl that made you—"
Ruby stepped forward to defend Weiss, but the heiress spoke for herself. "We did not sleep together!" She shouted, making her mother jump. “Gods, you… Mother, I am leaving because you and him have conspired to have me carted off with some brute like that Winchester— I’d be leaving either way! At least this way is on my terms.”
“On your own…” Willow slurred, her eyes beginning to swim with tears. “You’ll be all alone, Weiss. Stay here with me, please.”
Weiss stared at her mother, heart torn. Even as every logical part of her mind screamed that Willow was manipulating her, evident from the sting that still lingered on her cheek, it was her mother. She’d brought Weiss into the world, and she’d been so good for so long. Even now, in those swimming irises so much like her own, she could see a glimmer of what once had been.
“She’s not alone,” Ruby broke the veneer of Weiss’ thoughts, laying a warm hand on the heiress’ shoulder. “I’ll be with her.”
Willow opened her mouth to rebut, but another voice spoke over her— Yang’s. She gave a rapturously loud groan, begrudgingly saying, “If Ruby’s going to be there, I will too.”
Four heads turned to Blake, who rolled her eyes and sighed. “Sure, if it gets us out of this gods-forsaken place.”
A breeze crested the wall— surely a phantom of the tempestuous gales the plains had subjected Yang and Blake to— and sent a loud rustling through the shrubs, the flowers, the grasses, and the towering magnolia. Weiss shrugged the hand off her shoulder and turned back to the wall, kneeling down once more to bury her fingers in the dirt. “Goodbye, mother.”
“W-Weiss?” Gods, her resolve nearly broke right there, but Weiss kept her mind on her Aura and stretched it deep towards the roots. “Weiss, please, you can’t— I… I won’t let—”
A thick lattice of ivy rungs shot up the wall, tangling and wrapping together as their forms mingled. Small buds bloomed across the vines. Weiss pulled her hands free of the soil and sighed. When she was the first to step onto the ladder of flora, her mother cried out again.
“You little harlot! Get— Agh, get back down here, this instant!”
Blake was the first to follow, departing the Schnee matriarch with a fay gesture of rudeness; thumb and pinkie extended, she quickly swept them over her face, then continued her climb.
“You’re— shim! You corrupted my precious Weiss!”
Yang snorted and followed, getting a few feet up before extending a hand to the beleaguered Ruby.
“Lady Schnee,” Ruby said as she clasped hands with her sister, who hoisted her up and held her in place until her grip of the vines was secure. “I don’t think you’re a very good mom.”
Willow let out a cry of rage and threw her bottle. It shattered against the wall, succeeding only in staining Ruby’s already-bloodied tunic. As the four climbed, she tried to follow, but was too drunk to even get a foot up. In the end, she collapsed at the foot of the ivy lattice and wept.
Weiss screwed her eyes shut as she crested the wall, pushing tears down her face, but doing nothing to drown out the sound of her own mother’s wails. Before she could look back, she threw herself over the fence.
Notes:
hey i wasnt gonna skip a week and just drop one chapter lol.
in other news TC is going swimmingly, it just takes AGES to get edited. ive got like 4 chapters done right now, maybe 5, just waiting to be edited, so i should be able to push out at least one by/over the weekend. man, i hope yall love this penny, because I fucking do.
as usual, thanks for reading!
Chapter 39: Can't See it Coming
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Try as they might, Weiss knew their flight would be harried. Even if they avoided most of her father's guards, his horsemen would still be at their heels, running them ragged. They would have to make a stand eventually.
Regardless, they ran across the windy hills of Vale, in the vague direction of the city.
"We can't go back to Vale!" Blake shouted. "It'll be infested with guards!"
"There's nothing there for us, anyways!" Yang loudly concurred, her voice nearly stolen by the wind.
Weiss remained silent, focusing on her breathing. She turned back to Ruby, hoping she’d be able to come up with something.
Ruby was sprawled face-down in the grass, several meters behind them, unmoving.
“Watcher’s cane—” Weiss whirled back around and sprinted back to the smith, “Ruby!”
She fell to her knees beside the fallen girl, frantically looking around for any pursuers. With no small effort, she managed to flip her onto her back, where she could see her chest rise and fall with disturbingly shallow motions. Her breaths came out shaky and thin.
Another pair of bodies quickly joined her at the fallen girl’s side, the blondest of them leaning forward to take both of Ruby’s shoulders into her hands. With no sense of tenderness, she shook the smith's shoulders. “Ruby?” Yang almost-yelled into the unconscious girl’s face. “Ruby! Are you okay? Look at me!”
Blake pushed the overly enthusiastic Huntress back, earning her a burning crimson glare before Weiss put herself between them. “She’s lost too much blood,” Weiss stated, “We need to find someplace safe.”
“No shit, princess,” Yang growled. “But we’re going to have your people breathing down our necks in a matter of minutes!”
“But sitting here and yelling about it isn’t going to do anything,” Blake added, slinking around Weiss to lay a hand on Yang’s shoulder. “Weiss, you’re from here, is there anywhere we can take her?”
Weiss bit her lip, mentally summoning the many different, often conflicting maps she’d studied in her life. Among all of them, though, was one commonality: “The Emerald Forest.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Yang groaned. “That is hours away, Schnee— on the other side of the city!”
Weiss nodded, her cerulean eyes brimming with danger as a plan festered in her brain. “Hours, on foot.”
Blake turned to the heiress with a worried frown. “What are you suggesting?”
Weiss rose to her feet and stretched her fingers. In all honesty, she wasn’t very confident in her sensory magicks, but she didn’t have much of an option. “Yang, you’re a pyromancer, yes?”
Yang recoiled in surprise. “Wh— how did you know?”
Weiss raised an eyebrow. “I can smell it,” she stated, taking a deep whiff to confirm— smoke, acid, and the scent of burning iron.
“Okay… well, I’m an ignifer,” Yang corrected with a glance towards Blake. “I don’t have any formal education, though. I just do what comes naturally. Don’t know much about magic itself.”
Weiss wrinkled her nose at the fay term, but kept her disapproval quiet. “It doesn’t matter, just throw some fire into the sky.”
“That’ll just get the—
ooooh,”
Yang smirked and nodded, her eyes sparkling a devious lilac. “I can do that.”
“Should I be worried?” Blake asked, receiving simultaneous answers from her two conscious companions.
Weiss, with a shaky half-smirk, “We’ll have to see.”
Yang, with a beaming smile and a sparking thumbs-up, “We’ll be fine!”
The fay groaned and slowly rose to her feet, drawing a shortsword from Ruby’s belt in the process. “Princess,” she called.
Weiss hummed and turned her way, finding one of Ruby’s swords being offered from Blake’s hand.
“Give me my knife back,” Blake requested, though it sounded like more of a command. When Weiss tentatively traded the fay’s knife for Ruby’s sword, she sent the fay a wary, awkwardly grateful smile.
“Everybody ready?” Yang asked over her shoulder, her sparking palm raising high as her arm began to twitch, barely throttling the Huntress’ magical power.
“Ready,” Weiss answered, focusing on her Aura as she prepared to spread it wider than she’d ever done before.
“Sure,” drawled Blake, her small knives deftly twirling between her fingers.
Yang’s smile spread wide on both sides, baring her teeth so much that it began to look painful. The sparks in her palm began spraying like a fountain, waves of heat distorting the air as a small, glowing ember materialized above her hand, then suddenly burst skywards.
Weiss initially frowned in disappointment, but her expression faded as the tiny glowing ball climbed, growing in size with each passing second. Yang let out a long huff as she dropped her smoking arm. “There,” she muttered, satisfied, “that should do it.”
Barely a moment passed before Yang’s words were proven, as the fireball crested to the height of its skyward arc, glowing so brightly that Weiss’ eyes struggled to compensate, then began to violently sputter. The sphere of flame hung like another sun, throwing wild sparks before it flickered, then burst.
Weiss had to guard herself against the heat as the fireball exploded, casting wide arcs of searing flame across the sky and thick waves of smoldering heat to the ground. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, Weiss would be content to stare in amazement at the magical show, but she had a plan to execute. So, with her arms spread wide, she began to exert her Aura.
Weiss pushed her manifest soul from her body and spread it wide, forcing it to coalesce into a thin veil around her group. It didn’t like that, of course, but Weiss made it stretch nonetheless, drawing a strained groan from her throat. The Aura flickered and buckled, nearly flaring out before she took a tight hold of its edges and brought it to the ground. Thankfully, Weiss managed to keep it from tearing as the veil covered them. Hearing shouts and whinnies around the nearest hill, she began to impose her will upon the Aura.
“Pass through vision, pass through light,” she recited in a whisper, each word sending a resonant thrum through her soul. “But herald not my form to sight.”
The shroud about them vibrated, but otherwise, nothing changed. To Yang and Blake, nothing had happened at all, and they were just standing in an open field like a bunch of rubes. “Uh… Weiss?” Yang called from the side of her mouth. “Did you do something?”
Weiss hissed and pushed out with her arms, sweat beading on her brow as the shroud begged to collapse back into her body. “Of course I did!” She seethed, her eyes screwed shut as she tried to maintain her concentration. “Not all of us— angh— are as flashy as you, you oafish… stinking… dimwitted… salacious…”
Yang listened to the heiress blather on, straining as she managed to pull fresh insults from her seemingly bottomless well of unpleasantries. Her fist tightened with each new offense, but a familiar hand on her shoulder quickly snuffed out her ire.
“Look,” requested Blake, dipping her head in the palace’s direction. “They’re coming.”
Yang turned, tuning out the heiress’ continued onslaught of increasingly verbose insults as she laid eyes upon a familiar sight: half-armored horsemen, five of them this time, kicking up dirt and grass as they charged directly to them.Yang dropped into a low stance, the action mirrored by Blake.
“Are you sure it’s working?” Yang asked the heiress.
“Of course it’s bloody working, you poxy, waterheaded, brothel-stalking tribade!” Weiss hissed as the hooves came closer.
“Wow,” Yang sarcastically muttered. “No wonder Ruby likes you.”
“What did you—” Weiss grunted as her lapse in focus nearly allowed the shroud to collapse. “J-just shut up and let me concentrate!”
Yang scoffed. “Oh please, you’re doing fine.”
“Yang,” Blake scolded, batting the Huntress. “Shut up."
Yang’s mouth hung open for a good few seconds, but she clasped it shut and firmly set her eyes on the encroaching riders. She held her dagger tight. They were close.
The horsemen pulled their steeds to a steady trot as they approached the group, their heads turning with confusion as they approached the invisible group. The one on the end turned to his comrades, saying “Shepherd’s tits… I know it came from over ‘ere.”
“No, this must’ve been where it came from,” the one in the middle replied. His accent was airier, he had long white tassels falling from his shoulders, and his skirt of plate had an illustrious brass inlay; whether by rank or by birthright, he lead this group. “We can’t all have mistaken it.”
The other four nodded, but kept looking around in confusion. “So…”
“I’m going to drop it,” Weiss whispered. “Get ready.”
“Did anyone else ‘ear that?”
Weiss brought her arms close to her chest and shut her eyes. “Now!”
Notes:
hey the horse guys are back!
Chapter 40: Written in Blood
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The moment Weiss dropped the shroud, pandemonium struck. Yang wasted no time launching straight at the leader, using a gout of flame to boost her above his tall horse, smashing his face with the cup of her reverse-gripped dagger. His Aura shuddered, holding strong, but he was indecisive in whether he should draw his saber to fend her off, allowing the Huntress to land a flurry of unceasing blows at his unarmored head. His Aura flared out quickly under the barrage, and a headbutt from Yang sent him limply falling from his saddle.
Yang reached out as he fell, dropping her dagger in favor of wrapping her fingers around the falling man's sheathed saber, drawing the long blade as he collapsed to the dirt. With her other hand, she blasted the riders on her left with a scorching cone of flames.
Blake was faring just as well, and with a degree of grace that Weiss found herself begrudgingly respecting. Triplet knives flew from her hand, forcing the rider on the furthest right flank to duck lest he be granted additional nostrils. Blake took this opportunity to advance on him in a sudden, inhuman burst of speed, ducking under one rider's clumsily-swept saber as she pursued her target.
Watching the exchange, Weiss felt altogether useless, that is until a rider— the one Blake had to dodge a slash from— noticed her standing helplessly. With a kick of his spurs, his towering steed charged at the heiress.
Weiss was quite familiar with horses— she and Winter often went riding during the summer months in Atlas— but her familiarity ended at their implementation as weapons. She'd never faced one of those creatures as a steel-laden battering ram, its black eyes boring into her as its hooves pounded with murderous intent. It was only at the last possible moment that she gathered her wits about herself, her memory sparking with the war stories she'd found in her books— one in particular that involved an archer battalion's defense against an overwhelming cavalry charge.
Weiss' hand quickly rose as she tapped into her preferred element of magic, causing wintry wisps to streak out of her hands and blow past her lips. With no Dust on hand, she was forced to draw water from the surrounding soil, rapidly causing a wide circle of grass around her to lose color and wilt as long stakes of ice formed at her front.
The horse let out a panicked cry and, faced with imminent impalement, came to a sudden stop. The rapid halt threw the rider fully from his saddle, sending him flying straight for Weiss' frozen stakes— she rushed to dispel them, but she was too slow. Thankfully, he struck them on the strong bands of plate about his abdomen, and remained unimpaled. When he hit the ground, Weiss could see that every band had broken or buckled, but he was still whole. She imagined these men weren't out to kill her outright, and was willing to extend that same courtesy.
Fortunately for her conscience, she was almost immediately distracted by the rest of the battle, and was spared the sight of the man vomiting thick gouts of blood.
Yang had fought on horseback before, but not against people, and her horses had a bad habit of dying when faced with the nightmare creatures of Grimm. Thankfully, that meant this particular horse was living up well beyond her expectations, and its thick steel barding meant she didn't have to worry about every stray swipe being her potential doom. As such, she fought with fervor and reckless abandon, gleefully taking hits to her Aura in exchange for dealing harder ones; the well of her soul had always been unusually vast, and years of training and fighting had only strengthened that.
Unfortunately, she wasn't invincible, as these two men were proving. She'd expected their horses to throw them when she blasted them with fire, but they had immediately retreated, drawing Yang with them. They had lured her a good distance from the group, giving them enough space to begin circling her with their spears, infrequently closing in to deliver tactical thrusts at her back, her head, and her steed's flanks. She swept out with her stolen saber, just managing to bat a spear away from her horse's unguarded flank.
But just as she repulsed the first strike, another came for her now-unguarded front, driving straight into her chest. The blow nearly forced her from the saddle, and she had to relinquish her saber to grab the horse and steady herself. Another thrust came at her side, making her Aura shudder, and another struck her in the back, forcing her face into the horse's mailed mane.
Disoriented from the strikes, she didn't know where the riders had gone until the heavy hooves thumped right up to her sides. She barely managed to straighten herself up in time to bend backwards under a pair of slashing sabers, but that didn't protect her from the gauntleted fists that followed straight into her stretched abdomen. Her overworked Aura was barely holding on, but Yang knew what to do, and it wouldn't be pretty.
Before she could waste any more time thinking, Yang sprang back up and clenched her arms tight to her chest, gritting her teeth as she forced her Aura outwards, then let it ignite with a shout.
Golden fire engulfed Yang's hands, immediately consuming the meager remnants of her Aura, then moving on to feast directly from her flesh. Her eyes blazed red as she reached out and snatched the incoming sabers, melting their blades in her infernal palms. The men, whose weapons had been reduced to dripping slag, turned and fled.
"Daemon!" One shouted as he spurred his horse.
"Monster!" Cried the other.
Yang sighed and let her arms fall limp out of exhaustion, forgetting they were still aflame. When the golden fire licked against her horse's side, it cried like mad and bucked her fully from the saddle, then raced off over the plains of Vale.
The Huntress landed hard, yelping as she felt her forearm snap under her own weight. But as much as she wanted to hold the broken limbs close, she forced her arms to straighten out, keeping the magical flames from burning anything else. Knowing it wouldn't help, she bit down on her screams and tried not to think of the inferno cooking both of her hands.
"Crook and cane, Yang!" Shouted Blake as she approached on horseback, the heiress following on her own steed. "Weiss, help her!"
Weiss raised her hands, but Yang's feverish shout stopped her, "No, don't! Don't…" she grit her teeth and hissed. "It's a contract… they'll go away on their own."
"W-what?" Blake appeared stunned, her bright eyes widening. "What kind of contract is that?"
"The kind firstborns get!" Yang cried in anguish as the flames surged, gorging themselves on her flesh until they were satisfied, then snuffing out just as quickly as they appeared. Yang was left with charred flesh up to her elbows, some sections burned all the way to her sallow fat. She slowly rose to her feet, throwing her head back as she hissed. "Oooooh fuck me, how am I still conscious."
"Explain," demanded Weiss.
Yang sent her a sneer. "Ancestral contract; firstborns can wield magic without an Aura, in exchange for half a stone of flesh—" she cried out as her Aura visibly flashed to life, aggressively replenishing her tissues as it resurged. Panting, she continued, "T-to be consumed… immediately upon… invocation… of the contract…"
Yang swayed on her feet, but Blake managed to wrap her chain around the Huntress, stabilizing her.
"Th-thanks, Blake," the Huntress mumbled, barely conscious. Blake came up beside her and dismounted so she could help Yang up to the saddle. When Blake settled back behind her and took the reins, Yang leaned into her.
Blake immediately turned bright purple and kicked her horse into a trot. "Come on, princess."
Weiss followed behind, with an unconscious Ruby laid across the saddle in front of her. As they kicked up to a gallop, Weiss barely managed to hear a sound over the wind.
Leaning back, with Blake's arm holding her waist steady, Yang snored.
Notes:
didn't think id update with just *one* chapter, didja?
Chapter 41: Parting Words
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Riding at full gallop, it didn't take long for the group to come within view of Vale proper. The day was growing old, but the sun was still bright in the afternoon sky. Whether they were being followed, they didn't know, but none of them seemed too keen on looking back and finding out.
Blake rode slightly ahead, but began to drop back and motioned for Weiss to come closer. The heiress kicked up and matched Blake's speed as the fay shouted over the wind.
"We have to stop in the city!" She yelled, one arm tight around Yang's waist as a strong gust pushed against them.
"What! Why?" Weiss loudly replied, her voice sharp.
Blake looked at her like she was an idiot. "We need food, water! We won't make it to the forest, let alone survive in it. Not to mention these two!"
The fay nodded to the unconscious smith in front of Weiss, and she immediately found her arguments wavering. If she lost Ruby, this whole ordeal would be pointless. "Okay!" She yelled over another gust. "We'll go to the city!"
Blake shook her head. "Don't be stupid, princess! They'll be looking for you! They probably don't have much more than a vague description of me, but I can gate myself out if I do get caught!"
Weiss began to ask a question, but Blake answered it without even looking over.
"I can gate myself just fine!" She yelled. "The only problem is moving humans like you!"
Weiss scoffed at that, but didn't say anything else. She couldn't logically argue with any of Blake's points, and she was growing an uncomfortably burgeoning respect for the fay's dedication; she didn't know her kind was capable of this kind of selflessness. Either that, or Blake was a very good liar.
Blake slowed to a trot as they approached the outer limits of the city, giving Weiss an opportunity to speak while the winds were eased. "What's to stop you from just running away from all this? If you really can just gate yourself away, why haven't you?" After a quick moment's thought, she added, "And what promise do I have that you won't?"
Blake's head fell back as she released a long-suffering groan. "I'm not gonna run away, princess, despite whatever insane platitudes you humans spread about my kind."
"That wasn't an answer to any of my questions, Blake," Weiss intoned. "If we're going to be doing this, there needs to be a modicum of… trust."
Weiss visibly and audibly sneered at the word, making Blake scowl. She turned her horse around and stomped it up to Weiss, then jabbed a finger into the heiress' chest. "Trust? You expect me to show someone like you even the barest shred of faith? The only reason I'm going to Vale is because of them," she pointed to the unconscious Huntress in her lap. "And I know that, unlike me, you don't have a choice in this. You ran away from a life us peasants could only dream of; a big palace, a full stomach, more money than I could even comprehend— all for which you haven't toiled a day in your life."
Weiss recoiled, batting the finger from her chest. "I— you really think it's so easy? Try living that life yourself. Your suffering is of the body, mine is of the soul and the mind; that's the only difference! Whenever you got a cut or had to run a day's toil, I had to exemplify perfection, purity, and the Schnee name, all while my own bloody parents assailed me with verbal and physical abuse! I could never be what they wanted, and I gave up everything I actually wanted in lieu of pursuing that unachievable goal. Worse still, I was constantly paraded around for suitors like a prized slave— the tournament was just a way to get me married, carted off to some man just so he could put a baby in me! I never wanted to be married, but they made that choice anyways!"
Blake watched her fume, unimpressed. "Oh no, not an arranged marriage!" she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "My heart bleeds for you, princess, but guess what: everything you said, every 'suffering of the soul and mind', it isn't fucking special. Your pain isn't monolithic. You're not the only person harmed by their own family, you're not the only person burdened by expectations, and you’re not the only one who’s been forced to be with someone you hate. The only difference is that you don't have to wonder if you can afford your next meal."
Weiss gawked at the woman before her, who had pulled her bandages away just to show the venomous conviction that had grown over her face. She felt like Blake had scooped her body out from under her skin, leaving her hollow, vulnerable, and weak. Her mind tripped over itself trying to think of a rebuttal, but the fay continued.
"Go that way," Blake commanded, her deadpan voice ignoring the lampooning she’d just dealt. She pointed off into the hills as she pulled her bandages back over her face. "Take my horse with you, I'll just gate there when I have some supplies."
Weiss' mouth flapped as she was forced to recover from her verbal lashing. "What am I looking for?" She mumbled, defeated.
Blake dismounted her horse and wrapped it with her chains again, then handed them off to Weiss. "An abandoned guard tower. The door's locked, but it's easy to open. Just take one of Ruby's knives and jiggle the lock until it opens."
Weiss slowly nodded, unsure of what she could say to Blake now. Her mind was still buzzing with the fay's words.
Blake turned back towards Vale, but not before sending a look over her shoulder. "If something happens to Yang, or if you do anything to fuck me, I'll show you 'suffering of the body' that will make your fucking ancestors whimper," she promised with a sharp amber glare.
Weiss gulped and nodded, then quickly trotted herself and Blake's horse in the designated direction, leaving the fay behind. Weiss didn’t look back; she could feel Blake’s eyes between her shoulder blades.
Notes:
didn't think id update with just *two* chapters, didja? fr tho, ive been fiending for these updates. sorry for the spam lol.
also sorry this one's hella short, but the next one..... HOOOOOH MAMA she's big. even by twilight concerto standards, its sitting at the upper end of average. I could've broken it up, but it's also the end of the arc and i hit a crazy flow for like 10 straight pages, so it's beefed to hell. Plus im gonna take a break with the arc ending, a proper one. At least a few weeks or something, just to keep myself from burning out and give my gf time to catch up editing TC. just figured a long one would help tithe y'all over. oh and this shit is bangin, too, in my frank opinion. i even introduce a couple of familiar faces-- well, one familiar face. one kind of familiar face, in a way. yall wanna guess who it is?
but hey thanks for reading! love yall. see you tomorrow ;))))))))
Chapter 42: The Coming Storm
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss rode quickly, constantly checking over her shoulder as she followed Blake’s directions. Managing two horses was difficult at first, especially when one had an unconscious Yang over its back, but Blake’s horse did a surprisingly good job of keeping its cargo steady. The only bad thing was the worryingly dark clouds that had begun to encroach; a storm heralded by crisp winds and petrichor.
She rode for much longer than she expected to, worry gnawing at her chest with each distant clap of thunder. The horses seemed to grow anxious, too, chuffing and whinnying as the sunset-painted sky grew darker. Thankfully, she didn’t have to ride through the storm; she could see the squat, crumbling tower situated beside a long-abandoned stretch of packed dirt. Weiss sighed as she approached. Hopefully their tracks would disappear under the coming deluge.
Approaching the tower, its state of disrepair became more clear. It had clearly been much taller, judging by the pile of dark stones at its side, and thick ivies and shrubs had long since claimed its walls, covering the whole structure in a contrast of green. Thankfully, the hitching post still stood.
Weiss dismounted, then realized she had no clue how to hitch a horse; there had always been a servant on-hand to do the job. She did her best to tie her steed’s reins to the post, which the horse seemed genuinely offended by, then spent a surprisingly long time trying to securely affix Blake’s chain to the post. When she was done with that, she pulled Ruby from the saddle (nearly falling over in the process) before lowering Yang (and actually falling over in the process). After rolling the smith over to extract her iron dagger, she managed to get the door open with some clumsy jiggling and a hard push.
Rain finally came as she began dragging the others inside the building, leaving her soaked by the time Yang’s unreasonably heavy body was in. As she dropped the Huntress’ body, the rough landing actually made her stir. “Fuck,” she groaned, prying one eye open at a time. “My fucking arms… shit.”
Weiss looked down at the aforementioned limbs and winced. Her flesh had mostly repaired itself, but she was thickly scarred up to her elbows. Healed or not, it didn’t look pleasant.
“Where am I?” She slurred, pulling herself up to slump against the dingy stone walls.
“We’re in an old guard tower,” Weiss stated. She looked around to absorb the premises, and found herself pleasantly surprised. Despite the tower’s abandonment, it still looked okay on the inside. “Blake went to Vale to get some things, she'll be back.”
At the mention of her friend, Yang’s eyes went wide. “Oh gods, is Ruby—”
“She’s okay,” Weiss assuaged, pointing to the girl’s body beside Yang. “Well, she’s still breathing, at least.”
Yang looked over at her sister and sighed, scarred hand raising to softly comb through Ruby’s brunette locks. “You said Blake’s in Vale?”
Weiss nodded, scowling. “She and I had an… argument. Apparently she’ll be able to gate herself here, assuming she’s not just running away right now.”
“Hey,” Yang called, her voice still sluggish, but undeniably sharp. “She’s not gonna run. Don’t say that; she got us this far.”
Weiss hummed, doubtful. “We’ll see.”
Blake crept between a pair of old houses just past the edge of Vale, stopping as she approached the corner. She peered around it, her ears trying to prick up under their wrappings. When the coast seemed clear, she dashed to the next alley.
She'd yet to see a single person perusing the city, the reason for which became clear when she felt a drop of rain land on her hood. She hadn't even noticed the rapidly darkening sky was now populated by black clouds, fat with water and wind. She sighed; Blake hated the rain. The Shimmer was much more organized in its weather patterns— constantly raining in some places, always dry in others. This realm was annoyingly unpredictable by comparison.
Thankfully, the thick sheets of rain that followed served as good cover, especially as the sun began to set. Any tracks they made should be washed away, and any actions she took could be hidden under the blanket of night.
With that, Blake entered the market district. As she expected, the bustle had long since retreated, and the few stalls remaining were abandoned. She looked around the open area and quickly began searching what stalls remained as her cloak grew progressively soggier. The stormy winds battered her lithe frame, making her shiver.
One stall bore the classic hallmarks of a merchant with few local sensibilities: the largest sacks, full of heavy potatoes or onions, had been stuffed beneath the stall in a feeble attempt to protect them from the coming storm. The merchant had clearly overestimated the goodness of Vale by leaving the unwieldy products in the open. None of the other merchants had cared to warn them either, happy to have a competitor severely hampered by their own ignorance.
Blake felt little remorse as she dumped the sack of potatoes onto the market stones, and began filling the empty bag with as many now-wet vegetables as she could carry.. As much as she understood the hard work that was put into the harvest, she didn't have much of a choice. Two people were depending on her, plus one parasitic Schnee.
A good few coins lay scattered across the stall as well, the merchant either too rich or too hastened to fret over every dropped coin. She pocketed every piece she saw, but they wouldn't be enough for anything useful on their own. With her sack full, she moved to her next, much riskier target: the local apothecary.
It was a location she knew well, as she'd been frequently forced to visit it when she was… younger. Only now, as she tried to unlock the establishment's door, did the guilt strike her. It was already unlocked. Of course it was. The owner had always been too good of a soul to turn away a person in need, and here she was, coming to rob him blind.
As she pushed the door open, a blessed warmth immediately greeted her. Gentle candles lit the countertop, along with a burning hearth just visible in the back room. As soon as she entered, she felt like an intruder, a burglar.
"A long moment, please." Old Oskar shouted from the back. "These ancient bones take a lot of convincing."
Blake's entire body tightened at the gentle, familiar voice. She loved Oskar, and she was going to take everything he had for a couple of stupid girls and a fucking Schnee. "Gods," she whispered to herself, pressing a hand over her face. "What am I doing?"
Oskar Deepgrove slunk around the corner, hunched over his ebony cane. He wore a pristine white tunic over simple linen breeches, with no shoes to cover his comically hairy feet. A long grey beard stretched almost to his chest, adorned with tight knots and beautiful silver cuffs, and his sleeves were tied to reveal sweeping indigo markings with volute curls, similar to her own. He wasn’t fay, not fully, but she knew he had visited the Shimmer at least once; you couldn’t get tattoos like those anywhere else.
“Ah, Miss Taurus!” He called, recognizing her the moment he laid his verdant eyes upon her soaked form, even past all of her coverings. How he knew, she certainly didn’t. “It has been a long time! So wonderful to see you again!”
At his gummy smile, Blake felt her soul curl up and shrivel with dread. She couldn’t do this. Her hand shook as it reached for a knife beneath her cloak. “H-hello, Oskar.”
He stepped up to his counter and rested his cane against it, choosing instead to lean against the long stretch of wood. “And to what do I owe the belated visit?”
Blake gulped, her trembling hand slowly pulling a blade free. “S-some business. You know how it is. Just need a few things.”
Oskar’s eyes lit up, then faded as he scowled with realization. “Oh. I see.”
“I’m really sorry, Oz.”
The old man stared at her for a moment, then waved her off. “Don’t bother, Blake. You can take whatever you want, I’m too old to care about product,” he shuffled himself to the edge of the counter and undid the latch for the small gate. “Please, I’m sure you need it more than I do.”
Blake was worried he’d be like this, which only made her shrink further into herself. She immediately lost all sense of drive, and sheathed the knife once more. “N-nevermind,” she whispered, turning back to the door. “I can’t do this.”
“Miss Taurus!” His voice startled her, much more stern than she was used to. “You wouldn’t be here unless you needed something, and you are quite clearly desperate. What did you get wrapped up in this time?”
Blake stopped, her hand retreating from the door. “I… I… have some people…”
She turned back towards him, and his disapproval was as clear as the scowl on his face. “If it’s this bad, you should just let him die, you know.”
Blake’s hands immediately shot out, desperately waving in defense. “No— not him! Gods, Oskar, I… no, he’s… somewhere else.”
Oskar brightened intensely, his scowl morphing straight into a gummy smile. “Finally! Crook and cane, girl, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
“I didn’t…” Blake sagged, heavy footsteps slowly carrying her behind the counter. “I couldn’t kill him, I just… ran.”
“And Merida?”
The spark of hope in his voice sank a dagger into Blake’s heart. All she could do was look at her feet and shake her head. “I’m sorry.”
Oskar deflated, but he kept the smile on his face. “Well… that’s what happens when you reach my, er… age . Losing people just becomes a fact of life.” He let out a long, wistful sigh. “‘Twas a pipe dream anyways.”
There was a long moment of silence, one where Blake couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She nearly jumped out of her skin when his feeble arms wrapped around her.
“It’s okay, Blake,” he whispered. The hug warmed her soul, if not her cold, sopping body. “Now, what was it you needed? And who are you getting it for?”
Blake started, she’d nearly forgotten why she even came here. “M-my… friends. Badly injured, unconscious.”
Oskar pulled back and gave her a suspicious look.
“N-not like that. They’re good, I swear,” under her breath she added, “two of them, at least.”
Oskar smiled again and began to rummage through the cabinets of his counter. “Goodness, Blake! You’ve made friends?”
Blake blushed and turned away. “Sh-shut up, old man.”
Oskar let loose a wonderful laugh, one which Blake had desperately needed to hear again, eventually pulling free a trio of bottles and setting them out. They were small and thin, barely reaching half a handspan in height. He pointed to each one in turn. “Just a sip of the yellow one is enough to wake a dragon, and the clear ones will do good to take some burden off their Auras.”
Just as she reached for the three, he loudly spoke again.
“Oh! I should have asked,” he looked back up at the fay. “Are they human?”
Blake nearly smacked herself— that kind of stupid oversight would’ve been bad. “One is medius, I don’t think she knows it, though. She’s kind of…”
“Dim?” Oskar supplied with a chuckle.
“Oskar!” Blake laughed and gave him a light, chiding smack. “She's just not very worldly.”
He let out a happy sigh and replaced one of the clear bottles with one containing a swirling mixture of purple and red. “There, that won’t kill her, but you’ll have to administer it slowly. It might take a little longer to work, as well.”
Blake gave the old man the widest smile she could muster before realizing it was hidden beneath her wrappings. "Thanks, Oskar. Gods, I can't believe I was going to—"
Blake suddenly tensed as her ears pressed hard against their bindings. Even past the raucous storm, she could hear a dreadful noise: the clanking footsteps of sabatons on stone. Just as soon as she heard it, a heavy knock slammed against the door.
Oskar and Blake shared a glance, and he quickly stepped aside to make room for her beneath the counter. Without hesitation, she dove beneath the wood.
"Open up!" Shouted a loud, feminine voice.
"And why should I do that?" Oskar loudly responded.
"House Schnee demands it!” A few words passed beyond the threshold, a short argument muffled by the door’s wood. “If you do not open this door, we will!"
Oskar scoffed. "It's unlocked!"
A creaking door and a burst of cold wind followed. Three pairs of boots stomped into the apothecary, slamming the door behind them. One approached the counter, the sound separated from Blake's head by a scant inch of wood. "We're on the hunt for a group of fugitives, and we have reason to believe one would have visited this location. Have you served any suspicious figures today?"
"Please, I'm an alchemist," Oskar drawled. "Suspicious figures are all that I serve. Now begone, I'm too old to be up this late."
Blake nearly smacked him as he made that mistake, but forced herself to remain still.
"Then why are you up? Your product is laid before you, surely whatever you're doing now could have waited until morning, unless you're dealing with some… desperate clientele."
Credit to Oskar's wit, the accusation did little to disconcert him. “Clearly you know nothing of my craft; weather of this kind can affect them in strange ways. Alas, I’m forced to sacrifice some things to prevent my shop from suffering a sudden, violent end.”
The one at the counter let out a huff. “I’ve never known an Aura potion to be unstable.”
Oskar let out a sarcastic laugh. “Then you know little.”
A tense silence filled the room, broken by another pair of boots approaching the counter. The voice that followed was extremely grizzled. “Pyr, let me handle this; grandpa here is running circles around you.”
If Blake could curl herself up any more tightly, she would’ve. She wouldn’t dare hope that ‘Pyr’ could refer to anyone else besides the Knight Captain herself.
“Silence, Huntsman, I—”
“Better yet, get out of here. You’re scaring the guy. He clearly knows something, he’s just not gonna tell you. Wait outside, try not to get struck by lightning in that big bucket you’ve got on.”
“I will not be talked down to by a ruffian of your like, sir Bran—”
“Yeah, ya will. Wouldn’t’ve paid me, otherwise. Seriously, get out.”
After an annoyed growl, the door opened again, and two pairs of boots stomped back out into the storm. Once the door slammed shut, the gruff voice returned.
“Look, I’m sorry about this. You know how these Knight folk are, all hounds on their lords’ leash. So tell me, anyone desperate come through? Probably looking for healing pots, food, money, threatening you with weapons, robbing you, that kind of person? Maybe wrapped up in bandages or under a cloak? Purple or yellow eyes?” Blake cringed, internally cursing her and Yang’s beau— distinct irises.
“How many times do I have to tell you people, I’m old,” Oskar flippantly excused. “I can barely see what I’ve got in front of me, and I’m not so keen to remember every face that’s threatened to rob me blind.”
“Fair enough, I suppose.” There was a sigh, then a couple footsteps as the Huntsman turned to leave. Before he could reach the door, though, he stopped. “Oh, just one more thing…”
“What."
“Can’t help but notice you’ve got an awfully large bag here. Looks heavy, just wondering how an old man like you lugged all this food here, and why ya just left it here at the door. I don’t see any potatoes or onions for sale, and your back room’s not that far from here.”
Oskar took a moment to respond, and Blake could see his arms slowly reaching to the potions on the counter. “I… had it delivered.”
“Bag’s soaked, no way you got one of those lazy merchant bastards to lug it all the way here in this weather.” He hummed, purposely loud enough for them to hear. “Saw a bunch of potatoes on the ground out there, too. You’re telling me these folk are the type to waste product just to rush a delivery for some old guy, in the middle of a storm, no less? Mighty generous, if ya ask me.”
The silence returned, this time sharp and volatile. Blake began to reach for a knife.
Before she could grasp one, she found the trio of bottles being thrust towards her. “Go!” Oskar commanded, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.
Blake grabbed them and rolled towards the back room, scrambling to her feet as she sprinted to where she hoped a back door would be. Boots landed heavily behind her as the Huntsman leapt over the counter, knocking Oskar over in the process. Blake held the potions close to her chest and threw a knife behind her, but the blade simply glanced off the man’s Aura.
The Huntsman chased her into the back room, but tripped as Oskar wrapped himself around his leg. Finding a back door, Blake quickly snatched the cast-iron pot from the hearth’s spit before barging her way out, throwing herself into the deluge once more. She ran as fast as she could, careful not to spill anything from the pot or drop her potions, ducking and weaving between alleys, desperate to escape the man at her heels. More clanking footsteps followed behind— no doubt the others were following the commotion.
Only thanks to Oskar’s delaying action did she get enough space from her pursuers, and hid herself among a stack of nondescript wooden crates. She could hear distant shouts and footfalls, but she didn’t have time to find a better spot. Blake pictured that abandoned tower she’d once found refuge in, remembering its falling stones, its overgrowth, and the first time she’d ever felt relief. She reached out to that space, and the realms were kind enough to guide her there.
Weiss jolted awake as a loud tearing noise, followed by a burst of light, came from outside the tower. She quickly got to her feet and stomped to the entrance, ignoring the sight of Yang snoring with Ruby pulled up into her lap, and opened the door, frost at her fingers as she readied a ray of ice.
Blake was on her knees in the rain, panting heavily with a black pot in her hands. Weiss ran to her.
“Gods, what took you so long!” Weiss had to yell over the storm, which had only worsened as the night grew long.
“Shut… the fuck… up…” Blake commanded, “and fucking… help me.”
For Ruby’s sake, Weiss pushed down the rest of her arguments. She took the pot out of Blake’s hands, grimacing as she saw the intense burns that stretched across the fay’s palm. “What happened?”
Without asking, Blake pulled herself up using Weiss as a support. “Cast-iron,” she seethed. “Not a friend of mine.”
Weiss looked down at the pot in her hands and hissed. “Right, sorry. Come on, everyone’s inside.”
“They’d better be.”
Blake carried her sour mood into the tower with Weiss, and threw her sopping cloak into a corner as soon as she was covered against the deluge. Weiss spoke to her again, her voice quiet and a little distant. “I’m… sorry, Blake. For how I acted, and for what I’ve caused. This really is all my fault, if I’d just—”
Blake raised a hand, silencing her. “Not now, princess. Please. I’m soaking wet, freezing cold, and we have people to attend. I got some things for them.”
Weiss set the pot beside the burning hearth— she’d done her best to light it on her own, but she had to get Yang to give it enough fire to survive with the water falling down the chimney, a move which had sent the Huntress back to sleep. “What is it?” She asked, settling down by the fire.
When Weiss turned to Blake, she caught the fay in a severe state of undress. All of her sopping wet clothes were piled beside her cloak, leaving her completely naked as she removed her wrappings. Weiss broke out in a bright blush and quickly turned back to the fire, but Blake just stepped up beside her, completely uncaring of her lack of dress. The fay presented her with a trio of bottles, each with liquids of different color. “Potions from an old friend. Take these two.”
She handed Weiss two of the philters, one with yellow liquid and the other full of purple and red. Weiss swirled the liquid, trying to seem curious to cover up the intense embarrassment at the naked woman beside her.
“Give Ruby a couple drops— drops, very tiny— of the yellow one to wake her up, then give her a quarter of the other. It’ll help her recover,” Blake explained. “This clear one’s for Yang.”
“What does it do?” Weiss asked, keeping her gaze away from Blake.
The fay pointed to the more colorful potion in Weiss’ hand. “Same as that one.”
“And why can’t we just give that one to Ruby?”
Blake scoffed. “Because we don’t want to kill her, princess. Medius Auras don’t work the same as human ones.”
“Medius?” Weiss repeated.
“Half-fay.”
“Oh. I see.”
Awkward silence filled their crumbling shelter. Blake stepped closer to the warm hearth, while Weiss took the opportunity to shoot to her feet and turned away, hiding her intense blush.
“I’m going to give these to Ruby!” The heiress announced.
“Okay.”
Weiss hurried towards the unconscious smith and lifted her out of Yang’s lap. The Huntress stirred at the movement, but stayed asleep.
“Ruby?” Weiss whispered. “Can you hear me? I’m going to feed you something.”
When the girl didn’t respond, Weiss sighed and uncorked the yellow potion, then opened Ruby’s mouth. She held the philter over her tongue, slowly tipping it as per Blake’s instructions.
A deafening crack of thunder suddenly shook the tower, making Weiss jump. The move made a splash of the yellow liquid flow from the bottle, sending much more than ‘a couple drops’ down the unconscious girl’s throat as the rest landed onto her cheek. "Bollocks!" The heiress cursed, rapidly corking the bottle so she could grip Ruby's shoulders. "Ruby!"
"What!" Blake appeared beside her again, crouching to Weiss' level. "What happened? What'd you do?"
"I-I jumped! I gave her too much!" Weiss panicked, shaking the girl. "Don't die, don't die!"
"Weiss, get ba—"
"AAAAAH!" Ruby awoke with a scream, her arms flailing as she jumped to her feet and began sprinting in circles, fanning her mouth. "HOT, HOT, HOT, HOT, HOOOOOOOOT!"
Blake and Weiss both scrambled to grab the girl before she could fall and hurt herself. "Ruby! It's okay!" Weiss shouted, nearly being trampled as the smith ran in circles.
"Calm down!" Blake demanded, grabbing her from behind.
"MY FACE IS ON FIRE!" Ruby cried, dragging the fay behind her.
Weiss threw herself at Ruby's front, wrapping herself around the girl and finally halting her. "You’re not on fire! It's just a potion! I gave you too much, I'm sorry!"
“Give her the other one!” Blake yelled. “Quick!”
Weiss scrambled to grab the purple philter, but when she turned back around, she found Ruby trying to wrest the clear one out of Blake’s hands.
“GIVE ME THE DAMN WATER!” Ruby yelled.
“It’s not water! It’ll—”
Ruby suddenly yanked it free of Blake’s hands, pushing the fay back in the process. She lifted it to her lips, then grew extremely frustrated as the liquid was stopped by the cork. She furiously began fumbling with the stopper.
Before she could free the deadly liquid, she found her hands frozen in ice, courtesy of Weiss. Without hesitation, Ruby shoved as much of her frozen hands into her mouth as would fit, moaning in relief. When the burning had apparently ceased, she collapsed to her knees, now rubbing her face against the ice.
Weiss slowly approached, her voice low and gentle. “Ruby?”
The girl in question did a double-take as the heiress entered her vision. “Wha— Weiss? What happened?” She looked around, lost. “Where are we?”
Weiss sighed, relieved. She knelt beside the girl, dispelling the ice and wrapping the smith up in her arms. Surprising even herself, Weiss began to cry.
Ruby found herself being crushed by the heiress’ arms as her shoulders shook. “Weiss? What’s wrong?”
“She’s happy to see you, you idiot,” Blake answered as she got back to her feet. She retreated to one of the crates that lined the room, opening it to retrieve a dusty old blanket that she wrapped around herself. “You’ve been out for a while, we were worried.”
“Out?” Ruby repeated. “Why would I… ohhhh.”
“Don’t do that again, you dolt!” Weiss commanded, the severity of her demand significantly reduced as it was muffled by Ruby’s shirt.
“O-okay,” Ruby slowly returned her hug, the clear potion still in her hand. “Uh, what’s this?”
Blake plucked the bottle from her grasp. “It’s for your sister, and it is not water. If you drink it, you’ll die.”
“Die?” Ruby tried to get back to her feet, but Weiss held her tightly and kept crying into her shirt. “Well don’t give it to Yang!”
“She’s not medius… for some reason. She’ll be fine,” Blake assuaged.
“Me—”
“Half-fay,” Blake interrupted, tired of pussyfooting around Ruby’s lineage. “You’re half-fay.”
Ruby recoiled from the knowledge. “Huh? But Yang—”
“Isn’t! I know!” Blake fumed. “Are you sure you’re sisters?”
“Well, we have different moms,” Ruby answered, her eyes widening as the words passed her lips. “My mom’s… but she didn’t have the ears! And her hair was normal!”
Blake scoffed at apparently not being ‘normal’, but decided to let it slide. “Hair can be dyed. Ears can be cut.”
Ruby gaped at the fay. Her memory of Summer Rose was hazy, but she did remember that she had strange ears— too straight, as if they’d been purposely shaped. “Oh.”
Blake nodded. “Thought so. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but it was going to happen eventually.”
“So that’s why I have a Semblance…”
“Yes.”
“That’s why Yang can do magic…”
Blake rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ruby.”
The smith sat in silence for a moment, then hugged Weiss tight. “Well… what do we do now?”
Weiss pulled away and sniffled, wiping her still-wet smock over her tears. “We… we need to leave, as soon as the storm passes, if not before. My father’s men are chasing us.”
Another heavy clap of thunder shook the tower. For some reason, that was enough to wake Yang. “Ah, shit!” The Huntress jumped, then hissed as she clenched her hands tight. “Still burns.”
“Yang!” Ruby shouted, darting from Weiss to tackle her sister in a tight hug. “We’re okay!”
“Hey, hey, hey, watch it!” Yang pushed her away, wincing. “Still injured, and you need to take it easy.”
“What happened to you?” Ruby asked, looking worriedly at her sister’s intensely scarred arms.
“Oh, you know, had to invoke a daemonic contract to steal some horses,” she casually answered. “Worth it.”
Blake suddenly blanched. “Oh gods, the horses.”
All three of the tower’s occupants watched the blanket-laden fay shed that blanket, revealing her naked form before she threw her sopping cloak back over herself and burst out the door.
“Weiss, you fucking idiot!” They heard her yell from outside, her anger carrying over the storm. “Did you tie it by the fucking reins? And you thought it would be smart to tie a horse up with a metal fucking chain, in a fucking storm! There are ropes on the fucking saddle you stupid piece of shit! And you didn’t take their barding off! You’re lucky they’re not dead!”
Weiss winced, letting out a small ‘sorry’, to which Ruby gave her a reassuring pat. Blake reappeared several minutes later, sopping wet once more. And, just like before, she immediately got naked and began drying herself by the fire. Yang was the only one that didn’t shy away from the sight.
“I brought food,” Blake muttered, nodding to the cast-iron pot.
Three stomachs grumbled at once as everybody raced to the hearth, ignoring the naked fay beside it. Ruby, even if she wasn’t in peak condition, beat them all handily. She yanked the lid off the pot, nearly throwing it aside before deciding otherwise. She peered down at the food.
An empty, milky eye stared right back. A fish head floated at the top of the thick liquid, staring them all down, as if testing their gall.
Ruby scrambled away at the sight. Weiss took a single look and spun on her heel, gagging. Yang hung over the soup with voracious hunger. Blake looked down at her and smiled fondly, going so far as to mindlessly tousle the Huntress’ hair. She only realized what she was doing when Yang turned those lilac eyes up at her, forcing Blake to retreat lest her blush be seen. “I’m going to grab some bowls,” she excused, picking her blanket back up as she shuffled around, finding a few wooden bowls and a stone cup.
The three of them sat around the fire before long, with Yang and Blake ganging up on the other two so they’d actually eat the meal. The time passed mostly in silence, with Blake and Weiss chasing the others’ food with their potions. Well, Blake just handed Yang’s potion to her. Weiss had insisted she give it to Ruby herself, saying she had to make up for her earlier mistake. It was a poor excuse to get close to the girl, and they all knew it, but nobody objected.
Rain was still pouring by the time they were done, and they eventually had to break down some empty crates to feed the fire. After everything that had happened, exhaustion rolled over them like a wave. They all settled beside the warm hearth, finding an additional blanket to share since Blake refused to put her wet clothes back on. One by one, sleep took them.
By the time morning came, Weiss was curled under Ruby’s arm, with Yang pressed against Blake’s side. Nobody questioned the positions they awoke to, at least not verbally, instead rising to prepare for their journey.
The coming day brought uncertainty in every facet, but they had no choice in facing it. They gathered up their scant possessions and mounted up in the same pairs they’d awoken with. Leaving only their horses’ armor behind, they rode for the Emerald Forest. There was no going back.
Part One
Fin
Notes:
welp, thats arc one, volume one, part one, whatever-one finished and to be continued. im gonna take an actual break from writing, or at least ill try to. i havent gotten close to burning out, but i know its better to be proactive than reactive in that regard. what sucks is that my brain is absolutely *frothing* with ideas; a college AU, mecha AU, vampire AU, the next KotWR arc, TC stuff, etc. i dont know if ill really be able to do it lol, i love writing too much. but i will try! plus, i gotta give my poor gf time to edit the huge backlog of TC chapters ive laden her with, including this coming one.
anyways, yes one of the 'familiar faces' i mentioned is indeed Qrow, which i hope was a pleasant surprise for some of you. and yes, that was a columbo reference. i couldnt help myself. fuckin love that guy. the other one is oscar pine, technically. ill leave it up to your imagination what the implications are on that one.
and yeah, uh... thats it, for now. next arc will be posted on this story, hopefully in a few weeks, assuming i dont get too restless and start writing again, which is an extremely real possibility. thanks for reading yall, i love all your support for this story, it's really blown my other works out of the water, but i appreciate that its also given them some more visibility. ill try to respond to any comments, questions, anything you folks leave, having people care enough to say anything at all about my fic honestly warms me. so thanks. ill see yall soon. peace <3
Chapter 43: A Horse Named Carrots
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby was growing restless, constantly squirming in the saddle. She sat in front of Weiss, with the heiress' arms around her sides to keep her from falling. It was pleasant, the added warmth against Ruby's back did wonders for repelling the chill of Vale's autumnal winds.
Unfortunately, they'd been riding for hours without pause, and Ruby was woefully unfamiliar with how a horse should be ridden. Her back twinged with every bounce, and the pinch between her shoulder blades was unbearable. She rolled them back, but received no relief.
Noticing this, Weiss nudged her. "Are you alright?" She asked, leaning closer to speak in the smith's ear.
Ruby blushed and recessed into herself, suddenly reminded of the talks they'd had on the night Weiss had fallen asleep in her bed. "I-I'm fine," she muttered. "Just a little sore."
Weiss hummed and leaned back, making Ruby miss her added warmth. "That's because your posture is terrible. Have you ever ridden before?"
Ruby turned to the heiress, the pain in her back ruining her angry expression as she twisted. "O-of course I have!"
Weiss raised a regal brow and smirked. "And when was that?"
Ruby stammered, then turned forward once more, slumping with defeat. "I… don't remember," she admitted. "It was when my mom was still alive, so I was really young."
She wasn't looking at Weiss, but Ruby could feel her gaze quickly grow pitying. "Oh. I'm sorry."
Ruby shook her head. "Don't be, please."
There was a long moment of silence, broken when Ruby yelped. Weiss' arm had disappeared from her side, moving instead to press a hand against the smith's lower back. "You need to straighten your back, and pull your shoulders like you're trying to hold an arrow between the blades," Weiss instructed. "And try to move with the horse."
Ruby gulped, sitting up less to heed the heiress and more because her body was stiffening at Weiss' touch. She was making it really hard not to think about that night. "So… Weiss," she drawled awkwardly, trying to drum up a distraction. "You seem to know a lot about this."
Weiss let out a single huff, more rueful than humorous. "I rode a lot at home," she stated simply.
Ruby pounced at the opportunity. "Wow, that sounds great! Vale's probably the perfect place to ride."
The heiress shook her head, not that Ruby could see. "Vale is not my home."
Ruby turned, her back loudly popping as she craned to look at Weiss. "Huh? But you're—"
"I'm from Atlas," she said, her eyes staring far past Ruby.
"Atlas!" Ruby exclaimed, much too loudly. "S-sorry, I've just… never been outside of Vale. I heard there are some incredible smiths in Atlas."
Weiss finally met Ruby's eyes, her cerulean irises awash with joy, pain, and longing. She gave a little chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Quite, one such legend made my rapier."
Ruby beamed at her. "Really? Oh Gods! We forgot to get it! We need to—"
Weiss reached up to her shoulder, pushing the girl so she faced forward again. "No, it's gone now. My father…" she choked up suddenly, tears nearly bursting past her eyes. "He destroyed it."
Ruby whirled on her again, wincing as she moved her sore back again. "That bastard!" Weiss recoiled at the curse, unused to hearing such anger from Ruby. Her silver eyes were boiling with rage. "How dare he! That piece was beautiful!"
Weiss' eyebrows rose high. "Ruby, you've barely seen Myr—" she cleared her throat, hoping Ruby wouldn't catch that, "my rapier."
Ruby pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. "I'm a smith, Weiss, I never forget a good sword."
Weiss blinked, a small blush rising over her cheeks. "R-right, er…"
"And what were you about to say?" Ruby leaned closer, smirking. "Because it sounded like you named your sword."
Weiss' blush intensified. Of course she'd caught her slip. "N-nothing, just a slip of the tongue."
Ruby snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
The heiress recoiled with genuine offense. "Hey! I—" I'm a great liar, she almost said. "I… okay, fine! I named my bloody sword! Are you happy now?"
Ruby smiled, surprising Weiss with how genuine it was. "What'd you name it?"
Weiss gulped. Their horse, which Ruby had taken to calling 'Carrots' on account of its orange coat, perked its ears as if it also wanted to hear. Weiss looked away and mumbled, her face only growing redder.
Ruby leaned back, pushing herself close to the heiress as she cupped her ear. "What'd you say? I couldn't hear you."
Weiss' whole body grew significantly warmer with the girl's proximity. "Myrtenaster," she mumbled a little louder. "Are you happy, now?"
Ruby settled back towards the front of the steed, still affixing Weiss with that brilliant smile. "Myrtenaster…" she tried the unfamiliar word on her tongue. "What's it mean?"
Weiss sighed wistfully, her mind brought to a place she'd long left behind. "It's a kind of flower in Atlas. Our estate used to be full of them."
Ruby could see the homesickness cross Weiss' face, reminding her of what she'd left behind. "Oh, gods…" she mumbled.
Weiss looked down with concern. "Ruby? What's wrong?"
Ruby looked to her sister, who had taken to sitting behind Blake on the saddle. Her potion had been drained on its first use, so she'd long since healed. "N-nothing."
Weiss' arm came around her again, hugging slightly closer than before. The heiress took the reins, her voice completely doubtful. "Are you sure?"
Ruby sighed. "I‒ we … our father's still in Patch. I ran away from home, just so…" her voice cracked, and she let her words trail off into the air. She looked down at her lap, her back protesting as she slouched with sorrow.
She suddenly found Weiss' warmth returning, heralded by the heiress' arm wrapping around her waist. She pulled her in for a gentle hug, promising, "You'll see him again, Ruby," she muttered. "My soul to the Watcher, I swear it."
Ruby turned her head, finding Weiss' face close enough to kiss. The smith faced forward again, hiding her blush. "D-don't say that."
Weiss pulled her tighter for a moment, then returned both hands to Carrots' reins. "I mean it," she said, adjusting herself to get a modicum of space. "You've all done so much for me, it's the least I could give in return."
Ruby reached forward to stroke their horse's ginger mane. "Thank you," she whispered, uncaring if Weiss actually heard.
"Fix your posture," Weiss gently demanded. "We're probably going to—"
"Hey, lovebirds!" Yang's shout made them both turn scarlet as they scooted apart, embarrassed. "We're not too far, but we should stop for a moment! The horses need a break!"
Weiss growled. "Cad…"
Qrow Branwen held his chin high, taking a deep breath of the crisp Vale winds. He tapped into his magical senses, searching for the scent of his quarry.
"Huntsman!" Shouted Pyrrha from atop her gargantuan horse. "Make haste. We're not paying you to suck air."
Qrow growled, reminded of the leash he was on. "Maybe if you didn't stand so close, this would be easier."
The Knight Captain scoffed. "I don't see how that would help."
"You don't," Qrow muttered, too quiet for her to hear. Truly, her scent was overpowering, and not just by her proximity. It was sharp and piercing, but also muddled, as if he were surrounded by a hundred different magic users. Much as he tried to ignore rumors, especially ones about Pyrrha's outlandish origins, he was beginning to fear that they were true. And if they were… well, he hoped they weren't. He didn't want to see what such a creature in the Knight Captain's skin would do to their quarries.
Just as his thoughts turned dark, a sharply familiar scent crossed the winds. Smoke, acid, burning iron, accompanied by a puff of mint and frost. Among the smells floated a pair of fay scents, a strong lavender that almost overpowered the weaker aroma of roses.
He looked up, towards the revealing winds. "This way."
Notes:
i have returned to announce my stunning failure at taking a break. i went a *day* without writing and it sucked ass, so i may or may not have cooked like 4 chapters over a single weekend. gf is weeping at what ive done lol. anyway, yeah pyrrha is gonna be one of the next villains, but she wont be the only one-- and she's *really* not the pyrrha you know. something is seriously wrong with this dude. but hey, at least we get a little fluff, amirite? who doesnt love a little fluff :)
Chapter 44: Birdcage
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
"Well, it definitely lives up to its name," Ruby loudly announced. "Green and full of trees!"
Weiss groaned. "Ruby…"
Blake loudly repeated Weiss' sentiment with her own heaving sigh, but pressed her horse forward regardless. Her eyes held a sour kind of familiarity, like seeing a long-forgotten enemy.
On the other hand, Yang's expression was uncharacteristically serious, her lilac eyes bouncing to and fro with something close to panic. Ruby had never seen her so intensely aware.
"Yang?" The smith called. "You alright?"
Yang grunted in response, her shoulders tight. "I know we came to this place as a safe retreat, but…" she looked up and down the thick treeline. The verdant flora was so pervasive that it made the forest seem like an impenetrable wall. "Maybe we shouldn't have. I get too many Hunts here."
"What other option is there?" Weiss countered, her voice morose.
"We'll only be here a day or two at most," Ruby stated, hoping to assuage the anxiety that now floated over the whole group. "Just to rest, and make sure we're not followed."
"And then what?" Yang's pointed question drove daggers into Ruby's chest. "We'll be hunted across Vale! Where do we even go after this— we can’t just run forever."
Ruby fumbled for an argument, but being challenged by her own sister was too much to look past. She'd assumed Yang would just be on her side, no matter what.
Blake, of all people, cut in before Ruby could think of anything. "Now's not the time for that, we can worry about the future when we're safe from the present."
Yang grumbled in agreement, even though she wasn’t the one in control of the reins. Ruby sighed. Slowly, they pushed into the thicket.
Qrow grunted. The Knight Captain, who insisted on riding right at his side, turned with an annoyed look. "What is it this time?" She asked.
"They're going to the Forest," he stated. "Probably think they'll lose us there."
Surprisingly, Pyrrha actually blanched at the Emerald Forest's mention. "Are you sure?"
Qrow scoffed, turning to her as he idly ran a hand down his horse's neck. "Of course I am. What, are you losing heart?" If you even have one, he wanted to say, a statement which would surely have him killed on the spot. Much as he lauded his own skills, whatever this thing was at his side scared him, deeply. Every second he spent with the Knight Captain only highlighted her inhumanity— he hadn't seen her eat once, she slept with eyes wide open, and he’d never seen her blink.
"Obviously not!" She declared, turning her nose up at the Huntsman. Her confidence quickly faded as the next words came, "I just… have a history there. The Forest doesn't like me."
Qrow sneered. "I'm not surprised," he mumbled under his breath, too quiet for Pyrrha to hear.
"And why is that?" Pyrrha asked, making Qrow jump. Shit.
"W-well, you're… not… er…"
Pyrrha raised a challenging brow. "I'm not what, Huntsman? Please, illuminate me."
Qrow scowled. Well, he'd stuck himself in the shit now, no point trying to get out. "You're not natural," he claimed. "Forest doesn't like that."
Pyrrha actually smirked at that, and Qrow swore he could see the phantom of a needle-sharp maw behind her impossibly white teeth. "And why not?"
"It's an old place, older than… well, everything," he vaguely stated. "With age comes spirit, with spirit comes wisdom, and the Forest has all of those in spades."
"No wonder," Pyrrha mused, "place is always out to kill me."
Qrow turned a puzzled look her way. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I've been sent a few times," she elaborated, her voice growing morose. "Scouting missions, surveys, expeditions. Forest always finds a way to kill my crew."
Concern etched Qrow's face. "How so?"
"Grimm," she stated simply, the word hanging in the air like a thick black cloud.
Qrow's brow furrowed. "Grimm? You're sure?"
Pyrrha rolled her eyes. "How couldn't I be? There's only one thing that looks like Grimm, and it's Grimm."
The Huntsman thoughtfully stroked his burgeoning beard. "That's… odd. Golems, sprigs, heartlings, those I'd expect. They're the will of the Forest made manifest, but Grimm? They're…" just as alien as you, "well, they're just not. They're too strong for the Forest to force out."
The Knight Captain hummed, unbothered. "I suppose I'm not so unnatural then, eh Huntsman?"
"Or the Grimm just find you easily," Qrow countered. "You're hard to miss."
And that much was undeniably true. Pyrrha's mere presence was like being assaulted with several bags of burning incense, flowers, various perfumes, and a dozen pounds of rotting ham. A damp earthiness underlined it all— but not like the soil of Remnant, more so the petrichor of another realm. "I'll take that as a compliment," Pyrrha lied, her voice taking an odd, hissing quality that seeped past her lips just a second out of time with her words.
Qrow shivered, giving his steed a single pat as it nervously chomped its bit. If he had one, he’d be doing the same.
They rode in strained silence for a long time, the only sound being the clacking of Pyrrha's plate armor. After a while, though, she spoke again. "Huntsman?"
Qrow half-turned towards her. "Knight?"
He watched her turn oddly thoughtful, a distant look glazing over her eyes. "Is that your horse?"
Qrow recoiled, taken aback by her sudden shift in demeanor. "Yes?" He answered tentatively, unsure of where Pyrrha would take this.
She nodded. "Did you name it?"
Qrow blinked and shook his head. "I… n-no, I didn't. My line of work demands I not make bonds with horses; they die too quickly."
"I named mine," Pyrrha stated.
"O… kay?"
"I don't remember what I named it. I remember when I named it, though."
"That's… interesting." He was deliberately trying to brush the conversation away. He didn't like the wistful, almost childish tone that had suddenly overcome the Knight Captain.
"The Chasm was so deep. I had a lot of time to think, so I thought about horse names. I really liked Wheatstraw. Or Haygrass. Or Meathook."
Qrow blinked. "Is that so?"
"Evergreen. Malady, because it sounds like 'milady'. Erstwhile. Eggshell. Large George."
"Mhm."
"Cowbird. Egret. Tit, haha."
"Tit. That's funny."
"Booby, too. Birds have funny names."
Qrow didn't like where this was going, but he especially didn't like the absent smile that had overtaken the Captain's face. A bird-eating grin. "Yes, they certainly do."
"I really like birds. So free. I hate to see them in cages."
The threat wasn't even veiled, and it was wholly uncalled for. "Is that necessary?"
"I'd think not. No bird deserves to be caged. Except for ravens."
Qrow seized, nearly halting his horse. Pyrrha's eye slowly found him, staring knowingly, hungrily.
"Oh yes, I hate those things. Wandering about, making strange noises, mocking you. They're such an annoyance. Little blighters are what they are, feasting on corpses because they fear to take a beast on their own."
"That is… in their nature, I suppose," Qrow tried to excuse.
"Would an unnatural being even be able to respect the state of one's nature?"
That hiss seeped through again. Qrow shivered, his hand instinctively seeking comfort on the pommel beneath his cloak. "A philosophical question, one which I'm hardly equipped to answer, Ser Nikos."
"Ser Nikos, Lady Nikos, Knight Captain Nikos. Nikos, Nikos, Nikos, that's all I hear. Is it a family name?"
Qrow blinked. "I would imagine so? Most surnames are."
Pyrrha let out a hollow, razor-sharp laugh. "Surnames. Like Branwen. It denotes origin, family, clan… tribe, even."
Qrow tightly gripped the sword, lightly tapping his horse in the hopes that it would speed up a little. He desperately wanted to escape the Knight Captain's hungry gaze. "I see what you're getting at. I'm far past that life, my Hunter's Vow is proof enough. My sister is her own woman, and not one who is keen to heed my words."
"Actions speak louder than words, Huntsman. Do you know how many lives her roving gang has ruined?"
"I try not to."
"So uncaring, Sir Branwen. Perhaps, if you truly cared so little, you would divorce yourself of that name."
Qrow scoffed. "It's just a name."
The Knight Captain's next words were teeth on his neck. "Do I scare you, little bird?"
Qrow didn't need to turn to feel that she was looking directly at him. "Yes." It wasn't even an admission, just a simple fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, and Pyrrha Nikos shook Qrow to his bones.
Pyrrha chuckled, the sound creeping over his ears like talons. "I'll name this one Birdcage."
Qrow gulped.
"One day, I'll stuff its ribs with crows and ravens."
Good fucking gods, he was going to piss himself.
Notes:
sorry this took a minute lol, i wrote way too many chapters and my editor gf got sick. next one should be out tomorrow, though, it's a big argument and its still got some more kinks to work out.
really liked this chapter btw, and fucked-up-eldritch-horror!Pyrrha is a blast to write, and so is Qrow; i just love their dynamic :)
Chapter 45: Not Made for This
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby swung her cleaver, relishing in the way its heft so easily fell at her command. It bit deep into the young evergreen, nearly splitting its trunk in two. Yang did the rest of the work by hugging the tree and twisting it fully off its base, leaving a ragged stump behind.
Weiss, ever helpful, offered 'constructive' criticism from behind them. "You have an ax, you know."
Ruby threw a small grin her way. "Yeah, but it's just a little handax, and I love my baby."
Weiss quirked an eyebrow at that, moving aside as Yang carried the trunk past her. "Your 'baby'?"
Ruby vigorously nodded. Weiss scoffed, but couldn’t hide her smile of endearment.
"It's a sword, Ruby."
The smith gasped, feigning offense. "My lady! ‘Tis not just a sword!"
Weiss crossed her arms, unimpressed. "You're right, it's a hunk of metal on a stick."
Ruby leaned forward and smirked. "It was enough to impress you."
Weiss huffed, mumbling "Well, it wasn't the sword…"
Ruby straightened back up, her eyes alight as if struck with an idea. She lifted the cleaver into both hands, arms outstretched towards the heiress. "Weiss, come here."
The heiress cautiously stood. "Why?"
Ruby lifted the giant blade a little, nodding to Weiss. "Try it."
Weiss recoiled as if she'd been handed a corpse. "What? No!"
Ruby lunged forward and gripped the girl's sleeve, pulling her closer. "Come on, what harm will it do?"
Weiss scowled at the smith. "Oh, I don't know, I could chop you in half, or maybe unhand it mid-swing and decapitate your sister, or even—"
"I'll make sure you don't," Ruby assuaged, pressing the giant blade towards the heiress. "Try it."
Weiss pushed herself away from the girl, her expression firm. "Ruby, I am a fencer. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly built for something like that."
"I'm not saying you are," Ruby countered, "I just want you to try. I mean, who knows when you'll be able to get your own sword again. It'd be helpful to expand your horizons a little."
Weiss sneered, refusal on her lips, but the look that Ruby suddenly affixed her with gave the heiress pause. Her eyes were wide, her expression so desperately pleading that it was pitiful. She felt her shriveled heart traitorously beat, and huffed. "Fine. Give me the stupid thing."
Ruby pumped her arm triumphantly before handing over her sword. When she dropped it in Weiss' hands, the heiress nearly fell forward with the weight. Ruby moved to catch her, but a fiery glare made her retreat.
"Let. Me." Weiss seethed, straining as she threw the stupid thing over her shoulder, as she'd seen Ruby do before. Even the dull metal bit against her flesh, but she ignored it as she approached a tree, one with a trunk much thicker and older than the one Ruby had felled.
Ruby held up her hands, falling behind the heiress as she moved. When Weiss tensed up to swing, a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder, stopping her. "Wait, wait," Ruby said, giggling. "Not like that. You'll throw your shoulder out."
Weiss whirled on her, going bright red when the cleaver's weight threatened to pull her to the ground. Ruby reached out and steadied her, only furthering the heiress' embarrassment.
"It's big, heavy, and slow, Weiss," Ruby slowly instructed. "You've got to respect her."
Weiss scowled. "Stop personifying your damn cleaver, you dolt."
"Turn back around," Ruby continued, undeterred.
Much as she wanted to keep hurling useless insults, Weiss found herself entranced by Ruby's tone— caring, slow, and gentle. Not at all what one would expect from someone who wielded a giant iron block, but it was what Weiss had come to expect. "F-fine," the heiress turned back to the tree, her eyes set on the spot she intended to hack with this big dumb sword. "Now what."
"Now…" a hand fell on Weiss' back, between her shoulder blades. The other found her unencumbered shoulder. She tried not to think of the warmth at the smith’s contact. "The cleaver wants to swing, it wants to move, and when it does, it won't want to stop. It'll take you with it, and you have to be ready for that."
That voice, right next to Weiss' ear, was enough to make her entire body erupt in a scarlet blush. "I understand the concept of momentum, Ruby," she tried to be sharp and cutting, to draw attention away from the effect the smith was having on her, but it just came out weak.
"I know, but this is important. Don't fight it, don't try to pull back. If you do, you could get hurt," Ruby gently pushed on Weiss' back, pulling her slightly at the shoulder. "Just move with it, even if it's not going the way you want. Swing like you're about to throw a tree trunk; move your whole body, but don't let go when it reaches its crest. Just follow it."
Weiss rolled her shoulder and pinched the blades back, silently indicating that she wanted Ruby to back up. "It certainly feels like a tree trunk," she grumbled.
She could almost feel Ruby's beaming smile, and the girl’s quiet giggle made something flutter between her ribs. "That's the point."
Weiss huffed, but focused on her task, closing her eyes as she breathed deeply. She focused on the weight against her shoulder, how it would feel when she swung it. She would need to move as she swung, so she took a lower stance that would allow her body to pivot. She imagined pushing the blade off her shoulder, turning her waist, throwing it with all the might that her body would offer. She pictured it hitting the trunk, sinking deep, biting all the way through, the awful reverberation that—
"Weiss, stop overthinking. Swing."
With a frustrated grunt, Weiss opened her eyes and cast the blade from her shoulder, gripping it tightly as she twisted her whole body. She felt the weight sail, moving on its own, only thinly guided by her own commands. It rapidly gained speed, flying far off her intended course, but she pushed it along the way nonetheless, heeding Ruby's words.
When the cleaver hit the trunk, it did so with a deep shunting sound that painfully reverberated into Weiss' hands. She hadn't even realized she closed her eyes until she opened them again, finding the blade barely sunk past the tree's gnarled bark. She blinked.
Ruby appeared in front of her suddenly, materializing from a cloud of vibrant petals, her expression just as bright. "That was great!" She cheered.
Weiss stepped back, unhanding the cleaver and leaving it in the tree. "H-hardly, I barely made it in."
Ruby scoffed and brushed her off, laying a hand on Weiss' shoulder. "Well, yeah, this tree is huge! I wouldn't have done much better."
Weiss tensed at the contact, her face growing red. "You don't need to patronize me, Ruby."
Ruby blinked, confusion overtaking her bright expression. "I don't know what that means."
Weiss pursed her lips. "You don't need to talk down to me like I'm a child, I know I could've done better."
Ruby's brows knit together with concern. "Weiss, you did fine. It's your first time swinging the thing, I didn't expect you to be perfect."
Weiss gave her a doubtful look. "Well, it's just a hunk of metal. I've dueled almost my whole life, I should be able to use something so simple with ease."
"Why?"
The heiress blinked, confused. "Why what?"
"Why should you be able to?" Ruby asked. "You said you've dueled your whole life, but I imagine you never fenced with a giant iron cleaver, let alone someone wielding one."
"Still, I’ll never be able to use it like you."
A doubtful eyebrow crawled up Ruby's forehead. "Not without practice; I’ve been swinging this thing for years."
"No, you dunce," Weiss gestured to her figure, then to Ruby's. "I'm— haven't you seen me? I'm bloody skeletal! It's a miracle I even have the strength to lift a fork, let alone this thing. Compared to me, you're huge!”
Ruby's face twisted with confusion. "Was that an insult?"
Weiss stepped back, her hands waving defensively. "No! No, I just mean…" her eyes fell on Ruby's arms, the sleeves of which had been rolled up to reveal girth and muscle befitting one of her trade. Weiss beat down a blush. "You're… strong."
"Well yeah, I'm a blacksmith— it comes with the job. You could do it too, y’know."
"No, Ruby, you're not…" Weiss pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. "You're not understanding."
"I'm sorry," Ruby apologized. "I'm trying to."
“Well, stop,” Weiss insisted, biting more harshly than the smith deserved. She couldn’t stop now, though, the words came boiling up past her throat like a river undammed. “You don’t have to understand, okay? Do you think I haven’t tried to put a little on? Because I have, but it turns out I’m just eternally stuck with this… ugh, insectoid shape that the gods have so graciously gifted me! Of course, it’s not like anybody actually cares! It’s all on me; ‘Weiss, put on some weight, Weiss, entertain these snotty brats we want to marry you off to, Weiss, come watch this stupid bloodsport full of more people we want to marry you off to!’ Gods, it’s like I’ve been stuck in this endless bloody limbo where my marriage is the single most important thing my parents have ever been faced with, but they simultaneously make no effort to ever include me in it— which is hilarious, because the whole tournament was my idea! So really, it was all my fault that you came in, swinging your stupid fucking sword with all the ease and freedom the world could give. Could you even imagine how much I envied you? Enough to run away, apparently! Gods, what a fucking idiot I am. I ruined everything!”
Now that the words were free, Weiss had expected some kind of weight to be lifted from her panting chest, but she just felt empty. No, worse than empty, she felt as though a heavy tumor of guilt had budded on her heart.
Ruby blinked and recoiled at her sudden yelling rant, but reached towards her nonetheless. “Weiss, you…”
Weiss rapidly turned on her heel. The magic and tenderness of the moment had all been sucked away, and it was entirely her fault. She'd made that feeble attempt for Ruby's sake, but here she was, making everything about her again. It was her own selfishness that made her leave the palace that night, the night that she ruined all their lives. Her own selfishness put those nails in Ruby. Her own selfishness is what had her following this group like a leech, and now her parasitism would come to infect Ruby.
Well, she wouldn't let it. Ruby deserved better. Perhaps, if she went back to father on her hands and knees, she could beg for forgiveness. She could convince them that everything was just a mistake, and that the only one who deserved punishment was her. That much was true. She'd follow her father's wishes, marry whoever he wanted, and ensure that Ruby and her friends would be spared the Schnee's wrath.
Weiss walked away from Ruby. When the smith tried to follow, Weiss ran. When Ruby gave chase, Weiss used her magic to retreat under a shroud of invisibility. She easily escaped the smith's pursuit, and began retracing her group's footsteps out of the Emerald Forest, keen on making things right.
"Weiss!" She heard Ruby shouting through the thicket. "What's wrong! Come back!"
Weiss ignored the voice. At least, she tried to.
"Please, Weiss! I'm sorry!" The words staked through Weiss’ back.
She kept trudging forward.
Notes:
tee hee man i hope nothing bad happens
also my gf comes up with bangin chapter titles, if i do say so myself. this one, 'the rose and the dove', 'thorns and feathers', 'the thing about pyrrha', and 'what's a father, anyway?' are some of my favorites of hers. its actually our anniversary today, and god i couldnt be a luckier woman. she totally could, tho, she got food poisoning lmao. dumb bitch. i love her.
Chapter 46: Smothered
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss, in her haste to leave the Emerald Forest and atone for her sins, had neglected the lateness of the day, and severely underestimated how quickly night would take the grove. It was like the sun had suddenly fallen from the sky, leaving her stumbling through the blinding dark. Something caught her foot, and she found herself making fast friends with the soft loam of the forest floor.
She spat out dirt and pushed herself back to her feet, her head spinning. She held up a hand. She couldn't see it. With a push of her will, she convinced her Aura to alight above her fingers with a small fire. It didn’t like being pushed in such an unfamiliar direction, but her persistent urging eventually coaxed some flame into the air. It was pitiful compared to what Yang could accomplish.
The fire did little to alleviate the darkness. In fact, it only highlighted how intensely the night enshrouded her. Shadows stretched long from her meager light, falling back only a few feet before they found impenetrable darkness once more. The imposing trees stared down at her, sneering at her pathetic form. A cold breeze pushed through her smock. Weiss shook like a leaf.
She felt like an idiot. She was an idiot, leaving Ruby like that. It was barely anything, just a swing of that cleaver and she was doubting her whole bloody life? Gods, she'd stabbed her so-called father, by what stupid fucking notion did she think he would ever forgive her? Weiss kicked a nearby tree out of anger, but it did nothing to alleviate it. "Shite!" She hissed to herself. "Bloody… idiot! Argh!"
She wanted to go back, but the path behind her… was that even behind her? Or did she turn when she fell? She cast her tiny flame about, trying to find a path among the trees, but it was all roots and plants and fallen leaves. Nothing remained. She was lost.
"Weiss!" The voice was almost a whisper with how distant it was, but it cut through the darkness, straight to Weiss' ears. Of course Ruby was still looking. Unlike her, she was good.
"Ruby!" She called in return, chasing her only friend's voice. She tripped over every root, but kept moving forward with singular determination. She'd apologize. Ruby would, of course, welcome her with open arms like the dolt she was.
"Weiss!" She cried, her voice growing closer as the heiress pursued. Weiss sped her steps, calling out before Ruby could lose her. "Please, Weiss! I'm sorry!"
"I'm coming!" Weiss shouted, lifting her kirtle in one hand as the other held the flame for light. Her feet sank slightly into the soil with every step, but she ran nonetheless. Damn Jacques, damn Willow, damn that monstrous Knight Captain, she'd made her bed and she was going to lie in it! "Ruby! I'm here!"
The ground underfoot hardened suddenly, and something else caught her rising step, tripping her fully. The flame snuffed to nothing as she fell, her body landing on the hard floor. The hard… stone floor. Weiss stretched her arms around, feeling her surroundings. Bricks. Stone bricks. Old, broken, and covered in ancient moss. She lifted her chin, but only darkness greeted her.
"Weiss!" She called again, her voice closer this time. Surely she'd heard Weiss' response, and had come to—
"What's wrong! Come back!"
The voice was almost upon her. The dark grew darker. "R-Ruby?"
"Please, Weiss! I'm sorry!"
Weiss felt her soul climb up her throat, choking her. That wasn't Ruby.
"Weiss! What's wrong!" It wasn't right. It wasn't real. A form of infinite darkness lapped at the shadows, fingers stretching to the fallen heiress. "Come back!"
Weiss scrambled back, her hand flying up as she channeled unfamiliar flames. She needed light, she needed light!
With a brief spark of her fingertips, light came.
A pale, silver-eyed visage appeared from the darkness, floating amid infinite void. The face was familiar. Where a scar would stretch from ear to nose, there was nothing but perfect rosy skin. The brow wasn't interrupted by a gnarled line of pink tissue, and the nose wasn't offset. Ruby Rose, perfectly unmarred, save for the crown of iron nails half-sunk into her skull. The weeping adornment sent sanguine trickles down her features, pouring into the sides of her mouth and creating a bubbling pool behind her teeth.
"Please Weiss! I'm sorry!" The words slithered past open, unmoving lips, bringing a spurt of red foam with them. It flew across Weiss' face and soaked her kirtle, spreading a sickly warmth across her flesh. Slowly, unbidden, her trembling hands reached up, her fingers brushing against the familiar visage.
Weiss had never seen something so beautiful.
The flesh was soft and malleable, squishing under her fingers as it pressed into her touch, hard enough that the skin broke around her digits. The split flesh sloughed around her fingertips, pulling her in, so warm, fighting back the chill air of the night. Inky black claws wrapped around her waist, lifting her to Ruby's bleeding maw. It opened wide for her, impossibly so, tearing open her bloodstained cheeks as it unhinged to accommodate the heiress. Her arms entered first, her head following into the warm embrace. It was like snuggling into her mother's bosom.
"Weiss!" Ruby's voice called. It would ask her to come back, next, but she was already there. She felt her shoulders grow warm as they followed.
"Weiss! Where are you!" Well, she was right there, in her hands. Couldn't Ruby see that?
"Come back, you're gonna get lost!" That wasn't Ruby. No, it was somebody else. Jane? No, no, Jiang? That wasn't right, either. Yong? Yung? It didn't matter, not when her chest was growing so pleasantly warm.
"Shitting fuck!" Well, that was Blake. There was no mistaking it. The fay had a… unique way of swearing. "What is that!"
"It's got Weiss!" Ruby, you dolt. It is you. You've got Weiss. She knew the poor girl wasn't the brightest, but this was just basic object permanence.
Weiss felt the warmth envelop her stomach, and she realized she could open her eyes. Nothing but darkness greeted her, so thick and viscous that it pervaded all sight, save for the tiniest glimmer of light deeper beyond.
"Stand back!" Jane-Jiang-Yong-Yung yelled, her voice thickly muffled. "Don't look it in the eyes!"
"Just fucking kill it, Yang!" That's what it was— Yang . Something so simple , she really shouldn't forget.
Bright light burst against the darkness, like watching a fireworks show from underwater. It was quite delightful, save for the burning sensation that licked at her legs. Thankfully, that faded as they fell into the more gentle warmth of Ruby's embrace.
Annoyingly, she felt something grip above her feet, pulling her hard.
"Come on!" Ruby yelled, grunting in time with each yank on Weiss' ankles. "Let. Her. Out!"
A grumbling sound shook the darkness around her, but the pull at her legs was persistent and, worse, actually working. She felt herself gradually being torn from her Ruby's warmth, inch by inch.
She flailed her arms about, trying to fight against the pull, seeking any handhold. When she finally found purchase, she gripped it tight. She looked up to see what she was holding, but a voice snapped into her mind like a whip.
‘GETMEOUTGETMEOUTGETMEOUTGETMEOUTGETMEOUT’, It screamed, rattling the heiress' brains. Why on Remnant would she get out? She was so damn warm here! Out there was where all the cold was!
The grip around her legs did not ease, and Weiss found that her handhold was not as stable as she assumed. Stuck in her desperate grip, it followed her out. The cold came back with force, striking against her legs as she was torn from Ruby's inky embrace. It felt like she was being buried in ice as her waist was freed, then her chest, then her shoulders. With all the might her mere chin could muster, she tried to hold herself in the warmth.
It wasn't enough. All at once, her head came free, followed immediately by her arms and hands. She seemed to fly for a couple moments before her momentum was immediately arrested, and she found herself falling in a warm lap.
She looked up. Ruby was there, holding her tightly, looking down at her with pain and worry. Wait, that didn't make sense, wasn't she just in Ruby? Seeking answers, she looked back from whence she—
The moment Weiss laid eyes upon the creature, she vomited.
Notes:
its not vore its not vore its not vore its not vore its not vore stop saying its vore its not vore its nOT VORE
also next 2 chapters should be posted later this weekend simultaneously, since they're from a parallel perspective to this one. might be able to squeeze in a tc chapter this week
Chapter 47: Bloodhound
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby arrived at their impromptu clearing, breathless and clearly in distress. Yang looked up from the fire she was about to light, and Blake set down her satchel of foraged foodstuffs. "Ruby? What's wr—"
"Weiss ran off into the forest! I dunno what I did but she just ran off and now I can't find her and she seemed really emotional and I'm scared she's gonna do something stupid!" The words flew out of her mouth without thought.
Yang raised both eyebrows and stood, but Blake seemed unperturbed, muttering, "Yeah, saw that one coming."
Yang gave her a sour look, but Ruby spoke before she could chastise the fay. "Just help me find her! Come on!"
Yang pushed up her sleeves and followed her sister, casting a sidelong glance towards Blake as she left. She groaned, but reluctantly got to her feet and joined them.
"Which way did she go?" Yang asked, running herself ragged to keep up with her companions.
"I don't know!" Ruby was shrill and panicked, her head whipping around every which way. "I was right behind her, but she just disappeared!"
Yang and Blake shared a look. Ruby hadn't been awake for the heiress' disappearing act, though they hadn't seen it from the outside either. They let Ruby run a few more fruitless yards before Yang halted them.
"Wait, wait," she called, hand raising as she breathlessly spoke. She may be a seasoned Huntress, but Ruby had always been unreasonably fast. "We need… to be smart… about this."
"Be smart?" Ruby exclaimed, incredulous. "She’s lost in the middle of the Emerald Forest! We need to find her!"
"I know!" Yang shouted, pulling herself up to impose upon Ruby, at least enough to prevent any further bickering. "But it's getting late, and night comes fast here. If we just chase after nothing we're all going to end up lost, so we need to exercise at least a shred of thought in how we do this."
Ruby opened her mouth to speak, but Yang raised a hand, silencing her.
"No Ruby, wait, okay? I… I think I have an idea," Yang claimed, her brow creasing with thought.
"Don't hurt yourself," Blake snarked, unworried of their situation. "I heard those can be hard for people like you."
"Shut up, Blake, this is serious," Yang said, shooting her a quick glare. "We do actually need her."
Blake scoffed. "As if."
Yang's glare sharpened, her look demanding that Blake listen now, and talk later. Turning her gaze back to Ruby, the Huntress continued. "I remember Weiss said something about me, she said she knew I was an ignifer just by my smell. Honestly, I thought she meant it literally, but I don't really smell like a pyromancer, do I?"
Ruby and Blake shared a look of confusion, then simultaneously sent one of doubt at their blonde companion.
"Seriously, smell me." Yang commanded, raising her arms and beckoning them. "This is important."
The two girls stared each other down, both daring and begging the other to do the deed. Finally, after a long contest of stares, it was Ruby that broke first. She growled, her face twisting in frustration while Blake's lips curled with satisfaction. The smith made quick stomps to her sister and, without wasting another moment on this stupid distraction, stuck her nose towards the Huntress. She took a deep whiff, and immediately felt herself age a few decades.
Ruby shrank back and pinched her nostrils, waving her hand in front of her face. "Gods, Yang! You reek!"
"But in a normal way, right?" Yang probed, turning a little rueful at her sister's disgust. "Like how you would expect me to stink after I broke into a castle, fought dozens of men, and set myself on fire to save my sister?"
Ruby flushed with guilt. "I— I guess?"
Yang beamed, her suspicions confirmed. "So it was a magic thing!"
"Yang, could you just get to the point?" Blake drawled, her schadenfreude at Ruby's disgust having quickly faded.
"She knew I was an ignifer because I smell like an ignifer!" Yang exclaimed. "In a magic way!"
"I'm really not following…" Ruby mumbled.
"I've been smelling myself, trying to find whatever Weiss was talking about," Yang stated, as if she hadn't just said 'I've been smelling myself' with the same seriousness as an alchemist discussing their study. "And I think I get it, at least a little. It's really hard to find, and I have to tap into my Aura to smell it, but I definitely smell like something other than a standard bodily odor."
Blake blinked, equal parts unimpressed and confused. "Are you drunk?"
"No, I'm serious it's like—" she held her arm against her nose and took a deep breath. "Like smoke and… burning metal, or something! Ruby, come here!"
Yang reached out and yanked the girl back by her cloak, choking any refutations away as she pulled her sister close, then took a few extremely invasive and discomforting sniffs of her arm.
"Ha! Roses!" Yang exclaimed and unhanded her sister, who immediately scrambled away to safety. She then turned to Blake with a dangerous smile.
The fay gripped herself tightly. "Don't you fucking dare," she hissed, "I will stab you."
Yang cackled to the canopy above, then set Blake with a sly look, slowly mouthing 'lavender'. Blake blushed furiously, her face twitching as she calculated how many knives she could throw before Ruby stopped her.
Ruby yanked her arm back, annoyed. "Okay, so what does this have to do with anything! What's the point of all this!"
"Well, if an ignifer smells like burning," Yang reasoned, "then surely Weiss would smell like freezing!"
"So what," Blake drawled, her purple blush quickly fading. "You're just going to follow her scent like a dog?"
Yang smiled wide. Slowly, confidently, she nodded.
"Shepherd's fucking grace," Blake mumbled, defeated. "How did you ever get me in your bed."
Yang jauntily marched forward, giving Blake a cheeky pat as she raised her nose high. She took a deep breath, searching the wind for anything that was even vaguely… princess-y.
Dirt. Mostly dirt. It was a forest, so it really smelled like wet dirt. Pushing past that… juniper, scant hints of it floating on the breeze. She growled and shook her head, frustrated that she was only catching the forest itself. She screwed her face tight, then took a whiff of herself to get her bearings. Sweat and stink. She gripped her still-scarred hands tight, forcing her Aura to well up within her. More sweat, more stink, but also… Smoke, like if a person could be a campfire. Acid, a sharp burn that made her eyes water. Iron, like the taste of blood in her mouth, only as a smell, and also on fire. It was more of a feeling, really, but the myriad scents came together to perfectly construct the concept of an inferno made human.
With her mind set, she dropped her arm and extended that sense outward, breathing deep as she did. Blake, right next to her, smelled like lavender. Ruby exuded faint roses and a shred of something else; Yang was beginning to suspect that fay carried floral scents, but would have to sniff a wider range of examples to be sure. She marched forward, keeping her nose high.
Beyond that… wet dirt. Lots of it, but less in the material sense that she'd smelled before, more as if the scent of loam was an immutable property of the Emerald Forest itself, and that it would still smell this way if a drought had turned its soil to sand. It was a lively aroma, as well, pulsing weak and strong like a heartbeat.
Something sharp sliced across her senses, pungent and sour like she'd been assaulted by a sack of rotting ham. It was enough to make her stop in her tracks, but one thing kept her from gagging: a singular, barely discernible whiff of mint and cold — Weiss.
Yang sprinted after the scent.
Notes:
i know i said weekend but i realize now that my sense of 'weekend' is warped by the fact i have mondays off. sorry lol.
new sidequest for yang: sniff random people. that'll be fun.
Chapter 48: Forest Fire
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby had never seen a Grimm in her life. She'd heard stories by the dozen, tales of gnashing teeth and sweeping claws, of burning acid and spikes of bone. Monstrous creatures, summoned by and attracted to intense emotions. Some even say that they eat the soul, leaving nothing for the Shepherd to usher into her flock.
But this is where the extent of her knowledge ended, as evident by this creature's appearance. Ruby already had an image in her mind, based on her sister's stories: giant black wolves, giant black birds, giant black… boars. In hindsight, her view had been severely limited, but no part of her psyche could have conjured the thing before her. Well, under her. She was currently standing on it, boots planted in its almost-liquid flesh, pulling Weiss up by her legs. How she'd let herself get more than halfway sucked into it was a question for another time.
Ruby looked down as she pulled, but her sister's shout made her screw her lids tight. “Stand back! Don't look it in the eyes!”
Ruby had no plans on heeding the former command, but she was glad to do the second. Closing her eyes against the creature's form was like stepping outside her forge after a deafening day of forgework. Something about the sight of it was inherently disquieting; her eyes just wanted to slide away, as if they could stubbornly ignore its existence. Ruby pulled at the heiress’ legs. The monster pulled harder, absorbing her up to the ankles before Ruby could reclaim her grip.
“Come on!” She yelled, grunting as she pushed up with her legs. She fought against the Grimm's pull with everything she had. “Let. Her. Out!”
Ruby felt a surge of heat blast across her, accompanied by intense vibrations through the creature under her feet. She had no doubt that it was Yang. Even if she couldn't see her, she could picture each flaming punch diving into the Grimm's hide.
The assault seemed to help and the creature's grip on Weiss faltered, allowing Ruby to pull the heiress all the way up to her chest before her progress hitched, as if Weiss had become caught on something. The girl seemed to have a minor spasm, and Ruby could feel the thing she was stuck on getting loose, so she wrapped her arms more securely around Weiss’ thighs and pulled.
All at once, Weiss slipped completely from the Grimm's body, her weight suddenly barging into Ruby and sending them both flying off the creature. Thinking fast, Ruby tried her best to wrap herself around Weiss— she didn't know whether or not the heiress had an Aura remaining, and she wasn't about to just blink away and leave the girl to fall. Instead, she focused on her own Aura, hoping that would bolster her against the inevitable impact.
The first thing she struck was a tree, her back slamming hard against it and almost knocking Weiss out of her grip. Her Aura flashed and shimmered, holding on by a thread as she continued to fall with Weiss tucked close to her chest. The ground arrived quickly, finally shattering the remains of her Aura. Thankfully, the soil was unreasonably soft, saving her from further harm. Distant pain shot up her body regardless, but the look on Weiss’ face shoved that into the back of her mind.
The heiress’ cerulean irises were little more than slivers giving way to blown-out pupils. Her lip was twisted with intense disgust, her whole body was shivering in Ruby’s lap, and there was nothing behind her eyes. Ruby gently shook her, cupping the back of her head so she could bring their eyes to meet. “What happened!”
Ruby could see the precise moment that Weiss reclaimed her cognizance, indicated by the shrinking of her pupils and the widening of her eyes. Intense confusion etched across her features. She mouthed the smith’s name, blinked rapidly, then twisted to look behind her, towards the Grimm she'd just escaped.
Ruby, with one hand supporting Weiss’ back, was able to feel when her stomach lurched, but she didn’t have time to move. The heiress vomited onto Ruby’s breeches. She looked down to assess the damage.
Oh. There was a sword in her thigh.
Blake landed in a controlled skid, but a jutting stone caught her foot and sent her toppling. Thankfully, Yang caught her. Their battle had advanced a good distance deeper into the forest, leaving burning trees and pools of black ichor in their wake.
“You need to let me handle this,” Yang insisted, her voice much more serious than Blake was used to.
The fay sent her a dumbfounded look. “Are you stupid? That thing will—”
“It’s just a Grimm,” Yang said, as if that was a reassuring statement. “I’ve killed plenty. Get the other two out of here, I’ll find you.”
“Just a Grimm?” Blake pushed herself off of the Huntress. “Look at the damn thing!”
Yang briefly looked up at the viscous creature. Its bulbous, writhing body was suspended on an inconsistent number of spidery limbs. Rather than walking like a normal creature, it seemed to sprout and discard the appendages in the direction they were needed, giving it a perfectly smooth gait.
Extending from its hulking body was a long neck, at least a couple meters in length, that seemed to squirm on its own volition, uncaring of how it unbalanced the rest of the creature. The neck ended in a pristine white mask, though she was sure none of the others saw it that way. Grimm such as this one took advantage of the mind rather than using brute force, tempting their victims with a hypnotic visage before gobbling them whole. Thankfully, it only worked once, and Yang had been exposed to such abilities as part of her training. She turned back to the fay. “Blake, you can't kill it— you can’t even touch iron. Plus, one look in its eyes and you’ll—”
A deep black limb shot towards them, interrupting the Huntress and forcing her to scramble back lest she suffer a sudden impalement. She tried to reach out and grab the extended appendage, but the rest of the Grimm’s mass arrived with uncanny speed, its other legs sweeping out and batting Yang out of the way with a hard impact to her chest. She barely managed to stay on her feet, but what she saw next made her panting breath hitch.
Its mask was bent down to Blake, perfectly aligned with her eyes. Long arms, disturbing in their humanlike appearance, sprouted from its upper torso and confidently reached down to encircle her. Yang tried to lunge forward, but the fire in her palm wouldn’t reach in time. Grimm of this kind weren’t as blindly voracious as their animalistic kin; it would take Blake and run, forcing Yang to either chase it, or leave Ruby and Weiss alone in the darkness of the Emerald Forest. She watched helplessly as Blake was caught in its entrancing gaze.
One moment, Blake was in its long fingers, then she simply wasn’t. In a flash of otherworldly light, Blake appeared in the air above its closed hands, leaving Yang to watch awestruck as she fell with her fist extended, lit only by the residual flames of the ignifer’s earlier attacks. The fay’s hand struck the mask with a resounding crack.
The Grimm scrambled back, its hands flying up to cradle its now-broken face. It let out a long, hollow shriek as its liquid form suddenly bristled with spikes of ichor, then it just… ran away. Yang took a single step in its wake, but the dark form sank easily into the shadows of the forest.
Yang only noticed Blake's quiet approach from the sound of clinking metal. She looked to the fay, panting and bewildered at what she'd just witnessed. “Wha… how did you…”
Blake held a wide smirk, but it was clear that she was maintaining it to hide her pain as she unwrapped the iron chain from her fist. “I can handle myself just fine.”
Yang gawked, but only for a moment. The Huntress surged forward and ripped the chains from Blake's hands. “Gimme that! Gods, Blake, you're going to hurt yourself!”
Blake let her take the chain, but affixed her with a glare. She was prepared to berate Yang for doubting her ability, but found her words hanging in her throat as the Huntress came close and cradled her hands. Their burned flesh mingled, though Yang didn't have any reaction besides the fawning look in her eyes.
“Yang, I'm fine. It's just iron,” Blake assured. “I’m used to it.”
Yang only gave her a single, unconvinced glance, then began pouring a light trickle of water over Blake's wounds. “That should feel better,” Yang insisted, her focus on Blake's burns.
The fay sputtered, unsure of how to react to this level of gentle care. “Sh-shouldn't you be worrying about your sister?”
Yang raised an eyebrow, then looked off into the direction Ruby had flown with Weiss. They had a good bit of distance now, and she sincerely doubted a Grimm that wounded would test its luck for a long while. “Eh, she's a tough cookie. I'm sure she’ll be fine.”
Notes:
uuuuuu y wasnt blake vored?????? intruge
Chapter 49: Can't Let Go
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby was, as her sister often made known, a tough cookie. She'd been through a lot of painful experiences, even before the tourney, so she considered her pain tolerance to be quite high. That was, of course, before the girl of her dreams had rammed a blade through her left leg.
“CROOK AND—” She tried to push Weiss off her impaled leg, but the movement made her teeth clamp tightly over the half-uttered curse. She seethed with pain, her eyes locked on the weapon in her thigh.
“Shite!” Weiss scrambled off of Ruby, but she found her hand locked tightly around the ichor-covered sword's grip, her fingers refusing to heed her commands. As such, the blade wrenched around in Ruby's leg.
“Shite!” Ruby cried, her hands shakily rising towards the blade.
‘Don't let me go,’ a voice whipped across Weiss’ mind. ‘Don't you fucking dare.’
Weiss’ eyes opened wide. She looked around, searching for the origin of the voice, but the only other thing she could hear was Ruby's strained cries. She winced as the girl's arms dropped, seemingly resigning to her pain. “Weiss, please! I'm sorry for what I said! J-just… please! ”
Weiss’ gaze frantically jumped between the smith and the sword. She tried to unwrap her fingers again, but they stayed clenched around the hilt like a vice. “N-no, Ruby, it's not— I can't!”
“What do you mean, you can't!” Ruby threw her head back and hissed, her breaths coming fast and hard. “Just get it out!”
“I mean I can't let it go!” Weiss answered.
“Then pull it out!” She screwed her eyes shut against the white-hot lance of pain. “Agh, gods!”
‘That would be acceptable,’ the voice rang again in Weiss’ head, prompting another fruitless and panicked search around her. ‘You may pull me out, but if you try to let go, I will stop.’
“Where the hell are you!” Weiss shouted around her.
“Weiss, there's no one around! Just pull the nnngh —” Ruby growled and wrapped her own hands around the bare blade. “Just pull the damn sword out!”
Weiss put Ruby's voice in the back of her mind and breathed, searching for any kind of magical scent that wasn't hers or Ruby's.
“Weisspullthefuckingswordout!” Ruby growled, the words flying out so fast that they melded into one.
“Give me a second!” Weiss demanded, frantically searching around them. If somebody else was around, she needed to know.
Ruby made a sound of frustration and wrenched upwards herself, keeping her grip tight so her palms wouldn't slide along the edge. The blade slipped out of her leg like a hot knife through butter, drawing a spray of blood in its wake that mingled with the dark ichor coating Weiss.
Even if it felt like she had stuck her whole leg in her furnace, Ruby let out a groan of relief at the weapon’s departure. Weiss, however, just stared at her with a mixture of shock and amazement, all fear of a stalker suddenly disappearing. “Did you just—”
A sharp, stinging clap rang out through the dark clearing, cutting off the heiress’ words. For the second time, Ruby had slapped her.
“R-Ruby!” Weiss whined, her free hand cradling her cheek. “Why would you—”
“You ran from me!” Ruby growled, now squeezing her thigh tight as the pain wracked her. “Then you stabbed me in the god-damn leg! Yes, I fucking slapped you!”
Weiss blinked, unused to this level of anger. “I—”
“Don't even try to explain yourself!” Ruby hissed, her silver eyes glimmering with rage that pierced the darkness. “Not now! Just…” she sucked air through her teeth and tried to push herself up, but another lance of pain sapped her strength, dropping her back onto a protruding root. “Help me get up.”
Once again, Weiss felt like she'd been hollowed out. She absently pulled Ruby up with her free hand, the other still locked around the sword as she muttered, “I'm sorry.” Her voice didn't even feel like her own.
Ruby leaned heavily against the heiress. “No, no, it's…” she sighed, wincing as she took her weight off her injured leg. Her Aura would kickstart the healing soon. “It's… I shouldn't have snapped at you. Or slapped you. It was an accident.”
The two began hobbling towards distant light— magical flames left behind from Yang’s assault. Weiss shook her head. “No, I am sorry. You're right. I ran.” She closed her eyes and let out a mirthless chuckle. “To think I’d so callously accuse Blake of doing the same.”
Ruby frowned, opened her mouth, then shut it again. She nodded to the sword still tight in Weiss’ grip. “So… guess you found a new sword?”
Weiss blinked— she'd completely forgotten about the thing. She lifted it, examining its features.
It wasn't like any sword she'd seen before, but it held some vaguely familiar characteristics to common designs. It had a straight hilt, just long enough for one hand, and a stout cap that was flush with the handle's end. A long guard with straight edges extended down over Weiss’ knuckles, similar to the knife-like messers of her home country, though this one angled sharply inwards at its end, enclosing her grip as if its maker was worried the thing would slip out the wielder's hand. Its blade was also messer-esque with its single cutting edge, but much thinner than any that Weiss had seen before. It was also slightly wider at the end, making its curve noticeable, and a thorn-like protrusion poked out from the edge, right where she thought a ricasso should be.
Weiss scowled at the blade in her hand. It was entirely inelegant— unfit for graceful hands like her own— made for murderous slashes and flesh-hooking thrusts. Not at all like the Myrtenaster she knew and loved. Beneath the barbarous design, however, she could see a hint of an inlay. That was the most fine detail she could discern, though, as the entire thing was covered in black ichor.
‘Barbarous? Is that really what you think of me?’ Weiss jolted at the sharp voice between her ears. ‘I'll show you.’
Weiss’ head whipped around. “What the hell—”
“Uh, Weiss, your sword is—”
A sweet chrysanthemum aroma suddenly overpowered Weiss’ senses, accompanied by an intense vibration through the hilt in her hand. She looked down in confusion, and found the whole blade violently shaking. Its ichor coating bubbled.
The flowery aroma was suddenly overcome with rotting ham as ichor exploded from the blade, splattering over the girls’ faces. The voice, this time smug, hissed imploringly into her skull.
‘Bask.’
Weiss blinked the fluid from her eyes, finding the sword in front of her face, raised unbidden by her own hand.
Every drop of black liquid had been violently cast from the weapon, leaving pure magnificence in its wake. The sweeping blade was a gleaming, reflective silver, with an inlay of sparkling white gold. The inlay hugged the back edge with a thick line that branched out in familiar volute curls— a fay design. A fay sword. In the hands of a Schnee.
“Wow…” Ruby cooed.
“Oh, gods…” Weiss groaned.
Blake was going to kill her.
Notes:
stabbed through the leg and youre to blame~
also ive got some amateur little sketches of all the (current) canon weapons, i can make a tumblr for it or something if anyone wants to see, just to get a better idea lol
Chapter 50: Bearing the Burden
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
To Weiss’ surprise, Ruby was excellent at retracing her footsteps, even when guided by scant moonlight and the dim glow from Weiss’ fingertips. Apparently Yang and Blake had seen fit to simply leave them alone in the dark forest, but they'd been kind enough to leave a few flames to mark their trail.
‘Don’t even think about dropping me, I will come for you.’
Weiss wasn't stupid, she'd read a lot of books— the reality of her situation had only occurred when her mind was free of panic. Many accounts, both historical and mythical, spoke of cursed objects; even inanimate objects could, by some magical means, take on a personality of their own. Overly powerful and stupid wizards were the most common cause, so infatuated with their own enchanting skill that they neglected to respect the magic's inherent desire for freedom. Any magicks could develop a consciousness of their own with sufficient power and concentration.
She recognized what was happening with this weapon. It explained how it had influence over her body and spoke directly into her mind, but she couldn't detect any traces of magic she was familiar with. And that shouldn't matter anyway, since this was a fay weapon. They had no capacity for such magic, so how could a fay weapon be magically cursed?
‘Quite the mystery, isn't it?’ Gods, it sounded so damn pleased with itself. It mimicked well what little she knew of fay personalities. ‘Mimic? Listen here, you little—’
“Shut up!” Weiss commanded with a sidelong hiss, hoping to keep Ruby from noticing.
“Weiss?” Of course she noticed. “Who are you talking to? And why are you so skittish?”
“Oh, I don't know, maybe it's because I was just ambushed and almost eaten by a creature of my nightmares?” Weiss sharply deflected.
Ruby tutted, then winced as her leg barely touched the ground. Crimson sparks were throwing themselves over the gash as her Aura healed it, but the process wasn't exactly quick.
Ruby hissed through her teeth, but continued their trek with Weiss’ support, mumbling, “That's fair, I suppose…”
Weiss relaxed. At least her years of toxic nobility had given her a good grasp of deception.
“Still, who're you talking to? It's just us.”
Weiss groaned internally. Of course Ruby was immune to her tricks. Reluctantly, she held the sword in front of them. She'd managed to convince the thing to let her ring and pinky fingers free to light their path, but it obstinately refused to be fully unhanded.
‘I am not ‘obstinate’, you heartless dick. I've been trapped in a fucking Grimm for an Imperator's age.’ Weiss’ eyebrows rose at the statement. She could only hope it was hyperbole— Imperators lived as long as their fay constituents permitted. ‘I can feel your revulsion, filia ferrea, and I know you'd cast me into the dirt, given the chance.’
“Weiss?” Ruby was staring at her, concern gleaming in her silver eyes. “You're staring at the sword again. Is something wrong? I get that it's a nice piece, but it’s not really your thing.”
“I've dueled with sabers before.” The lie slipped naturally past her lips, but Ruby’s brow rose in doubt.
“Have you?”
“Of course I have!”
Ruby's brow rose higher, though her look of intense doubt was slightly hindered as her features tightened with pain.
Weiss bent down so she could bear more of Ruby's weight, which the smith gratefully obliged. “Are you alright?”
“I'll be fine with some rest,” Ruby muttered, waving off her concern. “So, you've dueled with sabers?”
“W-well…” Weiss looked away, knowing she wouldn't get away by repeating the same lie. “I've dueled against sabers, and fighting against them is quite similar to fighting with them, so…”
Ruby's tilted head and pursed lips were enough to showcase her disbelief, so Weiss just sagged in defeat.
“Fine! I hate them! They're ugly and stupid and only wielded by those who are too clumsy to use a rapier or too cowardly to use a longsword! There!” She threw a look of frustrated finality at the smith. “Happy now?”
‘Well fuck you too, Weiss.’
The heiress whipped her head around, furious gaze affixing solely on the sword in her hand. “You do not get to use my name!” The angry words shot out too fast for her to stop, and she knew all hope of deception was lost.
Ruby pulled them both to a stop. “Seriously, you're talking to your sword. Is it cursed, or something?”
Weiss was sure she'd get whiplash with how violently she threw her head to and fro. “I— uh…”
“Weiss, I'm a blacksmith. I've been one for more than half my years. I know I'm not exactly smart, but I've heard my fair share of stories.” A wistful, distant look glazed over her features as her face turned skyward. “Legendary artificers and their legendary works, weapons that could sunder mountains and split the heavens. My mom even had one— according to my uncle, at least. A scythe that could split metal like wheat, and grew more powerful with each Grimm slain…” her eyes fell sadly to her feet. “I always wanted to craft one myself, but, well… I can't read!”
She threw Weiss a fake laugh and dead smile that cracked the heiress’ heart. She couldn't find any words of comfort for the girl, not before she continued. Ruby turned her gaze back to the ground.
“Not that it matters, anyways. It's like Blake said, I'm just a… a medial, or whatever she called it. I'll never cast a spell, I'll never forge a legend, and I'll never be like her.” She kicked the dirt and scoffed, then looked back up at Weiss with that same corpse of a smile. “They were right, I really am a black sheep.”
The crushing silence of the night took its reign once more, even the crickets holding their breath as her words washed over the heiress. It was… strange, looking at Ruby like this. She was close— she had to be, in this darkness— close enough that she could see the tears in her eyes, and her lip quivering with barely-restrained sobs.
The flames from Weiss’ fingers only made her silver eyes brighter, and made her scars contrast clearly against her pale skin.
She looked like the same girl Weiss had chased through the night, begging for mercy in that alleyway. The same girl who she'd whiled away the night with, talking about things that her father would kill her for— had tried to kill Ruby for. The girl with nails in her arms and death in her eyes, looking at Weiss like she'd come to escort her to the Shepherd’s flock. The girl who had stood up to Willow Schnee, a noble woman leagues above her own standing, just to support someone she barely knew.
This was the girl she had run away for, and it was the girl she had run away from, looking up at Weiss with more anguish and suffering than could ever be caused by a blade to the face, a spur to the brow, or a sword through the thigh. Just a blacksmith, one who had fled home to make a name for herself, now forced to bear the burdens of someone who had never quite shouldered their own; Ruby was too good not to.
It had all been for Weiss, just to indulge her selfish desire for more freedom than she had ever earned. Ruby deserved better. She deserved never to look like this again.
‘You need to say something,’ the stupid sword rang in her head again. ‘This girl is clearly in—’
Weiss leaned forward, and took Ruby's lips in her own.
Notes:
sorry, just one chapter this weekend-- and a cliffhanger at that! im terrible. my original work, one i wanna actually try making money off, has completely enraptured me. its turning into a real beast, full of blood mechas, sci-fi shit, and a fun enemies-to-lovers dynamic! thankfully, ive still got 5 more knights chapters to be edited and, like 7 or 8 TC chapters waiting for edit, so there'll be more to come. maybe i can bug my editor to push through a midweek chapter, though i wouldn't be too hopeful.
anyways, im really glad i got to put the smooch on a good, even chapter like 50. maybe it can even qualify as a slowburn now, depending on how one perceives chapter length vs quantity.
as always, thanks for reading!
Chapter 51: Stealing Nothing
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby watched Yang lean towards the metal slab she’d had been hammering into— a commissioned piece for a Knight from Vale. Her name was Penny, or something like that, and she'd paid quite handsomely for a curved falchion. Nice as the money was, Ruby got a lot more value from the knowledge that her work was good enough to make the trip from Vale.
Yang poked the piece, then immediately pulled back and stuck her finger in her mouth. “Shite! You could've warned me it was still hot!”
Ruby shrugged. “Yang, it was glowing just a minute ago. You could've figured that out yourself.”
Yang pouted, though the expression was ruined by the digit in her mouth. “Still…”
Ruby, just to enunciate her sister’s foolishness, slowly and deliberately used her tongs to place the metal back in the furnace, staring at Yang all the while.
“So…” Yang pulled the burned finger from her mouth. “You… thought about anybody lately?”
Ruby raised an eyebrow at her sister. “I don't know what you mean.”
“Sure you do.”
Ruby rolled her eyes and refocused on pumping the bellows. “I really don't.”
“You know, romantically.”
Ruby's foot froze on the pedal, then continued after a long moment. “I'm… busy. Don't really have time for that.”
“Well, you'll have to make time eventually,” Yang said ominously. “Or someone else will.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Yang waved dismissively. “What about that Jaune boy? He's got his own business— well, his father's business, but it's pretty much his now. Handsome, too.”
Ruby felt an immediate, inordinately disgusted reaction deep in her soul. She tried to tamp it down— Jaune was a nice guy, he really was, but they were just friends. Closer to business acquaintances, actually, she hadn't really seen much of him since she labored over all those nails.
“Wow. I'd guess not, judging by that face.”
Ruby shook her head and reset her expression. “Like I said— I'm busy.”
Yang hummed dismissively. “Still, somebody will come along sooner or later.”
Ruby rolled her eyes. “Sure, Yang. Somebody's going to come into my shop with a bundle of roses and announce their love to me— me. All covered in soot and work-stuff. I'd rather just focus on my forge.”
“You know, I could give you some lessons on romance,” Yang offered, leaning closer to her sister as her face dramatically puckered. “I'm quite the romantic, you know.”
Ruby pumped her bellows. The metal was probably hot enough to put back on the anvil, but she left it in a little longer, just to give Yang some time to finish whatever she was blathering on about. Smithing can be a deafening task, after all. “Sure, sis.”
“I'm serious. Seducing, courting, kissing…” she pressed annoyingly close to Ruby, making smooching noises to accentuate her point. “My knowledge could illuminate you to a new side of life.”
Okay, Ruby was done with this. She gave a final pump, then grabbed her tongs. “I'll live without it.”
Ruby regretted not taking those lessons; she was a fish out of water at the heiress’ kiss. Weiss’ warm lips slowly pressed against her own, making her whole body seize as if lightning coursed through her veins. Dark as it was, she didn't even notice that she'd closed her eyes.
The blessed feeling fled just as quickly though, leaving Ruby stumbling after it as Weiss stepped back.
“Oh Gods, Ruby, I'm so sorry!” Weiss had her hands over her mouth like the part had betrayed her. “I— I didn't mean—”
Ruby grasped blindly forward, her injured leg buckling beneath her now-unsupported weight. She began to fall, but Weiss dashed forward to catch her again. “W— huh?” She didn't know what else to say. Her mind was still reeling from the feeling of Weiss’ lips.
Weiss held her as far as she could while still supporting her weight. “I'm sorry, you just looked so sad and I… I don't know what happened, I couldn't stop myself!” She bowed her head to Ruby, her voice apologetic. “Please forgive me, I've soiled your innocence.”
“S-soiled? Huh?” Ruby blinked. The brief moment had been so wonderful that she didn't even realize it was her first.
“Crook and cane, I'm just as worthless as that philandering Neptune,” Weiss shook her head with disgust. “Just… forget what I've done. Don't tell your sister. Or… maybe you should, that way your honor can be reclaimed…”
“W-Weiss?” She mumbled, too dazed to process the strange words and unfamiliar concepts. “What are you even talking about?”
Weiss looked at her like she was an idiot. “Ruby, I've stolen your first kiss, your innocence! Don't you understand? A girl like you— it's your only bargaining chip! The only way you could get it back is if Yang defeats me in a duel.”
Ruby mirrored the heiress’ expression. “My bargaining… what? You’re talking nonsense!”
Ignoring her confusion, Weiss stepped away and paced back and forth, babbling, “Yes, a duel… One which she’ll have to win— she’ll have to, for your sake. But who could even officiate it? We’d have to find someone, perhaps in Atlas— no, Patch. That’s where you’re from, right? That little island? And you have a father… he’ll do fine as a witness, he’ll respect propriety, I’m sure. Of course, why wouldn’t he?” She began to giggle oddly, grimly. “After all, I’ve besmirched your honor, your honor, Ruby, I’ve got none left to besmirch, after all; I stabbed my father— but it’s not about me, it’s about you!”
Weiss suddenly surged forward and grabbed a handful of umber cloak, pulling Ruby close and meeting her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ruby, but this is how it must be. I’ll duel Yang, let her defeat me—” her eyes glazed over, her face scrunching as if she was bickering with her own mind. “Though with the sword… I don’t know, it seems like it can control itself. We’ll just have to hope it agrees with me— this is for your sake, after all. It’s my responsibility to amend your honor.”
Ruby pushed the girl away and stood tall, ignoring a fresh lance of pain as she forced her injured thigh to put in work. “Shut up, would you? Gods, you're…” she wiped her face with a hand. “Stupid! Just stupid!”
Weiss opened her mouth to rebut, but Ruby continued with vigor.
“You’re really worried about my honor? What is that even worth now?” Ruby barked out a laugh that made the heiress flinch. “Whatever ‘honor’ I had, I left it in that tourney when I cut a noble's arm off! Then I spat in another one's face and broke his hand! Do you really think a bunch of stupid boys are going to care if I've been kissed or not? I'm probably wanted by half the damn nobility!”
Weiss shrank with every word. “Which could have been avoided if I—”
“Weiss, I don't care what you did, or what you could've done! I'm—” she pinched the bridge of her nose and laughed. “I don't care! Don't you get it?”
Weiss stared with a mixture of fear and confusion.
“I don't care! Haha, gods what is wrong with me? I should care, I guess, but… I don't! I'm glad!” The laughter spread across her whole body, making her stumble into a tree as her leg collapsed. Weiss rushed forward to help her, but Ruby’s outstretched hand kept the heiress at bay. Slowly, as the wracking laughter faded, she lifted her gaze to meet Weiss’. “I finally got what I wanted.”
Weiss blinked and recoiled. “W-what?”
“Don't you see, Weiss? This is what I ran away for! Honor or no honor, I've certainly made a name for myself! And guess what? I still got a kiss out of it! From a noble, no less!” A final bout of laughter took her, after which she straightened herself— as much as her arboreal support would allow, at least.
Weiss wasn't sure how to feel about this Ruby. Even Rupert didn't have this kind of… violent, maddened confidence. “B-but… your inno—”
“I swear to the gods, if you start crying about my innocence again, I'm going to slap you.”
Weiss clamped her mouth shut.
Ruby pushed herself off the tree and stumbled towards the heiress, finally accepting her support when her leg buckled. She looked up at Weiss and gave her a cocked smile. “You care far too much about what a bunch of soggy nobles think, especially for someone who stabbed the Lord Protector of Vale.”
Weiss gulped and averted her gaze, blushing slightly. “Perhaps I am somewhat of a hypocrite.”
“Weiss, look at me.”
The duelist obliged, cautiously turning to meet Ruby's eyes again. The girl smiled at her, this time bright and full.
“What I'm about to do, I'm doing it because I want to. I don't care about whatever stupid ‘innocence’ or ‘honor’ you keep whining about.” She reached up and laid a hand on Weiss’ cheek, wiping away a drop of leftover ichor. “I'm done caring about how others see me.”
The rough, calloused palm made Weiss’ cheek tingle. Any feeble argument she could conjure shriveled and died halfway up her throat.
“You should stop, too.”
With that, it was Ruby’s turn to kiss the girl. Despite all Yang’s talk about love and shackles, she'd never felt so free.
Notes:
sorry my frequency is ass lol, original work has been taking a lot of my time. it's really fun. i really hope it could actually make money lol.
anywasd,,s d girlrs??? kissing??? oh god.,,.. oh no,.... guys i thinke they might be sgay
next time: weiss bashing! :) thanks for reading!!
Chapter 52: Who You Are
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby and Weiss eventually found their way back to their impromptu campsite, the latter bearing most of the former's weight over her shoulders. Both were frazzled to a degree that could certainly be explained by their tussle with a Grimm— and nothing else.
Blake sat cross-legged and alone, her hands extended towards a fresh fire. “Ah, there you are. Yang was about to come searching for you. I told her to have some faith; she said she's getting more wood, but she's probably looking anyway.”
Weiss snorted, slowly taking Ruby towards the warmth of the fire. “Well, some extra help would've been nice. This one isn't exactly light.”
“H-hey!” Ruby shouted with half-feigned offense.
Blake looked up at the two with an intensely raised brow, her eyes darting between them. A long, dubious hum resonated in her throat. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Weiss gently set Ruby besides the fay, then affixed her with a glare. “What's that supposed to mean?”
Ruby looked between the two with pure confusion. “Guys…”
“Oh, I don't know,” Blake smugly drawled, “just seems like you could've used the, er… privacy.”
Weiss crossed her arms and huffed. “I don't know what you mean.”
Blake smirked. “I'm sure you don't. How about you, Ruby?”
Ruby blushed, buckling the moment the pressure was put on her. “Uh, no!” She nervously glanced at Weiss for approval, but the fencer was busy hiding her face from Ruby's terrible lie. “I, uh… Look, Weiss got a new sword!”
Blake raised both brows this time, her eyes drawn to the weapon still tight in Weiss’ grip. Upon seeing its make, however, her curiosity switched straight to rage. She shot to her feet and stomped towards the heiress. “What the hell is that?”
Weiss tried to disarmingly raise her hands, but that turned to an inadvertent threat as the blade stayed firmly in her grip. “I found it, I swear! It was in the Grimm and it came out with me! It's cursed— I can't let it go!” The explanation was rushed and desperate, but it at least made Blake take a step back.
The fay turned to Ruby. “Is that true?”
Glad to have a subject beside what they'd spent so long doing in the dark forest (kissing, mostly— neither of them had realized how easy it was to lose the time), Ruby jumped at the opportunity. “Yeah! She had it when I pulled her out! She even stabbed me with it!”
Blake slowly turned back to Weiss, her amber eyes dangerously sharp. “You what.”
Weiss retreated a step, but Ruby spoke up before she could say anything more self-incriminating.
Ruby scrambled up to her feet with a hiss, but managed to grab Blake's shoulder before she could advance on their heiress. “On accident, I swear! She didn't mean to!”
Blake looked at Ruby, then back at Weiss. The edge dulled from her eyes, her tension relaxing only slightly. “Okay… fine. Sure. The Grimm somehow had a cursed weapon inside of it, which Weiss pulled out and used to stab Ruby— totally by accident, of course— after she ditched us in the middle of the Emerald Forest.”
Weiss’ arms fell limp to her sides, and her gaze turned to her feet. “I'm sorry, I… I acted rashly, and made a grave mistake. Blake… I am truly sorry for betraying your trust, and so soon after I doubted yours. You've done nothing but help me, and all I've given you is… vitriol. And distrust.” Weiss briefly met the fay's eyes, then bowed before her. “I know I don't deserve it, but… I hope that you can forgive me.”
Blake violently recoiled, nearly sending Ruby tumbling as she backed into her. Thankfully, the girl managed to catch herself.
“Please, Blake. I know you hate me, and I'm sure it's for good reason, but I vow to change.” Weiss remained bowed, but slowly raised her eyes to meet Blake’s. Honest conviction burned in those icy pools. “Please, give me a chance.”
Blake opened her mouth, hot words immediately on her lips, but a tug from Ruby stopped her. She half-turned to the girl, finding her silver eyes desperately pleading. “Please,” Ruby begged, “just let it go, okay? Give her a chance to be better.”
Blake stared at her for a long time, her emotions unreadable. After a silent moment that stretched for ages, she turned back to Weiss.
“Weiss,” she began, her voice dangerously low. “You are a Schnee. Do you know what that means?”
Weiss opened her mouth, then closed it. The question was obviously rhetorical.
“It means you've got bastions to your name— four of them, at least, doing whatever sickening things your people can conjure with complete impunity in another realm. Men, women, children, forced to do… unspeakable things, all to repent for a war that started before they were even born.” Her words were hot and venomous, but delivered with that same cold expression that she always wore. “Could you imagine what my people have become?”
Weiss dipped her head low. “I… no. I couldn't.”
Blake scoffed. “You're damn right you couldn't, yet you've abused that fact all the same.”
Weiss looked up immediately, her own voice sharpening. “I have not—”
“You're Atlesian, right?”
Weiss blinked, the question so sudden that it set her back on her heels. “Y… yes?”
The flickering campfire grimly highlighted the disgust on Blake's face. “And how did you get here?”
Weiss’ eyes widened. “I— I don't know—”
“Yes you do, Weiss. You just don't want to say it.” She briefly looked over her shoulder. “Not with Ruby here.”
Weiss’ heart dropped into her gut, along with all the conviction she'd started with. She sharply inhaled, her guilty face turning down so Ruby wouldn't see. “We… we used a Binder.”
Blake's low chuckle was merciless. “Of course you did.”
When Blake looked again and saw Ruby utterly confused, she felt her lips curl into a cruel smile.
“Go ahead and explain to sweet little Red here exactly what a Binder is. And please, don't try to embellish. I know you people like to… downplay your atrocities.”
Weiss bit her lip and mumbled something, much too quietly for them to hear.
Blake cupped a hand over her ear. “Do speak up, princess, Ruby is very confused and she needs some… enlightenment.”
“They're slaves,” Weiss bit out. “Fay slaves. Prisoners of wa—”
Blake loudly snapped her fingers, breaking the heiress’ words as she tutted. “Embellishment, princess.”
“They are!” Weiss argued. “I… I know it's not right, but they are prisoners of war!”
The fay curled a dangerous smile, like a cat before a cornered mouse. “I wasn't.”
“Y— you… what?” The statement was apparently enough to rattle the heiress’ impeccably manicured Vale accent, sharpening her ‘w’ into an Atlesian ‘v’.
“My parents weren't either, but we were Binders all the same. Good ones, too— please, if you ever find yourself back in Palace Schnee, take the opportunity to go through your ledgers. Three Belladonnas, sold to House Taurus around the turn of the century.” Her voice, if not her face, belied the pleasure she took at imparting that knowledge. “You'd think this wouldn't be so shocking— I'm sure you've seen my arms.”
Ruby watched her roll up her sleeves to illustrate her point, displaying the gnarled scars that climbed up to her shoulders.
“Tell me, Schnee, what exactly does a Binder do?”
Weiss was at a loss for words, and Ruby feebly attempted to fill in for her. “B-Blake, please, I think we get—”
Blake whirled on her in a flash, so quickly that the girl stumbled onto her injured leg and toppled to the dirt, her cloak nearly falling into the fire. “No, you don't get it! Day in and day out, forced to gate these pompous cunts until our fucking bones melted into the Chasm! Do you really think we were just slaves? We were trophies, bandied around like a fucking circus, just to humiliate our ancestry! I know— I know what our people did was wrong, but at least we don't act with such fucking barbarism!”
By the time her tirade was done, she had turned to loom over the heiress, with both hands tightly wrapped in the girl's smock to force their gazes to meet. Weiss’ eyes were wide, her hands were raised, and every inch of her being was silently begging for mercy. Blake threw her back to the dirt, disgusted.
“I don't care if you want to be better, that'll never change what you are. That blood will never wash away.” With that, Blake turned and began to walk away. “Now leave me alone, I'm going to sleep.”
“Wait!” Weiss called, desperately reaching out, even now. “What can I do? What could I do that would convince you that I'm more than the name I was born to?”
Blake halted her stride, looked up at the sky, then turned back towards the heiress. With one swift movement, she threw a knife into the dirt beside Weiss. “Take that, and jam it in your neck.”
Blake turned back around, but her last words were spoken just loud enough for Weiss to hear.
“Good night.”
Notes:
lowtierfay
Chapter 53: Boiling Point
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Walking into the campsite was like being dropped straight onto a tightrope, even if the scene Yang found wasn't too abnormal. Blake was huddled under a blanket across the clearing, back turned to the fire. Ruby sat with one leg extended, her thigh wrapped in cloth strips, with Weiss pressed close at her other side. The heiress actually had her face pressed into the girl's shoulder, tightly gripping her brown cloak as her body shook, her other hand tightly gripped around a magnificent saber. Ruby absently rubbed circles on her back, but her gaze remained deep in the fire. One of Blake's knives lay discarded beside them.
Yang could've dismissed it as Weiss being traumatized by the Grimm— her first encounter with one, most likely— but the way Ruby was handling it stirred doubt in that notion. She'd expect the smith to offer some kind of comforting words, not just stare into the flames.
Yang approached the two carefully, but made no attempt at stealth. It didn't matter anyways; neither of them noticed her steps, so both jumped when she spoke. “Uh, hey,” her voice was low and quiet, as if her volume could cause the two to spontaneously combust. “What… happened?”
The question was too broad; what happened to Ruby's leg? Where’d the sword come from? What happened when she was gone— how could the atmosphere have become so grimly charged?
“Hey, sis.” Ruby's voice had a distant absence, and she didn't bother turning to Yang. She just let her dead words hang in the air. “We kissed.”
Weiss let out a loud snort against Ruby's shoulder, her voice shaking out and barely audible. “Seriously? That's what you're leading with?”
“You… you kissed,” Yang blinked. “Er… Weiss, I assume?”
Weiss lifted herself just enough to send a one-eyed glare at the Huntress before burying her face in the cloak once more. “Yeah. Weiss.” Ruby answered dully. “She started it— I guess stabbing me in the leg put her in the mood.”
Both of Yang’s eyebrows shot up with surprise, and Weiss briefly parted to bat Ruby’s shoulder with a palm.
Ruby breathed an empty chuckle and rubbed her neck. “It was an accident. I'm fine.”
Yang’s shock didn't ease, but Weiss settled back into the smith’s cloak. She really didn’t like the way her sister was talking. Ruby wasn’t one to speak so curtly, or with this kind of snark. “Okay… and what else happened?”
Ruby shrugged. “Ask Blake. I don't want to talk about it.”
Yang physically recoiled from the callous dismissal, then reached forward to grab her sister's shoulder. The moment she touched her, though, Ruby quickly spun and slapped her hand away. Yang finally got a look at her eyes.
Ruby was enraged, and her boiling silver eyes were the only part that couldn't hide that. Yang immediately backed off, hands raised in defense. Ruby turned back to the fire, her whole body radiating a violent energy that dared Yang to try again.
Moving to heed her sister's suggestion, she approached Blake with considerably more caution. It didn't seem necessary, though, not when Blake flipped over and gave the Huntress a small, sad smile.
Yang looked back to the huddled couple, then plopped herself down at the fay's side. “What the hell happened?”
Blake's smile briefly dropped, but it was replaced by a sly smirk. “Well good evening to you too, Yang. I'm doing great, how about you?”
“I'm serious.”
Blake's smirk curled even more, but that only highlighted how wooden it was. She reached out, slowly laying a hand on Yang's knee. “You know, we could go have spooky forest sex instead.”
If Yang was blind, she might have been convinced by the offer, but everything she saw from Blake was completely contradictory. Her voice was thin and dispassionate, her eyes were desperate— more for an escape than a midnight escapade— and she was curled up defensively beneath that blanket. “I don't think you want to do that, Blake,” with a slyness that she couldn't stop, she added, “Humans aren't your thing, anyways.”
“I've made an exception.”
Yang offered nothing but doubt. “We were both drunk, I was so tits-up that I don't even remember it.”
Surprisingly, a glimpse of hurt flashed over Blake's expression. It was corrected in an instant. “I wasn't that drunk.”
“Didn't you put down a keg of Dragon's Breath?”
Blake scoffed. “Please, we were drinking stuff a hundred times stronger while your people were smashing rocks in a cave.”
“Oh… right. Uh…”
Their reminiscing was not of the fond variety, and the ensuing bout of awkward silence made that clear. Yang rubbed the back of her neck, turning to take a quick look at the others as she did so. They'd adjusted at some point, and now it was Weiss who sat straight up with Ruby's head in her lap, absently combing through the mangled brunette locks with her free hand. The smith continued to stare into the fire, though, which troubled Yang greatly.
She turned back to Blake, pleading, “Blake, just tell me what happened.”
Blake stared into her eyes for a long time, then sagged with a deep sigh. “Weiss begged me for forgiveness, and I didn't give it to her. She doesn't deserve it.”
Yang pursed her lips. “Surely, that's not all.”
Blake's eyes shifted beyond Yang, towards the fireside couple, no doubt. “I may have been a bit… overzealous with my rejection.”
Yang groaned, frustrated. “Blake, what did you say?”
“I…” Yang caught a shred of guilt behind her amber irises, but it was quickly covered with indignant frustration. “Why does it matter, anyway? She's just another stuck-up noble, sucking dry the lives of those who've actually worked for a living. Yang, her fucking dad tried to kill Ruby— your sister! So what if I hurt her feelings a little! Everything I said was true!”
Her words were delivered in a sharp hiss, just low enough that they could pretend the others couldn't hear. Unfortunately for Blake, the almost-paternal look of disappointment was not what she had expected from Yang. “Blake—”
“What? What did I do wrong, Yang? Her people enslaved my family, my people, took my fucking parents from me! You can't tell me that she deserves even a shred of my empathy, not after what happened to me, and especially after what happened to your own fucking sister!”
“Don't fucking—” Yang screwed her eyes tight and bit her lip, calming herself. She drew a deep breath, and met Blake with a level gaze. “Do you think I don't care? Do you think I'm happy about what happened to her?”
Blake gulped, not daring to answer either way. The Huntress may have been holding a calm expression, but she could see it was just a mask, one that could slip away with a single breath.
“I'm fucking not. I'm not okay with it, I'm fucking livid, but guess what? I'm not gonna take that out on Weiss! Of all fucking people, Blake, do you really think she's the one you should be blasting all your shit at? Sure, her family's fucked, but that's not her fault! And what the fuck was she gonna do, start a fucking revolution?”
“She cou—”
Yang thrust herself up to her feet, towering over the prone fay with a furious scowl. “No, Blake, I am talking, so listen!” Blake snapped her mouth shut and raised her hands in defeat. Yang paced for a moment, gathering herself with more deep breaths. When she spoke, it was more than loud enough for the others to hear. “Gods, what… what is wrong with you? You can’t even give her an ounce of credit? Do you really think she knows the extent of her family’s— and not hers, her family’s— abuse? I can guarantee that you are the first fay that woman has ever spoken to!”
Blake tried to defend herself. “There’s no way that—”
“Hey, Weiss!” Yang called over her shoulder. The girl had already been watching their argument, but still jumped when she was beckoned. “How many fay, besides Blake, have you actually met?”
Weiss’ eyes went wide at the question, the intense glare from Blake making her falter, but she shakily answered, “N-none?”
“Don’t lie!” Blake accused.
“I’m not!” Weiss shouted defensively, making the still-absent Ruby in her lap jolt. “Besides Blake, I have never spoken to a fay! I swear, my soul to the Watcher!”
“For whatever that’s worth…” Blake grumbled, only to be immediately silenced by Yang’s glare.
“Blake,'' sharp, taut as a wire, Yang’s voice demanded her full attention. “What exactly do you think you’re achieving, besides ruining your own people’s image? What a fucking liasion you would be— it’s as if you’re trying to confirm every nugget of royal bullshit she’s ever been fed! She stabbed her own fucking dad to run away with a group that’s got you in it— what else is she supposed to do, prostrate herself before you? Grovel at your feet?”
“She basically did.” For the first time in this entire argument, Ruby loudly made her presence known— only to throw Blake to the wolves. Her voice was cold and sharp, and she spoke without even turning away from the fire. “Blake suggested she kill herself.”
Blake’s final shred of confidence shriveled and died, every argument struck dead in the span of eight short words. She had no words left to fail her, and was left at the mercy of Yang’s looming glare.
So far, the Huntress had been excellent at keeping her rage from reaching her face— and she still was, by most standards. Unfortunately, her anger was belied by two things: a twitch in her eye, and sparks around her fingertips. Yang screwed her lids shut and breathed hard, making Blake close her own eyes in anticipation of what the Huntress was about to do. Yang would either burn her alive, or beat the everloving shit out of her.
Instead, Blake found herself suddenly hoisted by her collar. Yang dragged her to her feet, bringing her close enough that she could feel the sweltering heat from her words.
“Go. Apologize. Now.”
Notes:
might be able to get another one out by wednesday, though i wouldnt get my hopes up; im going on crimbus vacation :)
Chapter 54: Snogging
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blake was unceremoniously shoved towards the heiress, at her umbrage by the hands of Yang. Weiss watched with a strange look in her eyes, almost guilty or apologetic. Her hand didn't move from Ruby's head, which was still aimed at their campfire.
“Blake,” Yang hissed through her teeth.
For some reason, it was Weiss that responded to the Huntress. “Yang, you really shouldn't—”
“No, no.” Yang firmly shook her head. “We are doing this, because the only way we get out of this mess alive is together. So Blake, apologize.”
Weiss spoke up again. “You can't force her to apologize! If she can't forgive me, then so be it.”
The ensuing stalemate was tense for everyone but Ruby, who seemed uncannily detached from the whole thing, save for her earlier interjection. Yang stared demandingly at Blake, Weiss stared imploringly at Yang, and Blake just stared at her feet.
“Fine,” came a grumble.
Ruby shifted in Weiss’ lap, just enough to put Blake in her vision. The group went silent, ears perked expectantly.
“I said fine!” Blake growled, thrashing her arm out of Yang's grip. She threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, okay! I'm fucking sorry, princess! Shepherd's fuck!”
Weiss blinked, both at the sudden apology and the odd curse. “You really don't have to, I understand—”
“Nonono, no, princess, you really don't understand,” Blake tutted, making even Ruby raise an eyebrow. “I apologize, but there is no way in hell that I've forgiven you; my grace doesn't come free, unlike with these two milksops.”
Ruby stirred to give her a mild look of offense, but remained silent. Yang seemed to get genuinely fazed for a moment, though, and had to blink hard to tamp her shock down.
“Weiss, if you really think you can be better than your lineage,” Blake's voice was bold but sly, like a daemon proposing a contract, “then you'll have to earn my forgiveness. Just commit to one thing.”
Weiss turned her whole body, pushing off a grumbling Ruby so she could rise to her feet and match Blake's eyes. “Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
Blake gave her a bemused look. “If you ever lay eyes on a Binder, you have to free them. No matter the place, no matter the time, no matter the master, no matter the house,” the last was said with particular emphasis, but Weiss’ gaze only wavered for a moment. “You will free them.”
Yang grabbed the fay's shoulder. “Blake, that's not—”
Ruby pushed up to her feet. “That's totally—”
“Agreed,” Weiss’ unshaken gaze bored into Blake's. She extended a hand towards the fay. “We have an accord.”
Blake blinked, eyeing the hand with caution. “If you betray your word, I'll—”
Weiss flashed a knowing, tentative grin. “Turn me into jerky and feed me to a dog?”
Blake narrowed her gaze at the heiress, then smirked widely as she met the heiress’ handshake. A threat from Yang had been turned completely in her favor; either Weiss was being truthful and would betray her own family just for some fay, or she would betray her word and they'd finally be rid of the parasitic Schnee. Pleasure clear in her voice, she agreed. “We have an accord.”
Yang stepped back in surprise— she hadn't expected Blake to actually try to fix things, and she certainly hadn't expected them to reach conditional terms this extreme. No matter the time or place? No matter the house? What if they're trying to be stealthy? What if it's a Schnee Binder? What if the Binder's a threat? Yang's mind was abuzz with anxious questions.
Ruby, on the other hand, really didn't know how to feel. Her heart and mind were in abject turmoil, roiling with conflicted thoughts and feelings that had only just begun to hit her. Even as Weiss turned back to her and beamed, all Ruby could offer in return was a small, tentative smile; her mind was too consumed with thoughts of Binders, fay, and iron chains. After all, she'd just kissed a serious benefactor of such cruelty— gods, she might even be in love with her— just who was she getting involved with? And on top of that, they would now be taking an impromptu crusade against any owners of enslaved fay? They were already wanted, just how infamous were they going to make themselves— Ruby still wanted to go home, after all this! Gods, she missed her forge!
Was she even doing the right thing? She wished her mother was here; she always knew what to say. “Shite …”
Ruby's whisper had caught Weiss’ attention, as evidenced by the way the girl bumped shoulders with her. “Ruby? What's wrong? You've just been staring into the fire.”
Ruby blinked and shook her head— when had she and Weiss even sat back down? Who put her hood back up? And where did the other two go? She'd been too lost in her thoughts— thought, singular ; regret, more like— to notice much of anything happening.
“Did I say something wrong? I really don't know how to do… this,” Weiss waved between them. “You were speaking so candidly before, but you've gone quiet ever since the argument. Do you need me to kiss you again?”
Ruby looked up at her, though the blush on her face didn't match the shame she felt. Still, a kiss was a kiss, and she wouldn't pass up an opportunity to kiss Weiss. She turned towards the heiress, her eyes closed expectantly. Maybe it would help clear her mind.
“Wait, wait, we shouldn't— the others could return any second.”
Ruby opened one eye and scornfully affixed it to Weiss. She leaned closer, tilting her chin towards the heiress. Her eye closed once more.
“I… I suppose o ne wouldn't hurt—”
That delectable warmth found Ruby's lips again, and she quickly wiped her hand on her breeches before threading it into Weiss’ hair— wouldn't want to dirty those white locks, after all. The fencer made a light moan as Ruby pressed deeper into their kiss, her own free hand tangling itself into the girl's brunette hair.
‘Gods, you two are like rabbits,’ the sword commented, still stubbornly held in Weiss’ grip. ‘Is this really the time or the place?’
Weiss ignored it— it was hard to pay attention to anything but Ruby, and not just the blissful dancing of their lips; her scent overwhelmed Weiss’ well-honed magical senses, blocking even the ever-present petrichor of the Emerald Forest. It was odd, actually, she'd noticed Ruby's fay smell before, but it was always faded compared to Blake's. Right now, though, it was blinding. She itched to be closer, if only she had both—
‘Fine, as long as it gets me away from you slavering apes. Ugh. Find me a sheath when you’re done— bum one off the girl if you have to.’ Weiss was too busy parting her lips to question how exactly one of Ruby’s short sheathes would fit the long blade. Control gradually returned to her fingers, along with intense soreness that she could not find the sense to care about.
Finally dropping the sword, Weiss wrapped both arms around the smith’s neck, pushing her hood back in the process. Ruby, in turn, snaked her embrace around the heiress’ waist and pulled her flush. Weiss let out a low, pleased hum.
Here, warmed by the fire and sharing each other's presence below the canopy, Ruby felt a certain peace. Not resolution, no, but it was calming all the same— questions, doubts, and fears still frothed in her mind, but she could bury them deep beneath the moment's pleasure. It was temporary, of course, but she took what respite she could. She’d enjoy it while it lasted.
Pyrrha insisted on taking the lead, even though she relied on Qrow’s directions as they wandered on foot through the forests. He’d managed to convince her to leave the horses at the treeline for fear of spooking their quarries, but the Knight Captain made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t the one in charge— mainly through frequent, unblinking stares that she’d cast over her shoulder.
He could smell them getting closer, less by their magical scent and more from the campfire that they had seen fit to reveal themselves with. Apparently they underestimated their trackers, though he could see why; Pyrrha would never have found them on her own, not without a Hunter as skilled as him. From what he could tell, she had no grasp of magical sense.
It only took them a couple of hours to track the site. Pyrrha nearly waltzed straight into it, but he managed to grab her before she could break into the clearing and reveal their presence.
“What are you doing?” She hissed as he pulled them both behind a tree.
“My job!” He hissed in return. “We are hunting them, so we need to do it right! And what does any good hunter do when they think they’ve found their prey?”
Pyrrha seemed to genuinely struggle with the concept. “Kill them?”
Qrow restrained his hand— revealing themselves via a self-inflicted slap to the forehead would be more than a little embarrassing. “No, you fool, the hunter watches! Because if we don’t watch, we…” he trailed off for Pyrrha to finish on her own, like a father instructing his child.
“We…” Pyrrha squirmed, her face twisting. “We’re no better than they are?”
The Huntsman blew a frustrated huff through his nose. “No. If we don’t watch, we don’t know our target. We don’t know what they do, what they are, and we can’t judge how they’ll respond.”
Pyrrha stared, completely lost. “Right. I understand.”
Qrow rubbed his temples and gave the Knight Captain a light push. “Look, just… just watch, okay? Stay hidden, and watch. If we act rash, they could get away.”
Pyrrha nodded slowly, and they both slowly encroached upon the campsite. As he approached, Qrow could make out a singular figure at the fireside, though he found it odd how wide they were, given what he knew of— wait, no, that was two people in… extreme proximity, wrapped in each other’s arms like they didn’t care about the others in their group. Qrow looked around the site, ignoring the mouth-noises and sporadic moans from the couple in favor of searching for their two companions. He didn’t find any, which explained the two’s carefree closeness.
Pyrrha made an odd sound, one which a creature like her should not make— a stifled, girlish giggle. Qrow sent her a glare.
The Knight Captain threw a hand over her nose to mask her snort. It was still much too loud, but the fireside couple were too passionately engrossed to notice. Pyrrha met his eyes, mirthful tears burgeoning in her own. “S-sorry, sorry, that’s…” she snorted again, “Oh my gods, can’t you see who that is?”
Qrow looked closer, tapping into some minor enhancement magic to sharpen his sight. The two were too close to differentiate without it, and heavily silhouetted by the fire, but the magical improvement allowed him to distinguish their forms much better.
“It’s Weiss Schnee,” Pyrrha had to use both hands to stifle her giggle. Qrow squinted, and he could indeed see the remarkable white hair unique to their lineage. In a stage-whisper, Pyrrha added, “And do you see who she’s with? It’s fucking Rupert! A Schnee-turned-tribade! Gods, could you fucking imagine?”
Qrow sneered at the term, which Pyrrha was clearly using incorrectly. Lady Schnee, shagging a woman? Unthinkable, especially because the other woman’s name was apparently Rupert, of all fucking things. He squinted at the one Weiss was mashing faces with; he was young, probably Weiss’ age judging by their similar height, but he couldn’t make out much more past the hood of his enshrouding cloak.
As if purely to oblige his curiosity, Weiss wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling the hood back in the process. He watched a mop of brunette hair spill forth, the tips dyed… red. Odd. Few had the money to dye their hair, and those that did went for full bursts of egregious yellows, scarlets, or… ugh, blues like that peacock Vasilias. The only other person he knew with this kind of style was all the way in Patch.
He watched the two breathlessly part, giving him a better look at the boy’s face. Some of the softness of youth still remained, contrasted by a pair of scars over his face— one starting from a notch in his ear and crossing all the way to his nose, with the other coming up from his eye and tearing his dark brow in two. Qrow watched him pant for a moment, his eyes half-lidded as he slowly leaned towards the heiress once more. Just before their lips could meet again, the light of the flames reflected the glint of his irises.
Silver.
Qrow moved without thought, without sense, stomping past the treeline as a shout tore from his throat. “Get the hell off my niece!”
Notes:
avin a snog on gods own chewsda- wednesday?? oi would nevah
Chapter 55: Shock and Ah, Shit
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss scrambled away from Ruby, who froze with shock. She behaved like a wooden statue, her head slowly cranking towards the man who had intruded on their camp: her own uncle, Qrow Branwen.
He was the spitting image of a professional Huntsman. A black mandilion cape sprouted from the high, open collar of his grey doublet, enshrouding three quarters of his upper body while allowing a peek at his sheathed weapon: a single-edged, knife-hilted saber at his left hip— a messer, and a long one at that. The dark belt it was affixed to hung over loose black pluderhose that tucked into his knee-height boots, and were slashed to reveal vermillion cloth. A thick scar tore across his throat, barely visible above the collar, and he wore a close-trimmed beard that sported some of the grey hairs of age. His hair was black and slicked, and his sallow-pale skin did well to accentuate the fury in his scarlet eyes.
Weiss watched him jerk his sword free, revealing a silvery guard that dipped over his knuckles in a right angle, its blade a contrast of smooth black iron. Weiss quickly dove for the fay saber she'd discarded, the thing finding her hands before she even laid eyes on it.
‘So quickly you come crawling back,’ the sword jeered. ‘Are you two done copulating? Don't ask me for help if not— our proclivities aren't aligned. I’m a sword.’
Weiss managed to keep herself from hissing at the incorrigible thing, and stuck it out towards the Huntsman. “W-w-what are you doing here, huh?” She tried to be intimidating by raising her voice, but it cracked instead.
Qrow glared down his nose at her. Judging by the length of his blade and the width of his stance, she estimated that he would only need to take a couple of steps to reach her with a thrust. When he spoke, his grizzled voice was a hissing snarl. “Just what in the fuck do you think you're doing with my niece, Schnee?”
Weiss’ lids strained with how wide her eyes grew. A bright red blush bloomed over her entire face.“U-uuh, um, we're, uh, we…” she looked to Ruby for any kind of assistance, but the girl was completely awestruck at her uncle's presence.
“Uncle… Qrow?” Her lips seemed to battle between a scowl and a smile, but her eyes quickly flashed with panic when Weiss cleared her throat. She tried to force an explanation out, stuttering, “W-we— We were… we… we just, uhhhhhh, we were—”
Qrow dramatically threw his sword in its sheath and crossed his arms, a paternal sneer pulling his lips. “Yes, Ruby, I saw what you were doing, but I want to know why you were—” he pinched his face and groaned. “And with a Schnee of all people! Oh gods, this is why I'm here, isn't it?”
Ruby blinked, shaking her head in confusion. “You're— huh?”
Weiss protectively sidled towards the girl, making Qrow's glare sharpen. “I've run away from home,” Weiss declared, finally keeping some steadiness in her voice. “Ruby has helped me, more than I can ever repay.”
If Weiss had a sheath, she would've respectfully mirrored the Huntsman's move. But alas, she was bereft, so she simply lowered the fay sword and curtsied.
“And if you really are her uncle, then it's a pleasure to meet you.”
Qrow blinked, freezing as realization coldly scraped down his spine. He was an idiot, the purest kind— his overprotective instincts had kicked in at the worst possible moment, and he was in too deep to back out now. The Knight Captain was watching, just like he’d instructed. He could feel her hungry gaze raking across the massive target he'd just painted over his own back.
“Ruby,” he quietly muttered, his eyes wide and voice thick with fear. “Where’s your sister?”
Ruby looked around. “Uh, I’m not sure,” she turned to the girl she’d been mashing faces with just moments ago. “Weiss?”
Unlike Ruby, Weiss had actually noticed the man’s sudden change in demeanor. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, keeping her gaze firmly on him. “I know where she is,” her voice was slow, clear, each syllable over-enunciated.
Qrow briefly shut his eyes with relief. At least the Schnee girl seemed to be catching on. Staring into her eyes, he purposefully twitched his nose. “That’s good. So, uh…” He stalled, making a tiny gesture between the two girls. “Ruby, you’re…”
Ruby raised her eyebrows, then jumped as she remembered what her uncle had caught her in the midst of. “Oh, y-yeah… Weiss is, uh… me and her are…”
“We’re courting,” Weiss curtly stated, pulling a deep breath through her nose as suggested by Qrow. Roses were beside her, petrichor was around her, and sharp tobacco poured from the man in front of her. Whoever Ruby’s apparent uncle was, he was quite powerful; the scent of his magical prowess was overwhelming.
‘There is something else,’ her sword whispered into her mind. For the first time, Weiss detected fear in its tone. ‘I can feel it, like ants on my skin.’
Weiss focused and drew another breath, trying her best to push down the man’s pervasive scent. The tobacco of transformation magic was thick, but she managed to catch what made him so nervous.
A thousand smells crammed into one body, wafting from behind Qrow like he’d lit a mass grave in his wake. Weiss’ eyes widened. Ruby’s uncle was hunting them, with none other than the Knight Captain in tow. The way Qrow’s eyes suddenly sharpened made it clear they had one option.
She needed to take Ruby and run. Damn the horses, damn their supplies, damn Yang and Blake, they needed to run.
Qrow and Weiss stared each other down, leaving Ruby to watch, completely lost. Weiss slowly raised her eyebrows, urging the ice in her soul to swell. Frost seeped from the corners of her lips, puffing through her nostrils with each hastening breath. At the very least, she felt powerful here. Perhaps her soul understood the severity of her situation.
Ruby looked down as Weiss wrapped icy fingers tightly around her wrist. Her gaze turned back to Weiss with fear. She couldn't free herself, not with Weiss’ hand like a frozen shackle.
Qrow could almost hear Pyrrha’s muscles coiling tight. He gave the heiress a tiny nod.
With a swipe of her hand Weiss drained the humid soil, leaving nothing but dry silt as she erected a towering wall of ice between Qrow and the treeline. Pyrrha audibly crashed into the frozen obstacle, but the thick blue wall held strong, too opaque to see the Knight Captain through. With a hard grunt and an extra exertion of her Aura, she willed the icy wall to close its ends together, trapping Pyrrha in a frozen ring.
Weiss was already running past the treeline, dragging Ruby behind her as Qrow's voice followed them. “Run! I'll hold her off for as long as I can, just get out! I'll find Yang and regroup with you!”
Ruby tried to call back with confusion, but Weiss’ dead sprint demanded all of her attention, and the heiress’ frozen grip on her wrist told her she wasn't going anywhere. She leapt over roots in the dark.
Yang perked up, causing Blake to groan in annoyance. “Yang…”
The Huntress did not move. Her ears pulled back, hoping to catch that sound again.
Steel on steel— no, steel on iron. Someone was here, someone was fighting, and someone was wielding iron. She only knew one person who could fit all three of those criteria simultaneously— Ruby.
Yang pushed Blake's legs aside and scrambled back to her feet, eliciting another frustrated groan from the fay. “Seriously, Yang? What the hell?”
The Huntress quickly replaced her shirt, leaving the laces untied. “You don't hear that? We need to go, now.”
“What? Hear what?” Blake readied a scathing refusal, but the sound of clashing metal finally found her long, pointy ears. She flushed an embarrassed purple and began frantically throwing her clothes back on. “The hell is that?”
Yang mantled herself before digging through Blake's myriad knives in search of her own. “It's Ruby,” she stated, her voice shaking with worry. “It has to be— someone's found us and Ruby is fighting them.”
Blake's eyes widened, the fay stopping midway through putting on her leggings. It couldn't be— they'd tracked her all the way from Vale? How in the hell would they even do that? They'd have to have some much better trackers than Blake expected, either that— yes, she remembered. “Sweet fucking Shepherd…”
Yang turned to the half-naked fay. “What? What is it?”
“It's her,” Blake stated, and Yang only looked confused for a second before coming to the same grim realization. “She brought a Huntsman— they tracked me in Vale.”
Yang's eyebrows rose sharply, then knit tight with confusion. Hunters were a pretty small group; even if they seldom worked together, they were in tight communication whenever possible. After all, when Grimm are the enemy, the benefit of their collective knowledge significantly outweighed their greed and jealousy.
Yang wasn't stupid— she knew that much; and she was pretty confident she could deduce a list of eligible Huntsmen that they were about to fight against. Knowing who it was would put her at a significant advantage against them, and they would need as many of those as they could hold if Weiss’ warnings about Pyrrha were true. Yang considered her options.
It obviously wouldn't be Tai— he should still be blissfully ignorant in Patch, after all— and it probably wasn't her mother, Raven. From what she knew, she'd refuted her vow and taken to banditry.
It certainly wouldn't be Coco or Violet, they said they were moving to Atlas. It could be Ren, but only by the thinnest margin— she doubted he'd want to throw in with the Schnees anyways, the man had never been fond of aristocracy.
Oobleck didn't really take Hunts himself; his Hunter's Vow only remained valid because he worked directly with, in, and around Beacon Academy. She'd never heard of him taking a job in Vale itself.
Cinder was off the table, Yang doubted she was even in Vale anymore. She'd essentially been kidnapped into the Knights Imperiale to serve as their head sorceress, cutting her Huntress training short barely a year after it started.
It certainly wasn't Goodwitch. The forest was still there, after all.
Yang idly handed the now-clothed Blake her knives, her face twisting with confusion, worry, and rage all at once. She had one candidate remaining, and if it wasn't him, then they were fighting the Knight Captain and a Huntsman completely blind. And if her hypothesis was right… she didn't know how to feel about that .
“Qrow,” Yang growled, the name passing through her lips almost unbidden.
Blake looked at Yang and nodded, adjusting her knife belt over her tunic. “Uh, yeah… I think that's what she called him. How'd you know?”
Yang blinked. “Oh.”
“Yang?” Blake leaned towards her, worried.
Yang ground her teeth together. She was fine. Her stomach wasn't twisting in furious, betrayed knots. Her brain wasn’t flailing between enraged, confused, happy, and betrayed. Qrow was here. Her uncle— often more of a father than Tai was, especially to Ruby— was hunting them. With Pyrrha.
One question, above all the others, weighed on the forefront of her mind.
“What kind of idiot is he?” She asked it aloud, as if that would uncover a better answer.
Blake cocked her head as she mantled herself. “Huh?”
“It's my uncle!” She spat. “My uncle is hunting us!”
Blake blinked hard. “Huh?”
“That idiot!” Yang stomped her foot, fingertips sparking as she seethed. “Could you imagine what the fucking proposal must have been like? ‘Hunt the four girls who basically drained the garrison of Palace Schnee single handedly. One of them is Weiss Schnee, we don't know about the others. Good luck!’”
Blake started marching towards their campsite, a look of mild concern across her face. “That's what you're concerned about? Not the fact that you have to fight your own family?”
Yang waved her off, residual anger still twisting her features. “It's Qrow. He's clever, and an incredible Huntsman, but I'm pretty great, too. I could probably take him alone, assuming he doesn't want to talk; my daemonfire can far outclass his transformation magic.”
Blake wanted to doubt that, but the sheer confidence Yang exuded erased all worries. Of course, the fact that Pyrrha would also be there drew those worries right back up.
Shite.
Notes:
title is awful but gf said it and i couldnt not lmao.
good job qrow, you fucked it. confetti.
Chapter 56: Dissonance
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss’ ice wall would only last a few moments, so Qrow did what he could. He planted his iron sword in the soil so it wouldn't interfere with his casting, and began to draw spells from the well of his soul.
His muscles bulged, their sinews engorged by oxen strength. Canine agility pulled at his legs, begging him to move and chase. The world slowed around him, feline reflexes making him intensely aware of every little part of the world.
Feeling his namesake urge in his veins, Qrow arched his back and began to hiss. It was the most powerful part of his transformation magic— one of his own style, not learned from some tome— so he had none other to blame for the excruciating process but himself.
Bones tore from his back, ripping through his doublet as his cape whipped off his neck on its own. The enchanted cloth threw itself over the bare, fresh limbs, impossibly stretching its fabric across the bloodied bones until every inch was covered. The cloth melted into black feathers, transforming the bony protrusions into luscious wings.
Qrow flexed the new appendages, shoving down the pain under the sheer power he felt. He breathed deep, and pulled his sword from the dirt. The ice started to crack.
“Qrow?”
Smoke and lavender. Qrow turned, his jaw falling open. “Yang?”
Yang pursed her lips as she dropped her stance, her dagger quickly finding her hand. “Why're you hunting us?”
The Huntsman raised his hands and started babbling excuses. “I didn't know it was you! I just thought it was a job!”
Blake, who had arrived in step with Yang, looked behind them. “Where…”
“They're running away,” Qrow explained. “I told them I'd hold the Knight Captain off before finding you and regrouping.”
Blake raised a doubtful eyebrow, but Yang asked the question for her. “You think you can hold her off?”
Qrow grimaced, tightly gripping his messer. “No.”
The wall of ice shook, followed by a guttural cry from the other side: “Birdcage is going to be so happy!”
Qrow flinched again, using the tip of his sword to point behind him. “You need to go, they went that way. I'll give you a head start.”
Blake immediately set off to oblige his order, but Yang held her ground, grinding her foot into the dried-out soil. “No. It's three-on-one, and Blake's just as good as we are,” Yang insisted, jerking a thumb to the fay. “Even Pyrrha can't beat that.”
Qrow huffed and tensed his wings in frustration, but another sound overtook whatever he was going to say— a loud crack, followed by the harrowing sight of Pyrrha's fist blowing the wall apart.
“Hello, little bird,” Pyrrha purred, forked tongue licking across her rows of needle-like teeth.
All three shut their eyes and shook their heads, finding Pyrrha's normal, perfectly humanlike expression of bloodlust, sans any daemonic aberrations.
The distortion was only momentarily shaken, though, as Pyrrha's form began to exude raw, implacable chaos. She was as tall as a mountain, short as a mouse; her skin was fleshy meat, smooth velvet, ruddy brick, shining brass; her body was there, but it was gone, an outline sinking into itself, falling into an endless pit of mirrors. She smiled, she frowned, pouring tears from her eyes, blood from her wound, slag from her crucible, monsters from her chasm. The world melted at her heels, molded in her hands, shattered from her blow. The Knight Captain was a hollow shell, one from which it peeled a new and unfathomable self.
Her mother’s arms stretched towards Yang, holding a loaf of freshly baked bread. Adam kneeled before Blake, his weeping palms begging for mercy. Summer sealed Qrow's fingers around the scythe.
The three squirmed against the spider's web, but all their strength only served to entangle them further. She crawled up their skin, her slavering mandibles pricking at their veins, chittering with excitement. The fay ground her teeth against the silk, pushing with the last of her will.
“Ffffuck-ing… SHIT—” With a shrill cry, Blake became the first to break from Pyrrha's distortion. The other two, who had gone pale and twitched like leaves, followed only because of the fay's piercing scream.
Pyrrha hadn't moved an inch, her hungry smile so wide that it made her cheeks bleed. Even after Blake shattered the illusion, her presence still twisted the world, threatening to draw them right back in.
“What the fuck,” Blake breathed, forcing her gaze away from the Knight Captain. “She didn't do this at the tourney!”
Qrow grit his teeth and shook the falsehoods from his mind. “She probably didn't want to.”
Pyrrha cocked her head, her naked body hanging upside-down from a tear in the firmament. “You could ask, you know,” she suggested. Her mouth moved with painted brushstrokes.
As if willed, Blake's eyes dragged themselves to Pyrrha, a question forcing its way past her lips. “What are you?”
“Shouldn't you, of all people, know what I am?” The ground between Blake and Pyrrha shrank into itself, allowing Pyrrha to cross the distance with a single step. She leaned close, her body pushing out an energy that wrapped Blake like an iron chain. “I may not have the senses of a wizard, but even I can smell the Chasm's reek on your soul.”
Blake gulped. “I'm not—”
“Not yet,” Pyrrha coldly stated, “but you will be.”
Blake launched a knife at the Knight Captain, straight for her heart. Of course, she had a chest plate, so Blake shouldn't have been surprised when the metal armor split its toothy maw around her knife, throwing out a fleshy tongue that wrapped around her—
Blake blinked. Her knife glanced off the armor. Pyrrha smiled. “Have you lost heart?”
A blazing fist crashed into— phased through— split against— Pyrrha leaned back, allowing Yang to fly past her, fist still extended.
Yang landed in a skid, staring down at her burning hand with disbelief. “W-what the fuck?”
Qrow dashed forward, scythe arcing— Qrow lunged forward, messer thrusting— Qrow leapt forward, wings flaring— Qrow dropped to a knee and forced his soul to stay still.
Pyrrha hadn't moved since the wall broke.
Staring at Yang, she licked her teeth. “You wanted to know why I just fought at the tourney?”
Yang froze. She had no such curiosities, but Pyrrha's gaze convinced her otherwise. “Y-yes.”
Pyrrha shrugged. “Like birdie here said, I didn’t want to ruin the fun. Something about Rupert— Ruby, was it? Something about her made my hearts beat. I can't quite put my finger on it, though…”
Qrow eyed her dangerously, fingers gripping his snath tight. No, sword— sword, dammit!
“I know!” Pyrrha raised a finger to her face, to one of the innumerable eyes she didn't have. “It was the eyes! So pretty! I haven't seen anything like them in a long time.”
“Pyrrha,” Qrow urged, “don't do this— I know you're still in there.”
“Very funny,” Pyrrha snorted, discarding the man completely. She closed her only two eyes in concentration. “Let me see if I can… find that part…”
A third of Pyrrha's face suddenly collapsed on itself, the skin simply deflating as it sagged into the crater of her skull.
“Oh. Oh my,” Pyrrha giggled. “Apologies, I know it's unsightly— just a moment, I think I've got it.”
All three watched the Knight Captain shuffle on its feet, one emerald eye turning up with concentration. It took a few moments before clarity flashed across Pyrrha's face, but the sound of cracking bones immediately followed. Her once-sagging skin reappeared, pushed out over fresh bones and reforming flesh.
Except this skin was different. Paler. Older. Familiar.
“I don't even know what this thing is!” Pyrrha declared elatedly as a new eye rolled into its socket. Yang slapped a hand over her mouth and forced her bile down. Qrow slouched in disbelief, then tensed with rage. Blake simply stared, mouth agape.
An eye of maddening silver stared back, its argent gaze challenging the very foundations of reality. Logic, sense, comprehension— they all fled the three, leaving only terror in their absence.
“Wh— what?” Yang's voice shook, like a hermit left to die in a coffin of snow.
“Stop that,” Qrow threatened, quaking with rage like a volcano fit to swallow the world.
Pyrrha chuckled. “Why? It's just another Chasm-goer.”
Blake squinted, her confusion like the glint of fool’s gold in a dragon’s eye. “Is that Ruby?”
“She never went to the Chasm!” Qrow shouted, as if his rage could mold her reality.
“Mom?” Yang raised a hand, as if she could pull a soul from its corpse.
Pyrrha looked down at Yang, showing actual surprise for the first time, before she threw her head back and cackled. “Wow! Your mother?” She pointed to Summer's face, incredulous. “Isn't that something! Ha haaaa!”
Qrow tightened his grip on his scythe— his sword. He forced its image to hold in his mind, resisting Pyrrha's imposed reality.
Yang focused on the rage in her heart, refining it until its qualities were immutable. Her fists blazed anew, her flames unflinching.
Blake thought really hard about stabbing her. That seemed to help.
Pyrrha stroked the new flesh, admiring the shimmering black locks that sprouted just above it. “Another poor soul lost to the resplendent depths. To let such a fate befall this woman…” Pyrrha made a face of piteous mockery, her eyes locking onto Qrow specifically. “You must have hated her.”
The Huntsman tensed, but it was Yang who lunged first.
Notes:
Ahhhh, the Knight Captain. Finally.
Chapter 57: Crushed
Chapter Text
Ruby dug her heels into the dirt. “Weiss, stop! Please!”
“We can't stop!” Weiss argued. “He's holding Pyrrha off so we can escape, so either have some faith, or respect his wishes!”
“No!” Ruby shouted, breaking her hand out of Weiss’ icy fingers. She shook off the chill, affixing Weiss with a furious glare. “All this is because I ran away, I started all this mess!”
Weiss reached out to her, but the girl scrambled back on a limp.
“No, Weiss! No! You can run— you should run, but I'm going back!” She turned back, drawing her falchion. “My family needs me.”
“Ruby, stop, please! You don't know what—”
“I fought her before,” Ruby interrupted, limping on her wounded thigh. “I could've won. I know it.”
Weiss dashed forward and gripped her shoulder, but Ruby spun around and slapped her hand away. “R-Ruby, please,” Weiss begged. “Whatever you think you can try against her, you can’t. She's not something you can beat— nobody can.”
“I don't care!” Ruby shouted, though her anger quickly sagged into melancholy. “I… I don't know what's right and wrong anymore, but I know that I can’t just abandon my family!”
Weiss reached for her again, but Ruby shied away. “You don't—”
“Weiss, you've lived off slavery your whole life!” Ruby shouted, guilt and righteous anger filling her lungs simultaneously. “I… I can't… How am I supposed to look past that?”
“I made a vow!” Weiss argued. “I made a vow to be better, and it's you who inspired that!”
“That's not a good thing!” Ruby cried, making Weiss freeze.
“W-what?”
“It's not! You shouldn't need anyone else to tell you slavery is wrong, Weiss! Owning people is wrong! How can you go so long without knowing that?” The memory of Weiss' lips burned mockingly over Ruby's, reminding her of how desperate she was not to spout these questions, but they came out all the same. “I-I mean, where is your humanity? If I'm going to be with you, what else will you have to learn? What basic, instinctual morals do you have?”
Weiss’ mouth flapped, but nothing came out. Her chest was tight with fear and betrayal, even as she battled with her mind to come up with some kind of answer to Ruby's question. “I— I-I don't—”
“Come on,” Ruby begged. “Anything, Weiss. Please.”
Weiss was blindsided and overwhelmed, but she blinked back the tears in her eyes and pulled a deep breath through her teeth. She'd been pushed around enough today. “What do you want me to say? That I don't know anything? Because I don't! Every day, my world is being turned upside down by you lunatics, so forgive me if my moral guidance isn’t perfectly calibrated!”
Weiss stomped up to Ruby and poked a finger into her chest, making the smith retreat a step.
“I've been aimless my whole life, played by the whims of other people,” Weiss hissed, jamming that finger repeatedly into Ruby’s sternum. “My life has never been in my hands, so what right do you, a runaway girl looking for such vanity as fame, have to judge what I could or could not do?”
“I ran—” Ruby had raised her voice, but Weiss stepped closer and cut her off.
“And who came to find you, Ruby? Was it the city guards? Were you dragged away against your will, like I was?”
Ruby didn't respond, she couldn't.
“I thought not,” Weiss slowly hissed. “As much as you all criticize me for what I have or haven't done, you never consider that I haven't actually had a choice.”
Weiss’ finger left Ruby’s chest, but she wasn't done.
“I'm not perfect, I know that! I’m awful! But right now, you're doing exactly what Blake did to me.” Weiss choked a little on the last words, her nose suddenly stinging as tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you of all people would understand.”
Ruby felt every part of her being turn sour with guilt. How little faith did she have for Weiss? Should she seriously be so shaken by something that, if she had taken a few seconds to think about it, would've been obvious? And why take that out on the girl she had just kissed? What happened to giving her a chance? Just what kind of hypocrite was she? Her eyes fell to her feet. “W-Weiss, I'm—”
A hand jerked the back of her cloak, dragging her backwards. “Not right now, you dolt, we've wasted enough time. Your uncle needs our help.”
Ruby struggled to keep up with her limp, but she managed to keep herself mostly in step with Weiss, so her cloak was released. “You're…”
“Like you said, Ruby,” Weiss leveled an accusatory glare at her, making the smith shrink into herself. “I don't have the ‘instinctual morals’ that you do, so I'm just going to take your word for it. I wouldn't save my family; no amount of blood shared could make up for what they've done.” Weiss made a mental exception for Winter; they needed to talk. “But if you want to save yours, I won’t just abandon you— I like you, after all.”
“W-well…” Ruby drawled, her voice still a little shaken by guilt. “Your family is terrible.”
Weiss gave her a deadpan stare.
Ruby's lips managed to pull up into a tiny smile. “Mine's pretty great.”
Weiss tried to deadpan harder.
Yang impacted Pyrrha with a ragged cry, her hands bursting with fire as she assailed the Knight Captain. Pyrrha leaned back, letting the first hook whiff past her head before she caught the ensuing follow-up, her hand wrapping just above the stretch of flames on the Huntress’ forearm. Yang felt a mountain of strength in the woman’s grip, and her eyes widened.
Pyrrha yanked her in and slammed her pauldron into the Huntress, raising her rod as her grip kept the girl from retreating, only for Yang’s other hand to appear in Pyrrha’s face. A tiny sphere of orange rapidly built inside her palm, only the briefest herald before the belch of flames that followed.
Her grip relented, and she immediately ducked below the short cone of flames before she weaved aside with an overdramatic spin.
Yang sprinted after her, leaping to deliver a flaming punch that the Knight Captain easily danced away from. The Huntress ducked low as she landed, one leg sweeping backwards to catch the woman’s retreat, only to find that the Knight Captain was actually in front of her, almost materializing from thin air with speed that could almost match Ruby’s. Her baton was raised high, but the bloodlust Yang had expected to see was buried under six feet of sheer disappointment.
Just as Pyrrha’s bludgeon swung for the girl's head, however, an almost-silent rustle of feathers made her jump back. Qrow dove from mid-air, his messer stabbing through the spot she’d just left as his wings unfurled to catch his fall. His scarlet gaze never left her, and his feathered vestiges flapped hard to send him surging towards the Knight Captain, sword high for an overhead strike.
A loud clang filled the clearing as she batted the blade with her baton, but Qrow moved with much more youth than his bald-spot heralded. He led the momentum of his repulsed swing in a wide arc to his side, then pumped his wings to send his body into the air, his inertia empowering the low-to-high slash.
His blade sparked fruitlessly against her chestplate, leaving a long furrow across its face, but the look in Pyrrha’s tracking gaze was completely indifferent. She knew the strength of her armor, and her unworried expression told him that she’d deliberately allowed herself to be struck.
If that were truly the case, he was glad that Yang had become such an excellent Huntress; she’d read the silent intentions of his move, and exploited the opening he gave her.
Yang blasted forward through the spot Qrow had just risen from, an enraged cry tearing her throat as she ducked low into an uppercut that Pyrrha could never have seen coming. Qrow watched it happen in slow motion, the knuckle-guard of the Huntress’ reverse-gripped dagger now glowing from heat greater than he’d ever seen her muster. His hope built high, but he spread his arms wide just to be sure.
The iron in his hand rebelled against his magic, but he risked the extra Aura drain so the front of his doublet could suddenly burst with a flurry of bones, needle-sharp and born from his ribcage. The shards flew straight to the Knight Captain’s face, forking her counters. Block the punch, take a faceful of needles. Block the needles, take a plate-crushing blow from Yang.
Pyrrha’s expression exploded with glee. Qrow’s burgeoning smirk died in its crib.
The Knight Captain shot a palm out to Yang, and all of her gathered momentum suddenly bunched against her hand. Her dagger froze mid-swing, forcing her to let it go lest she crash into it, but it sank to the silt the moment she did. Yang found herself stumbling towards Pyrrha, whose hand flew down to jerk the Huntress up by the back of her neck, forcing her to face the cloud of incoming bone-shards.
Qrow tried to dispel them, but his command wavered against the iron in his grip. He could only watch from the air, helpless as the multitude of needles sliced against his niece’s Aura. He was confident that it wouldn’t flare the cavernous well of the girl’s soul, but he wouldn’t be able to fly down in time to save her from whatever came next.
The Knight Captain’s gauntlet remained tightly locked around her neck, and Yang was too slow to react as she felt the woman shift behind her. She braced herself.
Qrow watched her rod come flying from her side, aimed straight for Yang’s throat. Now weakened by his attack, her Aura would surely collapse around the blow, and her neck would follow shortly thereafter. Of all the jobs, he just had to take the one that ended in watching his niece die.
Otherworldly light burst from behind Pyrrha. Chains whipped around her forearm.
Blake grunted, planting her heels in the dirt as the links pulled taut and slowed the Knight Captain’s strike. It took every ounce of her strength just to marginally delay her, and as the gate fizzled behind Blake, she began to worry that it wouldn’t be enough.
Yang’s eyes flew open, the extra second giving her just enough time to uncork the limits of her flames. She let them flow freely, her unrestrained magic channeling itself from every pore, forcing Pyrrha’s grip to relent as her entire body burst into bright arcane fire.
Yang immediately scrambled back, panting hard as she jammed her magic back into herself— it was harder than usual, like trying to dam a river while wading inside it, but the flames eventually bowed to her command. The sheath of fire was snuffed into a plume of arcane blue smoke. Qrow landed at her side, and Blake gated back to them after another moment, chain dangling from one hand.
Pyrrha straightened herself, emerald and silver eyes bright as she hungrily licked her rows-upon-rows of dagger-like teeth. She loudly cracked her neck, but it sounded more like she was breaking it. “That was nice,” she claimed, her voice rasping like a whetstone on a blade, “are we all warmed up, now?”
Qrow blinked the taunt away— that’s all it was. He narrowed his glare on her, searching for any opening, any limp, any chink in her armor. She couldn’t have withstood all that and come out completely fine; sure, she dodged or parried all of their attacks, but that can be just as tiring as attacking yourself. Plus, with all that armor, he was certain she’d be nearing exhaustion.
He watched her chest rise and fall, her breaths smooth and steady.
Well, that could be a fluke, or she could be putting up a front. He extended his enhanced senses, searching for her heartbeat. It took him much longer than it should have to find it.
Slow, so slow it was barely there, but each pulse hit a discordant, inhuman tempo. Soft. Far too soft for fighting— too slow for being alive, even. Qrow grimaced.
Pyrrha pouted. “Don’t tell me you’re done already.”
Qrow grit his teeth. She wasn’t bluffing. This was nothing to her— like fighting a gang of toddlers. If they didn’t run soon, she would—
He felt heat building at his side. The scent of fire pushed against his senses. He slowly turned towards his niece, his eyes wide and begging. “Yang…”
The Huntress was livid. Sparks flew around her shoulders, wisps of flames alighted and died around her fingers, and her teeth were clenched so hard that they neared a breaking-point. Qrow watched her stance shift ever-so-slightly, one foot sliding back as she lowered herself.
Blake seemed to notice this, too, and reached out towards her. “Yang, don’t—”
Their words were unheeded. Yang burst forward, carving trials of flame in her wake.
Qrow couldn’t hesitate to follow her, not if he wanted her to live, so he surged in her wake with a flap of his wings, his feet leaving the ground as he soared to his niece’s side. The two charged in unison, saber raised and fists blazing.
Yang sidestepped at the last moment, skidding against the silt as she slammed her wrists together, fingers tightly twitching as she focused her rage between her hands. Flames, so bright they were almost pure white, blasted towards the Knight Captain.
Qrow hadn’t expected that, and it didn’t seem like Pyrrha had either, judging by the way she scrambled back from the ray of incandescent fire. She threw her baton at Yang’s wrists to force the girl to dispel the flames, then somehow recalled her rod right back to her hand, the plain weapon ringing as it flew back into her palm.
Thankfully, Yang didn’t miss a beat, and flashed Qrow a side-eye before she burst towards the woman again. He followed immediately, charging up to the Knight Captain’s side as Yang met her head-on.
Qrow folded his wings so he could fall into a downwards slash, forcing Pyrrha to shuffle aside and let his messer glance off her pauldron. Still, she barely even regarded his presence, focusing instead on the girl with the burning fists.
Yang threw blow after blow at the Knight Captain, but each punch only evoked a parrying rap against her knuckles from the woman’s metal rod. She forced herself to be faster, focusing her Aura in her arms and back to hasten and empower her strikes, turning her punches into a blur of power and flame.
Qrow watched Pyrrha’s eyes sharpen, her smirk faltering for half a moment as she slid a leg back to steady herself against Yang’s unrelenting assault. He targeted that leg with a thrust, hoping to split her attention, only to be reminded that Pyrrha was still parrying every punch with just one hand. Her unoccupied arm whipped around at an angle that shouldn’t be possible, and her empty palm shot out to intercept the tip of his messer.
Qrow felt his weapon grind to a halt before it even hit her hand, as if some invisible force was holding the blade. When he tried to swing, Pyrrha caught it again. When he kept trying, she threw him a dismissive side-glare before dancing aside a punch and positioning Yang between them.
Blake felt distinctly outclassed as she watched Pyrrha easily manage both of the Hunters, each of her arms moving impossibly fast to catch or counter any attempt at her guard. Her movements were uncanny and difficult to follow. Inhuman, even, which she supposed made sense.
She watched Qrow try time and time again to open up her guard, only for each strike to be rebuffed with ease. Even as she focused more against Yang’s assault, that only seemed to heighten her ability to dismissively repulse the man like it was child’s play. She even seemed to get annoyed at this, like a parent endlessly pestered by a toddler, and now constantly shifted to keep Yang between herself and Qrow. She manipulated the flow of battle with ease, moving their combat in a half-circle so she could keep enjoying her battle without that annoying bird. Blake watched Pyrrha position them perpendicular to her, as if she was trying to give Blake a show by laying all three of them out like a puppet play.
She knew it was stupid, that the Knight Captain was a monster who would probably kill her tonight, but her pompous dance had moved the other two out of her way, giving the fay a perfect angle. To be honest, she doubted the tiny throwing knives would do much of anything to that creature, but it would be nice to at least try to contribute.
Regardless of her worries, Blake threw her knives— three of them, in rapid succession. Pyrrha offhandedly knocked one aside with her rod, the second glanced off her chestplate, but the third flew in a clear path to the Knight Captain's unprotected forehead. Aura or not, it should be enough of a distraction to give Yang an opening.
Pyrrha, without faltering in her defense against the other two, popped up and snatched the third blade between her teeth. Blake blinked. “Uh,” she drawled aloud, her hands falling limp to her sides, “I don't think this is going to work.”
Qrow, realizing how easily Pyrrha was manipulating him, fell back to strategize with Blake. Unfortunately, this new perspective gave him a worrying clarity. Yang was pouring every ounce of her magic into each punch, her speed ramping up until her fists were nigh imperceptible, but Pyrrha kept up with ease, still with just one hand. She was toying with Yang, getting what thrill she could out of the battle before the would Huntress inevitably tire herself out. He turned towards Blake, his voice laced with desperation. “We need to—”
Pyrrha’s neck twisted towards him, beyond the point of reasonable survivability. “Run?” She supplied, still batting Yang’s furious blows aside with her rod. Her voice cut uncannily over the Huntress’ roaring inferno. “Do you really think you could get away, little birdie?”
Qrow gulped. Thinking logically, he probably could—
“You know I won't stop,” she purred, “and you're not the only Hunter with enough skill to track this bumbling group.”
Qrow gripped his scythe tight. Pyrrha smirked at his trembling hands.
“Ye of little faith,” she tutted. “You've realized your hopelessness?”
Qrow clutched the sc— sword. He shook the disbelief from his head and prepared to attack her again, wings flexing out behind him.
“You should try killing yourself!” Pyrrha gleefully suggested, barely paying attention as she bashed Yang’s incoming punch with her baton. “I've never seen anybody do that in the middle of a fight, it'd really throw me off!”
Qrow blinked; he could almost see it— jamming the scythe into his own chest, the surprised glance from Pyrrha, her lapse in judgment giving Yang the opportunity to get a shot in. Her fist would smash apocalyptically across Pyrrha's jaw, shattering her focus just long enough that Blake could—
Blake grabbed his arm and yanked it down, keeping him from burying any more than the tip of his blade in his chest. “Fuck, man!” She cried. “What are you doing?”
The scythe dropped from Qrow's twitching fingers. He reacted too slowly to catch it, and had to bend like an old man to pick the thing back up. When he raised his head again, Pyrrha was standing before him, dragging a limp Yang by her hair.
“Fu—” Blake's shout crumpled as Pyrrha swiftly cracked her baton against the girl’s trachea. The fay collapsed, hands clutching her throat as she let out a long, broken whine.
“This is your, er… niece, right?” Pyrrha lifted her handful of hair, jerking Yang's head up with it. “Is that how families work?”
Qrow swung once at Pyrrha, but his blade was stopped short as the Knight Captain held Yang in its path.
“Wow, you really are heartless,” she mused, peering down at him with Summer's eye. “Is there anyone you wouldn't hurt?”
“You don't know anything about me,” Qrow hissed through grit teeth.
Pyrrha cackled, her laughter resonating with something ethereal. “Oh, but I do, little birdie,” she leaned closer to the Huntsman. “After all, I've been watching you.”
Qrow blinked, his fingers falling loose from his scythe once again. Pyrrha plucked it away with ease.
“That's what good hunters do, Branwen,” she cooed. “And I've been thinking about your bird cage for a very long time.”
Chapter 58: Paramour
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Qrow dropped to his knees, his wings falling limp behind him. Pyrrha stared into his eyes; she was satisfied. Joyous, even. He could see her beating heart behind her eyes. Her cold smile latched onto his throat, shutting out any words he could possibly beg with.
Yang hit the ground, the hold on her hair released. Blake rolled in the dirt, gurgling as she tried desperately to reclaim air.
Pyrrha dropped Qrow's weapon into the dirt, just far enough that he wouldn't be able to grab it before she could disembowel him. Even as she let her irreality ease, he could only see a scythe. Summer's eye tore at his soul.
“So soon,” Pyrrha tutted, “I expected more from you.”
Qrow wasn't listening. All he could see was Summer's pleading gaze. He could only hear the promise, the sound pounding against his bone-dry brain like a chisel on stone. Qrow fumbled at his belt, his hands shaking.
After some blind grasping, he managed to extract one of many dark glass bottles hanging from sheathes on his belt. This one had a stout neck and a large, round body— a falernian wine, sealed with white wax. He tore at the seal with his teeth, then ripped the cork out like a rabid dog.
Qrow poured the white drink directly down his throat, taking heavy breaths as he struggled to breathe around his desperation. He guzzled the stuff like water, uncaring of how much spilled over his cheeks and down his chin.
Pyrrha watched him drain the entire bottle with disgusted amusement. It was supremely pathetic, especially when he ran out and let it roll from his shaking hands.
“S-Summer…” he stared into the eye, his gaze pleading and desperate. “Please, forgive me.”
Pyrrha sneered. Blake, even as she choked and writhed, had enough energy to spare a look of rage at the Huntsman.
The Knight Captain took a few more moments to drink in the sight, but decided she'd seen enough when he began searching for another bottle. She came a little closer to the old man, one hand cupping his chin.
She tilted Qrow’s head up, squinting in focus as she observed the shape of his skull, her other hand tightening around her rod. She could probably get him with one good crack, straight through the Aura— assuming he could even muster one in this state. She tilted him a little more, then gave his temple a few taps with her baton. His soul failed to rise. Excellent.
Pyrrha pulled the metal cylinder back, her other hand keeping the man’s head in place; she could smash through his entire skull, just as long as he let her. He looked deep into her eye, his eyes blearily swimming in alcohol. “Summer?” He worthlessly muttered.
The Knight Captain sneered. This hardly felt sporting.
“Oh well!” Pyrrha shrugged, bringing the baton down. His skull would crack like an egg, spraying his last feeble thoughts all over the writhing shim— she wouldn't even be able to scream in horror. Pyrrha's lips pulled from her teeth, baring her cruel joy.
She swung with nothing, her empty hand arcing over the man's face. Pyrrha turned, her eyes tracing along a line of rose petals.
Ruby the Red emerged from a plume of red, letting out a loud yelp as she landed. The girl lost her balance and tumbled, her cloak spreading wide as she fell prone. Her arms splayed out on impact, her grip on Pyrrha's baton faltering and sending the thing somewhere beyond the treeline. She shuffled under the widespread, frayed umber cloth, then collapsed once more with a long groan.
The Knight Captain stared, dumbstruck— so dumbstruck, in fact, that even her bodily dissonance faltered, causing her skull to crush into itself once more before restoring Pyrrha's face as a whole. “Ruby?” She called, her voice singular once more. “Is that really you?”
“Eh… that depends,” Ruby groaned her answer, then tried to get up again. She collapsed with another grunt. “Will you leave us alone if I say no?”
Pyrrha stared. She stared and stared, watching the idiot girl try and fail repeatedly to even stand. It wasn’t a particularly amusing sight, it was just a far cry from the last time she’d seen her. Well, before she’d been nailed, at least. “Did you… hurt yourself?”
Ruby tried to look over, but her hood blocked her sight. “My, uh… what did she call it?” Even if her face wasn't visible, Pyrrha could practically smell how hard the girl was thinking; with a few more seconds of this, she was sure smoke would come out of her ears. “Paramour!” She suddenly declared, raising one hand triumphantly. “My paramour stabbed me in the leg!”
Pyrrha blinked, waiting for the punchline. When one didn't come, she started to slowly approach the girl, departing Qrow with a casually-crushing blow to the side of the head. Blake had just begun to recover from her helpess squirming, but her first good breath was punctuated by the impact of Pyrrha's boot with her skull. She left the unconscious worms behind.
The Knight Captain continued its slow trudge, gaze set on Ruby the Red.
“We will need a plan, you know,” Weiss stated, the two slowing down as they neared the campsite. The din of combat was extremely loud— steel clashing against steel and iron, the distinct screaming of Ruby’s sister, along with a constant background noise that sounded like staring into a deep abyss.
“I know, I know!” Ruby fussed.
“You really can't beat her,” Weiss argued.
Ruby growled. “Then what am I supposed to do?”
“I'm… not sure,” Weiss admitted.
Ruby turned to her with hope in her eyes. “What about your magic? You're super strong!”
Weiss cringed. “I'm, er… middling, at best. Besides my natural aptitude for ice, my knowledge is very generalist and utilitarian.”
“Weiss, you know I don't know what that means.”
Weiss rolled her eyes. “I can wield ice, go invisible, pick things up with my mind, and do a myriad of other things that will be extremely unhelpful against Pyrrha.”
“I remember that!” Ruby cheered. “That's how you threw my hammer so good!”
“ So well, Ruby,” she mumbled, knowing full well that correcting the girl’s grammar was a moot point. “I doubt that'll be much help, here.”
“I think she can do that too,” Ruby postulated. “I remember when I fought her, she somehow stopped my knife with her open hand. Maybe it's like that?”
Weiss hummed. It wasn't a bad theory, but, “I don't see how that helps us.”
“You can't do anything about that?”
“Counter magic only works on some things,” Weiss explained, smirking a little as she mentioned, “like when Neptune pinned you.”
Ruby nodded, then tripped over herself as she processed the statement. “Wait, what do you—”
Weiss flashed her a cocky grin. It was a sufficient answer.
They approached the treeline of the campsite, where the sound of combat suddenly became much more intense, then cut out almost completely.
Weiss and Ruby crouched among a dense tangle of thinner trees and thicker shrubs. The two parted a clump of leaves, allowing them to peer unseen into the campsite.
The sight almost immediately ruined their cover as both girls covered their gasps with their hands. They had arrived just in time to watch Pyrrha hit Blake in the throat, her other hand dragging an unconscious Yang by her hair.
For Weiss, just looking at Pyrrha was difficult. The air itself had a sickening distortion, making her sore eyes beg to be relieved of the sight. She couldn't see her face from their angle, but she was incredibly thankful for that— just trying to comprehend her presence made her stomach roil. Her height and build shifted constantly, her body flickering in and out of existence as if her mind was simply refusing to show her some of the woman's forms.
The Huntsman, Qrow, kneeled before the Knight Captain, leaving a gurgling Blake to helplessly watch as Pyrrha easily plucked the messer from his hands. His eyes were wide and pleading, and he looked to be bleeding from a shallow chest wound.
Ruby barely even noticed Pyrrha. All she saw was a broken Qrow. Her own uncle— the man who had been her father when Tai couldn't, the only man in her life who had ever helped her be close to what Summer once was— made to kneel. For all his talk against authority, here he was.
She watched him fumble around his belt, and her heart fell even deeper when he pulled out a dark green bottle. He ripped the top off like an animal, then drained it just as fervently. Ruby turned away from the shameful sight, only to find that Weiss had done just the same. Their gazes met, a shared melancholy passing between them.
“What do we do?” Weiss whispered.
“I'll distract her,” Ruby answered. “You help them, do some magic healing thing or something.”
“M-magic healing—” Weiss shook her head. “Ruby I can't—”
“Oh, use that stuff!”
Weiss blinked. “What… stuff?”
“The stuff! Remember?” Ruby motioned to her own face. “The stuff that you tried to burn my face off with?”
“I did not— it was an accident!” Weiss nearly got too loud, but managed to keep herself in check. “Besides, it's in the camp, with the horses.”
Ruby nodded, undeterred. “That's what the distraction is for.”
Weiss squinted at the girl. “You're not that distracting.”
“Maybe not,” Ruby gave her a cheeky grin, “but I don't need to be.”
“You're not making sense.”
Ruby spread her hands out towards the heiress, like she was blind to the answer. “Just go invisible! You told me you can!”
Weiss opened her mouth, but no argument came forth. It was a terrible plan, godawful, actually, but she couldn't think of anything better.
Taking her silence as support, Ruby smiled and placed a fist over her heart. “Alright! Wish me luck, uh…” she faltered in thought for a second, before finishing with a weak, “darling?”
Weiss recoiled. “Not that. Please, not that.”
“Love… ly… one?”
“Sweet bloody Shepherd, Ruby…”
“What! What do I call… us?”
“I don't know! Paramours, or something! Now's not the time for that!”
She burned that word into her brain— paramours. Ruby took a deep breath, tightly gathered herself, then shot out to kiss Weiss. She wrapped her arms around the heiress’ neck, pulling her as close as she could before finally letting go. “Wish me luck.”
Weiss wished that idiot hadn’t snatched the breath right out of her lungs, because all she could muster was a tiny nod. Ruby beamed at her with a smile like the sun gleaming off a church bell, then disappeared. She left nothing but rose petals behind.
Weiss snatched one, barely managing to give its soft texture a single stroke before it faded, then sighed. She focused on her soul, on the magic in her veins, and prepared to exhaust it more than she ever had before. It wasn’t that scary of a thought anymore— so far, every day with Ruby had been a continuous string of never-done-befores, and sneaking past a psychotic aberration from an infinite voidscape would just be another one.
She hoped as much; she had to. At this point, she didn’t have a choice.
Notes:
surprise chapter :D
Chapter 59: Jester
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Pyrrha stared at the prone cleaver-wielder for a long moment, at least until her sheer disbelief finally waned. After a while, she started the conversation she'd long been rehearsing.
“I really am sorry about the bolt,” Pyrrha drawled, her slow approach heralded not by the clank of her armor, but by the unfathomable pressure emanating from her sheer presence. She watched with mild amusement as the thickening air became an active labor against Ruby, the prone girl taking hard and fast breaths just to push it from her lungs. “I’d hoped to get a real taste of you.”
Ruby, with obvious effort, let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, me too.”
Pyrrha quirked an eyebrow, though she doubted the girl would be able to see it; from this angle, only her nose poked past her hood. “I saw the rest of your performance in the tourney,” Pyrrha commented, “you’re quite talented, for a little girl. How old are you?”
Ruby barked out a laugh, one so poorly faked that it genuinely edged the Knight Captain’s nerves. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Pyrrha blinked at the snark, her steps suddenly halting. She stared at the tiny warrior. “Yon disappointment said you’re his niece.”
Ruby stiffened a little. “Well… yeah.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What do you want me to say?”
Pyrrha twitched, taking a few more stomps towards the pathetic creature. “Why are you so aloof? I’m going to murder you.”
Ruby threw her head back a bit, shifting her hood enough to meet one eye to Pyrrha’s glare. “Sorry, should I beg for my life?”
Pyrrha blinked, her lips pursing with frustration. “Actually, yes. I—”
Ruby yawned. Loudly. “Sorry, sorry, continue. Please.”
Nearly half of Pyrrha’s face began to feverishly twitch. “I think a little respe—”
Ruby started laughing, interrupting her.
“Stop that!” Pyrrha demanded, stomping her foot. “What’s so funny!”
“Oh, haha, uh…” Ruby let her mirth fade into the near-solid air, her speech straining as she forced its weight over her vocal cords. “Just, you know, thought of a joke.”
Pyrrha grit her teeth and furiously marched to the girl. “A joke? You thought of a joke?”
“W-well, not really a joke,” Ruby poorly explained, “just something funny.”
“Something funny?” Pyrrha, now looming over the downed smith, extended an arm and opened her hand wide. A loud ringing emanated past the treeline, heralding the arrival of her metal baton, which tore through the dense shrubbery as it flew into her palm. The Knight Captain clenched her weapon tight, anger clear from her furiously shaking grip. She bent down, her free hand ripping the girl’s head up by the scruff of her cloak. “And just what is so funny?”
Ruby took a deep breath of heavy air, then curled her lips into a smirk. “You wouldn’t like it. It’s old.”
“Old?” Pyrrha snarled. “It’s old?”
“Haha,” it was so fake that Pyrrha could taste it. “Yeah.”
“You know, I am trying to be at least a little respectful.”
Ruby cocked her head. “How so?”
“I haven’t shown you the hell that I can be.”
“Ooh,” the smith mockingly cooed, “is that supposed to be scary?”
Pyrrha was grinding her teeth to dust, but the idiot girl had yet more words to impart.
“Sorry, after the whole nailing thing— which was your fault, by the way—” she added, as if the Chasm itself wasn’t about to devour her, “nothing really scares me anymore.”
Pyrrha’s grip tightened on her baton, threatening to crumple the metal. Letting her dissonance slip, she showed Ruby a smile that would make Grimm reel. “Oh, is that so?”
The smith didn’t even blink, her silver eyes flashing in the moonlight. “Do you still want to hear that joke?”
“Yeeeesss,” Pyrrha hissed, bringing her aberrant visage down to Ruby’s. “I would love nothing more.”
“Okay, okay,” Ruby had to pant through the thick air, but her voice still hitched as if the joke was simply too funny to tell. “What do you call a Knight who always fights on level ground?”
Pyrrha blinked, her irreality faltering in her confusion. “Wh— what?”
“Do you need me to say it again?”
“No!” Pyrrha furiously shook her head, her baton rising in threat. “Just tell me the damn joke!”
Ruby huffed indignantly. “I’ll restart.”
“Do not fucking—”
Extremely slowly, Ruby repeated, “What do you call a Knight who always fights on level ground?”
Pyrrha’s face twisted tightly with rage, her voice straining. “What.”
The girl beamed. “Ser Face!”
“That’s it?” Pyrrha scowled. “Ser Face?”
Ruby pouted. “You didn’t like it?”
Pyrrha twitched. “Are you… stalling?”
“N-no!” Ruby’s sly grin belied the truth. “Why would I do that?”
“Because I am about to beat you into a paste so thin that I will drink it like fucking wine.”
Ruby gulped. “Wow. That was scary.”
Pyrrha gripped her baton even tighter, the metal collapsing slightly in her grasp. “I’m going to kill you now.”
“Wait, wait!” Ruby’s eyes opened wide with desperation— exactly what Pyrrha had been itching to see.
“Yes?” She drawled, dragging the world like a knife across a throat, desperate to feast on this girl’s hopelessness. Finally, she’d get to hear Ruby the Red beg for her life.
“I, uh…” Ruby fumbled desperately for something to say before finally landing on, “I have another joke.”
“Is it this farce?” Pyrrha asked, her eye regaining its twitch. “Because it’s not very funny.”
“No! It’s good!” Ruby promised. “My soul to the Watcher, it’s hilarious! You’ll remember it forever!”
Pyrrha let her grip on the rod ease a little. “Fine. Tell me.”
Ruby smiled bright. “Okay, are you ready?”
Pyrrha deadpanned. “Yes.”
“Are you sure? You’re going to be laughing very hard, I wouldn’t want to hurt—”
“If you do not tell me the joke I will hollow your sister out and stuff your paralyzed body in her skin.”
“My word, that’s graphic,” Ruby commented with a fake shiver. “Wait, how did you know she’s my sister?”
“Tell me the joke, girl."
“Answer my question first!”
Pyrrha's mad twitch pulled at her entire face. “She’s the Huntsman’s niece, you’re the Huntsman’s niece,” she hissed. “I made an educated guess.”
Ruby nodded. “That makes sense, I suppose.”
“Tell me the joke.”
Ruby blinked. “Oh right! Sorry, I almost—”
“The joke,” Pyrrha growled. “Now.”
Ruby took a deep, heavy breath. “Okay. Read—”
“Yes I’m fucking ready!”
Ruby closed her eyes. “Fine, fine. Come closer.”
Pyrrha, twitching like mad at this point, bent back down to Ruby’s eye level.
“Okay, what do you call—”
“Another one of these?” Pyrrha snarled.
“Hey!” Ruby snapped. “I swore to the Watcher for this— my soul is on the line! Do not interrupt me!”
Pyrrha blinked, cutting the instinctual apology that somehow rose to her tongue.
“Okay, one more time,” Ruby started again, agonizingly slow. “What do you call a big, stupid Knight, with nothing better to do than go around and threaten perfectly good people?”
Pyrrha’s lips pursed, her face falling. She could guess the punchline, and she found it severely unamusing. “Is it—”
“You need to say ‘what’, Pyrrha,” the way her name mockingly slithered past the girl’s lips made her skin bristle. “Otherwise the joke won’t work.”
The Knight Captain was on the verge of screaming, but she forced herself to remain intact. “What, Ruby. What do you call the Knight.”
Ruby’s eyes bored into the bottomless pit of her soul. Her lips reclaimed that unbearable smirk. “Gullible.”
Pyrrha swung the baton, only to find her vision assailed by a plume of silt from Ruby’s lightning-quick hand— the same childish play she’d made at the tourney. Pyrrha blindly flailed the metal rod as she blinked dust from her eyes, and when she opened them again, she found herself holding nothing but a frayed umber cloak.
Ruby, who had deliberately thrown her once-caped body over the resting place of her cleaver’s sheath, came from mid air with a crashing overhead swing of the iron slab.
The Knight Captain barely managed to save her head from the falling blade, but her dodge was too belated to leave her unscathed. The cleaver bit down hard into the chainmail at her collar, loudly crunching the fragile bone as the massive sword split links and sunk itself into her raised bevor.
The blow dropped her to a knee, but that was all she would allow. Her arm snapped around with unreasonable flexibility for both human limitations and the allowances of her plate, her wrist flicking out to whip her blunt weapon directly into Ruby’s cheekbone. The impossible force instantly shattered Aura and bone alike, unhanding the girl from her cleaver as she was thrown back with immense speed.
Ruby bounced hard off the unforgiving dirt time and time again, each forceful impact punctuated by a sickening crunch before her back slammed into and bent around a thick tree trunk. Her mostly-limp body tumbled down its evergreen canopy, crashing into every branch until she was dumped back to the dirt, barely breathing as she half-leaned, half-laid against the tree.
She’d been left a pincushion of pine needles, her skin weeping blood from the numerous spots where bone splintered out and wood splintered in, but she still cried out to keep herself from sinking into the darkness. Well, she tried to; the only sound that could emerge through her broken jaw was more like a long-suffering burble.
Pyrrha clutched her broken collar and hissed. “You cheeky bastard,” she seethed under her breath. “You almost hurt me.”
Ruby groaned from her place in the dirt, her consciousness holding on by the slimmest thread. The pain radiated through her entire body, reminding her of every gash, bruise, and tissue-breaching bone. Life itself tried to slip from her form, but she yanked it tight with the memory of the nails; if she'd survived that, she could survive this. Ruby forced her eyes to stay open, even if she could only see through one of them.
The world swirled in her vision, each tree casting a warbling double as her head swam. Darkness crept around the edges, but widening her eyes didn’t seem to help.
Pyrrha rose to her feet, her free arm limply dislocated thanks to the cleaver still wedged in her bevor. She freed the sword with a push from her baton, creating a sizable plume as it fell into the dehydrated soil. “Forgive me, Ruby the Red,” she didn't even turn towards the girl, doubtful that her words would reach her brain at this point. “I speak so much of honor and respect, yet I have shown you none. For that, I deserve this… humiliation.”
Surprising even Ruby, the words did actually reach her brain, so she desperately latched onto them— anything to distract from the pain. Her whole body constantly pounded, the inside of her skull battering its confines like steel on her anvil. Ruby could feel the blood flowing out of her wounds, each passing moment making her grip on consciousness slip a little more. She let out a garbled noise as a response. It was all she could manage.
“Yes, I am deeply sorry,” the Knight Captain finally turned towards the fallen girl, her gaze full of pity as she approached. “By holding myself back, I have underestimated you.” Pyrrha took a deep, apologetic bow, limp arm swinging down until she gripped it, then slammed it back into the socket.
Ruby groaned, her breaths hard and shallow. The air hadn't gotten any lighter, and having several ribs impaling her lungs didn't make it any more breathable. She drowned in a sea of mercury, talons hooking deep into her chest.
Pyrrha bent down and pushed her hand through the girl’s bangs, jerking her empty gaze up as she caught a mat of warm, bloodsoaked hair. “You know where I'm from, yes?”
Ruby hacked blood into her face, but the Knight Captain was completely unfazed. She had to force a deep breath to muster the strength, but Ruby managed to gurgle something vaguely similar to ‘Chasm’ from the back of her throat.
Pyrrha gave her a wide, toothy grin. “That is correct. Good job, Ruby.”
Ruby groaned.
“And do you know what that means?”
Ruby groaned, weaker this time.
Pyrrha loosed her grip and stood straight again, looming like a morbid obelisk over the half-dead girl. “I am the only human to ever survive the abyss—” she suddenly covered her face with a hand and snorted. “Well, that's technically a lie. In every sense. A joke, even.”
Ruby couldn't look up and watch her— her neck simply refused to move.
“You see, I didn't really survive,” she explained. “Or, well, Pyrrha didn't. The person who inhabited this shell… she was an incredible creature, by all standards, but there was one thing of which she had an infinite well. Could you guess what it is?”
Ruby made no answer. The air was too heavy to—
“Willpower, yes, correct! Drive! Determination!” The Knight Captain began to pace in front of the smith. “All these things in spades and more! All while falling through an abyss of certain, undeniable death! For years she strove to reject me! Her hope was a spite! A beautiful, wondrous, infinite will to keep hope strangled in her grip!”
Ruby hadn't the capacity for surp—
“She was antithesis to the Chasm— a realm of pure lack, pure disbelief, pure hopelessness. So, upon noticing the beauty of her contradiction, I must admit I took some… liberties.”
Ruby's disgust wasn't—
“I fed her, I watered her, I nursed her to health,” the voice wasn't Pyrrha’s— it hadn't been for a while. “I took her into my being, and carved myself into hers. She became my finery, and I became her material.”
Ruby couldn't—
“The marriage of infinite will and infinite despair: a being unfettered, free of body and mind, free even from the shackles of reality. Could you imagine the potential, Ruby the Red?”
Ruby—
“Oh, you're dying.”
R—
“Let me help.”
Rough lips smashed against Ruby's, one hand pinching her nose shut as Pyrrha forced the heavy air into her lungs. Ruby screamed as the woman’s breath forced her body back to life, but her arms were too broken to defensively flail.
Pyrrha pulled back and wiped the girl’s blood from her mouth, a wolfish grin on her face. “Apologies, Ruby. I was rambling. What I mean to say is: out of unintentional disrespect, I have failed to show you who I truly am. For that, I deeply apologize,” she bowed again.
“And it is a mistake I will now rectify.”
Notes:
https://www.tumblr.com/swagmagussupreme/739910669153992704/im-uh-a-fanfiction-writer-which-i-hope-is?source=share
Idk how to use Tumblr rn, but I set up a page for art sharing. Rn only has the weapons and my garbage attempt at Ruby, but I'm getting commissions worked out so any art is also gonna be posted there. If anyone knows how to use Tumblr, please help me, also I'll... repost art with permission? If thats how that works?? Idk I use reddit lol7
Chapter 60: Mother
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The air around Pyrrha distorted, warbling and vibrating as streaks of unfamiliar color whipped from her form. The air grew even heavier, but Ruby’s barely-functioning body forced her to keep sucking it in and blowing it out, even if it looked like she'd cough up organs at any moment.
All at once, and with the utmost power she could muster, Pyrrha allowed her dissonance to flood the realm, creating violent, short-lived rifts to crack the air as Remnant worked to reject it. She found this curious, since the realm had never actively defied her before, not even in her ‘fight’ against the old man. Though, she hadn't imposed her irreality this fervently, either. Come to think of it, the power was surging to her like never before. How lucky. Pyrrha looked to the night sky, expecting to see some passing astral body that Remnant could be siphoning magic from.
There was nothing. Nothing but a clear night sky, painted by a dense tapestry of stars and nebulae. It reminded her of the Chasm, its infinite streaking lines like falling through the cosmos. It had been so peaceful, so singular. The perfect place to hone one's will, and the perfect place to lose it. A void, lacking in emotion, in magic, lacking in most anything that could perceive it— save for the fleeting moments in which someone found themselves mistakenly (or purposefully) deposited therein and left for dead, or the even shorter times that a passing fay would gate through it.
The only opportunities of true observance came when a human would bridge across the realm, though they usually spent their journeys so paranoid that their eyes stayed glued to their flimsy magical bridges. Justified, of course; the number of times any human successfully bridged those death traps could be marked on one hand. Nobody risked that journey anymore, not since they’d discovered that the trip could be as simple as jamming some special iron in a fay and forcing them to gate across.
Besides that, only sifters ever graced the Chasm with more than a passing presence, their hulking forms scraping across the void-plane in search of any scraps of stray energy they could suck up. Their arrival came purely by accident, their bodies so large that the Chasm was merely furniture for them to bump into, and any eye that peeked through the boundary simply gave it the same beady stare that it would a passing star. And that was it, nothing else had—
Oh! There was a dragon, once! Goodness, it had been so long it almost forgot. She was a beautiful creature, pearlescent white scales ever-shimmering with the streaks of the Chasm’s light. She’d ripped a planar tear large enough to fit a mountain and strutted in claiming she owned the place, that she’d harvest its power, that she would be the one to wield the Chasm’s infinity.
But there was nothing to own, nothing to rule, nothing to wield, so she grew bored. It was an unfathomably dull place, after all, but watching the dragon fume at each futile escape attempt was quite an amusement. There was no way out from inside, so she too lost hope, and the Chasm swallowed her titanic soul.
Just as Pyrrha was about to turn back to Ruby, something interesting caught her eye: a slight distortion in the heavens’ tapestry. She bobbed her head, observing its shape, how it slightly bent the light passing through it. Thin but noticeable, like a transparent strip pulled across the sky; a ley line, one of the natural pathways through which Remnant’s greater Aura expressed itself. She followed it from the canopy's edge, her eyebrows raising as she tracked it directly above her position.
Multiple ley lines, converging, feeding raw arcane energy into the Emerald Forest. She smirked. The discolored whips of Remnant's rejection lashed against her being, trying desperately to free the world from her presence.
Unfortunately for the world, Pyrrha was not an infection that could be purged— she was a cancer, vascularized by Remnant’s own energy. She gorged on the vortex of ley lines more hungrily than that Huntsman guzzled alcohol, flooding her amalgamated soul with ancient energy. The power bulged against her vessel. Reality grew figurative, everything else became literal.
Six wings of teal, membranous tissue unfurled from her spine, each adorned with innumerable lidless eyes— the eyes of the hopeless, whose souls forever plummeted down her endless Chasm. Now they would see for the first time, their first true manifestation since she'd been dropped in that godless hole. Pyrrha’s own eyes remained in their sockets, brilliant emerald irises shining like the jewels of a crown.
Her body grew slightly, absorbing the Knight Captain’s plate into her flesh in the process. The skin over her collar parted red, fresh bone pushing out the mangled shards of its predecessor within seconds. Ruby, even with the last shreds of her cognizance, couldn't help but marvel at her beauty— this must be an angel, a deity, a creature to revere. She should bask in its presence, prostrate herself before it, beg it to breathe her sins, devour her flesh, imbibe her soul. She was an ant in her presence, with a mind too feeble to even comprehend that level of being.
The Knight Captain gazed into the night's tapestry, mouth wide like she could drink the constellations.
“Wow,” Pyrrha breathed, her voice a gentle promise of violence. “I didn't know I could do that.”
Ruby bore witness to the Knight Captain’s rebirth. Her skin itched more than her wounds could explain, and her working eye felt like it was boiling in her skull. Regardless, she couldn't look away; Pyrrha's presence demanded she drink every moment, even as her grip on life started to fade once more. The crumpled baton sank into the Pyrrha’s palm, disappearing below her flesh.
Pyrrha's face suddenly lost its elation. She thoughtfully pinched her chin, humming. “I wonder if he knows…”
Ruby groaned, and Pyrrha looked over as though she’d forgotten the girl’s presence. She lifted her hand and closed a thin membrane of teal over one wing-affixed eye— Ruby was barely conscious enough to register the movement at all, much less to notice which eye had closed, but she could see the crimson energy sparking in Pyrrha’s palm just fine.
“One moment, I need to read something,” the bolt of red streaked towards Ruby, striking directly between her eyes. “Don't die.”
The scarlet jolt ebbed across her hollow soul, feeding it the barest trickle of life before fizzling into the air. The air grew marginally lighter, and she could feel her shattered ribs evacuate her lungs before the well of her soul ran dry once more. Unfortunately, everything else remained broken, so she continued to watch helplessly as Pyrrha pulled a long scroll from nothing. The Knight Captain slowly read over the text.
The air shimmered, and an off-red distortion appeared just before Ruby. She made a noise.
“Oh, that?” Pyrrha gave her a sidelong glance before going back to her scroll, her lips cocked into a smirk that Ruby was too almost-dead to see. “One of my souls. I think it knows you.”
Ruby couldn't form any words to express her confusion, not with half her face shredded and her jaw broken. She made another noise.
The distortion shifted, taking on a misty humanoid silhouette. Small, eye-shaped white outlines appeared on its head, and a voice emanated from its presence.
“Ruby?”
She froze, muscles primally screaming as they tried to seize their torn fibers. It was a voice she could never forget, a voice she tried to preserve with her own, one she heard only in fading memories.
“Is that you?”
How was she supposed to comprehend the shadow of her mother's soul?
“Oh, petal, what'd you do?”
The shape crouched to Ruby's level, an ethereal hand ghosting across her disfigured face.
“What did you think was going to happen?”
Not this. She couldn't possibly have imagined this, not in her worst nightmares. The spirit of her mother, trapped within the Knight Captain, trying to speak to her. And she couldn't say a word in return. Her legs were too broken to stand, her arms too shattered to reach for her spirit, her fingers too crooked to hold her hand. She couldn't even cry out for her comfort; her fractured jaw wouldn't form the sound.
The spirit floated closer, and Ruby could almost feel the matronly look on the nigh-featureless smoke of its face. “You need to stop fighting, petal. If you do, we can be together again.”
Ruby's heart dropped away into a void, all of her conviction immediately sucked away by that promise. It soared above any Grimm she could freely hunt, any weapon she could forge, any wish she could ever have— it was the one desire that always stalked the edges of her mind, latching onto her thoughts in the rare moments of silence. It was a belligerent taunt. Her mother was dead, but there was no one she needed more in her life.
A tone played in Ruby's ears, a shrill drone that buried everything but her mother's voice. It'd been so long.
“We can see each other again,” Summer promised, laying both hands on Ruby’s shoulders. “Just be good, okay? You don't have to be afraid anymore, we can be free together.” She hovered closer, close enough to plant a kiss on Ruby’s forehead. “All you have to do is stop. Can you do that for me?”
She could do anything for her, she would do anything for her. Anything to see her again.
So much had happened. What would she say about Weiss? She'd have to tell her— sure, it’d be a little strange, but she knew Summer would accept her. And the tourney! How well she’d done, how much she’d endured. Maybe skip the parts about dad— she could use that time to gush about Yang instead. Or Weiss. There was so much that she could finally share, so many questions she could finally ask. She'd waited so long.
Summer's form drifted closer, cold hands gently ghosting across her daughter’s cheeks. “I believe in you, my little rose. You can do it. You just have to…”
Let go.
Notes:
the return of the lowtierfay
Chapter 61: Bloodcicle
Chapter Text
Summer faded into the wind, leaving Ruby to stare up blankly at Pyrrha.
The Knight Captain, who had taken to casually levitating a foot off the ground, leaned back with relief. “Well, the good news is that Jacques makes terrible contracts.”
Ruby stared, her silver eye now washed a dun grey.
“Oh, the bad news, you ask?”
Ruby stared.
“There isn't any,” her scroll rolled up in a snap, disappearing the moment it impacted Pyrrha’s palm. “Well, I suppose there could be some bad news, but it depends on your perspective.”
Ruby stared.
“Your perspective, specifically— as someone I'm about to murder. In that case, the news could be bad.”
Ruby stared. She made a thin, strained noise.
“What?” Pyrrha looked around. “Oh, where'd that soul go?”
Ruby made another noise, one that sounded vaguely like a sob.
“You knew it?”
A tear slipped past Ruby’s eye.
“I'll take that as a yes,” Pyrrha shrugged. “Your mother, right?”
Ruby stared for a long time, then blinked. Another tear fled her lens.
“Educated guess,” she lied, though Ruby was too shattered to notice. “Did she say anything?”
Ruby could only blink and stare. Tears flowed freely from both eyes, half of them squeezed past the bruised lump of her shattered orbital before tracking down her face, finally pooling against a branch speared through her cheek.
Pyrrha hummed. “I didn't know they could do that. Then again, this is all very new to me.”
Ruby stared, watching Pyrrha's wings float like gossamer in the breeze. The eyes among the membranes stared back. Her working eye burned, forced to hold itself open for Pyrrha’s resplendence, while the other begged to behold the Knight Captain.
Pyrrha floated closer, her words coming before her mouth moved. “Are you ready yet?”
Silver watched from the wings, calling Ruby’s soul into their embrace. She was in so much pain. She could be free of it all. Open arms waited at the end of the tunnel. A gurgling sound, the closest her mangled jaw could get to ‘mama’, squeaked past her throat.
Pyrrha smiled wide and dropped back down to the ground, hands extending to wrap around the girl's neck. Broken, alone, hopeless, Ruby plummeted into her fate. At the very least, she could look forward to Summer’s embrace. Ruby closed her eyes, and let go.
No more pain. Mother awaits.
Pain. More pain. So much more pain, enough to make her eye rip back open and force a wet cry out of her throat. Her world was dark, she saw nothing.
Something pulled her face out of the dirt, then righted her body against itself. She saw Pyrrha. Distant. Frozen in shock. Hands still extended. Emerald eyes slowly turning.
Things were wrapped around her waist. Clinking metal. Cold links. Warm arms. Pressing tight. Rips in her clothes.
Words reached her ears.
“Crook and cane, Ruby!”
Her angel— it was nice to hear her again.
“Y-you're going to be okay! I’ve got you.”
Warm.
“Stay with me.”
Demanding. Pleading. Pulling her close. Ignoring her screams. White hot pain.
“Don't ever do that again!”
Desperation, a man who can't bury any more of his family.
“Why the fuck did you do that!”
The rage of a woman who wasn't strong enough to protect her little sister.
“Shit, uh… shit.”
Cursing was all she could do— even her smugness failed her.
Pyrrha turned fully towards them, her form momentarily flickering between the vaguely-human Knight and the envoy of the Chasm. The disbelief hadn't yet faded from her face, even as she drew a spear from her palm. Her voice was hushed, but it sliced into their ears with ease. “What do you think you're doing?”
The chains at Ruby’s waist wrapped tight against her broken body. She cried out. The arms pulled her closer. It didn't ease the pain.
Pyrrha stared at their huddled group, a voracious grin splitting her face. The words rolled across Ruby, too much for her brain to properly sequence.
“Oh? What’s this? Are you trying to make it easier for me?”
“Don't listen to her.”
“I fucking know.”
“She's just trying to—”
“Shut up and let me fucking focus!”
Pyrrha took slow steps in their direction, her body twitching with bloodlust.
“Hurry!”
“She's getting closer!”
“Shut up, shut up!”
“Blake, open the fucking—”
“You can’t escape me.”
“Fuck you!”
“Fucking quiet!”
“Weiss, do something!”
“I can't, it's too dry!”
“Who fucking cares! Just do something! Anything!”
“I'll hurt—”
“Fucking look at Ruby! Who cares if you'll hurt yourself!”
Ruby barely heard her name. The battle of words was a distant din. Her head swam. One arm left its embrace at her waist and stretched past Ruby, fingers splayed wide as frost crept over the hand.
The pale white skin shriveled and greyed as the ice coating grew pink, absorbing whatever liquid Weiss’ blood could spare. A single shard of frozen crimson formed in her palm, then launched at Pyrrha.
The Knight Captain let it shatter against her. Her lips parted in a smirk. “Seriously? That's it?”
“More, Weiss, for fucks sake!”
“It's too fucking dry! I can only lose so much!”
“Use Ruby's!”
Her name again. Why wasn't she dead yet? She’d already let go— she wanted to see her mother.
“Are you insane?”
“Look at how much she's lost! Use that, it's not like you can put it back!”
“Fine!”
The blood pouring from Ruby's wounds floated up in spiraling tendrils, forming a plume of needle-thin spikes. Oddly, of all things, that didn't hurt. Whether that was good, or a sign of Ruby's encroachment upon death, she couldn't tell.
She was suddenly shuffled, forcefully pressing her battered abdomen against her chains— oh. There's a branch in her stomach. That’s… she really should feel that.
“Move over!”
“What? Why!”
“Contract!”
Heat flashed from behind. Hands fumbled around Ruby’s waist.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Helping!”
“Now!”
Orbs of shimmering golden fire flew at Pyrrha in winding paths. The Knight Captain raised a hand to intercept the first.
The flames slapped against her palm, but didn’t dissipate, instead burning even brighter as they devoured Pyrrha’s Aura. Her emerald eyes widened, her smirk faded. “Is this—”
Another golden orb smashed against her chest, the fire wrapping around her bare waist like it was liquid. The Knight Captain, surprisingly, flailed to throw them off. More orbs enveloped her legs, making her dance with fury and burning pain. Her spear became a thin circle of metal, which she used to bat the rest of the orbs away.
She pulled the shield aside, giving them a good look at her furious visage. “This can't kill—”
Hundreds of bloody shards swarmed over her face, the tiny frozen needles piercing every inch of exposed flesh. Pyrrha grit her teeth and growled.
“I will not be insul—”
Ruby’s iron dagger sunk deep into her forehead, thrown by someone the smith couldn’t turn to see. Pyrrha’s eyes crossed to glower up at the handle. Her being alive surprised nobody, at this point.
“Which one of you—”
The last arm holding Ruby snaked down to her waist, drew her hammer from its loop, then cast it at blistering speed. The tool flew perfectly straight, a telltale sign of Weiss' telekinesis, before the head smashed against the dagger's butt. Pyrrha's head rocked back from the blow, her face still covered in melting crimson needles.
Something warm and wet dripped over the crown of Ruby's head. Somebody screamed through their teeth. The chain wrapped even tighter around her waist, its metal vibrating with a low hum.
“It's unstable, I need more time!”
Pyrrha's head fell again. Her eyes were overflowing with rage, and the melting blood-ice covered her face with creeks of red. She reached up and ripped the dagger from her skull, its handle snapping in her grip.
The Knight Captain reformed her spear.
“We don't have more time, open it!”
“We could—”
Pyrrha's storming footsteps shook the ground. Her encroaching presence distorted the air. Six membranous wings flexed furiously behind her.
“Open it, now!”
“Just let me—”
Pyrrha sprinted towards them, her face twisted in a snarl and her spear raised. Hands furiously yanked at Ruby’s belt. Two flying swords, a falchion, and a knife were easily batted out of the air by the Knight Captain.
“Blake!”
“Open the damn gate!”
“I need more fucking time!”
The Knight Captain was upon them. Its smile was a thousand knives. Its voice was murder. “Hello again.”
“Go fuck your—”
“Watcher’s fucking—”
“Shepherd preserve—”
The world swallowed her.
Ruby sank into infinite, streaking darkness, anchored only by the stretch of iron links at her waist. She tumbled through the swirling depths, limp and broken. Spinning through empty eternity, she caught the occasional glimpse of the chain's form. Its links were unending, plunging beyond the abyss’ impenetrable gloom. New colors ebbed and flowed around her, alighting just long enough to sear her mind before they completely retreated from her thinning consciousness.
She was alone, her only company being the chain and the blinding anguish that permeated every cell of her body. When her working eye finally fell shut, she wasn’t sure it would ever open again. For all she knew, this would be her final resting place. She was too close to the edge to process that.
Her consciousness slipped into the Chasm. Ruby floated limp in the dark.
Chapter 62: The Bull
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Adam Taurus idly swept his gaze over his throne room, growing uncomfortable with how long he'd simply sat on the useless chair. The chamber was lush and brilliant, towering walls set with large blocks of polished basalt and painstakingly carved with reliefs of his exploits.
To his left was the Hundred Mile Charge, with his breathless cavalry cresting the Gorge of Honey to relieve the Winchesters, he and his Companions rising atop the defilade like a detachment from the Watcher himself. His downhill charge scoured Valerius’ men from the Shimmer, his iron shards nailing the fay commander to the realm. Adam raised his knife-eared head in the relief's climax, the tattered remains of Valerius’ men bowing to him like a god. That wasn't really what happened, of course— they hadn't the time for prostration when he was busy with their collective Binding ritual.
The Battle of Irongate was depicted on the opposite wall, slightly older but slightly longer than the other relief. He remembered drawing Marcellus’ forces onto the long bridge over the Hollow Mire— the only place he could've hoped to nullify their numerical advantage. Their Dust-hardened bardiches sundered the tight shields of Adam's armies, a contingent of fay skirmishers gating behind his lines to wreak unfettered havoc.
The relief dipped low, showing his moment of greatest desperation, before it crested with his figure rising from the depths of the Mire itself, appearing alone on the other end of the bridge. He’d shunted every ounce of iron from his person at once, shredding the heavy infantry on the bridge and giving his men the second wind to repulse what fay remained. Also not completely accurate, it left out the long line of chained Binders he'd dragged through that disgusting river— he couldn't make all that iron with his own blood, after all, he fed his Binders highly-ferrous diets for a reason.
Marcellus escaped, for a few days, but the great iron stele in the room's center depicted his final fate. For all his posturing, lording over his gates and his schemes, he'd been awfully silent when Adam himself gated into his throne room. Perhaps it was the spear he'd chucked in the fay's throat, or perhaps Marcellus Magnus knew he simply couldn't live up to his name.
Adam breathed a sigh and itched at the horns that ringed his head. They'd sprouted shortly after he ended Marcellus’ reign, spikes of iron that broke through his skin, sharply angling straight up in what his devotees aptly called the Iron Crown. His advisor had mentioned something called ‘soul-shifting’, but all Adam really got out of it was that his soul had seen fit to grant him the mark of royalty. It apparently had something to do with overindulgence in the fay's dust, but he preferred to think it was simply a representation of his ego. Either way, it itched constantly.
Adam was the only one who could control the anti-magic material. It wasn't even the medium of blood that allowed such manipulation, the central stele proved that much— he'd cast it himself, molded it from a massive hunk of iron ore that had killed hundreds of Binders for its gating. Others called it a Semblance, but he didn't care. The nobles could spit at him all they want, call him a half-breed until their throats ran dry, but in the end, it was he that ran the Shimmer.
Twenty iron bastions were at his fingertips, their edifices menacing every major fay city on the continent. The measly six Winchester bastions were under his thumb, ready to hoist his colors as soon as Adam gave the word. As strong as William was, he’d be shocked to see how little coin it’d taken to sway his men.
He’d already started bribing the Schnee bastions, as well. Quite recently, in fact, but the fact that he hadn’t received any kind of missive from their patron was still odd. He knew ‘Jaques’ Schnee’s house was weak, but he didn’t know they were blind too. Even across realms, word should’ve reached the man by now. Perhaps he was distracted by the petty matters of Remnant.
Perhaps he was dead. That’d be funny.
Just in case, and partially from instinct, he drew a vague map of succession is his head, assembling it from from pieces of memory that he'd never cared to maintain. He remembered that the Schnees had disowned their eldest daughter, so next was… what’s his name? Wallace? No, Wisby— Whitley! That was it. Though he wasn't sure if he was still with that family; he was a military boy, after all, following the ill-fated steps of his older sister. Probably disowned, as well. So next would be…
Adam shook his head. This was a fruitless line of thought, especially when there were more tantalizing opportunities to ponder.
The two Imperial bastions were paper tigers— grand and sprawling, but filled with feathered caps who hadn't the stomach for real war. Their walls were too wide, towers too tall, with courtyards large enough to gate half an army into. Their weapons were cowardly steel, and their mages studied earth and ice until their eyes bled. They'd never tasted fire like Adam’s men could unleash.
He thought of it often, worryingly often, gating himself and his Dragon Cohort into the courtyard— it would take just 300 men to turn the Shimmer’s largest bastion to burnished slag in less than an hour. Adam could picture the stupid look on Cordovin's face before he'd ruin it with an iron lance. He yearned to mold the whole citadel into a grand obelisk, a thorn to stab into the Imperial eye.
Adam would draw them into the Shimmer, to their second and final bastion. He'd be waiting for them there, lounged across their throne as he kicked Lionheart's head to the Marshal Lord's feet. He could already taste the victory. Eisenholz would crumple to his demands, knowing damn well that breaking from House Taurus would snap the greatest chain around the fay's throats. For the Marshal Lord over all Imperial holdings, the man had always been a coward.
Adam cared none for his holdings in Remnant, anyways— the castles were dilapidated, the walls were crumbling, the people were weak— and that was before he’d torn his succession from his father’s heart. He was meant for the fay realm anyways, he’d known from the first time he set foot on its soil.
He bit down on the thoughts until they soured his tongue. It was arrogance— narcissism, even— but he couldn't help himself. Adam belonged to the Shimmer, and the Shimmer belonged to him. His very bones itched to rule. He just needed to wait— he'd know when it was time. Perhaps, while he waited, he'd come up with a better plan. Something less destructive.
Adam didn't care about life, human or fay, but he was a pragmatist at heart. No orphaned child or weeping widow would move his soul, but he knew that such a lack of compassion made for a poor ruler. It was pure rationality, proven by decades of iron fists and subsequent uprises. He’d quashed more than enough to know by now. Bloodshed brewed hatred, hatred brewed desperation, and desperation brewed legends.
If he were to hold the Shimmer, he'd like to hold it forever, but inspiring generations against him would only lead to his downfall. He held the thought in his mind; one of his Binders had taught him their concept of memento mori, and he kept it staked close to his heart. He was just a man, one who could die just like any other, and knowing that would keep him alive longer.
“Adrian,” a voice called through the grand hall, one which was distinctly familiar to him. His most trusted advisor, his closest friend, and the first to willingly be Bound in service to him: Valerius— not the general from his relief, no, fay just aren't particularly creative when it comes to names.
He watched Valierus smoothly round the central stele. ‘Adrian’ was what his most loyal devotees called him, closer to a title than a name, as if to embrace his rightful rulership and befit him with a proper fay designation. He'd grown to appreciate it; even his human men had started to spread it among their ranks.
Valerius bowed before Adam, brilliant crimson irises affixing his lord with a thoughtful look. The fay was almost a head taller than Adam, with light cocoa skin and features a little softer than most fay. His ears were long, as expected, but drooped low rather than standing tall, and his wine-colored hair fell to mid-back in luscious, shimmering curls. His frame was slender, but his lithe movements belied a predatory strength that contrasted his seemingly-cumbersome plate.
Valerius wore a dress-like suit of armor, similar to that of the Schnee's Household Reiters, though his came up and covered the parts that truly mattered. The interlocking plates split into two skirts down each side, hanging like great metal shields over his legs. Those came up in bands around his abdomen, tucked under a smooth breastplate with articulating side-panels that allowed flexibility for his waist.
Adam didn’t let his eyes linger— Valerius knew him far too well and he refused to be teased right now.
Instead, he focused on the remaining plate. Its pauldrons were smooth and fluted like clamshells, the left one coming over his brassard and matching the grooves of his circular elbow guard. The vambrace over his left arm gave way to a vicious gauntlet with large, thickly-armored fingers and razor-sharp claws. Adam knew he wouldn't wear it while mounted— the hand could be much better used around a spear or an axe, but Valerius loved wearing the thing everywhere else. Adam rarely even saw him fight with his sword, preferring instead to claw at his enemies like some feral beast.
He would begrudge the obvious showboating if it wasn't so effective. Time and again, he'd seen Valerius kill men twice his size by closing well within their range, eschewing the farce of swordsmanship in favor of the real, brutal crux of armored combat: grappling.
Valerius could move like a dancer, and he made sure that everybody knew it. Plate turned to cloth when it was around him, and Adam had watched the fay twist in ways that should be impossible even without armor, but Valerius didn't seem to care. He could curl himself around a man with ease, doff their helmet like he'd made it himself, then sink his clawed hand wrist-deep into their skull without breaking a sweat.
It was a beautiful art, but Adam would never tell him that. He usually considered himself unshakeable, but Valerius was extremely capable of disproving that.
Adam’s eyes flitted to the last unobserved piece of his armor, or lack thereof: his right arm. No gauntlet covered his hand, no vambrace guarded his forearm, and his elbow remained completely bare. Instead, he proudly bore his iron chains, which snaked from under his brassard and coiled all the way down to his wrist, where the last stretch of links loosely dangled to his side.
If Adam were to follow them up the fay’s arm, removing his arm-guard in the process, he'd be able to languidly trace a finger up the chains, following their path until they dove below his skin. His hand would linger there, wondering how painful it was to have the alien iron curled around his bones, and how loyal he must be to stay at his side.
“Adrian,” Valierius snapped his unarmored fingers in front of his lord’s face, hip cocked as he leaned towards him. “You're staring again.”
Adam sputtered, his pale face burning much too bright a red for his comfort. “Silence, Valerius,” he waved over his face to cover his embarrassment, “if you're only here to insult me, then kindly do it somewhere else. You're disturbing my peace.”
“Disturbing your peace, ooooh,” the fay waved his hands mockingly, drawing a sneer from Adam’s lip. “Are people actually intimidated by that?”
Adam frowned deeply. “Not the ones that matter, no.”
“Aw,” Valerius cooed, “you're saying I matter?”
Adam rolled his eyes, slouching on one hand to make it seem like he didn't feast on every languid syllable from the man's mouth. “It's a simple fact. No more, no less.”
Valerius quirked a dark eyebrow, unconvinced. “Is that so?”
Adam narrowed his eyes. “It is.”
“We’re operating on simple facts, now?” Valerius crossed his arms and tapped his foot— the skirts of plate allowed him to eschew leg armor, so his annoyed tic was clad in leather, not steel. “Just to be clear?”
Adam pursed his lips, already wary of where the fay was taking this. “That's all we've ever done, Val.”
He slammed his teeth shut around the nickname, but it had already slipped forth. Valerius' lips quirked into a smirk. “What about the simple fact of—”
Adam cut him off by sending a pebble of iron at his breastplate, his grimace a quiet threat. “Do not speak of that.”
“Dare we talk about such taboos?” The fay raised his arms, his face falsely aghast as he gestured around the empty room. “Especially with all these guests!”
There were no guests. The room was quiet as a grave, if that grave had two quarreling lo— friends trapped inside of it. If anybody were listening, he or Valerius would've noticed. Fay had long ears for a reason, and Adam's soul was linked with his Binders.
Adam scowled, reclining to hide how tightly the subject had him wound. “Guests or not, I won't tolerate your lies.”
Valerius huffed. “We both know what happened, you can't deny it forever.”
Adam waved dismissively. “Did you have anything important to bother me with?”
“Yes, milord,” suddenly formal, Valerius gave a razor-sharp salute; a mannerism that he only expressed when he was severely pissed. “Caravans report that the Schnees are trying to implement tolls again.”
Adam pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “How much this time?”
“Double.”
Adam took a deep breath in, shut his eyes, and let it out. “Double, you say?”
“Yes, milord,” Valerius drawled, sarcastically bleeding every syllable. “Double.”
Adam opened one eye at his advisor . “Fine. You know what to do. Try not to kill him, this time.”
Valerius’ annoyance immediately melted under a bright smile, his voice turning joyous as he jauntily bowed. “As you command, your highness!”
Adam watched him bow, turn on a heel, and prance his way out of the grand hall. The man loved to fight, and the martial right of the duel was one of the few things the other houses respected out here. If their champion couldn't beat him, they'd have to retract the road toll, at least for a time. If they didn't, Valerius would keep challenging their champions until their armies were reduced to widows and old men.
And he'd love every second of it. There was no fact of which Adam was more certain.
“Adrian?”
Adam blinked— Valerius hadn't left yet, and his sly smirk told him that he'd caught the lord staring again.
“When I return, will you—”
“Silence,” Adam commanded, drawing the fay's lips into a tight, pursed smile. After a long moment, he averted his gaze and continued. “I will make no promises.”
Valerius cracked a wide grin, then proceeded to skip his way out of the throne room. Adam groaned. ‘I will make no promises’, what a shite answer! He might as well have taken him right in the—
Adam palmed his face and grunted, abruptly halting that line of thought.
They had to stop. For both of their sakes.
Notes:
hey hey :) surprise adam chapter, just gotta let that cliffhanger hang a liiiiiiiittle bit longer lol. therell be more interlude-kinda chapters like this later, which im *extremely* excited about, finally giving penny, pyrrha, and jaune a spotlight. i also love valerius, the roman culture inspo is super fun to write for the fay.
in other news, the commissioned art for this fic's cover is almost done!!! and its like the best money ive ever spent!!! im so fucking happy with what ive seen so far dude, the artist is def gonna be getting a *lot* more money from me in the future. when its done ill insert it at the beginning or end of the first chapter, might even get art for each arc too :), and ill also have a tumblr link up for it in the a/ns for a bit. im so fucking hyped yall.
anyways, thanks for reading, see yall soon! :)
Chapter 63: Pigs and Vines
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Words drifted over her. Distant, imperceptible through the fog. A gaggle of voices.
More words. The fog thinned, but the sounds were no more intelligible; they weren't in any language she knew. Hopping tongues and hanging syllables floated across her consciousness like pennants on a string.
She barely managed to parse a word, the only one she recognized: ignifer.
Ruby's eye flew open, her body bucking hard as she fell into her being. Hands forced her down as an all-encompassing pain shot across every inch of her rebelling form, locking her back down to the hard floor. Stars flashed in her vision— one eye's worth. She tried to force the other lid open, but nothing more than pain greeted her efforts.
The anguish didn't stop flowing. It came like white rapids, crashing over her entire being, threatening to force her back to sleep, but she grit her teeth and held tight her cognizance.
She could grit her teeth. She could move her jaw. “Wha…”
Yang was in her vision, her mane of golden hair angelically back-lit by a hanging lantern. The ceiling was maroon wood. The walls were, too, and she'd dare to assume that the stiff flooring she laid across was much the same.
Yang gently laid a hand on her cheek, her movements more careful than Ruby had ever seen. “We’re safe, thanks to you.”
Ruby looked at the other faces around her, but none of them belonged to anyone she recognized. “Where’re the others?” She mumbled, pain flaring from every muscle in her face.
Yang looked away, clearly awash with guilt and worry. “I don’t know.”
What little hope had been building up in her heart was suddenly flushed away. Ruby tried to move, only to find herself held down once more.
“Ruby! Don’t move!” The Huntress commanded, keeping a firm hold on the girl’s shoulders. “You need to recover; I’m pretty sure you broke every bone back there.”
Back there. Pyrrha. Mother. The hands pressed down, anticipating another violent surge from Ruby. Someone shouted in another language, but she guessed it was something like ‘stay still!’
“Ruby, Ruby,” Yang cooed, cupping her face to try and comfort her again. The smith eventually forced her muscles to still, so Yang continued. “I’m sure the others are okay; we made it, after all.”
Ruby, desperate to distract herself from the pain, observed the people surrounding her. Their features were sharp, noses long and pointy, and their ears were like Blake’s. There were five of them— two large men, one tiny girl, one middling boy, and a mature-looking woman, each with shimmering locks of dark hair. With the lighting as it was, she couldn’t tell the color beyond the fact that it looked black-ish. Their skin ranged through olive tones, the woman being the darkest, but their eyes were a singular, bright purple. Ruby blinked, but that fact didn’t fade.
“Who’re they?” She asked, the flick of her gaze indicating what she assumed to be a family of fay.
“Some fay,” the Huntress answered, “this is their house. They took us in after we sort of, uh…”
Yang flushed a shameful red, her sister’s raised brow imploring her to finish.
“Well, when we gated in, we may have…” Yang rubbed sheepishly at her neck. “Exploded their pig.”
“We wha—” Ruby’s incredulous shout was cut short by a cough, each heave of her lungs making her recently-perforated chest scream with pain.
Yang gave her a few pats that didn’t help. “Yeah. Blake gated us into a pig.”
“Stop—” Ruby hacked again, “saying that! I get it!”
“Sorry."
Breathing deep to suppress her coughs, Ruby let out a long sigh. “And they just let us stay?”
Yang shrugged. “Ruby, you looked like a corpse. Beyond that, I don’t speak fay, or… whatever they call it here.”
“How long have we been here?”
“Ehh,” Yang looked outside through an open window, but that didn't seem to help. “A day or two? I'm not sure, you've been asleep since we patched you up.”
“Whole… day…” The smith dropped her head back to the wood with a thunk, a soul-sucking fatigue draining her as soon as it landed.
Her one good eye slowly fluttered closed, soothed by its last sight of Yang’s smile. At the very least, she could be comforted by the fact that the others were safe.
“I hate this,” Qrow mumbled, tripping on a root that had clearly raised itself just to fuck with him. “Just had to gate us into the—”
“Oh, so you’d rather be in that monster’s stomach right now?” Blake snapped, drawing her cloak closer against the forest’s chill.
Weiss growled, one arm swinging her cursed sword through a tangle of red vines. “Could you both be quiet? I’m doing all the work here.”
Qrow huffed, but Blake cut in with a retort. “Sorry, princess, I forgot you’re not used to… what’d you call it?” She stepped a little closer, leaning in so her snark would achieve maximum effect. “‘Labors of the body’?”
The fencer let loose another grunt, her frustration empowering her next swing through a particularly thick tangle. The fay blade handled it with ease. “Quiet, you. We had a deal.”
Blake smugly tutted. “That deal never included such niceties as politeness.”
“‘Such niceties as politeness,’” Weiss mocked in a stupid voice. “Be silent. And leave your stench further in my wake.”
‘Nice one,’ the sword muttered into her mind. ‘Call her a hag.’
“You hag,” Weiss tacked on, as if she’d thought of it herself.
“Ooooh, s-s-so s-s-sorry, my liege!” Blake taunted in return, her lanky body swinging down in a mockingly deep bow. “We unwashed peasants haven’t an army of servants to wash our rears!”
“Hers was better,” Qrow’s voice creaked from the back, “you just said you have an unwashed ass.”
Weiss threw a smug look at the fay, whose ears were quickly burning a bright purple. She huffed without another word, and let her pace drop back to the center of their marching order.
Weiss continued hacking away at the foliage, her blade always finding perfect purchase in whatever she struck. She knew for a fact that her edge alignment couldn’t be this good— not for a weapon she had no familiarity with— but the sword itself seemed to make corrections in her arms and fingers, and every slash followed through flawlessly, regardless of her own input.
Unfortunately, the forest seemed endless. Dark maroon trees stretched in every direction, their thick leaves painted a deep and vibrant crimson. Beautiful as it was, she wished she could spend her time here in better company, and under more leisurely circumstances— these two had been hounding her since they gated in.
Blake, in one of her few moments of usefulness since they arrived, had aptly described this place as the ‘Forever Fall’ forest; Aeternum Autumni in her own tongue, where the weather was always nippy, the trees were always red, and the forest was always silent. It was actually quite beautiful, Weiss mused, but their dire circumstances sucked all of her appreciation away.
She worried about Ruby. The unstable gate had split their group, the only promising fact being that Blake knew Yang was with her sister. Her half-dead sister. If they'd arrived anywhere within this forest… well, she didn't want to think about that.
Weiss wasn’t actually too bothered that Blake had gated them to the Shimmer. Her reasoning had been sound: Pyrrha— whatever kind of thing she was now— clearly wasn’t the kind to let her prey go, and Weiss doubted that there was any place on Remnant where she wouldn’t eventually find them.
Atlas, with its caging walls and crowded streets, was only an outwardly tempting hiding spot. Jacques could just hire another tracker, assuming Pyrrha still needed one. Sure, the city was huge, but its labyrinthine pathways would probably be more of a hindrance to them than it would be to the Knight Captain.
There’d be no respite in Vacuo among the open plains and towering red mesas; if the landscape didn't kill them outright, it would chew them up and spit them out at Pyrrha's feet.
Not even the metropolitan city of Mistral could sequester them. Too many eyes, too many people to choke the answers from. There was simply no place they could escape.
Certainly not a wooded cabin nestled deep in the lowlands of Menagerie, filled with pepper-haired runts that sprinted to the door, expecting mama to come home with a fat deer and a wide smile. After all, it had been years, why should they expect to find a twisted, reality-warping monster at their doorstep?
She shook the image from her head. They weren’t even married and she was already plaguing herself with thoughts of a terrible future; a future with distinctly less fencing than she would prefer! And whose bright idea was it that Ruby would be the one getting the meals, eh? She could hunt! Probably.
‘Ugh, I hate your brain,’ the sword grumbled, ‘could you think about something different? Preferably killing Grimm?’
Weiss’ brow knit tight. It had been nagging her to do that since they’d arrived.
‘I’m not nagging.’
It was, and it was very annoying. Especially considering she’d only ever seen one Grimm, and she would much prefer its image to not be in her mind, especially now.
‘I could show you more, you know.’
She did know. It made that argument every time she made that excuse. However, the mechanics of such an offer deeply troubled her.
‘What? It’d just be like you remembered it.’
She did not want a cursed sword doing any more to her brain than it already was, especially not one that had been spent ages trapped inside a Grimm. How it even knew it could do that was beyond her.
‘Huh. Interesting point. I just know that I can.’
How unhelpful.
‘Eat a dick.’
She’d rather not.
‘How could I forget, you’ve got that Ruby girl to—’
She shut the voice out of her mind, her concentration forcing it behind a wall, something she'd discovered during a particularly petulant bout of whining from the blade. Weiss could still hear the voice, but it was blissfully muffled by the mental barrier. Unfortunately, that seemed to have a real effect on the sword itself, and her next swipe glanced ineffectually off a tangle of vines, painfully twisting her wrist.
The sudden pain made her concentration slip, allowing its voice back into her mind. ‘Ha! No more shutting me out, not with a swing like—’
She shut the voice out again. Her mind budged, like she’d slammed the door in somebody’s face and they’d just walked into it. Weiss took a deep breath, pulled her arm back, and took another swipe at the vines.
Her blade parted one, then twisted off the rest. Frustration bubbled up immediately.
‘So high and mighty, but you can’t even swing a—’
She shut it out again, then stepped back from the tangle. The others watched, confused looks on their faces.
“Uh, princess?” Blake called, stepping a little closer. “Are you tired, or something? I can take over if you—”
“No!” Weiss shouted, much louder than she’d intended. Blake took a step back, placating hands poking out from the cloak.
Weiss turned back to their obstacle, determination gleaming in her eyes. It’s a sword, she told herself, a tool like any other. Cursed or not, she should know how to use it, surely somebody had taught her how to swing a saber.
She rifled through her memories. Nobody had taught her how to swing a saber.
Weiss growled. Blinded by her anger, she threw a haphazard slash at the vines. Her edge slipped on impact. Her wrist twisted painfully.
“Here, give it to me,” Qrow offered, taking a few steps with his hand outstretched. “You need a break.”
Weiss whirled on the man, saber clutched tight to her chest. “You can’t! It’s mine!”
She blinked at her own words, her frustration immediately draining out of body in place of fear. But why should she be scared? It was hers, she needed it.
‘Possessive already, are we?’
“Quiet!” She hissed at the blade. It had slipped out before she could catch herself, and judging by Qrow’s dubious look, everyone else had caught it too.
The Huntsman looked down at the sword, then up at its wielder. “Weiss, is that—”
“It’s cursed,” Blake answered for him, arriving at his side. “That’s what she told me, at least.”
‘Oho, the jig is finally up. How intriguing.’
Weiss gripped it tighter, as if clutching the handle would choke the words out of her mind.
“Give it to me,” Qrow insisted, his voice more commanding this time. “Those things are dangerous.”
Weiss held it even tighter, her whole body shying away from the man’s outstretched hand. She needed to hold it, it was hers. If she gave it to somebody else, she’d never see it again. If she threw it away, who knows what kind of Grimm would lock it away again? She couldn’t go back, she wouldn’t go back. The inky black— never again.
‘You may not let me go.’
“I can’t let it go,” she shakily muttered, conscious of the thoughts that both were and weren’t hers. They bit at her mind like rabid dogs, sinking their teeth, spreading their disease. She knew she should but she shouldn’t; her soul would be forfeit if she violated it— she’d never form a contract again! She’d never join the flock!
“C-contract?” She whispered to the sword.
The sword was a splitting grin in her mind. A devious one, a desperate one, one that had bound her the moment she touched its blade. There was no exit clause. There was no escape. She couldn’t let it go. Even if her fingers left the handle, her soul would always be wrapped around its hilt.
Qrow flinched at her whisper. “Did it contract you?”
Weiss had to strain her neck just to nod, her hands still tight on the sword, her arms still pressing against her smock. She couldn’t let it go.
Qrow’s face pinched tight with displeasure. “That’s… bad.”
‘I think it’s rather good, actually.’
“I think it’s rather good, actually.” Her mouth parroted the words, voice unnaturally still.
“That wasn’t you, was it?” Blake asked, a small amount of fear slipping into her voice.
Qrow stood up straight and affixed her with a paternal glare. “I demand to see the contract.”
There was a grumble in Weiss’ mind, but one of her hands begrudgingly loosened from the sword’s grip. Her arm extended rigidly, palm opening upwards. A scroll appeared from nothing, a long roll of parchment that unfurled against gravity.
Qrow squinted at the text, then narrowed his eyes at the sword. “I’m not an idiot, I know her rights. Weiss, demand a translation.”
“I demand a translation,” she forced through her teeth, her jaw clenching tight as it resisted against the words.
The text burned away, then reappeared in something Qrow could read. His eyes scrutinized every line, every letter, before he leaned back with a reluctant sigh. “Damn it, Schnee. Have you seen this?”
Weiss had to exert the muscles of her neck until they creaked, just for the tiniest shake of her head.
“You devious little shit,” he hissed to the sword. “I thought a spirit like you would be above such base entrapment.”
Blake, looking very lost, muttered, “I thought it was cursed. ”
Qrow shook his head. “It is, but to call it a ‘cursed weapon’ would be an insult to more honorable implements. Nobody’s cursed that thing,” he spat, “there’s a soul trapped inside, some Aulus Casta.”
Hearing its name made the sword’s control slip from Weiss, dropping the girl like a puppet with its strings cut. Thankfully, the other two rushed to catch her, letting the sword drop to the forest floor.
“How does that even happen?” Blake asked as she righted the girl.
‘I’m not telling you that,’ the sword answered. Its voice still appeared in her mind, but it sounded like it had come from the blade itself.
“It said it won’t tell you,” Weiss groaned, grabbing her head. It felt like her brain had drained out of her ears, leaving her skull a void that echoed every thought.
Qrow huffed as he released the girl, who stumbled on her feet before catching herself. “As expected,” he muttered, glaring at the blade, “reticent little husk.”
“So what does this all mean?” Weiss asked. “Am I just bound to this thing forever?”
“How awful,” Blake halfheartedly jeered.
Qrow sighed, still watching the fallen sword. “That’s not an easy question to answer. There is a fulfillment clause— there’d have to be if it wanted the contract to be binding.”
Weiss pursed her lips. If he was going straight to the fulfillment clause, that meant her only way out was to do the sword’s bidding. Great. “What is it?”
“There are two,” Qrow explained, his voice worryingly grim. “Neither are good.”
“Well?”
The Huntsman pinched the bridge of his nose. “Either the extermination of every Grimm in existence, or…”
“Just tell me!”
“Liberating the soul from the sword.”
Weiss blinked. “That… doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Do you know how to free a soul from a sword?”
“Of course not!” Weiss snapped. “That’s illegal!”
Qrow nodded. “See the problem?”
Weiss opened her mouth, then shut it. Soul manipulation was extremely forbidden under Imperial law— a result of a human general-turned-necromancer who had used the bodies of fay soldiers to fill his own ranks. Of course, it was only outlawed after the war, when he hadn’t responded so amicably to requests that he do something with his armies of undead fay, who were known to spread disease and unrest wherever he took them.
His rebellion was short-lived, and his zombies were turned to kindling. Some historians proposed that he had sequestered himself in a phylactery just before his defeat, but they were little more than unfounded rumors; if he had, one of the thousands of historical treasure-seekers would’ve found it by now.
“So in summary,” Weiss droned, “I’m…”
“Fucked,” Blake answered.
“You're fucked,” Qrow concurred.
Weiss let out a bone-shaking groan, drawing wary gazes as she picked up the sword once more. She felt its control immediately try to grip her body once more, but she put up a wall of concentration that quarantined it to her arm. She knew what it would do if it held her, but she didn’t know if Qrow and Blake could take it on while unarmed.
‘They can’t.’
“Well, if you ever try to hurt my friends,” she hissed, “I will burn your stupid contract and bury you in the biggest, fattest Grimm on Remnant.”
There was a scoff in her brain. ‘You really think I'd let you back in your body?’
“Everyone slips up eventually,” she promised, “and I'll be there, waiting.”
It took a long moment to answer. ‘These aren’t your friends.’
Weiss turned to her fay companion and Ruby’s not-currently-drunk uncle. “For the purpose of not being murdered by this gods-forsaken sword, you two are my friends.”
“How heartwarming,” Blake mumbled.
Qrow rolled his eyes. “I could beat it.”
Weiss closed her eyes and sighed, then turned back to the tangle of vines. When she let the walls of her concentration drop, the sword didn’t try to wrest control of her body. She marched towards the vines. The sword turned them into tatters.
“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, “I hate this place.”
Notes:
i dont speak latin and researching it is hard, but im trying my best ;-;
Chapter 64: Sickly Sweet
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
‘You're done. Take a break. I'll wait.’
Weiss blinked, the voice in her head snapping across her mind like a broken bowstring. She shook her head, throwing her gaze around as the world returned to her. “Whu… what?”
Blake and Qrow huffed deep, beleaguered breaths, both hunched forward onto walking sticks that she'd never seen them acquire. Their eyes drooped along the forest floor, half-lidded and shadowed by thick, dark rings. Weiss looked back down their path.
Red as far as the eye could see, a singular tunnel of cut vegetation flanked by towering maroon trunks, stretching on until it disappeared behind a dusty pink haze.
‘Hey. Princess,’ snapping sounds in her mind— apparently the sword had fingers to snap. ‘Sit and unhand me. Hey!’
Weiss shook her head, but that only allowed the fog to seep into her brain, rapidly flooding her skull with a fatigue so intense that it made her gasp. She stumbled on her legs, barely catching herself on a tree trunk. “What happened?”
‘I took the reins. Don't you remember?’
Weiss tried to force the haze in her mind to part, but it fell heavy like a chainmail curtain. She could vaguely remember something. Boredom. An insistent voice. A sore body. Reluctance. A promise.
The exhaustion struck her all at once, forcing her to collapse against the reddish trunk. “That… that was…” she whispered— her throat was dry, as if she'd eaten a bucket of dirt, though the inside of her mouth felt like it had been mud, instead.
‘About two days ago.’
She wished she had the energy to express her shock, but it took everything she had to shift herself so her back was against the tree. Blake and Qrow mindlessly meandered on a few more steps before the former noticed that Weiss stopped.
“Oh,” was all the fay managed before she fell forward, her stick falling aside as she face-planted directly into the soft, soft dirt. Almost immediately, a light snore rose from her supine form. Weiss watched impassively. She was thirsty. And hungry.
Qrow seemed to manage himself better, though, and only dropped to a knee. “Finally,” he muttered, even hoarser than usual. “You okay, Schnee?”
Weiss forced her eyes to stop falling when her name was called. “What?”
“Are. You. Okay?” Qrow slowly repeated, drawing his cape apart. Bottles lay in strange leather sheaths along his belt, though his disdain at each one pulled showed their fullness— that being nonexistent.
Weiss was struck with a hazy flash of memory— her hand around the neck of one of those bottles. “Did I…”
Qrow scowled, and she only just noticed how green he looked. “We all did. I feel sick.”
Weiss blinked. Two days on nothing but wine. Crook and bloody cane, how was she still alive?
‘You needed liquid. I let you have it. Don't be ungrateful— there are worse ways I could've used you.’
The sword was still in her hand, so she let it fall from her fingers. Its blade sighed into the loam. “Two… days?”
Qrow blinked. “What?”
“Two days,” Weiss’ voice ghosted. “And we’re…”
“Still here,” Qrow sighed. “Watcher’s fucking gaze.”
‘You humans seem to say that a lot,’ the sword idly commented, its voice muffled through the haze in Weiss’ head. ‘Watcher this, Shepherd that.’
Weiss was shaken awake by Qrow’s hand— she didn’t even notice she’d fallen back asleep. He steadied himself with one arm on her tree, clearly not faring much better. “Stay awake, Schnee. Sustenance before sleep.”
He said it like he was quoting somebody, but Weiss wouldn't know who. Probably some Huntsman… or something…
“Awake!” He shook her again. “Stay awake! Eat first!”
Weiss groaned, forcing her eyes to stay open. “We don't have food, you drunk.”
The insult rolled off of the Huntsman like… like something that rolled. A wheel? Weiss was too tired to think. “There is food,” Qrow vaguely insisted.
Weiss tried to muster her best ‘are you an idiot’ look in response, but she couldn't feel her face well enough to gauge it.
‘Don't worry, it's not very good.’
Weiss’ head tipped back against the tree. “And just where are you keeping this food?”
Qrow rolled his eyes, then jerked his chin upwards indicatively. He had a small knife between his supporting hand and her tree trunk— one of Blake's, judging by its squat design. Weiss could've been miffed that the fay hadn't used it to cut the plants in her stead, but she couldn't find the energy to be anything but tired. Stupid thing wouldn't have cut much anyways.
Qrow stabbed it into the tree trunk above her, jolting her awake once more. The hand he kept shaking her with had left at some point, and now held one of his many bottles up to the arbor wound. She couldn't see what he was doing from her angle, so she just assumed his mind was finally lost.
A hand tapped her cheek— she'd fallen again into slumber's pull— as Qrow held a bottle to her face.
“Drink.” He ordered.
Weiss turned up her nose. The thought of more wine made her stomach curdle. “I'd rather die.”
“It's not wine,” he promised.
Weiss raised an eyebrow. “What is it, then?”
Qrow pursed his lips and matched her brow. It was a paternal look, mildly scolding, one that tickled memories Weiss had long since thrown into a pit.
“It's sap,” he nodded towards the corpse-like, slumbering fay. “Blake said it'll nourish us.”
Weiss was proud that she still had enough sense to be cautious. “Then why haven't we been drinking it instead?”
Qrow frowned, a little guilt making his gaze avert hers. “It has… other effects.”
Weiss half-nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Qrow tried to wait her out, but Weiss had no plans on making such a brash folly; she’d rather sleep than accept defeat.
“You could… see things, things that aren't real,” the Huntsman cautiously explained. “Blake wanted to avoid any of us, er, acting out.”
Weiss scoffed. “Well then I'm certainly not going to drink it.”
Qrow took on another fatherly look, though it was less reminiscent of Weiss’ oldest memories. It stoked something fresher, more annoyed at her constant insubordination, more innately furious at her simple existence. “Just drink the fucking sap, Weiss!” Qrow scrunched his face tight and schooled his anger. “It's that or die— I sincerely doubt you'll have the energy to wander. If you do, I'll stop you.”
“You're drinking it too,” Weiss pointed out.
“And leave you two unattended?” Qrow scoffed. “No, I've survived worse for longer.”
Weiss didn't really have the wherewithal to question that, but she did have enough to maintain an outright refusal. “I won't. I don't trust this place— I’d rather sleep to death than let some shim thicket have its way with me.”
Qrow pressed the bottle closer, gracelessly mashing it into her cheek. “And leave my niece weeping over your corpse?”
All of Weiss’ resolve hung in her throat, swinging lifeless like a man in a noose.
“If you two really are… ‘courting’,” he said with more than a little disdain, though Weiss couldn't pick out which of the myriad reasons that could be for, “then surely you wouldn't want to break her heart. She's a very sweet girl, Weiss. If you did that, I'd have to pry you from the flock myself.”
She glared, but quickly took the bottle. He gave it up easily. He didn't even smirk as she’d suspected he would. She held it to her mouth for a long while— it was sap, after all— but the stuff did eventually reach her tongue. When it met her tongue, she nearly cried. It was the best thing she'd ever tasted. Well, second best. She didn't think Qrow would like what the first was.
Gentle, but spiced like hot cinnamon. Thick, but somehow spreading itself over her taste buds like water. Sweeter than the finest cake, rich and full like a refreshing glass of milk, bitter and decadent like cocoa and coffee, deep and herbal like a seasoned lamb, every inch of her tongue was supremely delighted with each coming drop.
Her second hand clutched the bottle as she greedily lapped at its contents, and she found herself furious when Qrow snatched it away again.
“Alright, that's enough,” he admonished, “save some for Blake.”
Weiss tried to swipe it back, a vestige of energy rapidly surging as if she'd eaten a full meal, but the screaming muscles of her sore back kept her body pinned to the tree.
‘Ah, the sap,’ the sword’s voice was distant and wistful. ‘I eloped here, before the war.’
Weiss turned to the fallen blade, her eyebrows drawn high to fight her falling lids. The sword was married.
‘I am,’ it confirmed.
She fought to stay awake, her freshly-fuelled mind barely keeping her from slumber. Despite the blade's countenance, she'd take whatever she could if it meant it would help free the spirit.
The sword sighed into her mind— an odd sound to hear unaccompanied by a face. ‘It won't help.’
“How would you know?” She slurred, the passing breath reawakening her tongue with the sap's delectable aftertaste. Qrow looked over only briefly, then returned to shoving the bottle into an unconscious Blake's mouth.
The sword remained pointedly silent for a moment, then sighed again. ‘Why should it?’
Weiss was almost too tired to argue, but arguing was something ingrained within her being. “Attachments have power.”
It was a guess, but one made with the supposition that the sword knew about as much about being a spirit as she did. After all, it'd apparently been trapped in a Grimm for ages untold. ‘I suppose I could tell you,” it relented, “it's the least I could do, considering.’
The sword let hang exactly what was being considered, but Weiss didn't need to be fully competent to figure that much out. Forcibly binding her to a contract, wresting control of her body, constantly pestering her mind, saddling her soul with an impossible task, there was plenty to atone for.
The sword harrumphed— another odd, faceless sound that dropped into her mind like a pebble in the ocean. ‘So, which do you want to hear? The wife, or the war?’
“The wife.” The answer was instinctual, and not a choice she immediately regretted. After everything that's happened, she wanted a nice story. Something to gently push her ship to the sea. The cold tide, the boundless waves, her body tossed in the waters, pulled to the depths. She sank peacefully down, down, down…
The sword scoffed, the sound jerking her mind to her being. ‘Aren't you a romantic. Hoping for advice?’
“Just tell me the damn story,” her words were an unintelligible mumble, and not just from her tiredness. Her head was light, hollow but filling with unfamiliar pressure that pushed on her eyes and sucked the marrow from her bones, slowly tinting her vision forever-red, forever-cold, sight flooding crimson aeternum. The world before her ringed dark, but she couldn’t feel her lids falling— if they were closed or not, she couldn’t tell. Behind the corners of her eyes, colors wept salt over her tongue.
Her head pounded and swirled, throwing her into something she didn’t recognize, a state of being that was beyond her comprehension. She was floating, but she wasn’t. Could she even feel her body? Was she even moving? Her muscles felt loose and limber, yet still tight and exhausted. Her entire being was distant beyond measure, but she still felt herself locked within it. She could almost see her tired, exhausted form still slumped against the tree, even as her mind drifted further and further away.
Emotions writhed through her, burrowing in and out of her skull one after another, too quickly to parse. The hand of worry wrenched its nine claws into her chest, raking betwixt her ribs, clutching tight each strained breath in her lungs. Ecstasy flooded her being, hot enough to scorch her with pleasure, a sweetness so delectable that it ached in her teeth and made her gums weep. Fear was a lance that wedged her jaw apart in a silent scream, drowning all sound as it pushed down her throat and speared into her heart.
When thy countenance hast fallen, she could hear in her head— not the sword, but a priest, his holy sermon pushing her to her knees— lift thy gaze, for it is my succor that lendeth ye the strength of nags and mules and a hundred men, such that ye lambs findeth mine amity above thy loss.
And I am thy lantern, and my light wilt banish darkness, and my light shant flicker, and the gaze of my Brother wilt scour the way to my pastures. Ecc. Arches: Ministrations of the Sepulcher, quote 2.
The sword’s knowing chuckle was a balm over the sinkhole of her mind, calming the syrupy tides that tossed her like a ragdoll. ‘Don't be afraid, Weiss. I'll keep you safe— me and the old man.’
The voice was her bedroom door, parting slow and spilling warm candlelight. She sat wide awake in her bed, waiting for the pristine white mask to stretch through the split threshold, to tempt her back into its viscous maw.
The doorway widened. No mask, no seeping black monster came to embrace her. Just a heavy, dark mustache on a heavy, pink man crossed the threshold, his candle flickering with a thousand warmths and ten thousand lullabies.
‘Are you, er… still aware?’ He sat on the end of her bed, asking if she had a nightmare, mustache tweaking with every word. His pink-brown eyes swept around the room, checking under her bed, her wardrobe, his light gaze scouring all the dark corners. He set the loving flame on her nightstand, and when she finally felt comfortable, he spoke again.
‘I didn't think so. Oh well.’ Klein smiled wide, loving. His voice was a hot cup of tea after a long snowball fight with her siblings. ‘Once upon a time, there was a very young fay, barely quartering his first century…’
Ruby was sitting in a chair, resting. It was all she did, all she'd done for the past… two days? It was odd; time passed differently here— no skybound ball of light signaled night and day, she only knew when she was supposed to sleep by the insistent press of her fay caretakers. ‘Dormi,’ they'd tell her, ‘dormi, Rrrrrrub-eeeee.’
They thought it was very funny to pronounce her name like that, with the first letter intensely rolled and the ‘ee’ stretching for ages. Even Yang had been doing it, and she was really starting to hate the sound.
It wasn't even that far from her own accent. She was vaguely aware that she rolled her own ‘ar’ sounds, but hers were soft and necessary, done to preserve the last memories of her late mother’s voice. In contrast, theirs were harsh and rapid, and only so accentuated to irk her. Much as she appreciated the family's care, she wished they weren't so keen on being annoying.
With nothing to do but listen, it had been easy to learn their names over the past couple of days. The two large boys— she assumed older brothers, judging by their similar looks and the way their mother scolded them— were Yoolius and Layo, their little brother was Keekero, and the youngest daughter was Benedicta. She desperately wanted to speak to them, but she hadn’t the mind or the motivation to try, and that was disregarding the language barrier between them. So instead, she watched.
The eldest brothers frequented the small house, but they didn’t sleep there, and only appeared to tend the animals in the morning before bolting back out the door and returning exhausted for dinner. She suspected they went out to fight, judging by the swords they kept at their hips and the bruise that still circled Layo’s eye, though she had no way to confirm that hypothesis. On the other hand, Yoolius was never wounded, but he always looked more generally ragged than his brother. In her mind, she pictured Layo starting most of the fights, even though his skill was certainly lesser than his brother, but the two of them must make a good team if they kept coming home.
Keekero stayed around the house, though he was rarely inside. Even so young— barely past ten, by Ruby’s estimate— he did most of the midday chores tending animals, working in the garden, cleaning, and even cooking lovely lunches for himself, Ruby, and Benedicta. He was a wonderful boy, so much that Ruby was growing a little envious. She’d never wanted a little brother before, but Keekero was always very sweet, occupying his free time by chatting with Ruby (he tried very hard, despite the fact they couldn’t understand each other) or play-fighting outside with his little sister. He let her win every time, even if it earned him more than a few bruises from the tiny girl’s stick.
Benedicta was an otherwise skittish little girl. Ruby saw very little of her besides the time she spent playing with her brother, though she would sometimes catch her watching around corners where she thought she wouldn’t be seen. She never spoke to Ruby, always scampering away when the smith noticed her, but she couldn’t blame the child. Ruby was a strange girl who exploded their pig, and that probably didn’t even account for half the viscera she’d been covered with at the time. She’d be scared, too.
Their mother’s name was Mirta. Unlike the others, she’d actually learned it through a proper introduction, since the rest of the family simply called her mama— proper introduction being her pointing to herself and saying ‘Mirta’ before disappearing from the house, that is.
Ruby had been more than a little shocked by that, leaving the household up to a very young boy and his little sister while they lodged a couple of strangers, but Keekero’s ample discipline made it clear that it wasn’t an unfounded choice. Besides, she’d been much more shocked when Mirta gated directly into the living room later that day and went straight to preparing dinner.
Of course, she knew in her head that fay could naturally gate around, but she hadn’t actually seen either of the times Blake did it. It spooked her a little, but the thing that really made her suspicious was the dark spot of red blood on the wrist of her tunic, which she’d hurriedly changed out of when she noticed. It hadn’t been hidden— she was certain Keekero had seen it while they were cooking together— but nobody mentioned it. Whatever the woman did outside of the house, this was apparently a normal occasion.
Yang hadn’t been around much, either, but it was for a good reason. She left for hours at a time, but always came back with a handful of small creatures that Keekero would skin and use for dinner, though they weren’t any animals Ruby was familiar with. They were vaguely similar in size to rabbits, but with only two spindly legs and long necks supporting sharp, almost canine heads. Strange or not, they made for an excellent stew.
Ruby got up from her chair, bored of resting, though she immediately regretted it. Her body felt like it was somewhere else completely, hollow and raw as if someone had scoured all the inside-parts with a stiff brush, and her stomach tried to flip with every movement. She took a long moment steadying her legs beneath her, muscles sore and protesting the whole way, before she straightened back up with a deep sigh.
She tried tapping into the well of her soul. Nothing. Still.
She felt useless, and she hated it. She’d never faced Aura exhaustion to such a degree, and living without its benefits was like having weights shackled across her entire being. Everything was harder, she felt frail, and all the energy she usually had was sapped into nothing. She couldn’t focus on any singular thought for more than a few minutes, all of them constantly rushing past her mind, slipping out of her grasp like slimy rocks in the bottom of a river. Despite the fatigue of her body, there was no silence in her head, no peace, every detail constantly assailing her brain but eluding any deeper introspection.
She worried about Weiss. She worried about Blake. She worried about Qrow. All at once, the nagging paranoia constantly nipped at her mind, each passing fear feeding the others in a cycle that was driving her to lunacy. She itched to burst from the house, to tear across the Shimmer in search of her friends, to gleefully lift Weiss in her arms, to see Yang’s smile when she reunited with Blake, to hug her uncle and berate him for bringing that hellish creature upon them, but all she could do was rest and rest and rest.
She dizzily stumbled over to the window and parted the shutters, hoping to clear her head with some fresh air. The outside world was lit in a constant almost-morning light, like the sun was teasing just under the horizon, and the sky glowed a half-bright, shimmering teal. No clouds hung, no candle lights flickered in the faux-morning tapestry; there was only an undulating glow hanging past the firmament, like a giant fish stretched over the realm, its scales casting a rainbow of faint sparkles from some sourceless light.
Ruby sighed, scattered and forlorn, and cast her gaze to the acres on which the family’s small home lay claim.
The house sat in a long stretch of prairie, their pasture demarcated only by the walls of uncut, man-height reddish grass. The fields swayed in an ever-present, nippy wind— sourceless, like everything else. A pig casually strolled beneath her window, fat and pink and very cute, and she only wished she could reach out and stroke it, then apologize for exploding its kin. Why they had pigs, and not some weird pig-like fay equivalent, she had no clue, but she had neither the will nor the desire to question it. Among the strangeness, it was a welcome familiarity.
She hoped Weiss was okay. She really hoped Weiss was okay. She wanted to kiss her again.
Notes:
and thus begins weiss' crack addiction arc. dont worry, it only gets trippier from here and i kinda wrote the next chapter on, like 26 hours of no sleep. hope ya like the little scripture-esque tidbit, it was really hard but really fun to write, and its a little extra bit of worldbuilding that'll come up again whenever weiss trips balls lmao.
oh, and since its not super obvious, ruby does not know how to spell the family's names and only knows them phoenetically. So Yoolius = Julius, Layo = Leo, Keekero = Cicero, Mirta = Myrta, and Benedicta... well, that's the only one that sounds the same as it's spelled. so there ya go. see you guys next time, with more of weiss' sap trip!! so fucking hyped!!!!
Chapter 65: Ego Death
Notes:
a/n at the beginning this time, surprise! this chapter was mostly written in one day on, like, 26 hours of consecutive, sleepless consciousness, which i hope is abundantly clear. its been stupid fun to edit and add to, trippy shit is my lifeblood and capturing the various imagery and vibes and... *forewarnings* was an absolute doozy, so i hope yall like it as much as i do!
also, im so sorry for anyone who simply cannot vibe with KJV biblical prose, because it was a huge inspiration for all the text excerpts here and in future chapters. super fun, super tedious to write, but very rewarding. im pretty happy with how i got it now.
anyways, enjoy! see yall soon!! <3!!
Chapter Text
And unto the Ecclesiarchy I grant mine iris, for whosoever knoweth true my hymns, and whosoever knoweth true the hymns of my Sister, knoweth true my love’s extent, and its furthest reaches across Her verdant pastures, in regard of thy purest being.
For when such hand is upon thee, wherein that palm’s crease wetteth mine iris, it is my Watch that judgeth thy purity. Thine accords, thy truths, thy falsehoods, I lay them bare. Fearest not for thy sanctity, when thy being is unfettered, for mine iris is upon thee, and I gaze only with love.
But when such hand is upon thee, wherein that palm’s crease wetteth mine iris, and thine accords I lay bare, thou knowest that my gaze wilt hold scrutiny, for in such accords I dwell, and by such accords I filter the black sheep from the lambs.
For when thy soul is impure, and thy white fleece hast blackened, my gaze shalt scour thee, for it is my Watch that seeth for my Sister, and in Her innocence, it is She who cannot parse the wolf from the lamb.
Ecclesiastical Arches: Etchings of the Ribbed Vault, quote 6.
Weiss jerked herself up with a heavy gasp, though she wasn't sure what for.
“Weiss?” Ruby groaned from beside her, her bare shoulders peeking above their motley collection of warm bed-furs. The smith's arms were, in a word, glorious, and Weiss silently rejoiced when one such muscled limb threw itself over her chest, pushing her back down to the bed. “G'back t'sleep.”
She let the warm appendage press her back into their too-plush-to-be-straw bed, but the allure of sleep didn't strike her like she expected. Ruby seemed to notice this, judging by the way she nuzzled into Weiss’ collarbone.
“I may not be tired now,” Weiss playfully mumbled into Ruby's hair, her voice husky, “but I'm sure you could think of a way to tire me out.”
Ruby raised her head from Weiss’ chest and gave her wife… a look. It was a look Weiss had seen almost daily for the past eleven years, but somehow it still seemed alien to Ruby's face. Her lips were quirked in a half-smirk, one scarred brow arched, and her half-lidded eyes screamed, ‘darling, I love you, but you're an idiot’.
Ruby kissed her on the cheek, then sunk back against her wife’s breastbone with a long, warm sigh. “We have four kids, Weiss. If we ‘tired you out’ any more, we'd have to get a bigger house.”
It wasn’t a revelation, it was something Weiss had been living with for five years now, but she suddenly seized against her skin, muscles nearly ripping off her bones. The smith’s heavy body kept her nailed to the bed. “Four… children?”
“Yeah,” Ruby giggled. “It’s like you said.”
“Like I said,” Weiss repeated, her voice hollow. “What?”
“Magic can do strange things.”
Her words tore the veil.
Weiss was a pilgrim in the wrong temple. Thoughts in the wrong brain. Alien, here. A house made of paper, a wife made of straw— an imitation-mind, labyrinthine paths of memory branded into leather, then stitched, nailed over the webbing of her brain.
The Ruby around her chest was a mannequin. She didn't have to check to know that the children were, too. It wouldn't matter if she did— the world was collapsing into flames, into ice, into sheer, featureless void, existence itself drawn and quartered by loping steeds made of fingers, eyes on eyes blinking away the tears of being, tracking down the face, fading into the skin, nothing at all.
Weiss floated in the abyss. Not the Chasm— she'd seen that before— but true absence, infinite darkness, an eternal plane of white, two states of contradictory emptiness that ripped her mind asunder. Unpresence, non-being, no cold, no heat, no nothing, as far as the eye couldn't see. Just like she had delusionally fished in that Grimm’s stomach for any vestige of hope, for anything she could wrap her hands around and get some semblance of stability, she blindly reached out into the void, desperate for an anchoring handhold.
Her hands found a panel, a handle, a door. Small, but nonetheless distinct from its surroundings of unending, imperceptible lack. She twisted, and it opened.
Light flooded her palanquin. Weiss squinted, but she could recall this place with her eyes closed. The tourney. Where it all began.
Looking into the gaggle of not-Rubys, spotting the girl was extremely easy. With a peasant’s umber cloak mantled on her shoulders, the girl was near impossible to pick from a crowd; her eyes were drawn to the right place regardless, as if finding Ruby was simply some ingrained part of her being. Weiss smiled fondly and reached for her paramour.
The world stopped, a hundred breaths left to fester in their lungs as the crowd was forced apart, each person rigidly wrenched aside like some great, invisible puppet master had yanked their cords. Ruby's presence was dragged before Weiss until her face was all she could see, the girl drifted motionless across the square like a chess piece crossing its board. The smith's expression was impassive, a blank slate.
Weiss opened her mouth, but the images in Ruby's silver eyes summarily executed anything she could've voiced, her words tumbling like heads from the block, crowned with iron nails.
Reflected in the argent lens, Ruby turns a long piece of metal, then strikes it with her hammer; a beautiful longsword nears its completion, all done within the girl's large, prestigious smithy that sits right in Vale's heart. The smith admires her work, her face a smile of pure, unburdened content. Innocent, beautiful, unscarred by violence or fear or romance. A rose in bloom, with roots as deep-set as any oak or elm.
The silver shifts, melts, blackens. The world becomes an iron chalice, one filling with black ichor as Ruby dances along its rim. Grimm split and bleed before her swipes, her whole body becoming a maelstrom of red slashes that splits hide and bone, spills ichor, floods the world with the inky effluvium. Her face— what few glimpses could be caught between movements— is a marred tapestry of scarred tissue. A trio of gnarled claw-marks rake across her face, a deep gouge bites through her lip, and a patch of twisting flesh has burned a red crater through her cheek, baring her black teeth straight through. Her mouth is split in a psychotic rictus, but her eyes cold and dead. She breaks Grimm like eggs, casting their nightmarish vitae into the sacrificial receptacle.
Beneath the roiling inky black, a single spark of otherworldly silver glimmers, shimmers, shivers.
Her Knight kneels before her, and the black sea under their feet turns a sickening Ruby red. The smith, the killer, stares beyond Weiss, her dun metal eyes washed with eons of gore, regret, and terror. Weiss’ gown drinks the blood, her shaking hand adorning each of the girl’s shoulders with a fresh streak of scarlet from Myrtenaster’s dripping blade. They remain posed in silence, rigid like the memorial statues of the Grand Crypt's halls, even as the tiles fall beneath their feet and cast them into hell.
They dance in the corpse-silent ballroom, gowns and coats swinging with each step, gore flying with each slash. Weiss takes her hand and twirls, Ruby takes her hand with a swirl of her blade. The red Knight prances to the foxtrot, Weiss arcs a heel through her blood. They tumble through their danse macabre, only she can’t tell who’s bearing the sickle.
Gone is the illusion of Ruby, but perfect silver remains sprawled across her sight. Weiss stares into the mirror. A ghoul stares back, its mummified lips cracking around its words. “Did you do the right thing?”
“I… I tried.”
It grins at her lie. “Can you see what you've made them do?”
“I didn't make them,” Weiss feebly argues, “they do it because they're my frie—”
The corpse’s lips part into a full smile, bearing a hundred cracked teeth of pure black, knowing, knowing. “Can't you see what you've made her?”
The perfection she corrupted, the Ruby she killed, the world she deprived of its greatest creature. A single jagged line splits through the mirror, and still Weiss continues to vomit her repugnant lies. “She's her own person, she can make her own choices. She chose me.”
“Chose . Just like she chose to flee here with you.”
“S-she did!”
“Where else would she go?”
A spiderweb of cracks breaks the mirror, each shard reflecting Weiss’ wide eyes back at her.
“Who are you, Weiss?”
“What?”
“What do you want?”
“I… I want…”
“You don't even know,” the ghoul laughs, because it’s right, because it knows her immutable truths. “You kill with conviction, but without purpose.”
Weiss grabs the mirror's wretched frame, the wood pressing and pulsing against her fingers like all the flesh she hadn’t the heart to split. “I haven't killed anyone!”
She lunged for Dove. He tried to guard himself with a raised hand, but he was only as competent as Ruby had proven thrice over. With his Aura already shattered, her rapier pierced easily through his palm, then his throat, her perfect blade finally sheathed in noble blood as it emerged from the back of his neck, his last words pouring down her fuller. He gurgled, twitching fingers feebly grasping at Myrtenaster.
“I— I didn't do that! I didn't!” Weiss screams, as if her shrill cry could banish her deepest desires. “This isn’t real, that didn’t happen!”
She drove her shortsword into Jacques, the man gulping an empty breath as she forced the air from his pierced lung. She wrenched the blade down with all her might, raking through the flesh and parting bone with snap after sickening snap. Jacques curled over his own back like a pathetic arachnid, vengeful tears pouring from his baleful, dying eyes. She laughed.
Weiss rips the shards from the mirror, shredding her guilty palms, but the glass instantly regrows and multiplies, magnifying the truth that she should’ve let come. “That's not what happened! He didn’t die!”
One of the Schnee Reiters is thrown from his horse, his body impacting her icy stakes. Thankfully, his armor took the blow, though it was clearly worse for wear. The banded plate had snapped and buckled in all the worst places, and she abandoned him to focus on the fight.
“W-what? He— he’s okay, see—”
He vomited a thick gout of blood, locked her gaze with pure fear, then gushed forth his final sanguine litany. Staring into her soul, she watched his eyes fade into death.
“T-that's… that's not…”
She didn't kill anyone, she didn't. It's the sap, trying to drive her mad!
“You killed him.”
“You can't prove—”
Her reflection smiles wide. “What do I have to prove? I'm you.”
Weiss blinks. Despite all her pride, despite all her time speaking and arguing and worming her way through life, she has nothing to say. The ghoul’s smile drops, losing the schadenfreude of her misery, and its eyes become welcoming, loving, begging her to accept, to climb into its cracked glass facade and shear her black wool on its edges.
“Sure, the other two were a lie— a representation of what you wanted rather than what you did— but the last one is pure truth, you know that.”
She did. After all, how could she lie to herself?
Blood seeped between the cracks in the mirror. It smelled like lavender, fire, roses, tobacco, mint, and pure, pure death. Enough to fill the Shepherd's pastures, enough to stretch past the Watcher's gaze, enough to send the herd tumbling through the Chasm like lemmings.
The mirror toppled across the void, its reflective shards paving a jagged path across the endless dark. Flanked only by darkness, with no hand to guide her, Weiss trekked it mindlessly, cutting her feet on each splinter of glass.
She followed the path. She cut her feet. She followed the path. Her feet bled. She followed the path. Cuts were on her feet. Red and red. She followed the path. She missed Carrots.
She dragged her soles along each glass edge, but the blood she painted over each shard could never repay the guilt she’d accrued. For ages she trudged, leaving a path of red until she fell upon a curve, a bend— no, a fork. No signs, of course.
The split path towered before her, staring, cleaving her down the middle. Sounds pushed against her ears from miles, lifetimes, eternities away, but she shut them out. There was only one side, the right side. The right thing to do: return to Vale, demand her reinstatement— begging was past her now. No good would come of it. Jacques would understand his own language, especially if he didn't want to get stabbed again. She imagined threats would do good to bargain Ruby's safety. Safety from her bloodsoaked hands. She wouldn’t let the girl be ruined any more.
She didn’t listen to the other side, and walked down the right path. She walked on broken glass, followed the path, her feet bled, she missed Carrots, tink tink went her heels on the glass, slick slick went the glass into her soles, she walked and walked, walked and walked, feet bleeding, following the path, missing Carrots, tink tink, slick slick, walk, walk, bleed, follow, Carrots, tink, slick, walk, walk, bleed, path, miss, walk, tink, slick, walk, path, slick, tink, follow, Carrots, path, slink, the, miss, bleed, path, slick, follow, feet, tink, path, walk , Carrots, sink.
The path wound ever on, ever in, ever out, feet bleeding, missing Carrots, following the path, shredding herself as the broken glass soaked red. Nothing left to reflect. Torn by the shards, a worthless pulp of red nothing.
It sighed, the sound reverberating off the shards of glassy blood. The false liturgy of forgiveness, the palace, the shards, the stones, lay just as distant as when she’d first embarked. Gone. Dust. The red circle it’d wound itself, the path it had dutifully followed, lay perfectly parallel to the contents within. Never touching, without intersection. A slug’s ouroboros.
Tink, tink.
No glass, just the path. And a sound.
Tink, tink.
It stopped. Slick, slick, its body no longer went. It was tired.
Tink, tink.
Its path, its circle, lay bare to the sands of time, grain by grain draining its seconds into void. The red turned to brown, to crust, to dust, to the wind. It lay empty, in and out, without the with, it ate its tail.
Tink, tink.
It was a lie given flesh, a confession without deed, a sermon without gospel. Cold iron, born to rust.
Tink, tink.
Its eyes closed, the hammer sat in its hand.
Tink, tink.
The iron lay cold on its anvil, rusted and cracked.
Tink, tink.
It struck the iron. The iron did not mold, did not shape, for it was rusted and cracked and cold. The hammer’s tempo rang.
Tink, tink.
It struck the iron. The iron did not mold, did not shape, for it was rusted and cracked and worthless. The hammer’s tempo drummed the anvil, the vibrations unsettling the feeble, cold metal.
Tink, tink.
It struck the iron. Rusted and cracked, unmoldable, useless, old, the tempo split its ears, split the iron.
Tink, tink.
It struck the iron. The feeblest piece spited the hammer, daring to remain, but the tempo was unceasing, ringing without mercy.
Tink, tink.
It struck the iron. The rust flaked away. The cold became heat. The tempo stuttered.
T-tink.
Tink.
Chapter 66: Delusion
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
And in His rage, He set His gaze upon the land, and the world began to burn. The grasses and the trees began to wither and smoke, the beaches turned to glass, and the mountains and hillsides softened and belched brimstone. His gaze scoured the lands without judgment, charring even the lambs and blackening their fleece just as the wolves, whose skins boiled and eyes poured from their skulls.
And through His gaze, He saw the end of all things, and He knew that his Watch would be no more, for there would be no lambs, and no black sheep, and no more wolves to harm His Sister, and He rejoiced to be rid of THE WEAVER’s creation. The lambs’ cries He heeded not, for in their blindness and their inaction, they allowed the wolves and the black sheep to steal the eyes of His Sister, and when such harm had befallen Her, it was THE WATCHER who could no longer see.
But, just as the seas started to boil and the lands themselves ignited, THE WATCHER fell to His knees, and His vengeful gaze turned upwards. He cried out in pain, and the fires of His eyes lit a flame so bright that it illuminated the world, and the berth of His scouring created burning holes across THE WEAVER’s firmament.
THE WATCHER, enraged, turned His burning gaze to the one who had hobbled Him, but when His scouring eyes harmfully touched the body of His blinded Sister, He faltered.
The Shepherd cried out to Her Brother, for it was Her crook that had stricken His knee, and She spake with the pain of Her burned skin. She begged Her Brother to blink away His fury, and to turn His gaze from the world, for it was their Mother’s proudest creation that He had burned, and with Her memory, She pleaded for Her Brother to be kind, for it was Her lambs that He had harmed, and for Her blinding they could not be blamed.
But He could not be kind, and His rage He could not belay, and He made this known.
But She could only smile, for She could see that His fury was born from love, and She too made this known.
And THE SHEPHERD, in Her wit, told Him only to temper His fury, and to close His eyes to their Mother’s creation. She told Him that She was blind, and Her eyes could no longer keep Her pasture, and She could no longer set the lambs from the black sheep.
She bade Her Brother to be Her keeper, and to turn His Watch unto procession of lambs entering Her pasture, and THE WATCHER loved His Sister dearly, so He did. He shut His eyes from their Mother's creation, and fashioned a cane for His broken leg from scattered pieces of their Mother's remnants, and joined His Sister in Her pasture. And that is all Anva told me of it, and now that I have told you, I know it to be true.
Ollard Attestations, lect 3
Weiss’ eyes were wide open. She didn't think they'd ever been closed.
‘Stop it! You have no right to—’
She forced her will onto the sword. It sang through the air.
‘This is in violation of—’
It wasn't. Control was a path walked both ways; if it didn't want to be controlled, it shouldn't have opened such avenues.
‘I will not be—’
It would. And why wouldn't it want to be? Its blade was dancing, slicing through Grimm-flesh like it was forged to.
‘Weiss, stop it!’
It wanted all the Grimm dead, so all the Grimm would die. And one was in front of her.
‘It's the sap! You're seeing things!’
She was seeing the truth. She'd seen it all. Weiss wasn't enough— she needed to be more. Somebody who could honor her ideals, fulfill her contract, somebody who wouldn't keep crawling back to father. Somebody who could protect Ruby, who could keep the blood off her precious hands.
“For shit's sake, Weiss! Stop!” The Grimm mewled, as if she’d allow its deceit to touch her mind again.
She pushed the saber on, the tip digging into the roof of the pinned Grimm's mouth. She knew they would try to deceive her, she'd learnt that firsthand. She gave another push, a final push, one that would pin this creature's fetid black brain to the dirt.
Something wrapped around her waist— a long, viscous black tail, yanking her away from the squealing Grimm. She swept behind herself, the saber aligning perfectly to sever the constraining flesh. Finally free, she began an assault on this new challenger.
This Grimm was notably more skilled, with long-clawed hands that shot out to parry her swipes. She watched a second pair of chitinous, pincered arms break from the flesh of its back, bursting forth to clamp tightly around her blade.
She pushed her will into the sword, demanding it free itself, but the Grimm’s pinching claws melted into sinew and root that entangled the blade, holding it tight against her meager musculature. She cried out in exertion, then decided to simply unhand the sword as Ruby would.
The sword refused to be let go, the blade-spirit’s ego rebelling against her own just long enough to keep her hands on its hilt for an extra second— enough time for the stringy sinews to whip out around her wrists, tightly shackling her arms while the roots locked her hands to the handle.
The Grimm pulled her closer, clawed hands coming to her shoulders to better steady her form. Its maw opened wide, and a nightmarish cry spewed forth:
“Snap out of it Weiss, it's the sap! I gave you too much!”
‘Please, Weiss, control yourself! I'm not the only one that needs you!’
Nobody needed her, they needed her gone, where she couldn't bring any more harm. Not to them, at least.
‘What about that sweet human girl, huh? Ru—uh… shit, it's in here somewhere— Ruby!’
Weiss sneered, letting her ice build up behind her teeth. Pulling moisture from the body was particularly dangerous, but it was much better than being eaten by Grimm. Besides, Ruby didn't need her, that girl was better off on her own. She was simply too loyal to stay at Weiss’ side, her heart too golden not to help whenever she learns of Weiss’ contract. She'd devote her whole life to it if she had to— Weiss had seen that much was true.
Even if she did free the spirit, she'd forever confined herself to a life of bloodshed. Stabbing Jacques and her flight from Pyrrha were etched in her tombstone; the Shimmer was only a screen to get them some distance and time to form a plan, or at least a way to get the others out of this mess. Weiss would pull the focus off them, and onto herself. All she had to do was answer one question:
How many nobles would she have to kill for the world to forget Ruby Rose?
Well, considering the smith had maimed more than a few noble heirs and was actively being hunted by the Knight Captain itself… a lot. Would she be willing to rip the whole empire apart just to make Ruby safe? Of course she would. Could she, though? Her only kill had been more accidental than anything else. She knew she had the zeal for it; her uncertainty lay in whether she had the ability to kill again.
Oh, right, the Grimm. It was just holding her, staring into her eyes like she'd suddenly snap into realization or something. Instead, she released the ice from her lungs.
A maelstrom of frozen spikes, powered by her writhing, engorged Aura, blasted across the Grimm, forcing it to scramble back as it bellowed with pain. Weiss took the opportunity to wrench her sword out of its grip, slicing through the roots and sinews that had shackled her. Pushing her will into the sword, it pulled her into a lunge, her slash flourishing across the Grimm's chest.
Seeping black hide split into a thin red line, leaking more red. Red, red— not black, as it should be. Red.
The amber over her eyes cracked, a spiderweb lattice forming over her vision.
How many nobles could she kill to make the world forget Ruby Rose?
James Vicenzi hunched before her, shaking hands clutched around a weeping chest wound.
Willow Schnee hugged the torn fabric of her dress, blood seeping through her fingers.
Cardin Winchester marveled at the red spewing through the ravine cleft in his chestplate.
Neptune Vasilias gaped at the blood shooting from his chest.
Alistair Vaux watched his vitae spew.
Adelaide Scarletina’s wide eyes…
Esmerelda Fall…
Mercutio Nero…
Cordovin…
Eisenholz…
Taurus…
The faces shifted, the bodies flashed, the blood wept, the catalog of victims tallying ever higher, ever steeper, her hands sinking ever deeper into the chalice.
She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could. She could… couldn’t she?
Weiss Schnee.
She will. She has to.
‘Weiss, stop!’
Shut up.
‘You don’t know what—’
Shut up.
‘It’s the—’
I know.
She pulls the rope, the guillotine falls.
Notes:
sorry for the short chapter lol, didn't even notice until my editor mentioned it.
Chapter 67: Soulless
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby was on the floor, face down, without any comforting barrier between herself and the hard, red wood. Her back really hurt after so many days of just lying there, but she couldn’t find the energy to rise.
Keekero was busy tending what pigs remained unexploded, Benedicta was trying to hide the fact she was spying on Ruby, the brothers were away as usual, and Mirta had invited Yang out to hunt.
So Ruby just laid there. Breathing. In and out. Tired, too tired to sleep, exhaustion weighing down on her soul. Today felt particularly bad, so far, she didn't think she could get up if she tried.
Useless. Just useless.
For all that talk of making a ‘distraction’, she actually had thought she could take Pyrrha on. Some part of her still believed so, stubbornly blaming her loss on the inhuman feat of flexibility that cracked her head on that baton, but the logical part of her brain knew that it simply wasn't meant to be.
Unfortunately, the logical part of her brain imparted no comfort as to how useless she was— the truth hurts, after all. Stuck here, trapped in her own body, no weapon… all she had to be thankful for was that she could see properly now— the swelling around her eye had finally shrunk down.
Ruby groaned. She had to bite hard on her lip to keep the sobs in.
She'd lost her cleaver. She'd lost her hammer. All her weapons left to rust in that forest. What was she supposed to do now? Menace the Knight Captain to death? And that’s assuming she ever got better— no one had told her whether Aura exhaustion this severe had any permanent effects, or if it coming back was even a certainty. Yang hadn’t talked to her much lately. She’d been too busy repaying the care this family had extended, just under some blind assumption that she had to.
Internally, the smith chided herself. They were greatly indebted to these kind people. She shouldn’t be bitter about that, she should be thankful. She’d exploded their pig, after all, repaying them was the least they could do. She had no right to complain, she was just taking out her frustration at her own uselessness.
Of course, they wouldn’t be indebted if she’d just been a good girl and listened to her father. Laying there, soulless, she’d never felt less worthy in her life. Tai was right. She wasn’t ready for all this, but her hubris had caught her in its web all the same. Now she was being pursued by some inhuman aberration and wanted across her own country, if not the world. Stuck in some unfamiliar realm, weaponless, friendless, soulless.
Ruby smacked her forehead into the floor, shaking loose the tears that had been welling in her eyes. “Sh-shit…” she mumbled. Yang always said cursing made her feel better. “Shepherd's… fuck…”
Ruby groaned. Blake did it better, she just wasn't made for swearing like the fay was. Even now, after everything, the words still felt foreign to her lips. She groaned and flipped onto her back.
Her eyes caught Benedicta scurrying back around the corner of her room. Ruby left her gaze there, knowing the girl would peek around in a few moments.
She did, and let out a little squeak when she was caught. It was cute.
With nothing else to occupy it, her mind idly wandered. Had Pyrrha ever been like that? Cute? She must have been, her human form had to come from somewhere; whatever-she-was-now didn't say it created her. Maybe she'd ask next time they saw each other— being distractingly obtuse seemed to be the only way to actually unnerve that creature.
Ruby let herself chuckle a little. Those jokes were really good.
But now she was stuck here, staring at the ceiling, no Aura, no cleaver, no Weiss. Nothing to anchor her mind, to keep it from blasting her with every stray thought, every repressed worry, every unspoken regret.
Her inner voice latched onto one particular worry, one that had been nagging at the back of her mind for a while, now. Weiss’ deal with Blake was bad, especially as things were now. She didn't know if Pyrrha could find them, but she certainly didn't want to get caught between freeing Binders and having their heads freed from their necks. Having lost to that monster twice now, she found her old morals cracking under that choice.
She’d run. She would, without a second thought, leave others to face a plight worse than she could ever imagine, so long as it meant she wouldn’t have to die to the Knight Captain.
Ruby’s gut twisted— when did she become a coward? Was one bad defeat all it took to shake her world, just like one troubling fact had been enough to shake her budding relationship with Weiss?
She itched to get up, to move her feet, to fight. She needed to be ready. There was no way they'd get a happily-ever-after without a lot of fighting, especially since they'd scrambled to the Shimmer. She may not know what politics and monsters lie in this realm, but she was certain that it wouldn't let them go easily.
She thought of her cleaver. Her poor cleaver. Sitting out in the forest, the wet forest, getting wet, getting dirty, and— under the Watcher's own gaze— rusting. How long had she spent on it? How much time had she spent scrapping, casting, forging, failing, repeating, only for it to rust away in the mud of the gods-forsaken Emerald Forest?
And her hammer. Meeting much the same fate, she imagined.
And her dagger, the iron one; her first gift from her uncle. Sure, it was little more than a peasant’s iron rondel, but she loved it all the same. It'd given her her first win against Yang, after all, far exceeding its humble appearance.
And now it was sinking in the muck, handle broken, iron rusting. Like everything else.
Ruby felt like she was rusting. She'd spent so many hours lazing around, unable to lift the depressing exhaustion off her shoulders. It dulled her every aspect, but especially her spirit. She felt like mold. Decaying. Disgusting. Useless. She just wanted to lay down and wither, crumble into her component parts and join her weapons in the dirt.
She imagined it, pictured her hollow shell of a body, the soul that once filled it, shattering like glass. Its pieces flew across the dirt, away from the world but nonetheless at its mercy. She could feel the earth piling around her, the cold, wet loam burying her body, a shallow grave for a shallow existence.
But… it was nice. Pressed on all sides by the cool promise of Remnant's reclamation, the absorption of her being into the realm itself. As it was, with no soul, there would be no pasture for her, so she got to revel in post-death all on her own, her eyes closing as she fell into the experience like a dream.
Her mind hadn't slowed, her thoughts hadn't eased, but her body was locked like a corpse, drowning her in the mental riptide. But she let it. She let them in, tired of fighting against them, of flailing against the current only to drown.
She should be scared, should be bolting up and hacking the imaginary water out of her lungs, but she wasn't. Here, where the flowing depths battered her ears and breached the cracks of her hollow soul, she felt no fear, because there wasn't any reason to be afraid. There was no worrying for victory or loss, because she'd already accepted defeat, she had let go, she had embraced the promise of the Chasm, she had broken bones, lost teeth, taken nails.
Compared to everything else, what was the well of her soul? Sure, it had run dry, but so had she. Dry of blood and life and fear, and still she lived. Perhaps it was her fate, some contract unknowingly signed between the gods. A plaything of destiny, a ragdoll for forces on high. And if they wanted that for her… then so be it.
So long as she lived. So long as she could crawl from the waters, battered by the waves and the jagged rocks, so long as she could force the water out and force the air in.
People die everyday, Red. You've already lost everything, so why do you care?
Ruby had never been one to talk to herself, but she supposed now was as good a time as any. Without a soul in her shell, the voice echoed twice as loud, but it just rolled over her, washing over her state of bone-deep calm.
Ruby scoffed. When hearing it semi-externally, she realized how childish of a supposition it was. Really, what had she lost? Her sister was okay, Weiss and Blake were probably fine, and her uncle had been through worse. Her weapons were… weapons. Steel and iron, just the same as anyone else's. Sure, losing her cleaver hurt, but she could always forge another. Her family was alive, Weiss and Blake were alive, all for the cost of some scrap she melted together and sharpened when she was fourteen. Honestly, it was a little offensive— Weiss was worth way more than that.
And her soul was dead, but… so what? She could walk, she could speak, she could live, it would just be a massive pain, but her body was used to pain. Perhaps, dead calm and hollow, floating in the cloudy sea of her own mind, she…
She didn't really care anymore about proving herself. She'd taken it all, and she came out living; she didn't need her father's respect to see that. Life was hers to take.
Besides, if she just rusted away, she wouldn't get to kiss Weiss again.
Ruby twitched, eyes snapping open. Her fingertips tingled. Her chest started to dance. Something shot up her throat.
A whip-crack hum shot across her body, alighting her nerves like a shock from the heavens. She immediately surged to her feet, the edges of her form morphing into petals and enhancing even the tiniest movements. The little red pads burst from her body, coating the wooden flooring until their scent permeated the room.
The torrent of worries ground to a halt in her mind, finally slowing enough that she could grab their little necks and stuff them into bottles— stashed away in the back of her head, for now, since there were more important things to worry about. Things like being alive, things like moving, things like bursting out of the door and shouting up at whatever weird, stupid fish-thing hovered past the sky. Ruby tore across the prairie, pushing the limits of her Aura’s sudden resurgence as she carved across the thick red fields, her momentum dragging enough wind to bend the grass around her swirling path.
What she usually called a blink lasted for minutes— ages compared to her second-long bursts— before she finally felt the tap of her soul start to thin once more. With a freshly cleared mind and no desperation of combat, she gradually bled her speed until she came to something she could safely roll out of, unlike the violent tumbles that she’d been forced to bear as of late. The tall grasses, too thick for her to simply fall through, cushioned the rest of her landing; they bent against her, half-propping her up so she could stare at the strange sky.
Ruby sighed, blowing all the pain of the last few days into the air. If almost-dying ended up feeling this good every time, she might be tempted to do it more often.
She snorted. Definitely not.
Notes:
fun lil chappywappy, ruby finally caught a break. im so proud. sorry its late, i gave my editor gf a wife for valentines day, among other things
anyway, uh... man. man man man. ive been writing summer stuff for like a week straight now. like 25k words in three chapters, so far. its fucking awesome, summer is AWFUL. just wretched, in the best kind of way. such a fun backstory, and writing/researching rome is super fun, fay worldbuilding is absolutely joyous. theres even a little teutoberg forest reference, kinda. and MAN is summer a cool ass legate. idek if theres a point to what im writing, its just trying to hammer something solid for rubys mom, but god damn is it fun. makes me want to just flip it into an original works, since all the names are already different. ruby gets the talk, many of them, finally confronting her whole flat earther thing lol... which is super ironic, considering her grandpa... oh man. oh man oh man. i really hope this is what i stick with, cuz GOD i wanna post it so bad, im even thinking of just slapping it down as a side oneshot just to put it out. i even put excerpts of it on my tumblr, for anyone who wants to get potentially spoiled lol.
sorry for big a/n lol. see yall next time.
Chapter 68: What's a Worm to a God?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Knight Captain was not a happy creature.
Was that because she was being whipped for her failure to capture her quarry? Not particularly.
The pain wasn't that interesting. One could even call it boring, so much so that she’d lost track of how many days they’d chained her down there, whipping her for hours on end. Sure, having her back flensed to ribbons wasn't fun, but they could’ve at least forced her to wear something, having the wounds dry and stick to the cloth would make for sublime anguish when torn off. But no, they seemed perfectly happy leaving her naked in the dungeon.
Perhaps her displeasure came from the fact she'd failed— no, she wasn't mad about that. On the contrary, she was elated. Seeing them escape, and by the skin of their teeth as well… it was absolutely grand! Such drama! Even she hadn't expected them to just fall through that unstable gate. She thought constantly of their expressions in that final fraction of a moment, the sheer terror, the gut-dropping hopelessness, the magnitude of lost will as she appeared within murdering distance— gods was it satisfying. And with their escape, it meant she would be able to see them again! Only this time, the events would unfurl to their greatest crescendo: a symphony of cries, notes tuned by the strangle of her fingers around their necks. She drank of that image; it was finer than any wine.
So why was she unhappy? If it wasn't the whipping, or the imprisonment, or the failure itself, what could it possibly be?
Jacques. It was Jacques.
Pyrrha hated Jacques, which she found odd. The Knight Captain generally didn't hate anybody— her desire to indiscriminately rend flesh and drink marrow wasn’t a matter of hatred— she just regarded humanity (and the shim, of course) in the same way one would consider a lame horse. Or perhaps a particularly supple pig, because apparently others found it disturbing when she ate their broken steeds.
But Jacques? Ohoho, no. Jacques was no horse, he was no pig— not in the respectable sense, at least, but he certainly leered at her like one, especially now as he watched her whipping session. Jacques was a worm. A slug. A rat, a snake, a cockroach— all the worst creatures this realm could conjure— stuffed into the leathery skin of a sour-faced cunt, and with even less honor than its counterparts.
And here he was, ‘overseeing’ her torture yet again, ogling her vessel's chest like his own pregnant wife simply didn't exist. She hoped he would try to cop a handful, just so she could bite his fucking hand off— fuck the contract, she was a fucking god— but he seemed to realize that, too, and merely watched from the room's corner like a cuckold.
“Please let me go to the Shimmer,” she requested, tone formal so he wouldn't get the impression that she was affected by the torture. Even as the whip slipped through her skin, she maintained a passive expression. “Regardless of my failure, that group is powerful and volatile; I am the only one who can defeat them.”
Jacques sneered. “Is that so? Why didn't you, then?”
“Their shim gated them away.”
Jacques raised one brow, unimpressed. “And why did you let it?”
Pyrrha scowled. The whip made strips of her flesh. “They disrespected you, milord. I was trying to assert your authority when your daughter froze me— they had drawn on the Emerald Forest’s latent energies, and the Huntsman you hired betrayed me.”
Jacques scoffed. “He's a Branwen, did you expect any different?”
“He's her uncle.”
The whip faltered, its wielder stuttering in his swing and smacking it ineffectually against her eviscerated spine. Shame, she was beginning to appreciate its tempo.
“Who?” Jacques asked after a long while, his features twisted tightly.
“Qrow Branwen, he's the little girl’s uncle.”
“What little girl?”
Pyrrha rolled her eyes so hard she nearly went blind. “The one that fucked your daughter, milord.”
Jacques stomped over to the torturer, yanked the weapon out of his hands, and marched back around to the Knight Captain’s front. He lashed Pyrrha across her face, cutting a sickening line from chin to brow and slicing directly across her left eye. That did actually hurt, but she bit her lip to keep the yelp in. She had plenty more eyes to spare.
“Disrespectful sow,” Jacques grumbled, throwing the whip back at her torturer so he could continue flaying her spine. “That is a lad, you stupid whore.”
“I'm afraid not, milord. Her name is Ruby.”
“Do you need me to whip you again?”
“Mayhaps, milord,” she stared at him with one good eye, “I am yet blind to the truth.”
Jacques did not whip her again, rather, he moved to strike her with an open hand before something stopped him. Whether it was some benevolent epiphany or the realization that she would feast on his fingers, she couldn't tell.
He stared her down, his stupid mustache twitching. “You said… Ruby?”
Pyrrha nodded. “Yes, milord. Her mother’s name was Summer, and her sister is a Huntress by the name of Yang.”
Neither of those names struck with Jacques, either that or he was too preoccupied with his own thoughts to listen. “Ruby… I swear, I've heard that name before.”
Pyrrha cocked her head, casting off a long drip of blood and tears as she did. If he already knew her name, why would he—
“Oh, aye! I've ‘eard Penny talkin’ about ‘er! Everyone ‘as!” The torturer— just a guard given a whip, actually, and not even one Pyrrha recognized— blurted, before realizing he was out of turn. “Er… apologies, milord.”
Jacques waved him off. “You said it was Penny who spoke of her? Lady Polendina?”
“Ser Polendina, milord,” came the automatic correction from both the guard and Pyrrha.
Jacques growled, one finger shooting out to freeze Pyrrha's lips together. “Do you know Lady Polendina well, boy?”
Pyrrha's correction was muffled behind her own frozen mouth, and the guard didn't have the balls to make another one aloud. “N-no, milord,” he stuttered, looking warily at the woman he'd had a large part in torturing. “I don' leave the grounds much, I only over’eard it when she visi’ed a few weeks ago. She was spoutin’ up and down about ‘er incredible sword, talkin’ up that Ruby lass, ‘parently she’s the smith ‘at forged ‘er blade. ‘At’s all I ‘eard, though.”
Jacques scowled, then dismissively flapped his hand at the guard. “You're useless, leave us.”
And he did, as quickly as his legs could carry him. His boots gradually grew distant, and the distant echo of a heavy door heralded his exit from the dungeons.
Jacques sighed deeply, waving one hand at Pyrrha to dispel her icy muzzle. “I imagine you know Lady Penny quite well, being her superior?”
She certainly didn't, but if she could get what she wanted by lying to him, she'd do it with a smile. As such, she buried her corrections and bowed her head. “Of course, milord.”
“Then you'll interrogate her. Find the girl— the boy, or his family,” Jacques commanded, his voice suddenly tired, “I'm sure you can figure out what to do from there.”
Pyrrha dipped her head, mainly to hide her grin. Her mind flitted deviously to their contract. “Yes, milord.”
“I'll send someone to unshackle you; I'm headed to the Shimmer.”
Pyrrha actually felt her chest sink. “You're going to search for her? Er, him?”
Jacques turned to her, brow furrowed and lips thinned like she was an idiot. “Of course not; I suspect the Taurus is on the verge of a conniption, and I don’t intend to miss it.”
Pyrrha blinked. That was a name she'd heard more and more frequently as of late, but she didn't want to push her luck at the moment. “Understood, milord. Watcher keep you.”
Jacques rolled his eyes and stepped out of the room, not bothering to return the courtesy as the heavy door closed behind him.
Pyrrha breathed deep, and laughed. She was locked back into what should be abject darkness, if not for the heliotrope glow that climbed off her skin and crawled over the walls, painting the room a writhing purple. The bones of her hands and wrists collapsed, slipping her arms from their restraints before she restored them, then wrapped around her metal collar to smoothly rip it from her neck. She stretched, unfurling all six wings from her soul and filling the room with an eye-watering indigo.
When the guard returned, he opened the door to find himself greeted by the stifling folds of her membranous wings. Soon, a new pair of eyes would adorn them.
Notes:
wooo pyrrha!! and cuck!jacques!! everybodys fav characters! sorry this ones kinda short, but the next one will be a bit short too. such is the nature of interlude chapters ig, this is the first of 3 btw. next one is downright pathetic lol. as always, thanks for reading, see ya next time!
Chapter 69: Polendina
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Penny was stuck between two activities, both of which spanned the spectrum between absolute joy and dreadful embarrassment.
First, she had a keen eye on a lovely woman working the docks— one who she planned to have working a different kind of dock come sunset.
Second, she was chasing a seagull that had stolen the local dessert she'd acquired— sugared squares of what was apparently fried milk— but the bastard creature simply would not find its way into her hands. Worse still, the lovely docklady, along with every other worker in the area, was staring at her like she was a one-Knight circus act.
As the gull mockingly flapped away from her clutches, she pondered the heights from which the great Penny Polendina had fallen. Her rise to knighthood, her march of conquest against the Sandstone school, her heroic sacrifice and subsequent resurrection in the climax of the Mistral Reconquista— days full of life, beds full of admirers, hands full of either blade or booze, sometimes both.
Then she met Ruby, the girl who forged her the perfect sword, and everything fell apart.
The smith plagued her mind. Constantly. Her incredible talent, her striking beauty, her combat prowess, her stature, her eyes. She couldn't even bear sleeping with men anymore— not when she couldn't close her eyes and pretend they were Ruby. It was pathetic.
Then came everything with the tourney, then all the rumors of Weiss and “Rupert”— her Ruby! Then there was the news that she wasn't even on the pursuit team, where she'd hoped to convince them to let Ruby live off her penance with the Knights. She had wished to assume responsibility for Ruby, making the smith a squire under Penny’s own command, forced to heed every whim, fulfill every need, and indulge every desire. Was that wrong? Yes. Did Penny care? Not at all.
Now here she was, chasing a seagull in circles, arms flailing as she screamed demands in a language the feathered prick would never understand. All in front of a woman who should be the one fawning over her, not the other way around!
Perhaps this was her penance, some labor granted as the Shepherd's recompense for the misdeeds of her ancestors. In the grand scheme of the gods, she probably deserved this.
Just as she was beginning to consider letting the bird go, a rock struck it perfectly in the head, sending it crashing to the stones. Penny scrambled after it, snatching the fried treat out of its mouth.
“I sincerely hope you're not going to eat that.”
The voice shot freezing water into Penny's veins, locking her stance mid-step and forcing her balance to teeter. Why in the Shepherd's warm embrace was the Knight Captain here? Her mere presence was a funeral bell, tolling through Penny's bones. “C-captain!” Her voice cracked three times over just two syllables. “What a… pleasant surprise!”
She didn't even get the chance to turn; Pyrrha encroached from behind, and Penny felt her belt jostle as the Knight Captain slipped her sword from its sheath.
Penny seized, her muscles going rigid. Pyrrha held the blade in front of them, angling it so the day's glare burned straight into Penny's eyes.
“Who made this sword?”
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
“Answer me, Polendina.”
Her voice was hot blood pouring directly into Penny's ears. “I, uh… I don't remember.”
Pyrrha laughed, deep and rich like a cake made of meat. “Oh, Penny,” her words were tendrils lacing the folds of her brain, ensnaring her throat, wrenching the air from her lungs, “it's adorable that you think you can lie to me.”
She didn't, she was just desperate. “I got it from a, uh… shop. In Vale.”
Pyrrha angled the sword down, making the light bend around a series of marks in the ricasso: a rose— amateurishly engraved, but clearly illustrating the creator's care.
“This isn't Rainart's mark.”
Penny gulped. “It's his… daughter's?”
“Not his son?” Pyrrha shot back instantly. “Smithing isn't a very common trade for women.”
“R-right, of course,” Penny backpedaled. “I, uh, misspoke.”
“I can just make you talk, you know.”
She didn't know, actually, but nothing had ever sounded truer in her life. “Patch,” Penny squeaked, “the island.”
“A smithy, I would guess?”
Penny nodded, her neck so stiff that it barely moved.
“Whose?”
“The, uh…” Penny rifled through every name she'd ever heard, scouring the oldest paths of her mind for anything. “Arc family's shop!”
“The Arc family, you say?”
Penny vigorously nodded. “Yes!”
A hand clasped over Penny's pauldron and slowly pivoted her around, just enough to set her eyes on a ship, the bow of which had been emblazoned with giant letters spelling ‘ARC’.
“The traders?” Pyrrha drawled.
Penny stiffened.
“You will show me to Ruby's shop.”
All the tension left her body, not from relaxation but from there being so much that it simply snapped, leaving her chest a void. “Yes, ser.”
Penny slotted the sword back into its sheath, the movement smooth and quick as if she wasn't using someone else's scabbard. “Perfect. Shim! Get over here!”
She barely managed to scrounge together the wherewithal to turn at Pyrrha's shout, catching sight of what the Knight Captain was calling for. It was a fay, clad in the usual Binder's accoutrement: an asymmetrical tunic of Schnee navy, hewn clean around the left shoulder and leaving only one arm sleeved. The long stretch of exposed, spindly skin gave a clear view of the dark iron chains coiled tight around the entirety of its left arm. The other arm was sleeved to the wrist, and the hem of the tunic fell just short of the fay's knees, which were covered in plain burlap breeches. Its shoes were little more than ragged leather socks loosely fit around their feet.
Penny genuinely couldn't tell the fay's sex— Binders’ heads were traditionally shaved, and they all seemed to have a degree of femininity in their features that made it hard to tell at a glance. This one was much the same, though its features were even sharper than Penny was used to seeing.
A long strip of parchment fluttered from its neck as it ran; a writ of conquest— the closest someone could get to saying they own a person, essentially declaring the battle in which the fay featured, the date of its capture, and to whom it belonged. No name, of course. Trophies don't have names.
“Why do you have a Binder?” Penny asked, unable to leave her curiosity be.
The Knight Captain quirked an eyebrow and— wait, something was different about her. Penny may not have interacted with her much, but even she could tell that not all was right in the Knight's head.
First of all, she… twitched. At least one part of her was tweaking almost constantly, as if her skin wasn't quite right for her muscles. Even under her armor, the incessant movement was distinct— a jolt of her arm, her hand flexing suddenly, facial features pinching and relaxing with no warning.
And her face, something just wasn’t right. Penny could see the faintest line arced across it, and she was certain that she would’ve heard about the illustrious Knight Captain getting such an injury. Plus, it went directly over her…
Her eye was wrong.
Penny stared. It was wrong. Even if she’d only ever seen Pyrrha in a few Knightly assemblies and the incident at the tourney, she could never forget those brilliant emerald irises, and now she only had one of them. The other was green, but not the right green. Half a shade from correct, barely noticeable at a glance, but from this distance? It was glaring.
Pyrrha scoffed, jolting Penny out of her thoughts. “You hesitate to answer my questions, then have the audacity to pose your own?”
Penny stumbled back, her lips a spout of poor excuses. The Knight Captain permitted her groveling for a couple moments before silencing her with a sharply raised hand.
“I have a Binder because I intend to be gating somewhere,” Pyrrha intoned, as if she were trying to make it obvious that there was something more to that.
The fay flinched at its mention, its skin a bright purple flush as it bit down hard on its lips. Sweat poured down its brow; it was clearly trying not to cry out, judging by the desperate flicking of its cream-colored irises.
Penny watched Pyrrha shuffle awkwardly on her feet, her expression held tight against… something. Did she… did she want Penny to ask? Trying to read the Knight Captain was as easy as reading a book— if she were Ruby, because Penny couldn't understand a damn letter of it! “Gating… somewhere?” She tried.
Pyrrha nodded, far too enthusiastically for a grown woman. “Of course!”
Well, she hadn’t been killed for asking, so… “Anywhere in particular?”
“The Shimmer!”
The declaration was so loud that Penny and the Binder flinched, and it drew most of the eyes on the docks. Gone was the Knight Captain’s murderous tone, the blood dripping from her tongue, replaced by something even more disturbing: childish glee.
Penny tried backing away, desperate self-preservation blaring in her ears like cathedral bells, but the Knight Captain grabbed her arm again. She pivoted the lesser Knight back towards the boat she'd taunted her with, leaning close to her ear like a wolf on a rabbit’s neck.
“Do you think he’ll take us to Patch?”
Notes:
yeah pennys not, like, a *good* guy in this one lol. cant even sleep with men because she cant imagine theyre ruby... jesus christ...
Chapter 70: The Captains
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jaune absently kicked his feet as he sat perched atop his ship's stern bulward, eyes distantly cast to the soon-to-set sun. Clouds pinked across the horizon, their fat, hazy bodies keeping Jaune's eyesight intact.
Whatever commotion was happening around the docks, he was busy. Too busy to notice. Too busy to yank his eyes off the sea, his brain occupied by constant, nagging terror.
He had been counting the days since he'd dropped Ruby off in Vale. They'd be his last. He'd have to face Tai eventually, assuming the man didn't find him first.
Taiyang Xiao Long was a good man, generous and kind. He was also a Huntsman of substantial repute, so when he learns what happened to Ruby…
Jaune wasn't an idiot, and Ruby wasn't subtle— a name like Rupert the Red was just laughable— so when he’d heard the news about her and the Schnee heiress, his heart instantly desiccated. He was a dead man walking, and Tai would soon come a-reaping.
He'd been happy to give Yang a ride when she was going to bring Ruby back, but now he'd been the ferryman for both of Tai's daughters, and now they were just… gone. He couldn't hide in Vale forever; his crew would burn their coin before Tai forgot— which would be never.
So, he looked out to sea, gently rocking with its tides, wondering if it'd be better to let it take him instead. At least his soul could rest with the waves, among the depths, sleeping with the current's lullaby. The great watery fingers would forever cradle his being, preserving him from the Shepherd's flock. Being a sheep seemed boring anyways.
His ship suddenly rocked out of tempo with the waves, making him slip as if the Shepherd herself were ruefully fulfilling his wish. He thrust his hands back and down to catch the wall upon which he'd been sitting.
His fingers caught sea-slick wood, and slipped. Jaune fell to the depths.
A gauntleted hand clasped around his wrist, grip strong enough to make his bones whine and draw a cry from his lips. He looked up to his rough-handed savior.
It was a lady— well, a Knight, but they certainly looked like a lady. Hair set in a bright red updo, a long-faded scar across their face, their features were… perfect. Unsettlingly perfect. He'd never seen anyone so beautiful, and he honestly didn't believe one such person could exist on Remnant.
“You're Captain Arc, yes?” The Knight asked, lips separating to bestow a smile that shouldn't be so beautiful.
Jaune sputtered, though it was less from being flustered than it was the sheer pain in his arm as the Knight yanked him back onto deck. He clutched the abused limb and hissed, silently cursing the Shepherd under his breath.
When he'd reassembled himself, he breathed deep and faced the Knight, discovering the entourage they'd brought in tow. He recognized Penny— she'd stowed away on more than a few trips (which he was pretty sure she’d taken just to stalk Ruby), and he only vaguely recognized that the other person with them was a Binder; he'd never seen a fay in person, but the second-hand descriptions he’d caught over the years seemed pretty apt.
The Knight who'd saved him was considerably taller than the rest. Their plate armor was positively resplendent, coating every inch in articulated, interlocking plates from the neck to the feet. It was easily the most advanced work of armorsmithing he'd ever seen, and he estimated that it was worth enough to trade for his entire ship.
Jaune extended his uninjured hand to clasp palms with the beautiful Knight. “Y-yes, I'm, uh… yeah. Just Jaune, though, Captain Arc is my father.”
The Knight giggled, and their eyes— which he was starting to think were not the same color— twinkled with a hint of mischief. An arm swung around from their side, armored hand clasping Jaune's hard enough to make him yelp. “Knight Captain Nikos. Captain-to-Captain, though, you may call me Pyrrha.”
Jaune froze, his arm locked in the air even as Pyrrha pulled away. “Knight Captain… The Knight Captain?”
Pyrrha grinned. Being a god, it felt good to be worshiped. “The very same, Jaune.”
Jaune simply could not lift his jaw from the floor, especially as the Knight Captain herself let his lowly name pass her lips. He'd heard so many tales about her: her lightning strike career through the Knights Imperiale, blasting straight to Captaincy in fewer than three years, then making an absolute mockery of the Granite school, the Flint school, and the Limestone school in spectacular fashion. News of such exploits rarely slipped past the Knights’ purview, but her grandeur had caught every ear and her name infected gossip for months when that happened
But Jaune knew even more than the average person; he loved tales of Knights, and he eagerly lapped at each reference to Pyrrha. He knew she'd almost single-handedly repelled the second siege of Mistral, crowning the Reconquista by stringing up the last Mistran leaders from their own city's walls. He knew that she’d survived the Ængvaldr Chasm, the only human in history to do so. He also knew she'd slain a dragon.
Jaune fought with every fiber of his being not to prostrate himself before Pyrrha. He had to maintain some level of self-respect, after all, and he doubted his crew would let him off easy for bowing to what they saw as just a woman. Instead, he simply pushed his nerves down with a hefty gulp. “W-well, Cap—”
The Knight Captain smirked. “Pyrrha.”
“Er, right, uh…” Jaune sheepishly rubbed his neck, extremely uncomfortable with the idea of addressing his hero so informally. “Did you need something from me?”
Pyrrha leaned towards him, her eyes perfectly locked to his like a gyroscoping chicken. “You presume that I need something from you?”
“N-no!” Jaune scrambled back, hands raised. “Of course not! Just, you… well—”
Pyrrha didn't straighten, she just walked right back into his personal space, her lips pulling into a wide, hungry grin. “I don't need anything from you, Jaune, but I do want something, and I assure you: what I want is much more important than any… base need.”
Jaune gulped. Whatever that could mean, it sounded vaguely threatening, but the slight purr in her voice made him blush. “Well… okay?”
Finally, the Knight Captain straightened back up, only to give Jaune a smile as she laced her armored fingers into his hair. “Good boy, now take me to Patch.”
Mesmerized by the gentle rubbing of his scalp, it took him a long moment to process what she was demanding. “P— Patch? I can't go—”
The hand in his hair gripped tight, ripping his head up and bearing his throat like some contest of dominance. As if to simply confirm the analogy, Pyrrha hovered over his neck, her smile a sharp promise. “You're taking me to Patch, Jaune. If you don't, I'll paint this boat with your blood.”
“Ship,” Jaune automatically corrected, his eyes widening as he realized the grave he'd just dug himself. “S-sorry!”
Pyrrha's eyebrows shot high. She leaned away from the boy, her smirk cracking until her shoulders started to shake. Her hands flew up to cover her face, roughly yanking him forward as she caught a tangle of his hair in her gauntlet. Foreseeing the inevitable, Penny lunged forward to hold the other woman back, but a singular noise sent her reeling.
Pyrrha let out a long snort, followed by a raucous cackle.
Jaune watched her wrack herself with vicious mirth, her spine contorting as if her body simply couldn't laugh hard enough on its own. She kicked her feet and pounded her fists in the air, the outline of her form blurring with each tremble of laughter.
The Knight Captain took a shambling, shaking step towards her fellow captain, her arms held tight around her heaving stomach until she was upon him, at which point she gripped the boy close and smashed him into her chestplate.
Penny watched her… embrace Jaune, which must've really hurt with the armor, but he didn't make any attempt at protest. Though, that could've been because he knew she'd kill him.
“Take me to the seas, Jaune,” Pyrrha purred. She leaned in close, too close— he could feel her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Show me the tranquil tides and crashing waves. Show me the deepest blues and the brightest whites. Show me the shallows and the depths. I want to see.”
Jaune became scarlet. “O-okay,” was all he could possibly manage past the clench of his jaw.
“Good boy.” Pyrrha's chuckle scrambled birds through his ribcage, and the nip at his cartilage came from teeth that weren't sharp before, drawing tiny beads of blood along the edge of his ear.
Pyrrha separated with a light push to Jaune's chest, but it was still strong enough to send his rear to the deck. It took him a long time to recover from what had just happened— the Knight Captain was either trying to fuck him or kill him. His face was still red by the time he'd scrambled to the helm.
Jaune puffed his chest, trying to muster some semblance of command in his voice. “Ser Nikos, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for my crew to return. The Arc may look humble, but she still needs more hands than we few can provide. It should be another week or two before my crew runs out of money, at which point they’ll be scrambling here posthaste.”
Pyrrha raised an eyebrow, then cast her unimpressed look around the ship. “This isn't the largest cog I've crewed. We will suffice.”
Jaune snorted, daring to take an airy tone with the Knight Captain herself. He couldn't help it— The Arc deserved all the credit he could give it. “She's no cog, ser, my Arc is a caravel, and she requires a… finer touch than could be given by our quartet.”
“Come to think of it,” Pyrrha mused over Jaune's sentence as if she couldn't even hear his words, “I think it was a hulk…” she tapped her chin, “The Reconquista! That's when it was. Boarded, captured, and sailed it to port myself.”
“I was in the Reconquista…” Penny pitifully mumbled, only audible to the fay.
Jaune's voice fell right back down to sniveling reverence. “You… how did you convince the crew to—”
“I didn't,” Pyrrha dismissively flipped her wrist, “I sailed it myself.”
Jaune stared at the Knight Captain, his jaw an extra anchor. “That's not… that… you can't…”
“Push us to sea and I'll show you, boy,” Pyrrha promised, her voice so sultry that even Penny blushed.
Jaune's back stiffened, his shoulders hiking rigidly as he set his jaw once more. Pyrrha followed his movement like a hawk, her hungry gaze impaling the boy as he marched from the helm, creaked over to the port side, and began untying their moorings. Penny moved to help him, but the Knight Captain's growl put her in her place.
When the ship was finally free, Jaune turned to her, expectant but still painfully awkward. “Well?”
Pyrrha sighed, her mismatched eyes slowly fluttering shut. The ship gently rocked, marginally shifting the deck as the waves pushed its unfettered hull, making the Knight Captain sway ever-so-slightly. She raised her arms, her hands splaying wide.
Her gauntlets blasted off her fingers, the metal hands opening to catch the riggings of the ship, which she manipulated with the ease of an experienced crewmate. Rings— black iron bands, at least two from each finger— joined their flight, looping ropes through their forms to offer Pyrrha a myriad of puppet strings to pull.
Expecting her to have her hands extended to her metallic symphony, Jaune gasped when he saw her sprint to the starboard side, throw her arms overboard, and smoothly lift the ship's dual anchors by hand.
Dumping the metal hunks unceremoniously onto the deck (and not giving a second glance to how many boards she just cracked), Pyrrha shot her arms back out, her control of the rigging finally bearing fruit as the sails unfurled, catching the wind almost immediately.
Jaune jumped, so distracted by the display that he wasn't even at the helm, and launched himself to the wheel. He threw it aside with a grunt, roughly steering the ship around just before the bow could strike the docks. “Crook and cane, lady! Are you trying to kill us!”
“Hardly!” Pyrrha cackled, turning her mad grin to the captain. “If I wanted that, I wouldn't have gotten in your boat!”
Jaune gulped. Instinctively, he released a single, terrified whisper. “Ship.”
Notes:
finally arkos :D its gonna be so wholesome and sweet, pyrrha *definitely* sees him as a whole person and not as a pet or anything! also this is the last interlude chapter, so we're getting back to the meat soon! thanks for reading :))
Chapter 71: Soul to Soul
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
‘You're doing the wrong thing, Weiss.’
Another tangle, cut to ribbons.
‘You need to go back.’
More vines, all this useless forest has to offer.
‘You didn't kill him, I'm sure they'll forgive you.’
Cut the vines, just like she did to Qrow, only these didn't have Blake to save them.
‘Weiss, please! Even I know this isn't right!’
More bloody vines. Stupid forest.
‘For fuck's sake, stop!’
“No.”
‘Why are you even doing this?’
“You know why.” Blade met vine— a perfect match.
‘No, actually I don't!’
“Shut up.”
She cut another tangle, the shorn ends bled drops of pinkish fluid. Weiss considered imbibing from them, but she wasn't that thirsty yet. It had only been…
‘Please, Weiss, you've spent all day cutting, take a rest and reconsider!’
That's right, a day. She'd made good ground for a day. Perhaps she should rest.
“No, they'll catch up with me.”
‘Wounded as they are? I highly doubt it.’
“Wounded as I made them.”
‘Shepherd's fucking gaze, Weiss, it's not your fault! You were seeing things!’
“Watcher's gaze, Aulus,” she mumbled, parting another of the endless gauntlet of feeble red vines. “Shepherd's embrace, Shepherd's crook, Shepherd's flock,” another tangle fell victim to her blade. “Shepherd's tits.”
She could feel the sword recoil, somehow. ‘Never say ‘tits’ again.’
“Tits, tits, tits,” she childishly retorted, each word punctuated by a slash of her sword, “cunt, shit, balls. Cock.”
‘What's gotten into you?’
Sap. The truth. A harrowing realization of the duty to which she's shackled herself. “I curse. It's nothing new.”
‘Did you think if you said one thing out loud, I wouldn't hear the other things?’
Yes. “No.”
‘Please go back.’
“There is no going back, Aulus.”
She felt its unease. His unease. Its. ‘Please don't call me that.’
Weiss freed her path of another tangle. “Why not? It's your name.”
‘You call me an ‘it’ and think you can use my name?’
Fine. His unease— it was still there. “Would you prefer Casta? Or just ‘sword’?”
‘...’
She wasn't sure how she could hear a pregnant pause in her head, but evidently she could.
‘Aulus is… fine.’
Weiss hummed. She didn't have anything else to say.
‘Perfect time for me to fill your head with convincing arguments for returning to your friends.’
Weiss snorted. Friends don't cut each other.
‘Some do.’
Not good ones.
She heard its— his long, exasperated sigh. ‘You're a good person, Weiss.’
Weiss barked one harsh, rueful laugh. “I'm a murderer.”
‘You didn't kill the Huntsman! He's a human, I'm sure he's already regenerated the worst of it. You people have freakishly fast Auras.’
“That's not who I'm talking about.”
‘You're not a killer.’
He stared into her eyes, she watched him vomit his guts out. “I am.”
This time, Aulus jerked back so hard even the sword itself recoiled. ‘The hell was that?’
So he couldn't see her memories unless she pushed them? That's… interesting. Not a relief, per se, but interesting. “I'm a murderer.”
‘That's… contextual.’
What's an acceptable context for making a man hemorrhage to death?
‘I imagine he was going to kill you.’
Weiss snorted. “I doubt my father's men would so quickly jump to killing me, they probably just wanted to capture me. They're not killers like I am. ”
‘Well, it didn't seem like you killed him, was it more of an accident?’
“A corpse can't take excuses.”
‘It's not an excuse! It was an accident, wasn't it!’
Tell that to his grieving family. “It doesn't matter.”
‘It does!’
“I'll get used to it.”
Silence. Another pregnant pause, only this one died in labor. ‘Please don't.’
She will. “I will.”
‘Why?’
For Ruby. “For Ruby.”
‘She's just a girl, Weiss! You don't have to do this, the world will forget her in time!’
“Sure, after they've hanged her.”
The image of Ruby swinging from a noose was enough to shut both of them up. At least for a while.
‘You're not a bad person.’
So they're skipping the ‘good person’ talk now? How wonderful. “I don't care.”
‘You will care. When you sit atop your throne of corpses, you'll care.’
“Speaking from experience?”
Of course he was. ‘Of course I am.’
Ah, so she could hear his thoughts, too. Great.
‘My being a sword isn't what aligns your strokes,’ Aulus muttered after a while, ‘my memory of wielding it does.’
Weiss watched the edge part another tangle. A perfect cut, as usual. “So you were… what, a soldier?”
Something like that. ‘Yes.’
“Care to elaborate?”
Desperately. ‘No.’
“Did you think if you said one thing—”
‘Not now, Weiss. Just… keep cutting.’
She didn’t need his permission. “I'm not the one doing it.”
‘Eh, you're doing most of the work. At least half.’
Weiss quirked one brow at the sword. “No, it's… you, isn't it?”
How could she describe the feeling of seeing someone shrug in her mind? ‘Edge alignment, mostly, but I've been gradually letting off. You're starting to get a feel for it on your own.’
Weiss swung it again, and noticed that she could actually feel a difference. Before, he was basically swinging her whole arm for her, but now the external control was limited to her wrist and grip. “Huh. It's like you've been teaching me.”
‘You could say that.’
She could also think it.
‘You're not clever. Turn around and go take some lessons from that fay.’
And just like that, all the rapport she'd been building with the sword was once again sucked away. “I’d rather not.”
‘I could make you.’
Weiss laughed. “You already wasted your ploy for control, Aulus. Good luck trying that again.”
He grumbled, then held a long moment of blissful silence in her head. ‘I am… sorry, for that.’
Weiss rolled her eyes. “I'm sure you are.”
‘I don't expect you to forgive me.’
“Good.”
‘Please go back.’
Why was he even so adamant about that?
‘Because you have people that care about you. I got left in a Grimm for fuck-knows how long.’
“Blake doesn't care about—”
‘Shut up, we both know that's not true.’
“You don't know her.”
‘I know enough.’
Ooooh, vague. How convincing.
‘Fuck you.’
Weiss snorted. “Wouldn't you love to.”
Now it was the sword’s time to laugh. ‘You don't even know what that entails.’
Weiss reddened. “I—”
‘You literally cannot lie to me, so don't try.’
She buttoned her lips. Weiss hated how right he was.
‘Besides, you've got that girl. I'm not one to ruin a happy couple.’
“So says the one who—”
‘You would be the one to do that,’ Aulus continued, interrupting her, ‘what with this… asinine fuckery you've committed yourself to.’
Asinine fuckery? Weiss’ teeth ground together. “Don't remind me, I have to do this. For her.”
‘Why shouldn't I? Are you afraid you'll crumble and run back to them?’
Yes. “Not at all.”
Aulus cackled, but his laughter died too quickly to be real. ‘Weiss, you cant just—’
Her next hack was rough, slamming straight through a tangle and burying her blade into a protruding root. “Shut up, will you! You don't know what you're saying!”
‘I know that—’
She shouted over his voice, “I'm not good, but she is! She's beautiful and talented and much too good to be ruined at my side! I won't let that happen to her, she deserves a normal life!” Weiss yanked the sword out of the root, drawing a bead of sap that drew her eye for far too long. Some part of her begged her to kneel and lap at the tree's wound. She managed to rip her gaze aside and focus on the next tangle in her path, but only after a long, agonizing moment.
Her fingers clenched the hilt, knuckles going white. “There's only one way she can have that, and if I have to sacrifice myself to give that to her, I will.”
‘You deserve a normal life too, Weiss.’
“All that killers deserve is the gallows.”
Aulus scoffed. ‘You're an idiot. If you're going to take lives, the least you could do is appreciate your own.’
A poignant statement, unfortunately wasted on her. “There's nothing to appreciate.”
‘Kiss the girl and tell me that again.’
She could feel Ruby's warm lips on hers, how their bodies slotted together like they'd been made for it. Absolute bliss.
‘See?’
Weiss threw her gaze aside, her tongue bitter as she spoke. “It's a dream, Aulus, one that the Knight Captain would awaken me from eventually.”
‘You could find a way.’
“What a useless platitude. You don't even believe that.”
Fuck, why couldn't he have been paired with someone less socially apt? ‘Please, Weiss. Turn back, you could… you could figure something out.’
Weiss sneered at the sword. “Not with your contract, I couldn't.”
She could feel how deeply that cut him. Ironic, considering.
Finally, they sank into true silence. No words, no shared thoughts, just the sound of a sword hacking through the Forever Fall.
It didn't last long. She had been cutting for a while, after all.
She couldn't have known which swipe would be the last, but the sight of a stone-paved road made her gasp. Even at the forest's very edge, there was no way to see the road through the foliage— it was as if the dense flora was a solid wall, and the cut between forest and road had no taper, no gradient.
Weiss stumbled onto the road. One side was the Forever Fall's arbor barricade, the other was a field of man-high, reddish grass. She took a deep breath. The air was different here, no longer a thick, humid miasma— this was crisp, clear, and the lack of an oppressive canopy finally let her see the sky. No clouds, no stars, just a firmament that shimmered like the scales of a fish. Some nagging figment told her she could smell roses.
Weiss fell to her knees and panted, her hand exploding with soreness as she let the handle tumble from her grip. She stayed there for a while. It took every ounce of her will just to keep her from lying on the stones.
‘Weiss.’
“It's too late, Aulus,” she mumbled, barely awake. “No way am I turning back now.”
‘Weiss, get. Up.’
She looked at the sword. She didn't like the panic in his voice. “I don't think I can stand—”
‘Someone is coming.’
Weiss blinked. “W-what? Who?”
‘Get up, Weiss. You need to run.’
The smirk she gave Aulus was shaky, hoping that this was just a strange joke. “Pyrrha couldn't have found me yet.”
‘Not Pyrrha. Grab me and run.’
Not a joke, then. With her non-dominant, non-aching hand, she grabbed the sword and started pushing herself up.
‘Faster, faster! Get us out of here!’
“Shut up, I'm exhausted! Give me a—”
‘Oh, fuck.’
Stumbling on her feet, she tightened her grip. That didn't sound good. “What?”
‘It's too late.’
Weiss glared, frustrated at the sword's vagueness. “Too late for—”
A velvety voice called from behind. “Ah, just who I was looking for.”
Notes:
its everyone's favorite guy (besides pyrrha), sword! woo! and my favorite character to write perspectives for (besides pyrrha), wooooo!!
Chapter 72: A Lesson in Dryadalis
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Weiss whirled around, but her legs buckled under the sudden movement, returning her rear to the stone path. Her eyes pulled up to the figure before her.
It was a fay— a male judging by the voice— with brown skin and drooping ears. He wore a strange, dress-like suit of plate, but carried himself like it weighed nothing at all. A sword lay snug at his hip, though Weiss was more worried about the menacing, clawed gauntlet on his left hand. His right arm was bare— at least, as bare as it could be with a Binder's chain wrapped around it. He smirked down at her.
‘Valerius,’ Aulus gravely muttered.
Weiss opened her mouth, but the fay spoke first. “I don't think humans typically go white at your age.” He motioned to his wine-colored hair. “You're a Schnee, aren’t you?”
At a loss, Weiss floundered for a long time before managing a nervous, “Why?”
The fay smirked. “Why do you think?”
Weiss narrowed her gaze. “I… don't know. I'm not a Schnee.”
His head fell back, sending his laugh to the shimmering sky. “That's good, Schnee, very good!” His head dropped again, all his humor smothered by a challenging glare. “But you can't slither your way out of this one. Where's your little champion?”
Weiss watched him look around with genuine confusion on his face. “Champion? What do you—”
He cackled again, loud enough to interrupt her. “Oh, that's priceless! What are you, a bastard, or something? Did they send you out here to delay me?”
“I don't know what you're talking about!”
“Sure you do,” he drawled, “even one of lowly standing should know their own House's acts.”
“Well—” I'm not of my House, not anymore, she wanted to say, but the words were too bitter to climb out of her throat.
‘Say it. Anything to get this lunatic off of us.’
How did Aulus even know him?
‘That doesn't matter, just say it before he scalps us!’
Scalps her. Swords don't have—
‘Weiss!’
“I'm not of my House,” Weiss hissed, the admission tasting just as foul as she'd expected. “Estranged, actually, chased here by the Knight Captain Pyrrha Nikos.”
Unfortunately, the fay's smile only broadened. Had he sharpened his teeth? “Ah, wonderful. So there won't be any consequences for killing you.”
‘Ay, me pedica.’
She didn't need to speak dryadalis to know what that meant, she could feel some part of her contract telling her it was Aulus’ equivalent of ‘ah, fuck me’.
Willing her Aura into her legs, she shakily forced herself to stand. Since she was holding him in the wrong hand, Aulus took full control of her arm. “You're awfully confident,” she spat, welling up with as much intimidation as she could. Her Aura was finally resurgent enough to siphon some from her exhausted legs, so she pooled it into her magic until frost seeped from her lips. “But I have a mission, one which I don't intend on ending so soon.”
That much was true, but the fact that Aulus’ contract held her soul hostage was much more of a motivating factor.
The fay, who Aulus had to remind her was named Valerius, chuckled at her statement and casually cocked his hip. “A mission, eh? Tell me, perhaps I can carry it out as your last wish.”
Weiss’ brow rose higher than Atlas’ cathedral-spires. The fact that he actually sounded genuine was more than a little concerning. “I am going to murder enough of the Remnant nobility to bury my paramour's crimes beneath their corpses,” she admitted, perfectly deadpan. She didn’t expect him to believe someone as diminutive as herself.
Valerius leaned forward, hands on his hips as he stared with rapt interest. “Oh, star-crossed lovers? I could work with that.”
Weiss recoiled. “You weren't supposed to—”
“Tell me, where does House Taurus fit into your little sap-dream?”
Weiss’ high brows crumbled into deep furrows, her features twisting with intense confusion. She tried to consult Aulus, since he seemed to know this person, but he didn't have any answers to give. And, unfortunately, Valierus’ face was too well masked to offer much more. “The same as everyone else?” She tried.
Valerius straightened up and sucked his teeth, his lips parting into a smile once more. “That's good, guess I won't have to fulfill your stupid wish after I murder you.”
‘Ah, fuck me.’
Weiss grimaced, her fingers coating with ice. “Shite.”
It was nice to actually join the family at the table, for once. Ruby hadn't been able to keep herself sitting for long while she was soulless, so being part of the table talk— even if she couldn't understand any of it— was a welcome change.
“Keekero,” Ruby called across the table, “sal.”
Keekero perked up, beaming as he eagerly passed Ruby the salt. The others, even Benedicta, shared some of his joy. She wasn't really learning the language, per se, but she was observant enough to pick some things up over her days spent in the family's home.
“Gratias tibi,” she thanked him, a little unsure of her pronunciation.
“Libenter, Rrrub-eeee,” Keekero returned.
“Don't call me that!” She whined, flapping one hand at the boy as she sprinkled salt over her meal. This one was some kind of squab-like dish, but she didn't get a chance to see the animals themselves; Mirta and Yang had returned while she was playing with the children and prepared the meat themselves.
Thinking of her sister brought her mind to the rest of their estranged group, but Ruby hid the scowl that rose over her. She really shouldn't be here anymore, now that she was healed, but Yang had made an excellent point: they were in an unfamiliar land, with no clue how far they'd been separated from the others. It'd be better to stay in one place, only making small ventures to look for them, at least for a while longer. In a couple of days, they'd head to the nearest city and try their luck there.
Apparently Yang had already tried tracking them, probably while she was out hunting, but she'd told Ruby that everything smelled like magic— too overpowering to get a definitive scent from far away.
At least Weiss should be okay. She couldn’t recall from much before she awoke in the Shimmer, but Ruby remembered the plan she'd made with the duelist beforehand, and none of it involved tussling with the Knight Captain. With any luck, Weiss would find Qrow and Blake; Ruby hoped her uncle's expertise made him a better tracker than Yang.
“Ruby?” Yang's voice shook her out of her thoughts. “Are you alright?”
Ruby pursed her lips; the others were engrossed in their own emphatic conversation, so they hadn't noticed her zoning out. “I… I don't know,” she mumbled, picking at her food. “There's just so much going on.”
Yang's cheerful expression fell a little, but it was replaced by something caring and sympathetic. “I'm worried about them, too. We'll find them.”
A light breeze drifted into the house's open window, rustling Ruby's hair. “Or they'll find us,” the smith hopefully added.
Yang smiled and gave her a sisterly smack between her shoulder blades. “There's the Ruby I know.”
Ruby gave her a small smile in return, but that was all.
“You know,” Yang started, her smile fading as her voice became somber, “I was more worried about you.”
Ruby recoiled, shaking her head. “M— me? Not Blake?”
Yang nodded. “Yeah, Blake’s probably fine. I get the feeling she's been through this kind of thing. You, though…” the Huntress bit her lip, her eyes darkening. “Gods, Ruby, you were at the pasture's gate. I couldn't stand seeing you like that.”,
“Is that why you went out so much?” Ruby winced as soon as she said it— she hadn't meant for it to sound like an accusation, but it came out that way anyways.
“Y-yeah.” Yang looked away, face red with shame. “I'm sorry.”
Ruby gazed softly upon her sister. She leaned towards her, her head falling onto Yang’s shoulder and making the older girl jump. “It's okay, Yang. I understand,” she muttered. “I wouldn't want to see you like that, either. It must've been awful.”
Yang chuckled, a little ruefully. “Still, I'm your sister. I should've been there.”
Ruby shrugged. “I forgive you.”
Yang's head whipped towards her, just long enough for Ruby to see the tears welling up before the Huntress cast her gaze aside once more. “I love you,” she muttered.
Ruby beamed and threw her arms around Yang, hugging her tightly. “I love you too.”
Yang placed a gloved hand on Ruby's encircling arm. They reveled in the passing silence, it felt like so long since they shared a moment of true bonding, even before all the chaos that their lives had become. Yang's career as a Huntress demanded she spend months away at a time, only coming home in short bouts to recover before going out again; it was something Ruby had been gradually embittered by, mostly since it meant she had to spend so much time under her father’s thumb without the buffer of her sibling. Regardless, she savored the moment as much as she could.
Another breeze carried into the window. Yang's muscles stiffened, her back shooting up straight as she took a deep breath.
Ruby watched her eyes widen. “Yang? What is it?”
Yang stood up so fast that her chair thumped to the floor, forcing Ruby to scramble back from their embrace.
The Huntress’ gaze locked onto Ruby, her features unreadably taut.
“It’s Weiss.”
Notes:
just you wait :)
Chapter 73: Bloodlust
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Valerius was fast. Faster than any plated man should be, and he moved with the force and ease of a crashing river. Just from his wide, confident grin, Weiss could tell how proud he was of his speed, so she decided to deprive him of it.
Weiss threw out an icy finger, willing the water beneath his feet to surface and freeze. His boots immediately impacted the ice and slid.
But Valerius only smiled wider.
His boots arced around him, carrying the momentum of his slide into a turn that threw him off the ice with ease. “You know how many of you frigid losers I've killed?” He mocked. “You all fight the same.”
Weiss immediately reddened with offense, but she bit her tongue to keep herself steady. Taking hold of the icy patch Val just exited, she encouraged it to shatter, and combined the fragments with her telekinesis to throw them at Valerius.
Unfortunately, though his eyes did show the smallest hint of surprise, his gauntlet was huge, and his armor was all-encompassing. The shards broke against his plate, and he simply shielded his face with his giant metal claws.
Still, Weiss tried to suck some satisfaction from the moment. “You'll find I'm a little different,” she claimed with a smirk, raising her saber. “There's a reason I was cast out.”
‘No, Weiss, you need to focus on running, you can't—’
“Shut up!” She snapped at the sword. “I can. I have to.” For Ruby.
‘He's gonna kill you!’ Aulus grumbled.
Weiss scowled. He wouldn't. Not as long as she had purpose.
“Did you just tell your sword to be quiet?” Valerius asked, genuinely curious. “Oooh, is it cursed? I've always wanted one of those.”
“H-how would you know!” Weiss didn't know why she tried to throw something accusatory at the fay, he did catch her talking to the sword. His expression matched that sentiment.
“I just saw you snap at it.”
“I'll snap you!” Weiss spat indignantly.
Valerius just raised his hands and brows. Weiss had never seen such a disappointed, unimpressed look. “I almost don't want to fight you; it's just sad.”
Weiss grit her teeth. “Shut up!”
Valerius scoffed, rolled his eyes, and dashed towards her again.
Thankfully, she'd stalled enough to recover some Aura, but Valerius was upon her before she could cast anything else. Claw met saber, throwing sparks that hung in the air and flared before fizzling. Aulus was in full control, giving Weiss free reign to cast with her dominant hand.
She pressed her palm towards Valerius’ face. As a Binder, the iron in his body robbed him of Aura, so she could freeze the blood in his veins if she touched skin. Valerius seemed to know this, though, and ducked her hand.
Weiss felt Aulus pressing against the fay's palm, but the sudden wrench against her wrist made all her confidence falter. Valerius’ amber eyes locked to hers, his grin instantly turning feral. Even while the sword was controlling her arm, she still felt the sickening crack of her wrist being twisted beyond functionality, causing Aulus to clatter at her feet.
‘Shit— don't die!’
Valerius leaned closer. His breath was hot and smelled like metal. “Another Schnee-head for my mantelpiece,” he hissed. His giddiness dropped suddenly, replaced by a morbid seriousness. “Die in shame.”
The fay's gauntlet shot around Weiss’ throat and lifted her off her feet, but she refused to lose so soon. She slapped her palm against Valerius’ face and pumped every last drop of Aura to her hand. Her fingertips surged and tingled. The skin felt like it would rip.
Valerius’ flesh instantly blackened and flaked where Weiss touched it, necrotizing into chips of ice that cracked off and blew away with the wind. Annoyingly enough, Valerius didn't seem particularly perturbed.
Weiss choked and gagged, her legs kicking out as she folded her hands into a triangle, drawing a frozen sphere of blood from her veins before she shot it out as a single crimson blade. Valerius dropped her to dodge, but still took a long gash across the side of his head as the ice flew by.
The fay hissed in pain, dodging back a second time as Weiss threw another icy blade his way, once again drawing from her own blood. Finally, distance.
Unfortunately, that distance came at a great cost. Weiss now tipped and teetered on her feet, lightheaded from the blood loss, and she nearly blacked out when she used her telekinesis to reclaim Aulus.
‘How are you not dead?’ The sword asked, full of genuine disbelief.
“You told me not to?” Weiss huffed, not really hearing what she said.
Aulus made a hum of concern— he probably noticed the blood loss. ‘Well, chin up. He's coming again.’
Indeed, Valerius was sauntering towards her, gauntlet raised to plunge for her heart. She desperately wished for a full Aura, for the strength to conjure any of her summons or use more ice, but she couldn't… well, she could.
The forest was only steps away.
Full of sap. Full of power.
The power to protect Ruby.
‘Do not!’ Aulus shouted, the sound ringing in her brain. ‘Trust me— fighting while sapped is not something you want to do!’
Weiss bit her lip, but remained focused on the fay. Aulus was right; the forest was just a fallback.
‘That is not what I said!’
Still, Valerius was almost upon her, and she had no idea how to beat him. He was covered in armor, protected his head well, had a nasty weapon, and moved with uncanny agility to complement those things. Weiss wasn't like Ruby, she didn't have any kind of training from Huntresses, she didn't have any Semblance, she was just a human with some generalist magic.
‘Hey, sometimes that's all you need.’
Seriously?
‘I mean it! What, you want me to be a dick when you're about to die?’
Yes, actually, it would be a welcome comfort for her.
‘Just kill this asshole so I don't have to watch that girl cry over you.’
With the scant fragments of time before Valierus’ approach, Weiss leafed through every magical capability she had:
Ice control— very useful, but Valerius did not seem to care.
Pyromancy— middling at best, very weak with what little Weiss knew.
Artifice— could be extremely useful, but depended on more Aura and time than she currently had available.
Telekinesis— what, was she supposed to throw a rock at his head? With how nimble the bastard was, there was nothing her meager control of that art could do.
Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing! There was nothing she could—
‘Go invisible.’
That was stupid.
‘Can't hit what you can't see.’
Stupid. Stupid, dumb, useless, and all-around exactly what she would expect from the fay so far. What, would he just freak out and stick his head in the sand? Was he supposed to be so shocked he'd die on the spot? He was a fay— those stupid ears could probably track her with ease, and he could just slash at where she'd been!
“Pass through vision, pass through light!” She was trying it anyway. She didn't really have any better ideas. “But herald not my form to sight!”
Just as she expected, Valerius only expressed surprise for a moment before swinging his gauntlet right where she'd been. Weiss backed away, forced to do so with an uncomfortable sluggishness as not to kick up any revealing dust.
Finally, Valerius stopped his aggression. He threw his head in every direction, long ears perking as he searched for her. She was only a couple feet away, a yard if she was lucky, and fear locked her legs in place.
“Seriously, Schnee?” Valerius sneered. “I'll find you eventually, you can't hold your breath forever.”
He was right, and her lungs were burning. ‘Weiss—’
Choosing not to waste the opportunity, she struck from behind him. His ears twitched the moment before impact, but the belated reaction couldn't save him— them. His ears. One went skyward, its cleft stump spurting purple.
“Gah, you fuck!” Valerius’ chain unwrapped from his arm and whipped completely around him, lashing Weiss across the left side of her face and flaring her meager Aura. The links ripped a vertical line up her cheek, leaking blood into an eye that was miraculously okay, and the force sent her smashing into the treeline. She briefly lost consciousness when her back struck a tree. When her eyes opened again, Valerius stood before her.
His ear still shot gouts of purple, but he smirked at her anyways, holding up the cleft piece to the stump. His other hand fished through his pouch and pulled free a vial, unfastened the top, and drained it into his mouth.
Sap. Weiss knew it was sap. She could smell it. Taste it. Feel it.
His ear sparked a pinkish red, his resurgent Aura searing the parts back together before the iron chains robbed the rest. When it was done, Valerius tipped his head back and hissed— a satisfying kind of pain.
When his head dipped back to face Weiss, the words he’d prepared instantly withered to dust. She had stabbed a hole in the trunk behind her, and placed her lips directly to it. She turned to Valerius with a sap-pink smirk.
Weiss was fire.
Roaring, burning, crashing, splitting, hissing, cracking heat. She raged, her form aflame, casting her smoldering flame and scouring life like the Watcher himself. Each scream of pain and choked final breath only fuelled her being, stacking a pyre of souls that could scrape the heavens— a burning monument for the mourning in her heart.
She burned and burned, fires sweeping through palatial halls, melting crowns, jewelry, gowns, walls, floors, bricks, and butlers. She cleansed fetid life like a studious handmaiden clears pests, and none could rival her furious desire. Ashes upon ashes. Orange and red and white, leaving only black in their wake. She was end incarnate. Final and gruesome, a flash that melted stone walls and turned homes into nothing. So much nothing.
Aulus felt himself taken into a hand. It was the one who belonged to him, and to whom he belonged in turn.
“Weiss?” He assumed. Though the hand’s creases were the same, the mind that owned it was completely unrecognizable. Gone was the insecurity and shame, the pain and love, replaced only by the lustful roaring of conflagration.
The hand swung him. He had no control. The arm and the mind rejected his presence, forcing him to bite into sheer hard steel with no regard to its effectiveness. He could still reach out and grasp Weiss’ senses, but he sunk into them with too much ease, becoming her sight completely as if nothing had been controlling it at all.
Through the windows of Weiss’ eyes, he saw madness.
Weiss slammed him time and time again into Valerius’ armor, her arm bearing so much strength that it dented the metal. The sound of cracking bone accompanied a sharp and twisting pain, screaming to Aulus that the girl’s wrist had violently healed itself. When he extended the senses to her Aura, he could see how.
It was surging, billowing so great that he could feel it trying to rip out of the girl’s skin. The sap churned in her stomach and filled her veins, tearing through every inch of her body as her Aura’s will overtook everything. Like before, the girl had sunk completely into the sap.
“Weiss, get a hold of yourself!” He screamed into her mind. “Weiss! Weiss!”
Weiss was a monster.
She tore through another home, claws ripping through every barrier with ease be it door or wall or beating, pounding heart. She raked across flesh and pulled sinuous muscle into her maw, gnashing her fangs against sinew and bone before casting them into the abyss of her gullet. She couldn’t even see the faces, nor did she care to, the lives were nothing to her. She could rip and tear until nothing remained, and she desired nothing more than to sate the craving for violence in her heart.
‘Weiss, get a hold of yourself!’ One of the victims cried. She broke it upon her hands and gulped the fluid from its corpse.
‘Weiss!’ Screamed another one, another body channeled into her aching stomach.
‘Weiss!’ Another meal.
But still her hunger cried, demanding she feast on more and more until the world was drained of all its hearts and souls; all things thrown into the void behind her teeth.
Aulus experienced pure terror. He could not control Weiss. Weiss was not in control of him. Sap drove every swipe and thrust and slash across Valerius, who was helpless to the psychotic assault. The fay struck her body over and over again, but every scrape of flesh he opened was immediately slammed shut by the force of the girl’s engorged Aura. He shared Aulus’ terror, and it was quite clear from the unbridled fear shaking in his eyes.
One of the girl’s hands recklessly drew blood from her own body, uncaring as to how much she lost as she formed a clawed gauntlet of her own. It drove forward artlessly, disregarding form and grace, but Valerius was too occupied with the saber to stop it. The talons raked across his face, nearly opening his throat.
The fay tried to scramble away, but the thing within Weiss had no intention of giving him space, and pursued him immediately. His chain whipped out and shattered her knee, but it reformed in moments. She didn’t even stumble.
Weiss was madness.
Alone and insane. No matter how many times she raked herself, whether it be by her hands or knives or nails, she could feel none of it. She was isolated in her palace of bones.
‘Weiss, you need to stop! This is insane!’
Oh, that old thing— her conscience or whatever. She’d corked it so long ago that she forgot its voice.
‘Weiss, you’re going to break!’
Ha. What a stupid notion. Every part of her had already shattered, there wasn’t even anything left to regret that. The state of her wholeness was unquestionably nil.
‘Think about the girl, the girl! Please, Weiss!’
As if she ever stopped thinking about the girl. It was ironic, actually. She’d forgotten what her name was supposed to be.
‘Think about Ruby! What would she think if she saw this!’
Was it seriously Ruby? How childish. Who names their kids after gemstones.
Perhaps she should feel sad, but that emotion had been smart enough to flee long ago. Even if she’d done it all for this Ruby, the name was nothing more than a footnote to her desolation now.
Valerius was not going to live. Valerius was going to die and Aulus knew this perfectly well. Maybe he should be happy about that, knowing the once-centurion’s history, but all Aulus knew now was fear.
Weiss’ violence was unrelenting. Barbarous. She didn’t even slash at the fay anymore. She’d somehow managed to pin his armored body beneath her, locking his arms and legs in place with shackles of blood-ice, and now chose to wail on his open face with her bare hands— as bare as they could be with Aulus’ handguard over her knuckles.
Valerius’ face was little more than violaceous blood now, and only his natural fay hardiness kept him gurgling bloody breaths through his sundered mouth. Tears had started flowing from Weiss’ face at some point. Distantly, Aulus could feel soreness in her mouth.
What even was Weiss?
She certainly didn’t know. She couldn’t decipher the girl’s actions. She fled her riches and comfort, discarding them for love, only for her to discard that too.
‘Weiss, please! You’re going to kill him! Don’t you remember your deal with Blake?’
Killing. That’s all she ever came back to. Killing out of desperation, killing out of fear, killing out of some blind desire for a redemption she didn’t need. Every drop of blood on her blade was excused with the walking justification that Ruby had become. It was sick how readily she used her love as an scapegoat.
She couldn’t accept any fate that didn’t end in blood. It’s all she saw. She was blinded by it, and the more she spilled, the more she was blinded to it. When the curtain finally fell, and Death cast her into the river of her deeds, she couldn’t accept a single hair of it. She pushed all her guilt onto the girl like she was a hollow vessel, as if that would maintain her own sanctity.
It didn’t. She became just as rotten as the fears she herself had constructed.
Aulus—
“Weiss!”
Oh thank the fucking stars.
Notes:
ahaha wouldnt it be crazy if weiss soul shifted....ahaha jkjk..,., jk...,., ahaaha,,,.. unless?
also sorry for the late upload, the other chapter was just too much. if anyone wants to read it (cw: bloodlust, in the most literal sense) it's on my tumblr https://www.tumblr.com/swagmagussupreme/744432510439686144/scrapped-alt-of-kotwr-ch-73-bloodlust?source=share
Chapter 74: In This Home
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby broke through the grass, her red plume bursting straight towards Weiss. Her Aura screamed, begging her to stop, but nothing would stop her from seeing the girl again. She didn’t care if there was a fight— she’d seen red icicles flying after she left Yang in the dust. She needed to see her, to make sure she was alright, and if need be, protect her. She was ready, weapons or not. She’d find a way.
The sight before her made Ruby drop out of her Semblance, and her boots skid along flagstone as she arrested her momentum. She stared at the battle, if it could be called that, her silver eyes wide and dumbstruck.
Weiss straddled a tall, armored fay, but the only telling fay attributes left were his long ears. The rest of his features were actively being reduced into a purple pulp, courtesy of Weiss’ fist and the knuckle-guard of her saber. The duelist herself barely seemed present; her eyes were wide and frenzied, and a sheen of red overtook the cerulean irises to make her look like a human Grimm. Ruby watched the fay twitch with each squelching blow.
“Weiss!” She tried to call for her paramour, but no answer came. She just kept breaking the fay, each swing of her knuckles adding to the purple-smattered halo around them. “Weiss?”
Another sickening crunch, another spurt of violet.
This was wrong.
Ruby burst into petals, ignoring her Aura’s cries as she burned its last shreds and closed the distance. She tumbled out of her rosy Semblance as her soul went dry, but she’d expected that to happen. Her body sailed towards Weiss.
She slammed into the tranced girl, throwing them both from the shattered fay as Ruby wrapped her limbs tight around Weiss, pinning the duelist's arms against her sides. The two rolled against flagstone. Ruby grunted as the uneven pavings struck her back and sides, but Weiss never made a sound. The duelist just struggled, the muscles of her arms surging and pushing with far greater strength than Ruby expected.
Their roll eventually slowed, the two tumbled to a perilous halt. Ruby gulped.
Weiss was above her, arms freed at some point. Her face was impassive, eyes still a frenzied crimson. She raised her saber high, ready to plunge into her paramour’s heart.
Weiss had been here before. Technically.
Even if the moment had been brief and sap-constructed, she immediately recognized her and Ruby’s ramshackle cabin like it was her own home. In some ways, it was. Myrtenaster hung above the hearth of their main hall. The floor was dirt, packed down and smoothed by six pairs of feet over years of walking, working, loving, and playing. The table in the room’s center was splintered and well-worn, crafted by her wife’s own hands— their first piece of furniture, actually, and though it was shoddy and a bit too short and very wobbly, they didn’t have the heart to replace it.
It smelled like home. Rosemary, onions sizzling in fat, straw and dirt, oils for leather and steel, the general people-stink that came with the blessing of children— home and memories. Aelia getting her first scrape. Ansel and Yves throwing fireplace ashes at each other. Carmen learning to read from a barely-more-literate Ruby. So much home in one place. The palace Weiss was born in, throughout its grand halls and rooms innumerable, had been desolate of such feeling.
But now it was quiet, and in the void of sound and love and family, it was more crushing than Palace Schnee could ever hope to be.
The main hall was silent. If Weiss looked to the wall, through the rough-cut and curtain-shut hole they called a window, she should see Ruby working the day away in her forge, hear the anvil’s ringing, but nothing came. A hollow wind blew.
The children’s bedroom was silent. The beds were all packed together, so seeing the little ones napping in a dogpile on her wife had become standard, but Weiss heard no snores, no breathy half-words from a dream, and no groans when her entry woke somebody up. Part of the house creaked. The way it cut through quiet only made the returning stillness more oppressive.
Their own bedroom was silent. For once. Weiss let out a chuckle. It was empty, and sounded like the cracking of lake-ice beneath her feet.
Weiss sat alone in the bedroom. She looked around: dust and cobwebs. If Ruby were here, she’d ask if Weiss was okay. When she told her she wasn’t, Ruby would sit behind her, wrapping both arms and legs around her torso like a latching insect, squeezing her tight and warm until all the other things were forced out by sheer love.
But Ruby wasn’t there. Nobody was there. So Weiss just sat, wishing the opposite were true.
‘Weiss?’
Except Aulus. He was there, just like always. She hadn’t freed him yet, but neither of them were particularly troubled by that. The fay soul was kindred to her now, so thinking about a life without his constant presence was hard. But still, Yang, Blake, and Qrow searched for the knowledge to let his spirit pass from the blade. Even if they’d grown a strong bond, both of them knew he’d rather be in the afterlife.
“Aulus?” She whispered, though she didn’t need to. He’d be able to hear her thoughts even if they were realms apart.
‘Weiss!’
Why did he sound so relieved?
‘Can you hear me? Weiss?’
She scoffed, her dismissive tone masking how desperate she was to avoid the cabin’s crushing quiet. “Of course I can.”
‘You need to stop! Stop, please! You’re hurting her! Snap out of it!’
Snap out of what? And how could she hurt anyone? There was nobody here to hurt.
‘Hey, talk to me! I can’t hear you! Don’t tell me you’re—’
“What’re you talking about?”
He didn’t answer— at least not with words. He grunted as if he were exerting real, physical strain. A distant rigidity tingled in Weiss’ arms.
“Weiss, please!”
Ruby? Why did she hear her voice? She didn’t remember turning her wife into a cursed weapon.
“It’s me! It’s me!”
She’d never heard her voice sound so desperate. Weiss blinked, but when her eyes opened again, her vision was split by an annoying, silk-thin crack.
‘Let me go, for fuck’s sake! You’re hurting her!’
Weiss shot to her feet, shutting her eyes tight as her head exploded with a sound like breaking glass. The crack in her vision spread across everything. Its lines were amber.
‘Get a hold of yourself!’
“It’s— Weiss, please! Don’t you remember!”
Weiss burst from the bedroom, chasing her wife’s voice. Furniture was toppled over, the hearth was roaring, Myrtenaster was dangling from its mantle. “Ruby?” She shouted into the home. “Where are you!”
“It’s me, Weiss!”
The cracks in her vision doubled. From outside, she could hear the fwoosh of pumping bellows.
“We’re paramours, aren’t we!”
Ruby screamed through her teeth, her palms clasped tight along the saber’s blade. Red mixed with purple as the edge slipped through her flesh, her grip only made worse with the slick of her own blood. The sword was so sharp, she’d already done all the begging she could. Gritting out a final, desperate cry to Weiss, she closed her eyes and awaited the inevitable.
The tip breached her shirt, then one, two layers of skin before it came to a sudden halt. Apparently the end was more evitable than she thought.
“Ruby?” The sound of Weiss’ voice bade the smith’s eyes open— one of them, at least, which cautiously pried its lids apart. Finally, they locked gazes again. “Wha— you—”
Ruby gave her a tiny, pained smirk. “H-hey, Weiss.”
Weiss stared, eyes wide, disbelief pouring out through her tears. “You… you bumbling idiot! What are you doing here, you dolt! There’s a—”
Ruby’s other eye opened, casting itself between Weiss’ saber and the girl herself. “You’re stabbing me again.”
Weiss looked down at her hands and yes, she was stabbing Ruby again. Unfortunately, she scrambled away in total shock and revulsion, failing to actually keep her hands on the sword and leaving the stupid thing in Ruby. At least the smith had the brains to keep her hold on it, and grunted as she pulled it out of her chest. She pushed herself up with another pained noise, one hand absently grabbing the sword’s handle so she could pass it back to Weiss.
‘I appreciate your helping her,’ a voice blasted into Ruby’s brain, almost deafening if not for the fact that it sounded like it was separated by a pane of glass. ‘But you will unhand me. Now.’
The weapon in her hand suddenly felt wrong, as if she were cradling her own mother’s severed head. Ruby threw it away. Somehow, despite her wild toss, its arc swerved to Weiss’ feet.
Weiss picked it up slowly, her eyes locked to Ruby as if she were an apparition. “You’re… are you real?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” She answered, finally giving Weiss a full smile. A few red sparks flew out of her chest and closed the minor wound. More showered from her palms.
Weiss stared, still in disbelief, which she tried to throw off with a firm shake of her head. “Ruby, you need to leave— this is dangerous, you don’t have anything to fight with.”
Ruby shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t really care, I’ll protect you either way.”
How could she say that so easily? “You shouldn’t—”
‘Weiss, shut the fuck up.’
Weiss tried to continue her rejection, but her jaw suddenly locked under an unexpected surge of Aulus’ control. Her lips moved on the sword’s accord, parting in a grateful smile as she gleefully said, “Thank you, Ruby, I love you!”
Ruby recoiled from the sound, completely dubious. “Was that the sword?”
Weiss let out a huff of triumph— her mouth may be uncontrolled, but her nose wasn’t. “W-what!”
Ruby rolled her eyes, a light blush crossing her cheeks. “I love you too, but I’m not stupid. You don’t even sound like her— the accent is completely wrong.”
“B-but—”
The care in Ruby’s eyes sharpened, steeled as she demanded, “Now give her back before I turn you into slag.”
Aulus shrunk back, more from dejection than Ruby’s threat. Weiss worked her jaw before saying, “You don’t need to threaten him, he’s a frie—”
The words left her lungs, breath forced out as Ruby tackled her at full speed. Before Weiss could give her a verbal lashing for such roughness, she found her lips occupied by Ruby’s. The smith’s tears crossed onto her face as her hands came up, holding Weiss’ head still as she pressed deeper, pushing all her longing, fear, and relief through the kiss.
When the smith finally parted, Weiss had been left breathless. Her heart was full. Aulus was right, and she could feel how smug he was.
‘See? I knew that’d work.’
She wanted to tell him to be silent, but the way Ruby stared into her eyes before gently tucking a stray lock behind her ear, it…
“Gods, I missed you,” Ruby whispered.
Weiss didn’t say anything. The smith had taken the words right out of her mouth, literally and figuratively.
Ruby’s eyes distanced a little, but the care never left her face. “I was so worried… but… not for you. I knew you’d be okay,” she sniffled, turning her face away so Weiss wouldn’t see her cry, “I just… I was scared I'd never get to see you again.”
Weiss was wordless, still dumbstruck by how much she just… felt. She didn’t know she could be so loved, and it filled her lungs so much that it smothered any words.
“But you’re here,” Ruby’s eyes found her again, her lips parted in a wide smile. “I’ve got you, and I’ll never let you go again.”
Weiss could see the teeth she’d lost— she only just noticed how much more scarred the smith had become. The once-clean line across her cheek was broken by a rough circle, no doubt left from the branch that’d speared through it in their last fight. Her chin had a pink seam down the middle, her right eye sat among rippled flesh, and various, faded spots and lines littered her jawline from the vicious sundering of her mandibular. The girl’s Aura had been so thoroughly exhausted, Weiss realized, that her healing was left to manual care alone.
She’d never seen someone so beautiful in her life. That fact, along with the girl’s heartfelt promise, gave Weiss a smile that could almost match Ruby’s. Almost, since nothing could truly come close— Weiss was the full moon, but Ruby was the blinding sun.
That sun suddenly eclipsed— Ruby’s face fell with fear and confusion. “Weiss, your tee—”
“Hey, y-you… fuckers!”
They both turned. The fay was back on his feet, another vial of red lifting to his mangled lips.
“I'm not done with you yet! I'm gonna make you wish you'd—”
Yang burned through the wall of grass. Her blazing fist put him to sleep.
Notes:
oh my god,,.,., theyre *paramours*
im so happy with this chapter, im so glad i took this route instead of the, uh... darker one. sucks i wrote so far ahead lol, but ill post the scrapped alts (at least this one) on my tumblr @swagmagussupreme . ive also had to scrap the ruby/valerius fight, which... sigh... it was cool. definitely too hardcore for this ruby tho lol, the overly-dark shift on 73 kinda turned everything grim. but hey, we're here now, and things are much sweeter. for now.
Chapter 75: Seeing the Sky, Prodding the Mouth
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Qrow had let himself drink a single drop of the sap, just to kickstart the healing of his chest wound, but he'd refused anything else, so it was up to Blake to follow Weiss’ footsteps. She had to tediously saw at the vines with her small knives, making little headway since she'd left.
Her mouth still hurt where Weiss had stabbed up into her palate, and even if her Aura had sealed it, she licked it constantly. Angrily. Fucking Qrow, that dimwitted addlepate. How much fucking sap had he given her? A human her size, especially one with no experience, would barely be able to take a single drop, and she must've gotten a spoonful, at least.
She couldn't be angry at Weiss. Well, she shouldn't, but she was planning on greeting her with a punch to the face. Sure, it hadn't really been her fault— if anything it was Qrow's fault— but she stabbed Blake in the mouth, then she nearly carved the drunkard’s heart out of his damn chest.
In Blake’s opinion, she was appropriately miffed; she'd been left to deal with the absolute moaning baby that was the injured Qrow, on top of everything else. He limped forward on his walking stick with a pained stare, his stressed features marking fresh lines over his face and pulling more hairs from his bald spot.
“A little further left,” Qrow told her.
Blake rolled her eyes and sawed a little further left, her wrist and forearm aching as she forced her small blade through the umpteenth fucking vine in the Forever Fall. They were lucky the place was always damp, because Weiss’ steps were much easier to track than the path she cut through the vines, which just grew back after a few hours.
“You, uh… smell anything magical?” Blake asked awkwardly, unsure of how to phrase that question.
Qrow shook his head. “No— well, yes, but everything here smells magical, overpoweringly so. Perhaps it's because this realm is unfamiliar.”
Blake made a noise, something between a reluctant whine and an exasperated groan. “Eeeh, that's debatable. It's probably the dust circulating through everything.”
“Everything?”
“More or less.”
Qrow, apparently feeling conversational, made little noises of pain as he walked a little closer to her. “And why is that?”
“Why’s what?”
“Why does everything have dust?”
Blake looked at him oddly, then at the sky, then back at him. “Have you been here before?”
Qrow's expression sombered. “No,” he lied.
Blake tutted, but didn't call him on it. She looked skyward, seeking a hole through the thick red canopy. “Look there,” she told him, pointing to one such gap in the foliage. “What do you see?”
Qrow squinted at the gap, to the shimmering sky beyond. “It… sparkles?”
Blake smirked and shook her head. “Huntsman, do you know how old I am?”
Qrow raised both eyebrows and recoiled at the sudden, sourceless question. “Uh, no? This is the most I've spoken with you.”
A quiet chuckle rose from Blake. “Fair enough. I'm sure you've guessed there aren't really days here, so the best approximation would be…”
Qrow watched her brow furrow, expression pinching tight, fingers tapping her chin.
“I think… thirty-five, forty years? Somewhere in that range.”
Qrow choked on air. “Y-you're—”
Blake turned one amber eye upon him, dagger tight against her palm. “Call me old. I dare you.”
Qrow's sickly pale skin turned an embarrassed scarlet, his hands flying to wave apologetically. “N-no, I mean— you look so young—”
“For my age?”
“I never said that!”
Blake cackled, waving off her false offense. “Anyways, I've lived about…” she counted on her fingers, “about fifteen years on Remnant. And in all that time, you know what I've never seen?”
“What?"
“A telescope.”
Qrow blinked. “A what?”
Blake laughed haughtily, punctuating it with a grunt as she worked her dagger through vines. “A telescope. Tele-scope. It’s a device that can see deeply into the night sky.”
Qrow raised a curious eyebrow, not that she could see it with her back turned. “Not much to see here.”
“That’s what you think, human.”
“That is what I think, fay.”
“Don’t sass me.”
“Don’t be so vague.”
Blake rolled her eyes. “It’s not always like this, you know.”
Qrow reeled. “Huh? Wh— how would the sky change?”
“So says the one whose sky changes.”
“That’s—” the Huntsman groaned. “That’s night and day, Blake.”
“Which don’t exist here. Our sky changes differently.”
“Dammit, Blake, just spit it out!”
“There’s a giant fish in the sky that sucks the energy from our realm.”
Qrow coughed. “Giant fi—”
Blake ignored him completely. “Sometimes it moves, making visible the stars beyond. Before the war, we used those moments to view the heavens. We captured them in paintings. We decorated the ceilings with them. We made maps of the stars with only scant glimpses. What could only be seen for seconds, maybe minutes, rarely an hour, we studied for centuries.”
“Wait, there’s a giant fish—”
“We built cities around great telescopes!” Blake announced, throwing her hands to the holy heavens. “Libraries filled with archives of their being! Thousands of lives devoted to their viewing! Roads and baths, glass rotundas, temples— temples! A godless race finding faith within the beauty of the heavens, which they can only see as briefly as a prayer!”
“You can’t just say there’s a—”
“Then you came and burned it all,” Blake finished dryly. “Thanks for that.”
Qrow waited.
Blake waited.
Qrow waited.
Blake waited.
Qrow wai— “You’re telling me there’s a giant fish—”
“In the sky, yes!”
“Okay, sit here.”
Weiss obliged the command of her paramour, though she gave the smith a quizzical look. “Why?”
Ruby leaned down, close to her face— close enough for Weiss to blush and avert her gaze. Ruby didn't seem affected though, that or she was too focused to notice they were inches from kissing. In a strange home, with a strange family, and Yang watching.
“Open your mouth.”
“What!” Weiss and Yang both shouted, blushing simultaneously as Ruby jumped at their volume.
The smith realized what she was saying and reddened with the others, but she wouldn’t be deterred. “This is important!” she whined. “Just do it, Weiss. For me.”
Her first peaceful moments back with Ruby, and the girl was making her do this. Oh well, she’d debased herself worse chasing the whims of her heart. Begrudgingly, she parted her lips.
Ruby’s mouth pressed into a thin, frustrated line. “Wider.”
Weiss’ eyes flicked over to Yang. Her eyes were wide. She was red with mortification, but made no attempt to voice it, leaving the duelist to the wolves— or the smith, in this case, who was staring expectantly. Weiss averted her eyes and obliged.
Ruby leaned closer, her head bobbing around as she tried to catch a good angle in the inferior interior light. When it was clear this wasn’t enough, she started prying the girl’s cheek out of the way with her fingers. Yang coughed. Weiss yelped, almost guillotining Ruby’s fingers from the shock, but the smith remained steadfast, even as all three of them started to glow crimson.
While Yang and Weiss’ blushes intensified, Ruby’s dulled under macabre curiosity. To the others’ shock and terror, the smith started poking around in Weiss’ mouth with another finger. Weiss made a noise in protest, but before she could form that sound into real words, Ruby’s finger nudged… something. Something sore, something which Weiss hadn’t noticed among the searing pain over her left eye. Worse, when Ruby touched it, it felt… good?
On the other hand, Ruby was worried. Where once had been a full set of whites— likely bleached and only a little offset— now there menaced four pairs of vicious fangs, forcing out Weiss’ canines and incisors as long, sharp replacements had shoved their way to the surface. They barged through her gums, making way for themselves by forcing her other teeth aside, causing the rest of her teeth to cram together and overlap slightly.
“Weiss,” Ruby started, still staring at the wolfish replacements, “This might be very bad, but I’m going to say something you probably won’t like.”
Weiss made a worried sound; it was an accurate summation of her feelings, so she didn't bother closing her mouth for real words.
“I think you may have been bitten by a werewolf.”
Weiss jolted, making her teeth bump into Ruby's finger. Her gums ached with an extremely strange kind of soreness. The feeling made her reel, allowing her to finally shut her mouth and speak. “W-what in Ozma's name are you doing!”
Ruby seemed to break from her stoic spell and realized that she had just been caught sticking her fingers in Weiss’ mouth— in front of her sister, as well. Finally, she was the one going red. “Y-your teeth! Fangs! They weren't—”
Weiss’ hands flew to her mouth and covered it, muffling her voice as she and Yang simultaneously repeated, “Fangs?”
The brawler ran to them, making Weiss shy away even more. “Fangs?” Yang parroted once more, questioning her sister this time. “That's— that's not— werewolves aren't even real!”
Ruby whirled on Yang, her face oddly heartbroken. “They're not?”
Weiss, desperate to continue any line of conversation that left her mental state unquestioned and mouth unviolated, answered for the brawler. “That's debatable; lycanid diseases have been recorded, but that was before the Great War, so most accounts are… apocryphal at best.”
Ruby squinted. “Apoc… huh?”
“They don't have much evidence,” Weiss supplied.
“But why do you have fangs!” Yang asked, forcing Ruby aside as she too attempted to stare at Weiss’ teeth. Unfortunately for her, she’d had enough of being prodded, and pushed the brawler away with an annoyed huff.
“I probably shifted!” Weiss answered.
Yang’s mouth hinged wide in shock. Ruby, extremely confused, asked, “Shifted?”
“You shifted?” Yang’s volume overpowered her sister’s. “You lucky— how! Why?”
Weiss raised one brow. Now that she knew what it was, she couldn’t stop noticing the pinching feeling in her gums, as if they were overly full. She averted her gaze away from her paramour, overpowered by shame. “I may have… imbibed on something I shouldn’t have during my fight with Valerius. I didn’t have a choice at the time.”
“That clarifies nothing,” Yang responded.
“Valerius?” probed Ruby. “Who’s that?”
“This realm is full of dust, which is inherently magical,” Weiss supplied for the two. “I needed to sustain my Aura since that fay was going to kill me, so I ate a substance teeming with the stuff— purely out of desperation. You know what happens when your Aura becomes too powerful?”
That last question was directed to Yang, leaving Ruby to try and grapple with whatever her paramour was spouting. “Wow,” Yang enviously breathed, “You seriously shifted?”
“What’s shifting!” Ruby cried, tired of being left out.
Weiss lifted her chin imperiously, perfectly happy to lord her wealth of knowledge over these clods. “Well, my gleaming Ruby,” Yang’s eye twitched at that, but Weiss continued, unbothered, “Your Aura is a manifestation of your soul, something which represents its strength and individuality. You understand that, right?”
Ruby didn’t, at least not the actual explanation of her Aura, since it was just a regular part of her life. But now she did, and got to learn the word ‘manifestation’ on top of that. “I do now.”
“That’s what heals you,” Weiss gestured to her own face, specifically the still-burning scar up the left side of her face. “Without it, this would be considerably worse.”
Ruby nodded, then suddenly made a face of confusion. “Wait, you just got that, didn’t you? How did you heal so quickly?”
Weiss shrugged. “Human Auras are stronger than fay.”
Ruby blinked. “Oh, uh…”
“You’re half-fay, so yours works slower than ours.”
The curiosity on Ruby’s face darkened. That’s why it had taken so long to heal. “Oh. Y-yeah, I knew that.”
Weiss patted the smith’s shoulder, trying her best to comfort whatever was clearly wrong.
But, before Weiss could impart any platitudes, Ruby drew the conversation away from herself. “What does that have to do with… whatever you were saying?”
Weiss drew her hand back and sighed. “Well, if your Aura can spur changes in your body— such as healing— and your soul is a manifestation of your being, what could happen if there was too much?”
Ruby’s features scrunched tightly in thought. Yang remained silent, though she was growing moderately jealous of how effectively Weiss was convincing her sister to learn. “If there was too much…” Ruby looked around in thought before her eyes locked onto the duelist’s mouth, picturing the fangs within. “It could change you?”
Weiss nodded, giving the girl a proud smile before the ensuing stares reminded her of her new fangs, which she sheepishly hid. “That is correct, Ruby. You’re quite quick.”
Ruby beamed, blushing at the compliment.
Weiss continued her explanation. “So, if something I did could empower my Aura, it could cause changes in my body, whether I like it or not.”
Yang and Ruby both made an ‘oooh’ sound, but Ruby recovered from her revelation the fastest. “Wait, so why teeth?”
The pleasant grin on Weiss’ face immediately died, replaced by pure dread. “That… doesn’t matter, right now. We should speak to that fay.”
“Doesn’t matter?” Yang loudly interjected. “You have fangs! That matters!”
Weiss stood from her chair and turned, keeping the surely-visible maelstrom of emotions hidden from her friends. “Come. Let’s see what Valerius has to say.”
“Is that the fay? You know him?” Ruby asked.
Weiss shook her head. “Aulus does.”
Weiss tried to walk away, but Ruby grabbed her sleeve. “Who’s Aulus?”
“My sword.”
“The curse has a name?” that came from Yang, though Ruby was clearly going to ask the same thing.
“He is not a curse.” Weiss snapped defensively. “There’s a soul trapped in the sword, a fay one named Aulus. Somehow, he knows the one who tried to kill me.”
In her head, Aulus grumbled. ‘That doesn’t mean I want to talk about it.’
“You will,” Weiss hissed towards him— they’d propped him up in a corner.
Ruby was suddenly in her face, her eyes gleaming with intense interest. “What’d he say? What does he do? How did he get like this?”
Weiss gave the girl a fond look, but pushed her away. “Not important right now. We have a fay to question.”
Notes:
sorry for late upload, had a minor personal issue that is now resolved. thanks for reading :)
Chapter 76: Aggressive Negotiations
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The fay groaned, his head tipping back as he slowly awoke. Any other weak movements were restrained by ropes, binding him to the chair in the living room that Ruby and her group had appropriated. His wine-colored hair was crusted with dried blood in various places, and his facial features had barely reassembled themselves, leaving him rather…
Yang shivered. “Eugh… he's so…”
Ruby spared her sister a sideways glance, feeling a sudden bitterness rise in her chest that she couldn't stop. “Patchwork?”
Yang nodded, unaware. “Yeah. Like that.”
The fay groaned again.
“Do we have to worry about him?” Yang asked. “Can't he just gate away?”
Weiss shook her head. “It's not quite that simple. Binders are, rather eponymously, bound. Most have their gating restricted, usually by their master’s command.”
“You know firsthand?” Poked Yang.
Weiss curled her lip with intense displeasure. Thankfully, Ruby's elbow came to her defense, namely through a well-placed jab between Yang's ribs. “Be nice,” Ruby teased, “she could be your future sister.”
Whatever Yang had been preparing to say was rammed down her chest, eliciting a strange, half-swallow, half-choke kind of sound. Something close to hyeuck.
Ruby paired that statement with a firm arm around Weiss’ waist, who nearly perished on the spot. She took a sharp inhale and held it, as if holding her breath would keep her from turning any more red. It certainly didn't.
That was the sight which greeted Valerius’ slowly opening eyes. “Whaghuh… fughk…”
The three broke from their reverie, with Yang taking the lead. “Who are you! Why did you hurt my friend! Where are you from! Who's your master!” she shouted all at once, her hands rising in threat.
Weiss winced. “No, er, not like that—”
“Yeah,” Ruby concurred, “like this instead!”
Ruby lunged forward, gripped the front of Valerius’ dented chestplate, and furiously shook him while screaming, “WHO ARE YOU! WHY DID YOU HURT MY PARAMOUR! WHERE ARE YOU FROM! WHO’S YOUR MASTER!”
The fay’s eyes rolled in his head, dazed. Weiss peeled her precious idiot from Valerius, who gave her a grateful grumble. “You,” she started, “fay. Valerius.”
He gave a wet cough in response.
Yang leaned in. “Er, Weiss? Are we going to be able to get anything out of him?”
Weiss looked over. “What? Why?”
Yang pointed to Valerius’ mangled face; he leaned away from the outstretched finger, head lolling. “You may have new teeth, but I don’t think he has any.”
Weiss sneered, hiding her guilt beneath steel. Out of the corner of her eye, Ruby shifted on her feet. Being the only one who had actually seen Weiss’ assault on the fay, her discomfort was understandable, but now wasn’t the time to be uncomfortable. “Valerius,” Weiss hissed, pushing the Huntress back, “who are you?”
The fay gurgled for a second, hacked another purple cough, then spoke with a ragged voice. “You… you’re…” he gazed up at Weiss with awe, “Incredible.”
Weiss scowled. “Thanks,” she sarcastically mumbled. “Now tell me, who are you?”
Valerius let his head tip back, took a shaking breath, then released it heavily. “You already know my name, what else—” something made him wince, “what else is there to know?”
Weiss extended a hand behind her, where she knew Ruby was. The smith knew what that meant, and followed the silent request by taking up Weiss' fay sword— Aulus — by the blade, conscious of what discomfort would come if she touched its handle.
‘I could still do it like this,’ Aulus mumbled into Ruby’s skull, still muffled. ‘But I won’t, because I like you. You seem… funny.’
Ruby hid her smile at the compliment, keeping her tough face for Weiss’ interrogation, but still whispered a small ‘thank you’ to the sword before passing it to its rightful wielder.
“Thank you, love,” Weiss said with a shockingly genuine smile— the shocking part being that the fangs weren’t particularly unsettling. Hearing Weiss call her ‘love’ made Ruby smile like a fool, but sparked mild indignance the moment she thought about it.
“Hey!” Ruby blurted, her ability to remain stoic melted by Weiss’ gentleness. “I thought I couldn’t call you that!”
Weiss had turned halfway back towards Valerius, but turned so slowly back to Ruby that it made the smith want to shove her words back in her throat. Valerius also stared at the girl. Yang did, too.
“You’ve made no mistake,” Weiss stated, her voice veiled and airy. “That is what I said.”
“But— but that’s not fair!”
Weiss gave her a chuckle. “I’m the princess here, I get to make the rules.”
“Prin… cess?” Valerius mumbled, though he went ignored.
“You are not a princess,” Yang claimed.
“Wait, you're not…” Ruby's musing was cut short beneath a crawling, devilish smirk. “Oh, ohoho,” she started chuckling like an idiot, “ohohoho hohoho…”
Weiss watched the smith turn, a little giddy nervousness tickling her gut as Ruby backed away.
Aulus picked that moment to reintroduce his voice into Weiss’ mind. ‘Oh, I think I see why you like her. That's going to be hilarious. ’
Weiss glared at the sword. He did not just say—
‘No, no! Stars, no,’ his shiver reverberated through the handle. ‘I'm married. And you two are rather sweet together. Reminds me of myself, actually.’
The sentiment was nice, but Weiss couldn’t overlook the bitter undertone in his voice. Regardless, she had work to do.
Weiss slammed Aulus into the fay's chair, nearly stabbing through his thigh in the process. She watched his reaction closely, trying to find any sudden emotion among his beaten features, but Valerius just stared, confused. That was, quite frankly, not far from what Weiss had expected.
‘Valerius,’ Aulus spat, as if he could seethe at the man in person. ‘How I've longed to see you laid low.’
Pride curled the corner of Weiss’ lips. She knew what the answer would be, but she asked anyway, “Have you seen this sword before?”
Valerius shook his head, wincing with every movement.
Weiss pressed the sword closer to the fay, threatening. “You will tell me.”
Valerius held his chin high in defiance. “Nothing to tell.”
Weiss watched his face closely. “Well, if you don't recognize the sword, perhaps you'll recognize the name: Aulus Casta.”
The fay’s reaction was visceral. His head fell instantly, his face scrunching up in both pain and working recognition. He even squirmed in his chair a little.
Weiss smirked. “I suppose that's a yes, then.”
“Why does it matter!” Valerius shot in return, his voice tight and frustrated. “You wouldn't understand anything I did tell you.”
“Tell me anyways,” the duelist commanded.
“No,” Valerius hissed.
“We could convince you,” Yang added, cracking her knuckles with a flurry of sparks.
“Yeah!” Ruby chimed, jumping beside her sister as she mimicked the threat. Valerius’ eyes only briefly glazed over them before returning… to them. Weiss turned, following his gaze. He was staring at Ruby like he'd seen a ghost.
His lips formed words that took a long time to pass with actual sound, rather than pained, disbelieving breaths. Even when Weiss positioned her sword dangerously, Valerius didn't dare move his eyes. “M-my… Roseus?”
The word was unfamiliar. Aulus didn't translate.
“Roseus?” The fay whispered again. “You're… no, you…”
Weiss watched his eyes flick to Ruby's ears, and all his shock melted under… other things. Relief, discomfort, disappointment, anger, grief. That name made Aulus go blank.
“No, you're…” Valerius sat up a little, reclaiming a couple inches of his smug pride. “You're medius, aren't you?”
Weiss turned to her paramour, then stepped aside. The girl clearly wanted to step up and speak, and she had no reason to stop her. “How can you tell?” Ruby quietly asked.
The fay scoffed. He tried to move his arms, but Yang had bound them suspiciously well. “Your ears, you brainless pygmy. And that thing, with the red and the speed— that's your Animus, yes? Your ‘Semblance?’”
“Hey!” Weiss exclaimed, jumping in front of her love. “Only I can— hey!”
Ruby mashed a palm into the girl's cheek, pushing her away. Sweet as it was, she didn't need the help; Pyrrha had said worse, done worse, and yet Ruby remained. And that name… Rose-ay-us. Like Rose, but… not. It called to her, made her eyes tingle. “Yes,” she answered, her eyes wide and searching. She sounded desperate.
Weiss looked at her, worried. When she gave Ruby's sleeve a light tug, it was ignored.
Valerius leaned forward and stared into Ruby's eyes, breathing heavily from his wounds. Weiss and Yang bristled defensively, but the object of their defense remained unbothered. “Everything else…” the fay's eyes scanned up and down her face, “perfectly similar,” he locked into her gaze, “except the eyes.”
Ruby reeled immediately, as if she hadn't expected any kind of response, let alone that one. “W-what? We… we're both silver.”
Valerius stared in disbelief. “Forsake your name, forsake your gens, forsake your people, forsake your eyes?” He let out a hissing breath. “Pah… she would, that bitch.”
“For… sake?”
“What's your mother's name?”
“Summer Rose,” Ruby answered immediately. Weiss and Yang both looked over, a little worried about how quickly she was divulging information.
Valerius’ face wrinkled with disgust, but he let out one humorless puff. “Summer? Ugh, bit on-the-nose, isn't it? Not as bad as Rose, though…”
Weiss stared down at her sword. Aulus was shivering, but he was actively masking her ability to read him. Why was he doing that? He'd never hid himself before— why did that name scare him?
‘Protect that girl,’ Aulus commanded, voice hard. ‘She deserves this blissful ignorance.’
That told her nothing. Who was Roseus?
‘You… really don't know? I thought you were well-read.’
She wouldn't be asking if she knew.
‘If Val doesn't tell you, I won't. It's better you don't know, for her sake.’
“What do you know,” Ruby demanded, her voice a collected, threatening hiss that Weiss hadn't heard before. “Tell me about my mom.”
Valerius gave her a cruel grin, one missing even more teeth than Ruby’s smile. He leaned towards her. “Your mother… was a monster.”
Ruby gasped. “N-no, she—”
“She disgusted me,” Valerius seethed, still giving her that purple-stained rictus. “I should've killed her sooner.”
Ruby moved to strike him without a moment's hesitation, her fist rearing for a heavy blow, but Yang caught it just short of the fay’s skull. Weiss had moved to stop her as well, but she wasn't as fast as the Huntress.
“Ruby, don't,” Yang snapped. Ruby turned to her sister, her chest boiling with rage.
“Why not!” Ruby bit back, whirling on her sister.
Yang's eyes were a churning, pulsing, murderous red. Sparks drifted uncontrollably from her knuckles, smoke trailed from her fingertips and seeped from her lips. She was an eidolon of righteous conflagration, The Watcher’s burning gaze incarnate, but still she withheld her fury. Heat climbed from her skin and made waves in the air. Her golden hair danced like her own infernal flames.
“Because you'll kill him,” Yang hissed, her voice buckling under intense restraint. Ruby could see a flickering orange glow in the Huntress’ throat.
Yang's rage was spectacular, but no more real than Ruby’s. She pulled against her sister's strength, resisting, but lacked the equivalent power. Yang pushed her back, away from the half-dead fay. “Good!” Ruby growled, wrestling with Yang's arms— she was actually making some headway. “I'll do it, mom deserves it!”
Ruby broke past, but Yang quickly hooked an arm around her waist. She swept one leg out, knocking Ruby's feet from under her while she pushed the smith down. Ruby struck the ground with a brief oof, but the sound vanished beneath a snap of rose petals.
Yang immediately turned, expecting her sister's usual strategy of appearing behind the enemy, but Ruby wasn't there. She wasn't in front, either. She was in front of Valerius, his own longsword in her hands, point driving towards his throat. Yang lunged, reaching for her cloak. She'd be too slow.
Weiss wouldn't, not this time.
The tip struck Valerius’ throat. Thankfully, with a ball of blood-ice over the point, it just glanced off.
Yang finally got in range of her sister, only to find her feet slipping beneath her. She fell completely, her head striking the wood floor with a solid clunk, and yelled, “Weiss, what're you doing! I'm stop—”
Weiss froze Yang’s lips together— she was starting to understand why her father did it so much— and spoke loudly. “Enough!” Weiss shouted, slightly woozy from blood loss as she approached Ruby. The smith was still stunned, her mouth ajar at the murder she'd almost committed. The blood-ice melted from her blade, dripping over Valerius’ plate in a grim portent of what she'd been saved from committing.
Weiss appeared in her vision, dainty pale fingers gently pinching her stolen longsword, pulling it aside, making room for herself in front of Ruby. She slowly encircled the smith in her arms, but when the girl was caught in her trap, she squeezed tight. Just like Winter used to.
“My sister used to do this,” she whispered into Ruby's ear. “She would never let me feel bad for too long.”
Ruby slowly let her fingers open from the sword. It clattered to the floor.
“She left to escape my father,” Weiss added, “Which I… understand. But it still hurts, not seeing her anymore. I hate the distance.”
Ruby weakly laid her arms around Weiss’ hips.
“Go talk to Yang. Outside. She's your sister, Ruby, she's the only one who can understand how you feel.”
Weiss backed up to arm’s length, one hand cupping the smith's cheek. Ruby matched her gaze with glassy eyes.
“Go on,” Weiss cooed, granting Ruby a quick peck on the cheek. “Go talk with Yang. I'll be here.”
Ruby wanted to object, but she really couldn't. She had seen Weiss disfigure this poor fay, so she knew he wasn't much of a threat anymore. The only threat in the room was her, really.
Weiss dismissively waved towards Yang, unfreezing her mouth. The Huntress had cooled significantly.
“Ruby—” Yang started.
“Yang—” Ruby started.
Weiss snapped her fingers, getting their attention before they could do any more bumbling. “Outside. Go.”
Notes:
for anyone who's not afraid of getting super spoiled, i have teaser snippets and a link to the current unedited docs of Summer's backstory on my tumblr @swagmagussupreme . theyre not final-final, but they're pretty damn close, and it's currently written in 5 parts totaling like 50k words. its so much idek if its gonna be posted on here, and if i didnt post it as a sidefic itd basically be a whole arc on its own, but GOD i love them. also if you're gonna look for the snippets and you read twilight concerto, PLEASE search tags for summer lol, id hate for someone to get TC spoiled with no warning
but for anyone who doesnt wanna get spoiled..... omg whos rosessus??? gwah mayb ruby''s mom????? oh manohman golly gee i hope shesn ot like bad orantyhing ahahha. also man ruby and weiss are so sweet, im trying to think of more pet names between the two of them
love yall, thanks for reading :))
Chapter 77: What do you Want?
Chapter Text
Weiss waited for Yang and Ruby to close the door behind them before she turned back to Valerius. She stared at the fay. He stared back, grinning defiantly. Even with his broken features, he seemed to be growing more confident with each breath.
“Who is your master?” Weiss asked, level and calm.
Valerius rolled his eyes. “Why do you want to know? So you can kill the best hope this realm has for some unity?”
“I want to know because they sent you to kill me,” she upturned her nose and huffed haughtily. “Quite rude if you ask me.”
Valerius scoffed. “It’s quite rude to rely on others to win your battles for you.”
Weiss gave him an odd, quizzical look. “I believe I would have killed you if she hadn't stopped me, not the other way around.”
“I've beaten worse.”
“Says the one who was being beaten— quite savagely, might I add.”
She did not add that it was a bold-faced presumption— she couldn’t really recall turning his face into a purple mush, but the stains on her knuckles gave her a line of rationale that was easy to construct.
Valerius scowled. “Might you not? I was there.”
Weiss pinched her chin in smug mock-thought. “That's interesting, because I remember very little. You're quite a bore.”
Valerius wasn't particularly affected by the minor slight, and remained annoyingly silent.
“Your master,” Weiss pressed, honing her voice to a fine edge as her eyes drifted to the pouch at his hip. “Or I’ll down one of those vials; I'd love to see how many different shapes I can break you into.”
The fay stared dubiously, but Weiss’ glare remained strong. It wasn't a lie to say that she desperately wanted another helping of sap, and knowing Valerius had them was torture to the highest degree— she wouldn't let Ruby see that again, but the fay didn’t have to know that; the desire was real, so she’d draw whatever intimidation she could from that fact.
Valerius turned his gaze, cowed, his lips curling into a snarl. “Taurus.”
Weiss reeled— that was a name she hadn’t heard in a while. “Taurus?” she loudly repeated. “That's not possible.”
The fay smirked. “Adrian has done more for us than the last millenium’s worth of imperators. He is the herald of a new order, by his hands we will cast off the human’s yoke and see The Shimmer returned as a place with no humanity.”
“Except for him,” Weiss pointed out.
Valerius raised his chin, his bloodshot eyes staring condescendingly at her. “No, dickhead,” he mumbled. “He's medius.”
“Medius?” Weiss replied incredulously. “A half-fay heading the household? Surely he's working for a patron or—”
The fay interrupted her with a scoff. “There are no patrons. It is only Adrian.”
“And Adrian—”
Valerius bobbed his head as he recounted. “Sent me to meet with House Schnee, to rightfully oppose your toll increase. Only the Taurus has the right to this land.”
Weiss opened her mouth, something along the lines of ‘his Highness is the only one who can mete out these lands’ brewing behind her lips, but Valerius kept speaking.
“And I must admit,” Valerius sighed. “I see now the error of my ways; attacking you was a mistake. You are clearly not the Schnee sacrifice.”
Weiss almost shared his sigh, but Valerius cut her off before they could share any modicum of relief.
“It was your champion, Roseus’ muddled daughter,” the fay suddenly spat, making Weiss flinch. “Of course I was fated to meet that cunt's progeny— the stars are as capricious as they are implacable, and I’m no astrologer.”
“Who is Roseus?” Weiss found herself asking, even though Aulus violently shook disapproval through his handle.
‘Do not, Weiss! You are better off not knowing, keeping that secret will tear you apart!’
Valerius snorted. “Read for yourself, Schneeling. I'm sure you humans didn't burn every book, maybe you'll find something here before you get bored and gate home.”
Weiss scowled down at him. “Tell me.”
Valerius spat a purple glob onto her face.
Weiss’ features pulled into gaping horror, her mouth parting wide as a high-pitched wail airily shrieked from her throat. “Oh my gods, what is wrong with you!” Weiss tried desperately to wipe it away, but the mixture on her face was thick with mucus and blood, so she only succeeded in smearing further down her cheek. “Why would you do that! That's repulsive!”
Valerius snickered.
Yang watched her sister nervously pace outside the fay house, her forge-calloused hands alternating between twiddling in the front, then twiddling in the back. Front twiddle, back twiddle, her anxious fingers gradually entangling the threads of worry into a growing knot.
“Ruby…”
“What!” Ruby suddenly snapped, immediately ceasing her nervous gestures as her hands fisted down to her sides.
Yang innocently raised her open hands. “Look, I know it’s—”
“I thought it was Grimm!” Ruby screamed, her fingers shooting up to grab tight fistfuls of her own hair. “You all told me it was Grimm!”
“I thought it was Grimm!” Yang responded, throwing up her arms. “I'm angry too, okay! We're…” she looked away, her voice bitter. “In the same boat.”
Ruby turned away, twiddled her fingers some more, then whirled around on her sister, her features creased with anger. “We're not!” she shouted again, voice faltering with uncertainty. “I-I mean, we're… it’s like we're in the same boat, but… but…”
Yang perked up, leaning towards her sister. “But?”
“But I'm…” Ruby fumbled with her hands, searching for a way to complete the analogy. “The captain, an-and I don't know where to go— I don't know anything— but… but my… my s-ship-friends all… they all know more than me, and— and shouldn't… shouldn't they be the captains?”
Yang gawked at her sister, stunned by the sudden outburst of insecurity she didn’t know the girl had been holding.
“And I got all of us into this… mess,” Ruby spat that word, as if it were poison on her tongue. “Blake, and then you, and now… Weiss. But I…” she grunted and writhed with frustration. “Yang, I can't even read! I still don't know anything about magic, or all these ‘realms’, or Aura, or Semblance— Animus, whatever!”
She let out a frustrated shout, one that looked like it should be relieving, but the uncertainty across Ruby’s features only doubled. Yang watched silently, unwilling to interrupt.
“And now, I— mom is… hearing him say that— that she's evil or a monster— it's… it's almost…” Ruby shook her head, as if what she was about to say shouldn’t come out, but she let it go with a cautious, guilty look at her sister. “Relieving?”
Yang immediately opened her mouth, but Ruby preempted her.
“No, not like that!” Ruby hurriedly assuaged, quick to cool the Huntress’ flare in temper. “It's just… I just… we…” she looked away, shame reddening her cheeks. Her words were slow, quiet, and weak. “Haven't you been… mad, at mom? For leaving? For… dying?”
Yang started a refusal, but those questions put a lance in her heart the moment she processed them. They didn't hit the same spot as they did in Ruby, at least not in the way she intended, but they hit something even deeper in Yang.
Yang loved Summer. The woman was a mother at heart— even if it was clear Yang was her first child— despite the fact Yang wasn't even hers. Summer had more years mothering Yang, but by the time Ruby was born, she'd grown some maternal instincts that she didn't have with her bastard daughter. It was natural, especially with Ruby being her real child, for Summer to spend more time with her. Yang understood that.
But that wasn't what had Yang emotionally frozen. She wasn't particularly bitter with Ruby being favored by the superior mom; by the time Yang was old enough to notice the favoritism, she had already started her Huntress training. She was done being doted on by then.
No, what had Yang gripped was the way her mind went straight to her real mother: Raven. She always said she wasn't angry, she always said she understood the abandonment, and she did. She did. She was the only one who could understand it; not even Tai had found it in his heart to forgive that woman, but Yang could. Yang knew what the Huntress life was like— she knew the freedoms it entailed, she knew that desire not to be shackled.
But now, hearing Ruby talk about Summer, she sounded just like the thoughts Yang had been squashing for years.
“I… I've been… angry at mom,” Ruby continued, her tiny voice forcing Yang to come closer. “But that was selfish. I was mad because she died, and that's not really… her fault?”
Yang could see her sister's line of thought, predict its every turn, because she'd thought the same thing before. Whenever someone told her Raven was bad, or a poor mother, or whenever Tai got overly drunk and cried when he thought he was alone, Yang thought those things. She pushed them away, trying to understand, trying to relate— trying because in the darkest, deepest, most scorched part of her soul, Raven was her hero.
And if Yang couldn't understand her hero, how could she ever become her?
Ruby continued, her voice a whisper over the crashing avalanche of embattled thoughts in Yang’s head. “And now I… I know that it's not true— that he was just trying to rattle me— but part of me… hopes that it is, that mom can be bad, so… so…”
Ruby trailed off, her silver gaze piercing every speck of dirt beneath her feet. Yang's lips moved, spilling words straight from her heart, too true to be filtered through her mind. “So you can hate her.”
Ruby winced, but remained silent.
“Ruby, what you feel about mom, it's…” Yang wasn't sure what the right thing to say would be. She should've spent more time at home, she realized, more time bonding with Ruby, understanding her sister, and less time living her dream life. It was a dream her sister couldn't share, but Yang had indulged in it. Sometimes she spent months away from home while Ruby waited and waited, forging, working, toiling, and wishing she could be at her sister's side.
And now that same girl was… well, she wasn't the same anymore. Yang could see that plainly. The small plumpness of home-life was gone, both from her face and her body, burned away by constant and excessive use of her Aura, combined with days of battle, then torture, then escape. No hint of comfort remained— if anything, she looked a little gaunt under her forge-wrought muscles— and the intense scarring on her face only made that more clear. Come to think of it, she was certainly more scarred than Yang, even though… no. There wasn't any contradiction to it; Yang may have been a professional monster-killer, but the things Ruby had seen, done, survived…
She couldn't be overshadowed anymore. She wasn't the ‘and Ruby’, she was the ‘Ruby and’ to their group— at least, that was how Yang saw it. The path was Ruby’s alone, mired though it was, and it was their job to see her through it.
Perhaps Yang should've run home at some point, taking Ruby and leaving the chaos behind, but… that didn't feel right anymore. She didn't hold the reins of this journey, her sister did, but Yang still wasn't embittered. It felt… fulfilling, like she was watching Ruby transform in front of her eyes. It was the smith’s turn in the crucible, and who was Yang to take that from her? This was her moment. Everyone else was here to add their nugget to her life.
Tai had stoked her into action, Jaune showed her loyalty, Blake showed her friendship. Then came Yang, who showed her trust, then came Weiss, who showed her… well, it was a word Yang didn't like to use for anyone but Ruby, but it was something that’d been pricking her mind a lot lately. She didn't want to think about that. Not right now.
And while Ruby’s friends played their parts, her enemies did the same. The tournament showed her pain and fear, but Ruby cast them off her mind. Jacques showed her death and despair, but Ruby lived. Pyrrha showed her strength untenable, endurance indefatigable, bloodlust unquenchable, and yet Ruby remained.
And yet Ruby remained…
Yang stared at her sister in awe, but the smith kept a keen watch over her own feet, still red with shame. No matter how Yang saw her, it was clear that Ruby didn't see the same. She just pictured herself as a patchwork blacksmith who couldn’t read.
“Ruby,” Yang restarted, putting a hand on her sister’s shoulder and drawing her attention. “I'm… sorry. I'm sorry for not—” Yang bit the words, unbidden, but she would make them come, for Ruby’s sake. “I’m sorry for being a bad sister.”
Ruby threw up her hands immediately, apologies and denials quick to her lips, but Yang slapped a hand over her mouth.
“No, Ruby, it's true. I'm sorry that I was out so much, back home. The time I spent…. gallivanting like my life was some fairy tale… I should've spent it with you.”
Yang removed her silencing palm and clasped both of her sister’s shoulders tight as she continued. “I should've trained you. I should've taken you to the Academy, away from dad, I should've helped you, but I—” Yang choked from a sudden sob, one which she gulped down with a hiss. “But I abandoned you. Just like my mom did to me, just like yours did to you.”
“She was your—”
Yang silenced her with a palm again, and Ruby was too slow to bat it away before Yang started talking. “Summer was your mom, Ruby. She was our mom, but she was your mother— and I'm not angry about that, I swear. She raised me, but she had you, and that's just natural. I'm okay with it, I still love her.”
Yang kept going, her grip pressing tight into Ruby’s shoulders as if she could shove all her confidence into the girl. “But that’s beside the point; Ruby, I was wrong. My life is… it's just this…” Yang scrunched her face up, searching for words to elucidate this jungle of feeling. “It's this… thing, like…”
Ruby watched her sister fume and back away just so she could gesticulate her frustration. “Like…?” Ruby intoned.
“Like you and Weiss!” Yang suddenly blurted, her face bright with enlightenment. When Ruby gave her the strangest look, Yang elaborated. “During the tournament, what would you have done if you won? If you got her?”
Ruby stiffened, freezing in thought for a long while before she eked out, “I… don't know?”
Yang jumped up and punched the air. “Yes! That! I. Don't. Know! That's what my life has been like, in all my time as a Huntress— I've just done it to do it, no thought of the future or any consequences in my mind!”
Ruby tilted her head, unsure of how this was going.
The Huntress splayed her hands towards her sister, smiling. “But this! This is something meaningful! Helping my sister on her quest, whatever that quest is! It feels like I’ve got purpose again!”
Yang took the still-confused Ruby in a half-hug, continuing. “That's what we’re all here for, Ruby. We’re here for you. This is your path, we’re just along for the ride— and to drag you off if need be.” She leaned in close towards Ruby, her eyes hard but encouraging. “You just need to figure out what you want.”
Ruby’s eyes grew scared. “But what about all of you—”
“Ruby, we are here for you!” Yang shouted, her volume practically slapping Ruby silent. “Don't worry about what we want, just find out what you want and we’ll do whatever else we can along the way!”
Yang stared into her eyes, demanding thought before speech. After a long moment of silent, forced contemplation, Yang finally nodded. Her arm lifted off Ruby's shoulders, and the smith breathed a deep sigh.
“I…” Ruby's eyes searched nervously, waiting for someone to come in and decide what she wanted before she could do it herself, but nobody did. “I want… I want…”
Yang watched her sister start to pace once more, her fingers thoughtfully pinched around her chin. Confidently, Yang turned back and leaned against a wall of the fay house, waiting.
It took a long time for Ruby to decide, long enough for Weiss to poke her purple-smeared face outside and check on them, but Ruby didn't notice her arrival until she spun towards them on a heel, her finger raised high.
“I want to find my sister’s paramour!”
Chapter 78: Silver Tongue
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“So… when did you come to the Shimmer?”
“I haven't.”
Blake wasn't an idiot, and Qrow was a bad liar. Even with his face hidden as he hacked at the vines, now marginally more healed, his voice was thick with smoky deceit. “Yeah…” Blake drawled, picking under her nails with a dagger. “I can hear you lying, just come out and tell. What, did ya kill somebody here? I've done that.”
Qrow’s scowl radiated around him fully. He didn't say anything.
“Oooh, fay lover?” Blake hypothesized, poking him in the back. “Forbidden love, how scandalous; like father like daughter, I suppose.”
The Huntsman sent a stupefied look to her. “What? I don't have any kids.”
Blake smirked. “Oh yeah? Not the girl who looks exactly like you, and almost nothing like her sister?”
Qrow fully turned, absorbing his bone-blade back into his forearm. “You… you mean Ruby?”
Blake proudly nodded, confident that she'd solved the puzzle.
Qrow sneered. “Uh, no. You're wrong, fay. I…” he shivered. “I wouldn't do that. Not with that woman.”
Blake wasn't convinced. “Then why does she look like you?”
“She doesn't. She looks like her mother,” Qrow turned back to the vines, his voice taking a bitter edge. “Like a damn portrait of her.”
“Except she's not fay,” Blake pointed out.
“That's how half-fay work, yes.”
“So was her mother medius, too? Or fully fay?”
Qrow went back to cutting vines, harsher than before. Pink vine-fluid sprayed over his front. “Full,” he answered gruffly.
Blake hummed. “Anyone famous?” she asked jokingly.
“No,” Qrow said, hitching his breath, bobbing his throat the way he does when he lies.
Blake stopped in place, unnoticed behind the lying Qrow. Ruby had a fay mother— a famous fay mother— and Blake was wracking her damn mind thinking up every named female fay over the scant history lessons her parents had shared over her younger years. She couldn't remember any silver-eyed gens, but her parents hadn't exactly been scholars. Even if she'd seen part of that historical fay on Pyrrha's face, there weren’t any names she could attach it to, and she'd never gotten the opportunity to see the famous busts in the capitol— it'd been razed before her birth.
And what famous fay would… wait, no, that was a stupid question. As someone who actively laid with a particular human, she had no leg to stand on. There were plenty of excessively pro-human factions before the civil war, seeing them as either fashionable oddities, suitable concubines, or actual people.
But Ruby the Red was of a famous fay dynasty. Of all people, Ruby the Red—
No, wait, that wasn't her name. Her last name… shit, she’d learned it so long ago and forgotten so quick.
“Qrow…”
He didn't turn, as if he could hear her thinking and didn't want to encourage it. He just kept hacking at the vines.
“What is Ruby's cognomen?”
He kept chopping away, pink vine-guts coating his bony blades.
“I can just ask when we reunite.”
Qrow’s swinging arm stopped, but only briefly before it continued cutting.
“Either you tell me and control how the information comes out, or I ask her and figure it all out myself— loudly.”
Qrow stiffened, half-turning towards her. His bone-blades remained, jutting parallel to his forearms and connected by scaffold of bone and sinew. He looked at Blake, opened his mouth, then shut it again. He returned to cutting the vines.
Blake was left standing dumbly, her bluff called, until she risked getting lost if she didn't follow.
Ruby received a small cube of ice directly to her forehead, making her triumphant pose falter as she whined at her paramour. “Weiss! That hurt!”
The girl in question stomped down towards Ruby. She leveled an accusatory finger at the girl's eye-level. “Good, the only person for whom you may use that word is me.”
Ruby went bright red, stammering apologies that flopped over each other fruitlessly. Yang watched with a mild look of amusement.
Much to her own chagrin, Weiss eventually gave in to Ruby's feverish, devoted apologies, and had to assure her it was okay before the smith threw herself prostrate upon the dirt.
“So, finding Blake?” said Yang.
“And uncle Qrow!” Ruby added.
Weiss huffed. “As much as I want us to be reunited—”
“You do?” Squealed Ruby, far too cheerfully.
“Of course I do,” Weiss admitted. “Your uncle is an actual Huntsman—”
“Hey!” Objected Yang.
Weiss ignored her. “And I don't know what to do with this Binder; Blake's the only one who would know how to free him.”
To Weiss’ surprise, Ruby didn’t acknowledge her acceptance of their fay companion. Instead, her features pinched tight, and she pushed her hair back with a stressed sigh. “You're seriously going through with that?” Ruby asked, in a tone much more exasperated than Weiss had expected.
Weiss crossed her arms defensively. “Of course I am! We struck an accord and I will abide by it!”
Ruby raised her hands. “Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean— I mean, are you sure it's a good idea right now? This is a bad situation, and having this fay with us only makes It worse.”
Yang spoke up with a scoff. “What, are you suggesting we kill him?”
The ashamed wince from Ruby was enough to bare her teeth, but she still shrugged in tentative affirmation. “I mean… we can’t really take him with us, can we?”
Yang looked away, but Weiss held her chin high and spoke with conviction. “Ruby, we are not killing him, not while I am sworn to his freedom,” when Ruby opened her mouth to ask, Weiss preempted her question. “I can encase him in ice while we search for Blake and your uncle. Yang could knock him out on top of that.”
“That doesn't sound so bad,” Yang said. “I mean, do we really want to kill this guy?”
Ruby looked away. “I… I guess not. Weiss, do you think you’ll be able to keep him frozen the whole time?”
Weiss nodded confidently.
“You don't need to concentrate on it or anything?”
Weiss shook her head. “Only if I plan on dispelling it immediately; the ice will stay if I just leave it.”
Ruby steepled her fingers against her lips and sighed. “Okay, so we’re just going to leave this guy— who almost ripped Weiss’s face in half— frozen in a block of ice in this kind and generous family’s house, without being able to tell them why we’re leaving him there, with their children?”
Yang winced, saying, “Well, when you put it like that…”
Weiss suddenly alighted as if struck by an idea. “I can tell them!”
“How?” the sisters asked simultaneously.
Weiss smirked. “Well, you saw my sword talking through me. He’s a fay, so we can tell them everything that’s happened!”
Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose. “And where do we get all that water from?”
Weiss didn’t immediately answer, but Yang did. “The barn!” she announced with a snap. “They’re one pig short after all, they can spare the water.”
Weiss stared at the Huntress, confused. “What… what do you mean by that?”
Yang opened her mouth to make a proud announcement, but Ruby took it first with a heaving sigh. “We exploded their pig.”
Notes:
WOW i am so sorry for that unexpected hiatus, i didn't expect it to happen either. Didn't even take a break lol, ive just had a hard time writing through this lately. it's not becoming a slog thankfully, i just caught myself between five projects at once: this, Twilight Conterto, and my original works Daemonivore, Silver & Bone, and Vitae. Having 5 separate things to write between certainly keeps my creative juices from being wasted, but man does it make it hard to stick to one thing. Especially Twilight Concerto, its next chapter is about 20 pages long (not impressive for most, I know) and it's a huge shift that's taken so much of my focus.
Anyways, super sorry again for letting yall down with my schedule, then following it up with a tiny-ass chapter. id love to promise my regular schedule will return, but i really can't do that until I get this TC chapter out, which should be soon. A million apologies, ill pour one out for the readers i lost in that time, but i wouldn't just drop this story without letting yall know. I've got chapters written ahead, my attention is just split. sorry again, love yall, thanks for sticking with me.
Chapter 79: Vinestuck
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blake did not like how full her brain was, and how little sawing at vines took away from that. She needed something else to draw her attention. Unfortunately, Qrow was the only option.
“So… what’s your story?” Blake asked over her shoulder.
Qrow laughed. “You’re that bored?”
No, she wasn’t bored at all. She was just going crazy trying to remember Ruby’s last name. “You could say that.”
“Oh, I see,” he said with another chuckle. “What, wracking your brain over my niece?”
“As if, we have the princess for that.”
A clump of dirt struck the back of Blake’s head, but she didn’t pay it any mind. Perfectly expected, honestly. Deserved, even. “Don’t talk about them like that,” he grumbled.
Blake stopped sawing and turned. “Oh, you don’t approve?”
“Get back to work,” Qrow commanded, pointing at the vines. “And don’t make assumptions.”
“So you’re actually glad your niece is with that Schnee tyrant?”
Another clump of dirt smack Blake, surprising her this time. “Don’t speak so ill of those you don’t know.”
Blake scoffed. “I know enough about her family.”
“And yet that girl still risked her life to save you,” Qrow gave a scoff of his own. “Honestly, I can’t say I’d do the same. You seem like an ass.”
She shot him a glare. “Oh yeah? And what if you knew I was shagging your other niece?”
Qrow barked a harsh laugh, unmoved. “Doesn’t change a thing. Yang could find someone better in a heartbeat.”
Blake turned her glare to the vines and chopped at them roughly. She didn’t like how much that stung. “Shut up, old man.”
“And with just one mention of Yang Xiao Long, I’ve silenced all your wit. What an interesting trick.”
“Get off your high horse.”
“No thanks, this saddle’s quite comfortable.”
“You’re not funny.”
“You are. I’m having a fit just listening to your insecurity.”
Blake grunted, turned on a heel, and chucked her dagger at the man. He caught it in a bone-sheathed hand.
“Tired already?” he teased.
“Of your presence,” Blake hissed through her teeth.
“That’s a shame,” he mocked. “I suppose I could leave you to do all this hard work alone— I know how much you fay love your hard labor.”
“Says the race who enslaves—”
“It’s a shame, too, I was just starting to feel a particular name coming on.”
Blake shut her trap, giving the man an expectant glare.
Qrow tossed her knife back and nodded to the obstructions ahead. “I’m sure it’ll come to me when we’re out of this place.”
“I despise you, Huntsman,” she seethed, her dagger returning to the myriad vines.
Qrow gave her another one of his grating laughs. “I don’t.”
Blake glared at Huntsman. “You should, you're a pathetic drunk and I saw how you crumbled before Pyrrha.”
Qrow's reaction was surprisingly mild: a brief sigh, barely even audible. “I mean I don't hate you, kid. Calm down.”
“Kid?” Blake repeated, whirling on him. The split vines behind her started to slowly inch back towards each other. “I am not a kid! I'm older than you!”
Qrow scoffed. “You sure sound like a kid, petulant and stubborn. Your days don't matter as much as your actions.”
Blake rolled her eyes. “Save the poetry.”
“Nah, I've got use for it,” he countered, pointing back to the vines that'd started growing together. Blake grunted, but went back to sawing.
After a long stretch of just blade-on-plant, Blake spoke up again. “I'm… sorry, Huntsman. I don't hate you, I shouldn't. I've no reason to. I just… I've got a bad history with humans.”
Qrow hummed— not judging, not agreeing, just a noncommittal hum. “Now you're starting to sound your age.”
“Fuck off, human.”
Qrow’s smile was audible. “Such niceties as politeness,” he reminiscently mumbled. “Shame the princess had to cut ‘n run, you two were better than any theater.”
Blake stopped sawing and turned again. There was something on her lips— an apology, on Weiss’ behalf— that had to be put down like a lame horse, lest it come blurting out. Qrow gave her a look as she turned just to stay taciturn, and made a noise of confusion when Blake went back to cutting vines.
“Oh my fuck! Hallowed fucking stars! You're going to fucking kill me! I'm going to die!”
Those were the shriekings of Valerius once Weiss had encased him in a neck-down coffin of misting blue ice. His rich brown skin was already losing its flush in places, and he tore purple hair from his head as he thrashed what he could against the ice. He made no progress, and only succeeded in making his onlookers watch with an additional shred of concern.
“I can't feel my fucking fingers!” he screamed, making everyone wince. “Frostbite, frostbite! Get me out, I'll leave you alone, I swear! Oh my fucking stars, it hurts!”
The mother of the fay family, Myrta, turned to Weiss with concern. “You're gonna make my kids watch this torture?” she asked in dryadalis, making no effort to hide the disgust in her tone.
Weiss cringed, but bade Aulus to work her mouth, translating her thoughts into fay tongue. “You can chuck him in the barn, or some shit,” she said— Aulus said. “Don't have to watch him at all. That's enough ice to last a few days at least, you'll be safe.”
Myrta looked between Weiss and Valerius, then sighed. Aulus had an inkling that she was some kind of officer, just judging by her military mien, and Weiss was starting to see it. She was broad for a fay, and looked as if she'd fit more into a suit of armor than her humble smock.
“So what do we get out of this?” Myrta asked, adding, “As payment.”
Weiss panicked internally. She didn't have any money, she couldn't give them her sword, Yang probably had about as much, and Ruby couldn't just smith up currency on demand.
‘You've got more than money,’ Aulus told her. ‘Come on, use your head.’
Well she only had… oh!
‘There ya go.’
“You've got crops, right?” Aulus asked through her mouth.
Myrta nodded suspiciously.
Weiss welled her Aura into her fingers and wiggled them, throwing off tiny motes of greenish magical energy that flitted through the air like insects. “How would you like an early harvest?”
Notes:
sorry these are so short ;-;
Chapter 80: Search Party
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blake poked at the fire that the Huntsman had lit. “I thought you did transformation stuff,” she mused.
Qrow looked her way with a lopsided smirk. “Well, I transformed these sticks and detritus into flame.”
“Funny.”
Qrow snorted, but continued on more seriously. “I do— it's my primary study— but locking oneself into a single aspect of magic is just wasteful. Conjuring flame is an extremely useful spell, which is why most any wizard knows how to do it before anything else. I'm also versed in several other utility spells, but they're not particularly interesting.”
“What about Yang?” Blake asked, her eyes locked onto their small flame. She watched the smoke climb, then lazily spread, some part of it being caught by the canopy before it could escape. “I've only ever seen her do fire.”
Qrow waved his fire-poking-stick around and nodded. “Astute observation.”
Blake huffed. “Any further explanations for that?”
“Not really,” the Huntsman said, shrugging. “She just likes fire, always has. Some people have more of a…” he rolled his hand, tilted his head, and took a moment to find the right word to pluck before continuing, “affinity towards certain things, I suppose. Like our resident Schnee; I can tell she's more widely versed than other mages, but she’s clearly got an inherent leaning towards the frostier side.”
“It must be nice, living with such natural conveniences as your magic,” Blake bitterly mumbled, thumbing the blade of her dagger— it desperately needed to be honed. “You humans have it easy.”
Qrow gave her a sidelong look. He pressed his lips into a hard, thin line before turning back to the fire. “Not all of us are magically gifted, you know.”
Blake scoffed. “Wonder what that's like.”
“I'm just saying,” Qrow continued, “we’re not so monolithic, having a propensity towards magic doesn't preclude the myriad problems we have.”
“Woah, big fancy words,” Blake mocked, waggling her hands. “How scholarly of you.”
A long sigh— the sigh of someone with thinning patience— hissed through Qrow's nostrils. “Stop being bitter, you can't be angry at an entire race just because they have something you don't.”
Blake shot to her feet with a growl, leveling her dagger at the Huntsman as fury glowed in her eyes. “I can! I can be angry that you have something we don't, because we had something that you stole! You have your magic, but you've taken our gates too! You've taken our homes! Our realm is nothing anymore— the most powerful empire in the planes, torn and burned to ashes by a bunch of spell-slinging monkeys!”
Qrow shut his mouth and let her seethe. She stomped closer, wildly gesturing with her dagger.
“And now we’ve been reduced to your slaves! It's either that, or scrounge for bits in the husk and shadow of the cities you burned!” Blake sucked in a big gulp of air. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “We’re gone! There is no ‘people’ for us anymore! There is no fay!”
Qrow raised his hands disarmingly. He waited to speak, keeping an imploring gaze on Blake until she lowered her knife and stepped back. When she did, he said, “And yet, here you are.”
Blake immediately whirled on him to start shouting again, but the words bunched up in her throat. It gave her a second to calm down, just long enough for a rueful laugh to bubble past her lips instead. “Yeah. Here I am. Stuck with a bunch of humans— one of whom stabbed me in the mouth— with no idea where I am or where to go.” She rocked her head back up, hoping to see the stars, but the canopy above was too thick. Blake sighed. “Watcher’s willy, I'm probably going to die here— with you.”
Qrow snorted. “And what's so wrong with that?”
Blake's answer came without thought, without consideration, throwing itself from her mouth before its contents even parsed her brain:
“I haven't told Yang—” Blake sucked in a sudden breath and bit her lip, catching her words, locking them tight before she could say something she might regret. “Nothing, nevermind.”
Yang's head was on a swivel, her jaw was set forward, and her nose was held high. She took in a deep breath.
The fragrant prick of muddled spice surrounded her, so pervasive that it numbed her senses after focusing on it for too long. Everything smelled magic here, making it hard to pick out scents, but she tried nonetheless.
She could vaguely catch floral whiffs of the fay family they left behind, but they were all too close and muddled by ambient scents to distinguish individually. No lavender was among them.
The forest— Forever Fall, as Weiss called it— was pungent. A million implacable scents filtered through the treeline, assaulting Yang's magical senses. She tried to breathe it in, but its heaviness sat in her lungs like smoke, flooding everything until she took a moment to cough it all out. No lavender, no tobacco. Nothing. Yang took a smaller whiff.
Roses and mint followed behind, mingling, mint on the rose’s arm, sharing little giggles and pecking each other carelessly. Yang grit her teeth. “You could help, you know,” she snapped over her shoulder, directing her ire at the Schnee.
Weiss jumped, caught in the middle of a conversation with the Huntress’ sister— less of a conversation, really, more like she'd just been watching Ruby’s lips move, letting the girl's rambling words caress her ears while she held the smith's bicep. She blushed, but didn't let her champion go. “W-well, I… er… I don't have much I could help with. I don't know any tracking spells.”
Ruby, whose rant on the pains of working with iron had been ungraciously interrupted, sourly lifted her new longsword— Valerius’, one of the many things they pilfered before Weiss froze him— from its sheath before letting it fall back in. “Nothing I can help with, unless we run into some vines.”
Weiss shivered, but Yang growled before the once-heiress could recount Forever Fall’s most annoying and abundant foliage. “You could try to come up with something,” the Huntress hissed. “This was your idea, after all.”
Ruby cocked her head. “Well… you wanted to find her too, right? I mean, she is your—”
Yang snapped her head towards the smith, making Ruby's jaw clap shut. “She's not—” Yang's throat suddenly felt thick, forcing her to gulp the words down and restart. “I mean— I don't know— I don't know if she… if she can, or if I should… or if she even wants… ugh. Nevermind.”
Ruby quickened her pace and approached the Huntress, ignoring the sparks flickering in and out of existence around her knuckles. “But you do want to find her, right? That way you could ask?”
Yang bit her lip and looked away, her feelings visibly knotted behind her expression.
Ruby pulled her sister into a half-hug. “Uncle Qrow is probably with her too, and we definitely want to see him.”
Yang gave a curt nod in begrudging agreement, but Weiss felt a little part of her chest wrench and whine, reminding her of the rip she’d torn in their uncle's chest. Aulus said they'd be forgiving, but…
‘Don't worry, humans at his age get pretty sappy. You'll be okay.’
Weiss tutted.
‘You should tell them,’ Aulus insisted. ‘It'll make things easier once you find him.’
Which part would she tell? The sap? The stabbing?
‘Yes.’
Weiss bit her cheeks. The pouch she'd taken from Valerius was full of sap vials. The pouch felt heavier than it really was, as if it wanted to remind her it was there, to tempt her into its crimson web. She wanted it— the power, welled up in her veins until it leaked out of her mouth, her skin, her eyes, an itching desperation; she hadn't even felt that power when she was in its trance, but its memory was carved into her bones.
She knew exactly what she could do with that power; she would shove her hands into the forest floor and spread her magic out, freezing labyrinthine tracks of permafrost across that entire bed of wet soil, her ice chasing over every inch until it found fay feet. It'd be so quick, so easy, Yang would appreciate it, Ruby would love her for it.
‘Stop that. If you insist on keeping that stuff, then we're only using it for emergencies.’
Weiss shook her head vigorously, forcing the pink haze from her brain. Ruby was staring with concern— Weiss had fallen behind, with one hand shivering over the flap of her sap-pouch.
“Weiss?” Ruby’s voice was tiny but stark, cutting through Weiss’ mental fog. When speaking turned out to be hard, the smith came closer, her lovely eyes fond and full of care as she placed a hand on Weiss’ arm. “Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
‘Tell her, right now.’
Ruby was watching her expression. For such a cold, steely color, her eyes were impossibly warm. “Weiss?”
The pouch was so heavy. If she told Ruby, she'd worry. She'd take it from her. Weiss wouldn't be able to protect her. She'd be just as useless as when she joined this group— a royal leech.
The hand moved from her arm, slowly drifting up until its rough calluses met Weiss’ cheek. “Talk to me,” she begged. From up ahead, they could hear Yang calling for them.
‘Don’t you trust her?’
She did— she did! She trusted no one more.
“Please.”
‘Prove it.’
Weiss’ hand slipped into the pouch. The vials went tink-t-tink against each other. Ruby's gaze flitted over to the pouch. “What’s that?” she asked.
“Ruby,” Weiss’ voice shook out like a haggard last breath. She pulled her hand from the pouch and extended it towards her paramour, her open palm displaying a small vial of tempting, beautiful liquid. “I hurt Qrow.
Notes:
cant wait to get out of this god damn forest
Chapter 81: Cravings
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
There was a long silence over the road. Ruby stood before her, towering with her sheer presence of coldness. The silver eyes— ones which had shone warm enough to melt through Weiss’ heart— were now voids of ice and steel. Ruby had become a hole in the world. Her newfound absence was enough to suck the words, the feelings, the thoughts from Weiss’ being, dragging them into endless depths. The smith emanated silence.
Weiss was helpless, frozen at her paramour’s abrupt shift. The glass vial sat patiently in her hand, and astonishingly did not shatter from Ruby’s immense, ceaseless pressure. Weiss forgot how to move. She forgot how to breathe. She forgot how to do anything but stare at her love and wait.
In a small, animalistic part of her mind— one which had suddenly been forced into overdrive— Weiss wondered what she would do. Would she drop the vial or drink it? Would she have time? Would she be able to uncork the vial, down its contents, and draw her saber before Ruby could get her hands around her throat? Could she simply lunge forward and grab the girl's face, or did she love Ruby too much to turn her into ice? Could she even outpace Ruby? Or should Weiss just let it happen? She did deserve it, after all.
But then Ruby blinked, her pupils bloomed a little, and the grey ice of her eyes gradually became a thawing spring. Her voice came out cautiously, as if she'd just remembered how to speak. “What do you mean?”
Thin, croaking noises squeaked out of Weiss’ throat as she tried and failed to recover her voice. She'd become so lost in Ruby's transformation and un-transformation that her bodily presence had been forgotten, so she didn't notice the vial of sap slowly rolling out of her palm until Ruby leaned forward to catch it, saving the precious tube before its deliciousness could be wasted upon the flagstone. She held the vial up, tilted it, and watched the contents crawl from end to end.
Weiss caught her own hands twitching towards the vial, and fisted them down to her sides before she could start reaching. She tried to speak normally, but her sap was in someone else’s hands, so her voice was stuttering and desperate. “Th-th-that’s… it. The… I… I drank it— my teeth.”
Ruby cocked her head. “What? What’re you saying?” She leaned close— too close— staring so wide into Weiss’ eyes that it seemed like she was intent on smashing their corneae together. “Are you okay? I can barely see your pupils.”
Weiss caught her teeth chattering and clenched her jaw shut. She tried so hard not to look down at the vial in Ruby's hand, but she was weak, and her eyes ended up clawing that way themselves. “Sap,” she said, harrowed. “S-special sap, full of dust— power.”
Her hands seized the smith’s, their movement unbidden, but Ruby clenched her fingers shut around the vial before Weiss could snatch it. She pried at Ruby’s firm digits, wedged under them, pulled and pulled, but Ruby’s one-handed grip was magnitudes stronger than what Weiss could manage with two. Another one of her strong hands pushed Weiss back by the shoulder. “Hey, stop acting like that!” Ruby commanded. “You're being weird!”
“I need it back,” Weiss said, her voice suddenly sure because she was saying the one thing she could be completely certain of. “Just let me— it's mine.”
Yang appeared as if from thin air— no, Weiss had just been overly focused on her sap in Ruby's hands, everything else simply disappeared. Now she had both sisters towering over her, staring down, eyes wide, too close, looking at what was hers. Judging her— she could see it in the way those purple eyes glared down, waiting for her to slip, begging to exercise the bludgeon of her tongue. Ruby, too, though she was certainly the most hurtful in the way she stared. Weiss had seen the girl’s utmost faith, and now she felt the scorn.
“Didn't you get this from that fay?” Ruby asked innocently, luring Weiss in with the sweetness of her voice, the promise of her love. “Why’re you so obsessed? And what's this got to do with my uncle?”
Yang looked between Weiss and her sister. “What're you two talking about? Did something happen to Qrow?”
Weiss regretted ever listening to that sword. She couldn't do it— she couldn't do anything while her sap was being held hostage. It wasn't even the stuff itself she craved; she just needed to have it all back in her rightful possession. She was the only one who could be tainted by the power. She was the only one who could know. Not Ruby. Never Ruby.
“What?” Ruby leaned her ear to Weiss. “Never me? Never me what?”
Weiss locked up. She never should've started this— she was in too deep, now, as if dipping a toe into the beach had opened the world beneath her. She couldn't move, not to steal the sap, not to take Ruby’s hands, nor fall to her knees and beg for help— she couldn't even tell Ruby to wait or that she needed space. That was it— what she desperately needed, above all things in this moment: space. She needed to take a step back and have a few deep breaths. That was the rational thought, that she could do this with space and patience, but thinking rationally was like spitting on a wildfire now. She was beyond the point of correcting her course.
‘Stop shutting me out,’ Aulus said into her mind, jolting her, ‘let me explain it to them!’
Weiss hadn't even noticed she was, but she couldn't stop. She couldn't start, either. She was paralyzed. “P-p-please,” she managed to chitter, “the vial, it's mine, please.”
Yang opened her mouth, but Ruby stepped in first. She laid a hand on Weiss’ shoulder (crook and cane, why was she so clammy?) and spoke with long, soft breaths. “Weiss, you're scaring me. Whatever happened with Qrow, I'm sure you'll have a good explanation, but you're acting crazy.”
Ruby pulled her closed hand back from Weiss' now-weak fingers, but slowly opened her palm for Weiss to see. The vial in her hand, even just the sight of it, was like water in a desert. Weiss stared, barely keeping her hands still.
“I really don't want to give this to you,” Ruby softly admitted. “I don't know what it is, and it's not good for you— clearly— but I can't let you be like… this.”
That word, the way she said it, along with the look Ruby flicked up and down her paramour's body, made Weiss feel disgusted. She could not stand being in her skin— her translucent, clammy, wretched skin— she wanted to tear herself free, or otherwise scrape her flesh into sterile nothing if it meant Ruby would never look at her like that again. She itched; her scalp, her eyes, her face, her tongue; from collarbone to fingertip, from breast to heel, she itched like she'd never itched before.
But then Ruby set that vial in her hands, gently closed Weiss’ fingers around them, kissed her knuckles, and all of the suffering faded into naught. The look changed from Ruby's face— not a scrutinizing glare over Weiss’s scraggly figure, but a gaze brimming with concern. And to think that Weiss, even with an addled mind, had the gall to make that girl's love wretched.
“Craven,” Weiss whispered to herself. When Ruby recoiled with mild confusion, Weiss fervently scrambled to say, “N-no, no! Not you! No… I mean… nevermind.”
Ruby raised a brow, saying nothing. Weiss, with a cautionary glance at the… less gentle of the sisters, presented the vial once more. This time, she held it securely in both hands.
“This is sap,” Weiss explained slowly, carefully, leashing the words tight in her throat lest they become frantic. “From the forest, the trees. It's full of dust, and drinking it can fill both stomach and Aura, but it has… other effects.”
Ruby nodded patiently. Yang rolled her wrist less patiently.
Weiss shuffled. She rubbed her arms as a chill breeze pricked her skin. “We were starving in there,” she threw an anxious glance at the roadside Forever Fall, “myself, Blake, and the Huntsman. Days of nothing but… wine.”
She shivered, and Yang paled a little. Ruby frowned with concern, but nodded.
“Blake said it could sustain us,” Weiss elaborated, briefly raising her sap vial before she stuffed it back in her pouch. “She didn't want us to take it, but…”
Weiss looked away and sighed around her teeth. Breathing through new teeth— fangs, no less— felt odd. Ruby put a hand on her shoulder, and she was kind enough to say nothing about Weiss’ shaking.
Weiss took Ruby's hand and pressed it to her cheek, then pushed it back towards its owner. She continued, “We didn't have a choice, so Qrow fed it to us both— neither of us could stand. It was… gods, it was like all the best foods I've ever had, and just as filling.”
“Wait, wait, so you know where the others are?” Yang asked, her foot pointedly tapping.
“Not now, Yang,” Ruby commanded, cutting in with a sharply raised hand. She nodded to her paramour. “Please continue.”
Weiss gulped. Yang was grinding her jaw in her direction, as if she wanted to break the disgraced heiress between her teeth. “Well, it had some, er… effects—”
Ruby raised a querying hand, interrupting her. When Weiss graced her with a nod, she asked, “What effects?”
The duelist took a sharp breath through her nose. “Hallucinations.”
Yang and Ruby simultaneously cocked their heads. Weiss remembered she was traveling with idiots. Well, an idiot, and that idiot's lovely sister who just wasn't very worldly.
“Seeing things that aren't real,” Weiss explained, taking a little satisfaction at the dawning looks of comprehension upon the sisters’ faces. “Visions, essentially.”
“What'd you see?” Ruby asked.
Weiss bit her cheeks, then yelped as her fangs pierced them, drawing blood that leaked from the corners of her mouth. This made Ruby and Yang extremely concerned. “N-nothing,” Weiss lied terribly, hindered by the shaking in her voice and body, plus the fact she had to spit blood out of her mouth until her Aura healed the bites. “Nothing pertinent.”
Yang snorted. “Sure, princess, even the Shepherd can see you're lying.”
Weiss clutched her arms tight, digging her nails into the pallid flesh. “I— I can't, that's—”
‘Tell her,’ Aulus bafflingly suggested. ‘Tell Yang.’
Tell Yang? Did he want Weiss to die?
‘Then tell Ruby.’
No— she couldn’t.
‘Exactly. Yang's good at heart, I can tell. Can hear it in her voice.’
What a crock.
Aulus blew a frustrated huff into her mind. ‘Look, princess, you've been mashing faces with this woman's younger sister, and doing it right in front of her; I sincerely doubt she likes you very much, and that'll only get worse if you don't show her some trust.”
What a lovely way to get immolated.
‘You want to marry that girl, don't you?”
Weiss almost swallowed her tongue.
‘Need the family blessing first.’
Weiss had a hundred objections rolling inside her, but they collided in her chest simultaneously— all feelings and half-arguments, nothing she could support with better words than ‘I don't wanna’. So, instead of making a worse fool of herself, Weiss grabbed Yang's wrist and tugged.
“I need to borrow your sister,” Weiss stated, her words veiled.
Ruby reeled, her eyes jumping between the two. “What? Why?”
“Trust me, Ruby,” Weiss begged. “Please.”
A long silver look passed over Weiss, worried, but Ruby set it aside with a shrug. “Okay,” Ruby obliged, saying the best thing Weiss could possibly hear from her. “I trust you.”
Notes:
oh god im on schedule idk how im doing it
Chapter 82: Sapper
Chapter Text
Qrow groaned.
Blake groaned.
“I welcome death,” Qrow claimed, monotone. “Anything is better than this gods-forsaken forest.”
Blake monotonously sawed through her umpteenth vine. It seeped warm, sticky sap that got all over her hands and encrusted her palm to the hilt. It was unbearable. “For once, we are in agreement.”
Qrow let out a dead whoop of celebration. “I'm so hungry,” he added, whining.
Blake snorted. “We're surrounded by food, idiot. Just do what you did last time.”
The Huntsman crinkled his nose, but instead of outright rejecting her (as Blake expected), he asked, “You want any?”
Blake forced herself to say no. Her kind may have better resistance to the sap's allure, but they weren't immune— especially with that initial helping Qrow had supplied her slumbering mouth. There was an undeniable craving deep in her chest, which she intended to fervently deny whenever possible. She'd seen what it does to people.
She didn't watch Qrow imbibe, not just because she knew it'd tempt her, but because she had to keep furiously sawing at vines lest their progress be lost.
Blake winced when he audibly suppressed a groan of relief, but she was quickly pushed aside as Qrow took the lead. His arms were blades again, and the energy of his step worried her. “Qrow? Did you overindulge?”
He turned to her. His eyes were misted pink, but not nearly as bad as Weiss' had been. “A tiny bit,” he admitted with visibly pinked teeth. “But I'm not—”
He looked beyond Blake, his pupils overblowing before he shook his head.
“I'm only seeing some hallucinations. I'm quite conscious, I think.”
Blake stared suspiciously. “Some? Like what?”
Qrow shot her a glare before going back to slicing vines. “I didn't ask you what you saw,” he accused.
“Do you want to know?” Blake offered.
“Not at all,” Qrow answered with a scoff. “I'm sure it was something egregious and graphic, and I'm even more certain that it centered around my niece.”
“Egregious?” Blake repeated. “Is it because we're both—”
Qrow barked a loud, harsh laugh. “No. I know you fay have… differing ways.”
“And what about your other niece?”
The Huntsman shrugged, though it was hard to tell with how much he was swinging his bone-blades. “I always knew Ruby wouldn't be like everyone else. I'm just glad she found someone who tries, the fact that she managed to capture a princess’ heart is all the more impressive.”
Blake caught his voice— even beyond the gruffness, the man was exceedingly proud, as if Ruby were his own daughter. “You seem to really care for them,” Blake pointed out. “Don't you have children of your own?”
Qrow stopped cutting. His head turned left and right as if he were conducting a small argument with himself before he returned to the vines. “No, I… no.”
Blake approached a little more closely and softened her voice— he didn't sound completely closed off, as if the sap were easing him into things he normally wouldn't speak on. “Did you?” she dared.
Qrow gave her a side eye, but he didn't stop cutting. “No. I can't have children.”
Blake recoiled. “Can't? You don't strike me as the celibate type.”
This time he shot her a withering glare. “I'm not.”
“Ah, so you’re a eunuch?” Blake supplied— with genuine somberness, as if she were truly mourning for his loss. “My condolences, your faith shames us all.”
Qrow slowed in his cutting so he could glare more fully, but Blake caught the slight quiver of his lips. He was trying not to smile. “I'm not a bloody eunuch,” Qrow claimed.
“What is it then?”
Qrow's burgeoning grin died. He went back to chopping. Blake worried that she'd fully shut him up, but after a few long minutes of silence he said, “My, er… magic. Transformation. It can change your insides on its own; it's like soul-shifting, but more random.”
Blake suddenly felt very guilty. “Oh. I'm sorry. Your own magic—”
“Took my virility, yes,” Qrow casually stated, following up with, “I also cannot eat poultry meats, I have become overly sensitive to spice, and I actually like wine now.”
He was trying to be funny to divert from how much the admittance hurt— Blake had seen that pain cross his face before he hid it, but she indulged him, offering a small laugh that seemed to ease his tension. “And that's why you like them so much?”
Qrow cocked his head at her, but his eyes didn't quite affix to where she was. “Who?”
Blake grew worried. “Your nieces, Ruby and Yang.”
The Huntsman had a dramatic moment of realization, followed by a vigorous nod of his head. “Oh yes, I love those little bastards—” he blinked at his own words. “Not literal bastards, I don't think. I never asked if Summer was married.”
Blake raised her eyebrows. Qrow unwittingly turned back to the vines and kept cutting. She decided to push her luck— no matter how wrong it felt to exploit this intoxicated man, she’d find the answer to that nagging question of Ruby’s lineage. “Why didn't you?”
Qrow shrugged easily. “We were all Hunters, busy ones— especially her. I think she saw it as an act of penance.”
“Penance? For what?”
The Huntsman huffed out a humorless chuckle. “Why do you think?”
Blake’s mind ground to a halt. She thumbed through her memories, searching for something a fay could regret. By the time she concocted an answer, she worried Qrow’s mind would've drifted. “The war?” she guessed, though she couldn’t figure out how a fay war hero would end up with medius kids.
Qrow’s head shifted towards her, just a tiny bit— just enough for one of his cinnabar eyes to flicker in her direction. “Yeah,” he said obviously. “Honestly, I'm surprised I didn't find out earlier— shit, I think I spied on her once.”
She hadn’t expected to be right, so it took her a moment to cover up the look of surprise. “She was in the war?”
Qrow snorted as if she'd said something truly hilarious. “She was in the war? No shit she was in the war. She was—” Qrow inhaled sharply and shook his head. Slowly, he turned to give her a sharp side eye. “Close. Very close, fay, but low. You're just taking advantage of my inebriation now?”
Blake had the grace to flush purple and take a few steps back. “Sorry, couldn't help myself.”
“Yes you could,” was Qrow's retort, though not as angry as Blake expected. “But you did it anyway because you have no respect for me.”
Blake said nothing.
“I understand, you know. It's not just you, it's a very fay thing— you don't respect us because our lives are like blinks to you people. We only have enough time to do one thing, if even that, before we die. It's embarrassing,” Qrow decried with a wave of his arm-blade. “It's shameful!”
Blake maintained her silence.
“It's rather hypocritical actually,” Qrow claimed. “You fay uphold your lifespans so loftily above us, taunting us, while simultaneously mocking what we have managed in our scant little lives— which is usually quite a fucking bit! I've known fay that boasted about lazing in a forest, purposefully contributing nothing for decades! Centuries! Just because they can!”
Blake scowled, but let him rant. He was sapped, and she didn't want to piss him off with those giant bone-swords coming out of his arms.
Qrow gave her a look through one eye, but it failed to find her properly— he was going distant again. “But when you fall in love with a human?” Qrow whistled like the idea was funny. “Oh, you go crazy. Start fretting over every damn day, worrying you haven't done enough, finally worrying about the mark you left behind— the things you've done, the things that scream so much louder and so much longer than ‘I loved a human.’”
Now Blake wished she had interrupted him, because his pontificating left an open pit where her stomach should be.
Qrow sighed. “That's what she told me, at least.”
“Who?” Blake asked before she could stop herself.
Qrow looked at her like she was dumb. “Aelia.”
Blake’s veins filled with ice. “Wh-who?”
Qrow looked at her— slightly past her, actually— then went back to cutting the vines. “Sorry, Summer. I don't know why you insist on calling her that.”
“Er, right,” Blake stammered through a cough.
Qrow looked (almost) in her direction. “Cali? You alright?”
Being called by her mother's name, shortly after learning all that, was enough to kill Blake ten times over, but she managed to keep herself from spontaneously combusting through pure dumb luck. Blake swallowed the thousand ‘fuck’s that nearly shot past her lips and managed to mutter, “Y-yes. Of course.”
Qrow dutifully nodded. He turned up his nose and took a deep breath as he split myriad vines before him. “We’re getting close to the edge,” he claimed. “I can smell it.”
Blake said nothing. Her feet were leaden with revelation, and when Qrow turned finally to look, his red eyes found her properly. Upon seeing her face, they widened.
Chapter 83: Anyway, My New Dad's a Bird (and He Gave Me Drugs)
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Qrow chopped silently.
Blake followed marginally less silently.
“How… Why do you… When did…”
Blake hadn’t successfully formed a single one of the questions hacking away at her mind for the past… however long it’d been since Qrow said all that.
“But she’s… That isn’t even… What?”
Qrow didn’t turn towards her. If anything, he just cut quicker. Blake had to jog to keep up with him.
“You can’t be serious! You don’t… There's no way you could’ve known her!”
The Huntsman kept hacking. Blake kept chasing him with fruitless questions and even less fruitful accusations.
“You… My mom is… And Aelia—”
Qrow kept cutting, but finally shot her a look over his shoulder, one that begged her to shut up.
She wasn’t planning to comply until she heard more voices— ones upon which they had suddenly encroached upon with how close they sounded. Blake held her breath and listened to the incredulous conversation:
“You’re— you’re telling me this now? I don’t— I— how the hell am I supposed to respond to that! How do I even— what is that supposed to mean!”
Blake smacked a hand over her chest, digging her nails into the skin so she could focus on rejecting her instinctive response, which was to cry Yang’s name and throw herself bodily upon her— punching the idiot, obviously, because she'd left Blake alone with the most unbearable half of their new group. Instead, she and Qrow remained silent and listened.
“So… what, that's how you shifted? You were just lying?”
“No!"
Blake cringed. The princess’ voice didn't have a pleasant reunion with her ears.
“No, you… no! I'm not bloody lying! I— it wasn't just the once, okay? The second time was with Valerius.”
“Ha! Haha!”
“Be silent, you child! Not like that!”
Blake found herself pushing past a frozen Qrow, shredding through vines as her feet carried her towards that honking laugh. Such a stupid sound, Blake wanted nothing more than to fling a big glob of Forever Fall dirt into that crooked, big-toothed smile. She'd love to watch that idiot hork down a handful of mud.
“Stop bloody laughing!” came another shrill command from Weiss. “You're supposed to be— argh! Mad! Chastising! Threatening me!”
To the long and sensitive ears of Blake's birthright, Yang's shrug was audible. “Why? Why should I? Because you saw something strange and acted strangely in response, all while you were thoroughly addled? It's clear you’ve realized your grim omens aren’t something to follow.”
“But I hurt your uncle! And your lover! And I'm destined to hurt Ruby!”
“Bollocks to destiny,” Yang proudly declared. “And Blake is not my lover.”
Blake scratched hard at her chest so she could explain what was hurting. Whether she liked it or not, her dagger kept sawing away. She vaguely registered Qrow’s footsteps in the back of her mind.
“Look, I see no point in being actively hostile towards you, Weiss— even if you need to keep your fucking hands to yourself when I'm around.” Yang affected the tone of a back-alley stabbing for that last bit, but continued as if she hadn't. “Whatever you and Ruby have, I'm not party to it, so long as my sister’s happy and you're happy.”
Blake stopped sawing at that last part, and it seemed the question frothing in her brain was the same on Weiss’ lips: “Me? Why do you care about me?”
“Because Ruby can treat a lady right— at least, she should— and if she can't, then her character is wholly different from the girl I've known my whole life. Just by virtue of being who she is, she should be good to you. If not, come to me.”
Blake was dumbstruck at the genuine admiration piping out of Yang’s sonorous voice. It actually made her stomach twist a little, though she couldn't tell why. She went back to cutting.
“But thank you for warning me— telling me, I suppose, since you're not intent on continuing your drawn-out suicide plot.”
Silence. Thick silence.
“Right, ” came Weiss’ answer after an eternity, sounding not at all sure. “Of course not.”
“Could you say that again, but less like you're obviously lying?”
Weiss didn't answer.
“Oh, please don't tell me you're—”
Yang's voice stopped, and the sudden absence of sound spooked Blake's hand into halting. She remained rigid, waiting for whatever Yang or Weiss was going to say, or for whatever they'd do to shatter the tension.
When Blake heard rapid footsteps closer than she'd expected, she jolted, having become far too engrossed to pay proper attention to her surroundings. Blake turned, expecting Qrow's approach, only to find him trailing behind just as many feet as the last time she'd checked. His face was different, though. He was holding something smugly anticipatory— a smirk— with his cinnabar eyes watching a point just behind Blake.
Blake whirled again, and she was sprayed by pink.
Yang Xiao Long tore bare handfuls of Aeternum Autumni vines as if they were parchment, squirting huge gouts of sap-tinged fluid across them both as she burst through the newly-fashioned hole. Blake jumped back with the instinct of prey being pounced, but Yang's pursuit was ravenous. The Huntress snatched one fay wrist, her other hand took that same forearm, and both yanked Blake into a pair of thick-set arms that seemed to be making a sincere attempt at liquefying her spine.
“Sweet— fucking— Watcher— Stars— fuck!” Blake struggled, wheezing, “Yang— you cock— you're—”
In a dazzling move expected only in ballroom halls, Yang cupped the back of Blake's neck, dipped her low, and kissed her fully.
Blake’s brain lapsed, but her body acted. Her arms threw themselves around the blonde's neck, her mouth moved furiously against Yang's, and her throat released a long, elkish keen.
Yang separated their mouths with a wet, gasping pop, and somehow was not at all breathless like Blake was. “I thought I smelled you.”
Awful. Repugnant. Terrible, disgusting, unattractive, bad.
Blake should have slapped her for that, or cringed into a singularity, or vomited on the spot, but instead it… worked. Crook and cane, it worked , and Blake's stupid idiot heart skipped a beat as if to throw a weight off itself, leaving her chest feeling light and whole.
“Blake?” Weiss called, loudly and unhelpfully announcing the obvious from the sidelines. “Blake!”
Blake found Weiss running to her just like Yang probably had, looking suspiciously like she was going to hug the fay before she stopped herself. Instead, she merely placed a hand on Blake's arm.
Weiss’ eyes buzzed a little, jittering left and right while her voice slightly chattered, “Blake, I'm…”
Blake could hear the royal girl's teeth clacking together in her mouth. She was flushed, her forehead was visibly covered in sweat, her glowing snow-white pallor turned a dun pale like spoiled milk; she did not look well, and her voice had a new, odd quality— almost a lisp, as if her tongue wasn’t right in her mouth.
“I'm so sorry,” Weiss desperately apologized, now gripping the fay in both hands. “I— I— I'm sorry, I'm— Blake, I—”
Blake pitied the girl, so she slapped her across the face. “Get a hold of yourself,” Blake commanded. “I don't blame you; it's not your fault you stabbed me, it's that dickhead's.”
Blake jerked a thumb in Qrow’s direction, somewhere behind her. Weiss made no comment on being struck.
“Uh, sorry,” Qrow said unsurely. “I didn't know how much to give.”
Blake snorted— he still didn't know, judging by the shake persisting in his voice. If he had waking hallucinations of her mother, she didn't even want to imagine what he was seeing now.
Weiss looked in his direction like Qrow was a ghost. She went to him cautiously, then took a deep, formal bow. When Blake noticed her balance stutter, she pitied the girl twice as much.
“Ser Qrow,” Weiss said, keeping her bow firmly parallel to the ground. “My s-sincerest apologies. I couldn't… control myself.”
Qrow went distant again, but this time he didn't reveal that he'd been sleeping with Weiss’ mother (or however he knew Cali). “Weiss, uh…” he looked around awkwardly, as if Yang or Blake would help. Neither of them did, nor did they want to. “Don't… don't worry about it. I've been through worse.”
Weiss rose, meeting his eyes. Her voice and his had the same vibrating quiver. “Are you sure?”
Qrow stared at her, and his pink-misted eyes went distant and foggy. He absently raised a hand, placing it on Weiss’ head to gently ruffle her hair. “Of course,” Qrow softly insisted. “I forgive you.”
Weiss looked upon Qrow like he was an envoy of the Shepherd herself. He did not move his hand, but he did give the girl a tiny smile. Yang and Blake watched the exchange, looked at each other, and shared a supremely mystified look.
Weiss stared up at Qrow, completely awestruck with glassy eyes and a quivering lip. She looked like she would cry, and when Qrow gently told her “It's okay,” she did cry. She bawled like a child whose dolls had been taken away.
Qrow, surprisingly, looked no better. Even if they were pinked with sap, Yang and Blake could easily see how teary his eyes were, but the Huntsman just tipped his head back and breathed deep like he could suck the emotions in. His distant look shifted towards a tentative smile that grew when the noblette threw her thin arms around his waist.
Blake stared at the childless Huntsman, then moved her stare to the disowned heiress, then back to the Huntsman, then back to the heiress. Yang was doing the same in reverse.
“Are you seeing this?” Yang asked her.
They were still hugging. It was weird.
“Yeah, I think,” Blake confirmed, engrossed. “It's… cute?”
Notes:
BIRD DAD BIRD DAD BIRD DAD BIRD DAD
also Yang is the only person currently un-stabbed by Weiss
Chapter 84: War Crimes
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Blake walked in the back with Qrow, following the other three. Apparently they'd encountered a Binder and Weiss actually wanted to keep to her deal, so it was up to Blake to free him. She knew how— she’d been out of practice for about five years, but it wasn't a process she could forget.
It also wasn't a process Blake could think about— she was too busy staring a hole between Ruby’s shoulder blades. With her umber cloak left in Pyrrha's grip, the girl was now covered by a white tunic, not quite knee-length and worn belted with her longsword. With the short sleeves and without leggings or her usual breeches, it was almost too flattering, and Blake frequently noticed their noble companion sneaking looks.
One of their noble companions, Blake internally mused. Qrow kept shooting her glances now that she knew.
“I'm keeping quiet,” Blake told him.
Qrow made a gruff noise. He slowed his gait a little, forcing Blake to trail even further behind to keep lock-step with the Huntsman. He grumbled something much too quietly, even for her, forcing Blake to come closer and cup her ear. “I know,” he reiterated. “I thought you were going to disperse that knowledge.”
Blake gaped, genuinely offended. She hotly whispered: “Are you crazy? You expect me to— look, I'm well aware that I'm not a pleasant person, but she's an infant! I'm not going to tell some toddler that her mother's a war criminal!”
Ruby and Weiss looked over, making Blake swallow her volume. They turned back after a moment.
“Look, she's…” Qrow looked away and bit his lip. His eyes were only lightly pinked-over now. “It was a war, okay? We all did things we're not proud of.”
Blake cocked her head. “Are you defending your own sworn enemies?”
Qrow shut his eyes tight and struggled with words. “No, I'm not defending her, I'm… I'm saying I understand— no, no, not… I can't judge her, I mean.”
Blake scoffed. “Sure you can.”
“Shouldn't you be idolizing her?” Qrow asked, thoroughly baffling the fay.
Blake fully recoiled, her amber glare hitting Qrow like he'd intruded in her home. “Of course not! That— she— no!”
Ruby and Weiss looked over again. “You two okay?” Ruby asked.
“It's nothing!” Qrow and Blake answered simultaneously, making Ruby raise her hands in defeat as she turned. Yang continued dutifully, never having spared a glance to the fay and Huntsman in the back.
Qrow and Blake shared a look, shared a head-shake, and silently agreed to continue this topic later. They separated. The rest of their journey went along with ease.
“Soror!” cried the fay named Valerius. He was fully entombed in a block of ice, left on a pile of straw in a barn, and looked to be in the process of dying. What little skin wasn’t in the ice had become ashen, his lips blueing, and the border between neck and ice was covered in giant leathery blisters. “Beatus astra,” he continued, his voice both weak and fervent. “Libera me.”
Blake cringed. It was a supremely disturbing sight. “Uh, sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t speak dryadalis.”
Valerius didn’t even spare a look of shock, though all her other party fellows did. “Then get me out!” he yelled. “Get me out or give me death, please!”
Slowly, Blake turned towards Weiss. Valerius kept begging in the background, but that one yell seemed to take all the volume out of him. “You seriously did this?” Blake asked. “You froze one of my people in a block of ice?”
Weiss jolted— her gaze had been firmly locked to Valerius’ frosty tomb, but Blake’s accusation made her turn green. She put a hand over her mouth and looked away. “Y-yes,” she admitted. “We… he tried to kill us— nearly killed me,” Weiss nervously motioned to the giant scar over the left side of her face, its gnarled ridge still reddish and running from jaw to hairline, left eye somehow intact. “I thought it was the safest thing besides killing him.”
Blake stared. A scathing rebuke churned in her stomach and boiled up her lungs, turning her throat into a growl as she—
Weiss looked away and started scratching both sides of her neck, her eyes crinkling as if full of tears despite seeming dry. She set her jaw, then yelped. She seemed to have a small internal panic before making a decisive gulp, which immediately made her gag. Her lips, nose, and eyes crinkled again, and her fingers started leaving red marks on her skin.
When Ruby had to take Weiss’ hands to keep her from gouging her own flesh, Blake realized what was happening. She watched Ruby turn her around, cup the back of her head, and gently force the once-heiress’ face into the crook of her neck. She held her there. Weiss’ shoulders shook a little.
Blake blinked.
Crook and cane, she was an asshole.
Blake cleared the thickness from her throat. “Dispel the ice,” she tried to demand, only for the uncertainty of her own voice to turn that into a simpering request. “I’ll show you how to free him— all of you, just in case— but he’ll need time to heal. Without an Aura he won’t be able to—”
Without turning, Weiss fished in her pouch and extracted a vial. “He healed himself with this before,” she claimed between soggy hiccups.
Blake scowled. She looked between Valerius and Weiss, the latter of whom kept her face firmly buried in Ruby while the former stared at the sap as if he could drink it with his mind. “This…” Blake squirmed uncomfortably and groaned. “This is fucked. This is beyond fucked. Weiss— for your own sake—”
“I won’t freeze anyone ever again,” she preemptively croaked, voice muffling against her paramour. “This was brash and stupid.”
Blake made no comment, and approached Weiss with a beckoning hand outstretched. “Give me the sap.”
Weiss didn’t budge. Her knuckles turned white around the vial, and both Blake and Ruby stared with the same worry that she’d break it. It took a long time for her fingers to ease, and when they did, Ruby mouthed ‘take it’ to her fay companion. Weiss jumped nearly out of her skin when Blake snatched the bottle from her grip, but Ruby’s firm embrace kept her from doing something she might regret.
Approaching Valerius, Blake sighed. “The ice, princess.”
Weiss waggled her fingers weakly, and the ice instantly turned into a splash of dirty water. Valerius squealed when his back hit the floor. Both of his pinkies fell off with neither warning nor reaction. Blake and Ruby winced simultaneously. Yang and Qrow were unmoved. Weiss didn’t even try to pry herself from Ruby.
“I’m gonna give him the sap,” Blake announced. “I don’t know how quickly or how well it’ll heal something this bad, but I need someone ready in case the answer is ‘very’. Yang?”
Yang made a gruff sound, which was… odd. She didn’t say anything to Blake as she approached. She didn't even look. Yang just stared down at their fay prisoner and waited. For someone who'd dip-kissed her in front of their party, her silence was unnerving.
Blake kneeled beside Valerius and took an anxious glance up at Yang. The Huntress looked away the moment their eyes met, and her mouth went through a dozen intense skirmishes before it was pressed into a hard thin line. Getting nothing, Blake sighed. She uncorked the vial and tipped Valerius’ head back.
Bringing the sap to his lips, Blake whispered: “On your toes.”
Yang snorted. If Blake didn't have fay ears, she would've missed Yang’s grumble: “Always.”
Notes:
sorry for the shortie, thats just how this part of the bridging arc is going. c'est la vie
Chapter 85: Consulting the Expert
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“First, find the subject's Aura.”
Weiss extended her hands to Valerius’ body. She tried not to look at the giant welt Yang had left on his head, as well as all the patches of red or white-blistered skin where the sap hadn't finished healing his frostbite. He made the burbling snore of someone who'd been sent to sleep without consent.
Weiss manifested her soul, welling it into her palms and covering them with a blue-white rime of non-corporeal frost. Extending it out, she probed at the fay
“There's nothing,” Weiss complained, her eyes shut tight. “His Aura— it's not here.”
Blake schooled her with a light flick to the cranium. “Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not there, you just haven't looked in the right places.”
Weiss turned up to her, confused.
“This realm is more… grounded,” Blake elaborated, raising her arms to their surroundings. “As a consequence, we are more grounded.”
Weiss’ look of confusion did not ease. Her brows creased harder, and her mouth frowned tighter.
Blake sighed, exasperated. Yang watched Valerius’ body with intense disinterest, but Ruby watched the whole thing with a good deal of genuine fascination.
Blake continued. “Your Aura, princess— where is it?”
Weiss raised her soul-covered hands dumbly.
“No, no, you're not—” Blake shook her head and released another, much longer sigh. “Not literally. In theory, in your books; if a scholar asked you where your soul was, how would you answer?”
Weiss blinked, then looked down at her hands. They were still since she'd been focusing, but now they started to tremble. “It's… inside me, but outside? Like a shadow, I suppose; always present, but only visible when faced by opposition.” Weiss laid out her hands and shrugged. “Which isn't a perfectly apt comparison since I can summon it at will, but—”
Blake interrupted by snapping her fingers. “Abupup— no, no more, that first part was perfect. It's part of you, but it's also separate and you can manifest it.”
Weiss nodded.
“Well, ours are a little different,” Blake explained, motioning between herself and Valerius. “Just like our realm, we house our energy in our physical bodies— it’s like filigree in a doublet, woven between the threads. That's why we can take more damage, and why our friend here isn't dead, but that's also why we can't exercise magic like you can. We don't have a medium of externalizing it upon the realm; it’s stuck inside of us, for the most part.”
Every head— even Qrow’s— had turned towards her, their eyes wide with surprise and rapt interest.
Ruby said: “Wow, Blake. That's… really smart,” which would've been a little offensive if not for the childlike wonder in her voice. “I think I even understood most of it.”
Qrow said: “Huh,” but Blake could hear the ‘she never told me that’ he withheld.
Weiss said: “That's extremely insightful, you'd make a good teacher,” which made Blake’s face purple slightly.
Yang bit her lip and said nothing, then looked away. A nervous churning took Blake's stomach.
To distract herself, Blake kept talking. “W-well I am the, er… expert on this. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it's just me.”
Weiss scoffed. “Surely you're not the only one.”
Blake's foot started nervously tapping before she arrested it. “You see any other free Binders?”
Weiss and Qrow hummed rationally. Yang crossed her arms. Ruby listened with continued interest. There was a long, expectant silence wherein Blake would explain how she learned this and how she freed herself, but she didn't, so the tension turned awkward.
“Okay,” Blake restarted, wrangling them back to the topic. “So, rather than looking for his shadow, look in the body itself.”
Weiss nodded, reorienting her search. She threaded her own Aura into Valerius’ flesh, passing her soul between the unfamiliar tissues, through tendons and sinuous muscle, breathing it into his airways and flooding his lungs. “It's so empty,” Weiss grunted, her focus straining between the search and keeping her own Aura manifested. “I don't even know what I'm looking for, but I can feel that it's not here.”
“It's there,” Blake promised. “Trust me. Even with the iron, it'll never go fully away.”
Weiss fed more of her Aura into Valerius’ body, pulsing the white glow around her hands. Her head started to pound. A thin trickle of blood slowly dripped from her left nostril. “There isn't…” Weiss grunted from the immense effort. “I still…”
Eventually, something between the intercostals hooked the threads of Weiss’ soul.
“Oh!” Weiss squeaked. “I found it!”
Blake nodded. “Good. Now for the hard part.”
Weiss, who had gained a thin sheen of sweat and was now bleeding out of both nostrils, glared at Blake with one bloodshot eye. “That wasn't the hard part?”
“Of course not,” Blake snorted. “Now you have to find the chain.”
“It's… in his arm?” Ruby interjected, getting closer to take a look at Valerius. She pointed up the arm, her finger trailing the chain's path up to the collar where it dove beneath. Her split brow became deeply furrowed. “It looks like it goes in?”
Yang leaned with her sister, unable to stow her curiosity. “In?”
Blake roughly yanked both of them back by their clothes, eliciting a slight relaxation of Weiss’ shoulders. “Give her some space!” Blake demanded. “Yes, we can all see that part of the chain, but we can't see where the rest is.”
“The rest?” repeated Ruby and Yang, aghast.
Blake scowled. “Just having it on or under the skin isn't quite enough, and it's easy to remove like that. They wrap it around our bones.”
Weiss kept her gaze firmly on Valerius. Qrow sucked his teeth. Ruby went a little green.
Yang turned slowly to Blake, finally meeting her eyes. It would've been relieving if Yang's gaze hadn't been full of pain. “How do they do that?” the Huntress asked slowly, almost whispering, as if she didn't want Blake to answer.
Blake bit her lip and faltered from the Huntress’ stare. “It's exactly how you would expect,” she quietly admitted, lifting a sleeve to display the winding, wretched scars over her arm. She pointed to her bicep, beckoning Yang to come closer. “Look.”
Yang did look, but she almost had to press her face into Blake to see what she was gesturing at. Beneath all the gnarled marks, almost completely invisible among all the tortured flesh, there was a thin, clean line of pink.
Yang went pale. Blake could not meet her eyes, and her voice came from more than a decade away. “They filet us like fish, then they wrap the bones up and just… sew us back together.”
The Huntress stared, agape.
“How do you survive that?” Ruby asked.
“Most don't,” Blake answered in grim monotone. “But they have means of bringing us back before our souls can escape, and the chains make it harder for our spirits to pass before they can do that. I—” Blake slammed her mouth shut. “We're wasting time. Weiss, you need to—”
“Extend my Aura in a thin layer throughout the body,” Weiss interrupted, straining hard. Blood now flowed from the corners of her mouth as well as her nose. “Wherever it cannot go is where the chains lie.”
Blake blinked. “Uh, yes.”
“I think I see them,” Weiss tersely grunted, Aura flickering around her hands. “Now what?”
“Can you remember where they are?”
“Of course I can!”
“Are you sure?”
Weiss growled, her face screwing tight. “Left collar, sternum, lowest right rib, pelvis.”
“That's it?”
“Yes, that's bloody everything!” she affixed Blake with a one-eyed glare again, though what'd once been bloodshot was now red-flooded thanks to a burst vessel. “Now what?”
Blake hummed, impressed. “Good job, princess. You can let him go.”
Weiss’ Aura shot back into her hands with force, making her whole upper body recoil as she sighed out all her air at once— more of a giant cough, really— and visibly wobbled. The heiress pitched forward, tipped fully back, and almost hit the ground before Ruby caught her from behind.
“I've got you,” the smith cooed proudly into her ear. “Good job.”
Weiss blinked heavily, sputtering a little blood from her mouth as she asked: “Lovely. How do we take them out?”
The scowl that came over Blake’s lips nearly ripped her cheeks. She reached down to one of her boots and extracted a small, pink-crusted knife.
Blake flourished the dagger and sighed. “The same way they put them in.”
Notes:
blake's anatomy
Chapter 86: The Sword and the Smith
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby huffed. She wiped the sweat from her brow and stretched her arms. Valerius was heavy, but she and Yang managed to get him up on the table without much fuss. Thankfully, the household matriarch had only responded to their abduction of her dining room table with an exasperated sigh.
The operation to excise Valerius’ chains was simple.
Blake, being the most knife-savvy of the group, volunteered for the cutting position. She’d open Valerius from pelvis to shoulder, slicing deeply enough to expose the winding links of iron. “I had a friend who was a proper surgeon during the war,” she had explained. “I can probably remember how he did it, though my memory of the steps is a bit… hazy.”
Yang’s job was to take the exposed sections, hold them in her fingertips, and carefully melt the links so the separated parts could be removed. Bit by bit, she would break him free.
Since Valerius was very much in danger of bleeding to death during the operation, Weiss was tasked with freezing shut any areas of heavy bleeding— they wouldn’t be able to use sap to heal him, not while wrist-deep in tissue and bone, and none of them had the clerical knowhow to actually repair anything that couldn’t be sapped back to wholeness.
Qrow’s responsibility was keeping him unconscious, which was a talent they hadn’t really expected him to have. Apparently his transformation magic could thrust Valerius’ brain into a deep torpor (with only a moderately worrisome possibility of putting him in a coma forever), though he’d have to stay in direct contact the entire time for it to work, so any disruption could lead to a sudden and violent awakening.
Which left Ruby with the job she wanted the least: watching over the whole thing. In truth, she was not at all interested in seeing Valerius’ insides— she didn’t even want to be present for the operation— but now she’d have to keep an eye on every cut, every twitch, and every stray movement that could mean something was going wrong. She was not at all excited— well, she was very excited, just with the anxious unease of someone who would imminently have to watch a living person be opened like game.
Seeking relief from her anticipation, Ruby sought her paramour. Sitting atop a stack of nondescript sacks, wiping her face and aggressively finger-combing a tangle of unruly white locks, Weiss Schnee carried the same ethereal beauty as the day she’d stepped out of that palanquin— even if she needed a long night with a hot bath. They all did, really.
Her approach wasn’t immediately noticed, so Ruby brushed her shoulder with the back of a hand. “Weiss?” she called quietly. “Could I see your sword?”
Weiss pulled her handkerchief— Qrow's, actually— from her lips and nose, revealing blood on the cloth. She seemed a little better than before, but that might’ve been because the bleeding mouth, flushed skin, and trembling hands could be explained by exhaustion now. “Of course, love,” she answered, perfectly casual and sincere. “What's mine is yours.”
The ease and seriousness of those words churned something warm in Ruby’s gut, bringing that warmth up her neck and heating her skin in red blooms.
Before Ruby could say anything else, Weiss jolted as if a certain sword-bound spirit had objected directly into her mind. “Oh, er… what do you need him for?” she reiterated apologetically. “He doesn't want to be in any hands but mine.”
Ruby rubbed the back of her neck. “W-well, I just… I feel bad for Myrta, and I wanted to apologize on our behalf. We’ve really abused her kindness.”
“I enhanced her crop,” Weiss stated, raising an eyebrow. “We don't have any money, so that'll have to be enough payment.”
Ruby shook her head. “No, not payment. I just wanted to give a formal apology.”
Weiss made a pleased little hum. “As our leader?” she asked, quirking one eyebrow at her paramour.
Ruby opened her mouth to object, then shut it and sheepishly nodded. “Y-yeah. As the leader, I suppose,” she scratched the back of her neck, “if everyone's okay with it.”
Weiss scoffed affectionately, the way one scoffs when they see something that is simply too precious for reality. She pinched the front of Ruby’s tunic, pulled her close, and wrapped her arms around the smith's waist, perching her chin on the girl's sternum so she could meet her eyes. Her voice came soft and true, even though it still shook with red cravings. “I couldn't think of a better one.”
Ruby stared down at Weiss, her chest feeling so full that it choked any response. Weiss just smiled up at her, fangs still slightly red from biting her own cheeks, and it was a cruel, unforgivable tragedy that Ruby physically couldn't contort herself to bend forward and kiss Weiss on the lips. Instead, she settled for pushing the duelist’s hair back and laying a long, gentle kiss between her brows.
A strangled cough made the couple freeze and turn, finding a rapid burst of movement as one purple-dusted Blake tried to hide the fact she'd been staring. Yang tried to hold sparks and small blazes between her fingertips, practicing to melt the chains. Qrow had his hands on Valerius’ temples. To Ruby’s infinite frustration, Weiss pulled away.
“I'm surprised he said yes,” she admitted, deftly taking the fay saber off its new frog. “I think he has a soft spot for you.”
Ruby was handed the fay sword named Aulus Casta, and she took it into her hands.
‘It is not a soft spot,’ Aulus said into her mind, making Ruby jump. ‘It’s called respect.’
Ruby exhaled a laugh through her nose and spoke down to the blade. “I'll make you a proper sheath when I have time, okay? As payment for… all this.”
‘Child, if you made me a sheath I would kiss you.’
Ruby coughed, right out of the back of her throat. “N-no thank you!”
Aulus snorted imperiously. ‘That was a joke; I’m married.’
“Did he say something strange?’ Weiss teased, leaning towards Ruby with a knowing grin.
“No!” Ruby fervently shook her head. “No, not at all.”
Weiss gave her a doting look. “He's just like that. If you need to shut him out, just picture slamming a door between yourself and him. That usually works for me.”
Ruby nodded, then turned to flee from the barn before stopping suddenly. She whirled around on a heel and threw her arms around Weiss without warning, pulling her fully onto her feet for a proper embrace. She held Weiss as if she'd slip away, and kissed her temple like she'd never get another chance.
“I'm so glad you're safe,” Ruby said. “This thing— the sap— you'll get through it, okay? I believe in you, and we'll all do what we can to help.”
Weiss gripped the back of the smith's tunic. “Ruby—”
Whatever Weiss was going to say was shoved back down her throat when she felt soft, gentle lips pressing on the shell of her ear. “Be back in a moment,” Ruby whispered, “promise.”
Before Weiss could breathe, scream, or even finish turning red, Ruby had scampered away in a flash of petals.
Ruby was still blushing by the time she pulled herself out of her Semblance, the flat soles of her strapped fay sandals (one of a thousand things generously donated by Myrta and her family) gracefully tapping flagstone. Moving in and out of her Semblance was so easy now, almost too easy, making it hard to move without tapping into that speed.
She knocked on the now-familiar door before her. After a short moment, Myrta opened it. The fay woman eyed her cautiously since she'd come with a hand on Weiss’ saber, but Ruby spoke with deliberate, careful ease that made the mother's broad shoulders relax.
Well, she didn't do any of the speaking. Her mouth moved on the sword’s— Aulus’— volition. She fed her own words to the spirit in the sword, trusting that he wouldn't twist her apology, and watched as Myrta's anticipation melted into a caring, matronly smile. It was a pretty overwhelming sight, tapping spots in Ruby's brain that she hadn't felt in a long time, so she was just left gawking at the pretty lady when Aulus was done.
“Ruby?”
Ruby jolted. Myrta snapped her fingers in front of the smith's face, getting her attention. The woman said something Ruby didn't understand.
Aulus helpfully chimed into Ruby's mind. ‘She's asking how you learned her language.’
“Magic sword,” Ruby told him to say. Myrta raised an eyebrow at her answer, then sighed. She put one of her big hands on Ruby’s shoulder and squeezed, saying something for Aulus to translate.
‘She's glad you ended up okay,’ the sword said. ‘And she appreciates your apology, but she wants us to leave after this. Understandable, if you ask me.’
Ruby nodded and said ‘yes!’ in her normal tongue, which Myrta picked up on. She gave Ruby an enthusiastic ‘yes!’ of her own with two thumbs-up, which sounded weird. Ruby laughed. When Benedicta started crying from another room, they went their separate ways.
So now Ruby was alone, and everyone was busy.
‘You're not alone,’ Aulus said. It was probably meant to sound reassuring, but his voice suddenly appearing in Ruby's mind made her jump.
“Oh, uh… thank you?” she said to the sword, turning it around as if one side would hear better than the other.
‘You don't have to speak, you know. I can hear your thoughts.”
“That's… weird.”
Aulus somehow rolled his eyes. ‘Well you did ask for me, so now you have to deal with it.’
Ruby looked around the living room. “I could just leave you here—”
‘No!’ Aulus shouted, making Ruby jump out of her skin. ‘I, er… I mean, you don't have to.’
“Are you asking me to hold onto you?”
Aulus didn't say anything, but Ruby could almost see the timid ‘yes, please’ of his nonexistent body language.
“You too?”
‘Me too what?’
“Abandonment issues.”
Aulus snorted, but it took him a long time to audibly admit: ‘I suppose.’
Ruby gave the sword a tentative hug. The angle was weird, but she managed it.
‘Oh. Thank you.’
“Of course,” Ruby assured, nodding. She started to examine the sword itself; the tip, the edge, the blade as a whole. She checked the engravings, then jiggled the hilt and knuckle guard. “You know, you're in a miraculously good state.”
‘Being stuck in a Grimm has a way of preserving you.’
Ruby nodded. “Just a little honing and you'd be perfect.”
Aulus scoffed. ‘I'm as sharp as I can be.’
Ruby scoffed right back. “Are you a blacksmith?”
‘No?’
“Then you've got things to learn. Come on, I'm sure there's a whetstone around here somewhere. It’ll give us something to do besides watch while…” Ruby let her voice trail off. Aulus knew what she meant, anyways.
‘I suppose I don't have a choice.’
Notes:
im going on vacation! wooo! unfortunately that means i wont be posting next week, including this coming sunday. good things is, next chapter's gonna be part of the cap for this... arc... part... whatever's been going on since the part 1 end lol. the 'running from the cops' arc ig
Chapter 87: Butchery in the Barn
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
At the sound of Ruby's whetstone on Weiss’ blade, everyone stopped. Blake's dagger hung above Valerius’ skin, its edge teasing the first spot Weiss had marked in chalk. Yang, Weiss, and Qrow turned to the smith.
“What?” Ruby whined, her hand stopping. “Oh come on! I'm nervous, okay! This calms me down! I mean, you don't want me freaking out over every small thing, do you?”
Blake sighed, but nodded. The others did the same. Ruby went back to sharpening.
“It's actually quite nice,” Blake commented, her dagger unmoved. “It's like a rhythm.”
“Quit stalling,” Weiss snapped— not rudely, but knowingly. Both their hands were shaking.
Blake screwed her eyes shut, shook her head to clear it, and exhaled. Without any further ado, she slipped her freshly cleaned knife into the Binder's skin. The sound of it was distressingly faint– barely a squelching or slicking noise– just the visual of a living person being opened (supposedly) for their own good.
Blake's movements were slow and deliberate, splitting flesh with a disturbing ease that could only have come from experience. Her brow beat down, tongue held between slightly bared teeth, amber eyes sharp and dreadfully focused on the living fay beneath her blade. After a while, a bead of nervous sweat fell from her temple.
The first one to speak was Weiss. “Er, Blake?”
Blake hummed.
“How are you so good at this?”
Blake flicked her gaze to the heiress. Her fingers were already soaked in purple. “At what?”
Weiss nodded towards the not-corpse before them, which had the unfortunate consequence of drawing her eyes towards Blake's grisly work. Weiss gagged.
Blake shrugged and went back to cutting, her tense shoulders easing beneath a sigh. “Like I said: I had a friend, and I saw it quite literally first-hand. Plus, I've spent a lot of time surviving on my own.” She finished a long cut and retracted her blade, then pointed to a bleeding area for Weiss to freeze, which the sorceress did without pause. More relaxed now— as if the addition of shared words was all she needed— Blake waved the dagger conversationally. This flung a couple drops of purple on herself that she didn't notice. “It’s a long time before you can appear in public, even in disguise, when you're a runaway slave. Binders are valuable, so I had to live rough for…” Blake sighed, moving her knife back towards the incision. “A while.”
“You mean you've got practice skinning animals and such,” Qrow elaborated for her. His eyes were closed, and his fingers were firmly set onto Valerius’ temples. “That makes sense.”
Blake nodded. “Yeah, like that.”
Weiss groaned, acknowledging her question had been properly answered while being too disgusted to respond.
Yang didn't say anything at all, which made Blake want to die.
Ruby just stared hard at the fay's work, her hands dragging that whetstone down Aulus’ edge time and time again. Nobody even noticed the rasping sound anymore. The smith's rosy skin was a sickly pale tone, her face curdled with disgust and horror, but she dutifully watched.
‘You seem… almost comfortable,’ Aulus told her.
Ruby was nowhere close to any kind of comfort.
‘Perhaps that was the wrong word. Accepting, maybe.’
Ruby drew the grit down his edge, whetting it like she'd done countless other times to countless other blades, turning a meat-cutting blade into a hair-splitting blade. She’d refine the fay sword named Aulus Casta into something more fitting to Weiss’ character and knowledge– the duelist was used to and fit for a rapier. She did not have the sturdy legs for a saber or a sword, nor the bulk in her arms, nor the heft in her waist. She was made for ballroom dancing both in and out of combat, not worrying about the physical heft of her strikes being insufficient. The saber should slice just as easily as her rapier would stab.
Ruby hadn't been able to help in her fight against Valerius, and Weiss got hurt. If the time ever comes again that she should be fighting alone, Ruby will have at least made her blade more suitable for a duelist. At least in that sense, she could help.
‘Ah, so that's what you're doing. Distracting yourself.’ Aulus’ voice wasn't accusatory, just understanding. ‘You do have to watch, you know. It's your job.’
Ruby sighed, and turned her focus from the sword, continuing the sharpening motions. She had done them so many times in so many ways, if somebody had hewn her hand from her body and set it upon a blade, it would rigor mortis as if holding a whetstone.
She looked upon Valerius. Valerius, whose last name she did not know. Valerius, with skin the color of her smithing apron's suede. Valerius, whose brilliant crimson eyes were closed.
Valerius, who favored his left hand, just like her. Valerius, who looked at her strangely. Valerius, who made her eyes sizzle. Valerius, who had told her that she made beautiful star-charts.
Ruby jumped, getting attention from Weiss that she instinctively waved off. She blinked hard.
‘What was that? I saw that.’
Ruby looked down at the sword, remembering that she had it. Her hand had drifted from the edge to absently sharpen nothing. She did not know what he meant.
‘No, yes you do. You know– you thought it!’
Ruby placed her whetstone back on the blade. Valerius remained still.
Blake pried her kin open with finger and knife. Thankfully, they didn't have to go too deep to find the chain, locating the bump of a link near the right hip's apex.
“There,” Blake declared, spreading the flesh with her fingers. Purple squirted from something, immediately trying to flood the wound, but Weiss froze the source with remarkable speed for her trembling hands. Everyone gave her an impressed nod, which made her frown. Blake turned to her… Yang. “Yang? You see it?”
Yang leaned close to the incision, having to lightly dab at the area to get a view that wasn't occluded with blood. Running from one wall of split flesh to another, she saw a small black line. “Where's the rest?” she asked reasonably.
Blake nodded towards the wound. “Just get your fingers in and grab it– we're not melting it inside the body, we're pulling it out. Slowly.”
Yang scowled, but didn’t object. She gently slipped two fingers into the incision, pulling no face, not wincing, not even making it seem like she was sticking her hands in another person’s living meat.
Blake's eyebrows creased. “Have you done this before?”
Yang looked at her. It wasn't quite a glare, but it slammed through Blake like it had been. She turned her lilac eyes back to the body, her voice steady. “I was on a mission— a trial— for my Huntress certification. I had a… partner, this girl named Cinder. Incredibly skilled with flames— gods, she was a fucking… she was pure talent, even before Beacon. Helped me discover my affinity for fire.”
Yang squelchingly rooted around in the flesh, not even seeming particularly perturbed as she dug, stopped, then slowly pulled. Blake's eyes were firmly on Yang's face. Her sharp ears and long neck were starting to burn purple.
Yang continued, undeterred. “Amazing woman. And sweet Shepherd, what a body—”
“Yang,” Qrow sharply intoned, making Blake infinitely grateful towards him.
The Huntress chuckled, finally bringing the first link— barely wider than a finger— out of the cut. “Right, right. Anyways, we were on this trial out in… wherever, I don't even remember. Chasing a Grimm like always, finding it pretty easily.” Yang pulled another link through the slit. “It had those… those things… what're— what do porcupines have?”
Weiss answered immediately: “Quills.”
“Quills,” Yang repeated, nodding. “It stuck her with about… seven.” Weiss, Blake, and Ruby winced. “Huge things, these quills, about as long as my forearm. Poisonous, too.”
More links. Another, another.
“Watcher was already looking her way by the time I pulled the last one out,” Yang recounted, her unaffected voice finally turning somber. “I… I fucked up. I don't know how, but she kept dying. She just… kept dying.”
Qrow sighed. “Shards,” he added mournfully. “Parts that broke off while you were pulling them out.”
Yang nodded. “Y-yeah, I figured it out pretty quickly when I saw the quills weren't whole, and I had to…” her voice trailed suspensefully, drawing the others in.
Another link. They waited with bated breath, anxious for Yang to deliver a gruesome recount of how she painstakingly extracted every shard of quill.
Instead, she snorted. “Finger all her holes, just to get the—”
“Yang Xiao Long!” Qrow bit, nearly losing contact with Valerius.
Blake punched her arm. “You motherfucker!”
Weiss and Ruby only went a little red, because they didn't really get it.
Yang giggled, holding the links up with taunting carefulness. “Woah, woah there! I am doing meti-clu-ous work.”
“Meticulous?” Weiss corrected, unsure if it was a joke.
Yang shrugged. “Anyway, I got all of it out, but she remained in a constant state of almost-dying until she was pulled out of Beacon.”
Weiss reeled. “How did she survive? How did she survive and continue to hunt Grimm?’
Yang’s lips drew into a tiny smirk. “Like I said,” she drawled, the links getting taut as she drew them. “Pure talent. Even just shambling through life, she was brilliant.”
Blake snapped out of her jealous (and envious) stupor. “Stop!” she commanded, seizing Yang’s wrist. “Stop! Stop, before you yank his rib out!”
Slightly embarrassed, Yang brushed the hand off before grumbling, “Yeah, I get it, I wasn't… whatever. Stay back.”
Blake watched her pinch one link— the furthest one down that wasn't sticking halfway out of the incision— and focus, cupping her hand beneath it to catch any slag.
A couple sparks flew between her fingertips. Yang’s skin immediately reddened with effort and sweat, unused to pushing so much heat through such a small area, her flames demanding to be unshackled. More sparks flew. Yang's fingers twitched around the chain, tightening.
Weiss tensed, Ruby tensed, even Qrow— with his eyes closed, only smelling the arcane smoke and sulfur— wound up tight.
Blake felt a hurt and desperate gnawing in her gut as she watched Yang. Her blonde hair, once so perfect and voluptuous, was now a long series of mats, knots, and tangles that would be near impossible to conquer. Her face, pinched tight with effort, was covered in old streaks of mud and dirt, stuff that they hadn't the time to properly wash away. There was an urgent air of wrongness about her unkempt state, as if it were something that needed to be imminently fixed. Was it perhaps a representation of her control, a mirror to unspoken woes? Did it help keep her focus off that infernal contract?
If Blake had a comb, would Yang let her fix it?
That mess of blonde shimmered, lifting at the ends as smoke forcefully billowed from Yang's shoulder blades. Her throat glowed like a dragon’s, flickering between arcane orange and infernal gold, her control visibly slipping. Yang bared her teeth and hissed, blowing out hot, strangled wisps of smoke.
Blake could see all the little sparks and blazes of gold along her scarred arms and hands, just waiting for Yang to slip and ignite her Aura into daemonic conflagration. She could even see the pain in Yang's curling lips, her tightening eyes, every feature anticipating the anguish of payment. She looked so afraid— afraid and embarrassed— afraid of herself, of burning; embarrassed at her failure, at not being able to do the one thing she was tasked with, at falling to daemonic temptation just because she couldn't melt this tiny. Fucking. Chain.
Yang's face wasn't made for those contortions. It wasn't made for that kind of abashed struggle. Her stupid face was made to show that stupid smile. It was made to honk out her godawful, goose-like laugh. It was made to look down at Blake, glowing with bliss, and utter the very thing she was so afraid to hear.
Blake didn't tense. She scooted over, put one of her bloodied hands between Yang’s (painfully hot) shoulder blades, and said: “Y-you can, uh… you got it.”
Which was awful. Terrible. Disgusting, stupid, unhelpful, bad.
But it worked, and Yang opened one eye just enough to look at Blake. Lilac and red fought in her irises. Her lips parted from grit teeth. She sucked in a heaving breath, then blew it all out as a waft of smoke. “Fine,” she breathed, almost smiling.
Blake blinked, having expected a romantic look that would put her heart in the clouds. With what she got, she could only mouth an ‘okay’ and weakly nod.
The link turned orange, then white, then to dripping slag that pooled in Yang's palm. She tossed the separated length of chain away and fell back on her haunches, sighing. “Okay, that was harder than I thought,” she admitted. “Next time… shouldn't be that hard.”
Ruby, Weiss, and Qrow let out the breaths they'd been holding. Yang shrugged off the girl she’d slept with.
“Let's get back to it,” Yang said, her voice so coldly professional that both Weiss and Ruby raised eyebrows.
Blake, for only the briefest flash, made the face of a struck dog before throwing on a mask of focus. She took up her dagger and poised it over Valerius’ lowest right rib.
‘I hate this,’ Aulus said into Ruby’s mind, making her whetstone stop. ‘No, not that, I mean… this.’
Ruby looked over the operation before her. Blake was up to the sternum now, her dagger sliding through fay flesh. Weiss couldn't reliably freeze the larger incisions shut, so Yang had to cauterize them, leaving unsightly strips of burnt skin. The room stank.
Ruby hated it, too.
Aulus sighed— such a weird thing to hear inside her head. ‘Awful. I'm glad we agree. And whatever’s going on between everybody?’ The image of a hand gesturing between her friends rose in Ruby's thoughts. ‘Not good. Especially the divorced ones over there.’
Ruby didn't know what that meant.
‘Your sister and the fay.’
Yang and Blake.
‘Sure, whatever. I can't even see them properly— just flashes of what you experience— but what I have seen makes me want to lock them in a room until they kiss or kill each other.’
Ruby snorted, which got a side eye from Weiss before Blake snapped her fingers, directing the duelist's frosty talents towards a profuse bleed. Ruby absently watched her sister dab the excess blood into a cloth, clearing the way for Weiss to see the source and seal it in ice. With the purple cleared, black metal was visible.
Yang slipped her fingers into the wound, still unbothered. It was shallower than the pelvic one, so she found the link with ease. She slowly pulled at the binding chain. Links, links, links, rising from the flesh, dripping with purple.
“How did you do this?” Ruby found herself asking. “The chains, I mean, how'd you break them without a… uh…”
“Pyromancer,” supplied Weiss.
“Ignifer,” Yang corrected.
“Without one of those?” Ruby finished.
Blake pursed her lips, her amber eyes locked to the procession of unveiling iron. For the first time she looked a little sick, and gave no immediate answer.
Ruby's mind began to wander. “I suppose you could've…” she leaned towards the links being pulled out of Valerius, her gaze analytical. “Hmm. It looks like these are a combination of wrought and cast iron. Cast iron's pretty brittle, so…” her face crested with confusion, then horror, and she let her words hang.
“The old-fashioned way,” Blake confirmed grimly. “Finding cast-iron, then hitting it until it broke.”
“Wouldn't that hurt?” Ruby asked, oblivious to how hard her question made Blake wince. “Wouldn't it be loud? It doesn't seem like something you can do in secret.”
Blake rubbed at her forearm. “It did hurt. They had to pull it taut to get as much iron out as possible— I could feel it squeezing my bones together— and when they…” she shivered. “Hammered, it…”
Blake ran a hand through her violet locks, not even noticing they were still covered in blood, and let loose a shaky sigh. Ruby raised her hands placatingly, saying, “I-I'm sorry, you don't have to—”
“I, uh… died.”
Yang's nascent sparks died before they could properly alight. Everyone stared at Blake— save for Qrow, who only turned her way, his eyes still shut with focus.
Blake rubbed her forearm again. “The pain, and… we had to work fast— like you said, it's loud— so compared to what we're doing now, it was… I was… butchered. I went unconscious from the pain, or from the blood; it doesn't matter. I died.”
Nobody spoke; no one would dare interrupt her.
“While I was unconscious,” Blake added, her voice quiet, eyes distant. “Funny how you can tell the difference.”
It felt like the Shimmer’s day had turned to night in the time it took Ruby to speak up again. “But… you're not dead.”
Blake jolted, wrenched unceremoniously from her recollections. “Er… no. I had help.”
A hundred different questions rose in the room, and Ruby was the only one with the audacity to actually ask: “What kind of help?”
Blake stiffened as her face pinched with pain, her answer coming fast and hard: “A cleric.”
Yang side-eyed her. “That's a lie.”
“A necromancer.” Weiss’ voice was airy with disbelief. It hardened over the next words, sharpening into an accusatory tone. “You know a necromancer and you didn’t tell me!”
In Ruby’s head, Aulus let out a decades-long sigh– not of relief, but exasperation.
Blake bared her teeth in anger, her own voice hissing through it. “No I did not! She–” her voice cracked. “She was not a necromancer! She was a cleric! A good person– a good human!” Blake turned down, focusing on the body. “She… did what she had to do. For me, of all people.”
The room’s atmosphere thickened with things unsaid, but a sound broke through before anything could get tense– Qrow grunting.
Blake jumped on the opportunity to take focus off herself. “Huntsman? Is something wrong?”
Qrow shivered, then shook his head and shoulders. “No. He's… having a dream.”
“Is that not normal?” Blake asked.
Qrow shrugged. “I don't know, I haven't really done this before— not like this I mean.”
Blake hummed. When Ruby opened her mouth, clearly about to launch another question Blake’s way, she cut it off by asking: “What's he dreaming of?”
Qrow scowled. His cheeks dusted with the lightest red— near invisible on someone with rosy skin like Ruby, but painfully visible on his sallow-pale tones. “I'd… rather not disclose.”
Yang shook her head to refocus on the chain, now taut, and pinched a link between her fingers. “Raunchy,” she grunted, her teeth grit, sparks flying between the grind of molars. “Give me the details, old man. I need something to focus on that isn't burning.”
“Yang!” Qrow admonished again. “Your sister is here!”
Yang scoffed, blowing a heavy puff of smoke past her lips. “Oh, please, she is a grown woman. Gods forbid she learn a few things.”
Qrow got one sound out of his mouth before Ruby cut him off, saying, “Yeah, say it! Come on!”
“Your father's going to kill me,” Qrow muttered under his breath. “Fine. There's… a man.”
“Oooooho-ho-ho,” Yang hooted, creased brow easing. “Details, details!”
Qrow groaned. “They're having… intimate relations—”
“Intimate relations!” Yang parroted, fingers sparking orange. “We all know what that means!”
She wiggled an eyebrow at Blake, who indulged her with a shaky half-smile. Ruby and Weiss blushed, but remained blissfully naive (for the most part).
“What does the man look like?” Ruby probed, unsure of what she was really asking.
Qrow groaned again, much more agonized than before. “He's… human. I think. Skin like Blake’s. Eyes— eye, singular— blue.”
Blake hadn't really been listening, even with her name in the air, but now she paid rapt attention.
“Pretty,” Yang hissed sarcastically, keeping a much better hold on her flames. “What're they—”
“What's his hair color!” Blake's voice burst over Yang's like a fireball, making all eyes turn to her.
Qrow pinched his eyebrows together and frowned. “Red,” he answered. “Very red. Colored, I think.”
Blake's breathing quickened. She whipped her head towards Weiss, leaning over Valerius’ body just to get in the heiress’ face. “The master, who is he? You must have talked to him– what did he tell you?”
“Of course I did!” Weiss reeled out of Blake's personal space. “Why?”
Blake grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back in. “And you didn't think to tell me? Are you stupid?” She shook the heiress, close enough for their noses to touch. “Who. Does. He. Serve?”
Weiss trembled and stammered, getting only “Un— unhand me— ” out before Ruby pulled her from the fay's grip.
“Hey!” Ruby's voice was sharper than Aulus, though she only had Weiss in her hands. “Get it together!”
“The master!” Blake shouted, dagger tight in her grip, her whole body poised to vault over Valerius and chase the girl in Ruby’s arms. Yang fumed, her face twisting with confliction as her control threatened to slip. Qrow opened his sharp eyes and glared at Blake, his fingers twitching on Valerius’ temples.
“Calm down!” Ruby demanded, though her voice was background noise to Blake.
“T-Taurus!” Weiss squeaked. Then, with a little more confidence: “Taurus!”
Blake had no reaction, save for slamming her dagger down.
Yang lunged forward and thrust her hand out, catching the blade between the creases of her palm, her Aura shivering in response. She caught it, saving Valerius without even getting stabbed.
But that bump— that tiny little shunt of the dagger’s point against her slipping soul— was just enough to tip the scales.
Yang's Aura ignited into an infernal blaze of gold, glittering, throwing embers and sparks, drinking her Aura until there was nothing to hold the dagger. The blade drove through her palm. Then it melted.
Weiss scrambled back, Ruby scrambled back, Qrow reeled, barely keeping his fingers in place.
The only one who didn't move was Blake. She had just enough wherewithal to launch herself into Yang, dropping what was now just a burnt handle in favor of throwing her hands out. She caught Yang by the biceps, thrusting the Huntress’ flame-sheathed arms fully out and away as Blake brought her to the floor. She remained sprawled atop the brawler, holding her down as she thrashed and wailed at the fiery consumption of half a stone of flesh.
“It's okay!” Blake shouted over the Huntress’ screaming. “It's— I'm sorry! You're going to be okay! I've got you!”
“Why did you— gods!” Yang threw her head back and bit down on a wail of pain. “Why?”
Blake ran through every lie and excuse in her head, but they all crashed against the truth. “It's him,” she bit out. “Taurus— Adam, my…” Blake threw her gaze aside and swallowed. “He's the one who owned me. Bound me.”
Yang tried to hold herself still— both of them did, but the final wave of fiery consumption washed down past her fat, eating the barely-repaired muscles of her forearms. She screamed again, thrashed again, and Blake couldn't quite stop her arms from swinging up and catching her violet hair aflame.
“Shite!” Yang yelled, the flames finally dying from her arms. “I'm sorry!”
The Huntress tried to reach out and pat the fire away, only to be reminded of the fact that her forearms had been reduced to cratered lengths of charred flesh, smoking sinew, and bubbling fat. They didn't heed her command. Instead, a wave of frost blew over Blake's head. The infernal flames fought very hard against it, taking a good few seconds to finally dim, wither, and disappear. By the time they went out, it looked like a dragon had taken a burning bite out of her plum mane.
The room smelled like blood and burnt hair.
Weiss slumped weakly into Ruby's arms, hoping to be held, only to be gently set down.
“Blake.” Ruby’s voice was colder than ice, with a depth of foreboding that only Pyrrha could surpass. “Outside. Now.”
She turned on a heel and started storming out of the barn, not waiting for Blake. When Weiss slowly got up, Ruby whirled on her.
“No, stay here. Look after Yang, wrap her up if you can. Give her sap if you can't.” Ruby's commands were clipped and harsh. “Please.”
The word ‘sap’ rattled through Weiss’ skull. “S-sap? But what if I—”
“You can do it. If you can't, Qrow will. Kill Valerius if you have to, but try to wrap Yang up first. Thank you. Blake,” she jerked her head towards the exit. “Come on.”
Blake didn't come. Instead, she stood above Yang and crossed her arms, declaring, “I'm not leaving her.”
Ruby stopped at the door, breathed in through her nose, then breathed out through her mouth. She turned sharply, marching to Blake until she was well within the fay's personal space. Ruby looked up at her, silver skewering amber.
“Come outside,” Ruby demanded, her voice a warning.
Blake stared into her eyes, trying to stay stalwart, but that boiling mercury devoured her resolve in moments. Blake bit her lip and followed, despondent.
Notes:
fays anatomy ( ͡°( ͡° ͜ʖ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ʖ ͡°) ͡°) remember when there was a tournament?
also back from my vacay and dw abt the almost-smutfic, its not edited by my wife (just me) so it shouldn't affect the update regularity
Chapter 88: A Rose by Any Other Name
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby paced.
Six steps, turn, six steps, turn, three steps, turn to Blake, open mouth, turn, three steps, turn, six steps, turn…
She paced for what felt like years, Blake did nothing. She just stood there, staring dumbly at the smith, her hands covered in hues of Valerius and Yang. The wind came infrequently, but hard. It blew the crispy black ends of her hair into her face.
Six steps. Turn. Six steps. Turn. Three steps. Turn to Blake. Open mouth.
“Blake.”
Blake jumped. She'd been watching Ruby so long that she lost the girl's shape. She started an answer, but got no sound out. Ruby's eyes closed. She sighed, opened them again, and affixed Blake with an exhausted stare.
“Thank you.”
There was silence for a while. Then, “What?”
Ruby's lids fell flatly over eyes . “I mean it, thank you. Now you can release Weiss from that stupid deal.”
“Deal?” Blake reeled. “Wait, stupid?”
“Stupid,” Ruby confirmed. “Terrible. Dangerous. Now that you've made her betray her oath, you can let her out of it. This is your fault, after all.”
“My fault?” Pure disbelief shot roughly out of Blake's lungs. “That man, Adam Taurus, is a maniac! So long as Valerius lives, he can find us!”
“Then we'll…” Ruby pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, shaking her head. “Then we have to kill him, and this will all have been a waste of our time and energy.”
Blake slumped, defeated, the wind so casually stolen from her sails by a girl who was at least twenty years her junior.“You say that like—”
“Fine,” the smith groaned, ignoring her completely. “We’ll kill him, but not before you release Weiss from her oath.”
Blake snorted. “It's not a contract, she doesn't have to—”
Ruby's mercury glare impaled her again. “It is to her; she gave you her word and she will follow it to her grave— to all of our graves. Our one, big, collective grave. So release her.”
“But what about the—”
“We will free Binders! Obviously!” Ruby exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “But with limits! Not like this! We're not going to free people who will try to kill us as thanks!”
Ruby flicked her hands, trying to shake off her frustration; she continued, “Blake, we'll do what we can, but what's more important is staying alive. We can't deal with Pyrrha if we get killed trying to…” she rolled her wrist, her eyes shut pensively. “Go to war against the nobility, or whatever you thought this thing would accomplish.”
Blake tried to respond, but Ruby snapped her fingers as if an epiphany had struck, once again interrupting the fay. “That’s what you want, isn't it?” Ruby wagged her finger, pointing at Blake. “I remember in the tournament, you told me you just went to fight nobles! That's all this is to you! It's not some… cause against the treatment of the fay, it's revenge! You just wanted Weiss to take the brunt of it, all the worst parts, so you could go around and kill the Houses while nobody is look—”
Blake slapped her, then snatched that offending hand back to her chest like Ruby’s cheek had been aflame. The smith herself was thrust a full step aside, her head turning from the force but undamaged thanks to her Aura, which thrummed over her cheek.
Regardless of if it hurt, Ruby felt like she'd been slapped. Worse, she felt like she definitely deserved it.
When her eyes returned to Blake’s, they watered, but she didn't cry. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I…”
Blake’s hands fell to her sides and guilt rose sickly in her stomach— not guilt for hitting her, guilt for what she was about to say.
“Your mom’s fay,” Blake stated. “Was.”
Ruby stopped rubbing her cheek and nodded. “Yes?”
“She would've been a slave, too,” Blake said, knowing it was a lie, poking even more holes in her gut. “If she'd been captured.
Ruby nodded, unsure. “I suppose.”
“You would've been born a slave, if at all.”
Ruby nodded again.
Blake raised her brows obviously. “Wouldn't you want revenge?”
Ruby slowly nodded a third time, speaking perfectly candid for a person to whom the subject should be intensely mournful. “Of course I would. Blake, I don't think it's wrong for you to want that— I support it, if anything.” She looked past Blake, through the barn doors where Weiss and Qrow and Yang were. “But if you're going to do that, you can't make Weiss bear all the weight. It’s not her fault she was born into that life.”
Blake blinked. “You… support… me?”
Ruby shrugged— so nonchalant, as if her support was nothing more than a fact of life. “Sure. If I had to kill someone, I'd rather it be a slaver than anyone else,” she looked behind Blake again, through the barn doors where Valerius lay. “But this… I'm not happy about it. I'll do it, but—”
Blake tried to interrupt. “N-no, Ruby, I'll—”
“No,” the smith commanded definitively. “You shouldn't. You two… you and him aren’t the same, but you're probably too similar to be doing that. It wouldn't be good for you.”
Blake scowled. “How would you know?”
Ruby’s confidence seeped back behind exhaustion. Her eyes shifted around and she gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I… wouldn't, I guess, but it just doesn't seem right.”
The guilt returned, doubly so, poking holes in Blake’s gut. She would be guilty for telling Ruby, but she would still feel guilty if she didn’t.
Ruby, taking the fay’s long bout of silence for agreement, started walking back towards the barn before Blake grabbed her hand. Ruby looked at it, her face simultaneously gaining a sickly, anxious pallor along with light dust of pink, before the girl yanked her hand out of the fay’s grip. “Y-yes? What?”
Blake felt so profoundly shitty that she almost vomited. “Your, er… mother—”
The girl’s eyes went alight with interest, her minor internal conflict immediately overridden. “Yes? Do you know something? Valerius said he knew her, that she was a monster, but he didn't say anything else…”
Blake's eyebrows skirmished with her hairline. “He…” she shook her head. “He wasn’t… wrong.”
Ruby leaned in.
“Your mother was a military figure— a leader of some kind, I don’t really remember.” Blake stated, careful to not say the thing that would upend the poor girl’s life. “She was in both civil wars, and in the one against the humans.”
“Both civil wars?”
Blake nodded grimly. “There was a big one before the human war, then… another one. After.”
Ruby swallowed whatever she was about to say.
Blake looked away with something vaguely resembling embarrassment. “I… wasn't really around, most of what I know is word-of-mouth from my parents. There wasn't much time between Roseus’ peak status and the human invasion; I was very young then, so I can't really remember things too well.”
“How young?”
“I was about…” Blake looked up, calculating. “Ten years old when I was taken.”
The smith raised an eyebrow. “Ten isn't that young, shouldn't your memory be fine?”
Blake deadpanned at her. “Perhaps the childhood of slavery had some adverse effects on me. Who could say?”
“S-sorry.”
The fay waved her off. “Besides that, I heard some stories of Roseus in the army. She killed thousands— fay, human, men, women, children. She did unspeakable things in both realms.”
The other girl's face crumpled. “Oh.”
Blake frowned, mostly at herself, but a little bit at Ruby's… lame reception of what should be a heartbreaking revelation.
“Is that… all?”
Blake frowned harder. “Sorry?”
“N-no! Not like that, just… isn't there more?”
“I don't know, ” the fay admitted, shrugging. “Like I said, I only know stories. She disappeared after—”
Ruby dropped her face in her hands and groaned. “That's…” she groaned again, wretchedly. “That's not enough— that's barely anything! Dammit!”
Blake jumped.
Ruby rubbed her face, tilted her head to the skies, and blew a massive sigh. “You'd think, of all things, I should know at least one thing— my own mother— but no.” Under her breath, she added, “Too stupid for that, too.”
There was a long silence.
“I'm sorry,” Blake said to fill it, “and I’m sorry about Yang.”
Ruby hummed.
“Aren’t you mad?”
Ruby looked at her and scowled. “Yeah, of course I am.” She turned, throwing a dismissive wave over her shoulder. “But she did throw her hand right under it, and I think what I want to say about that would make Yang angry at me, and would probably worsen whatever is going on between you two.” She stopped before the barn doors and gave Blake a sharp side-eye. “Which you need to figure out, by the way. Yang’s never been good at having normal feelings.”
Blake blinked, those words stabbing into her more than if Ruby had simply told her to fall on her own knives. “O-okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Sorry.”
There was no ‘it's okay’ or ‘I forgive you’ (not that Blake felt she deserved any), just a drawn-out inhalation from Ruby. “Alright,” the smith conceded, sighing. “Let's do it. Wait out here, I'll send Weiss.”
Blake was not prepared to speak to Weiss. She didn't want to speak with Weiss, either. With how strange and anxious she felt at the moment, she didn't really want to talk to anyone.
But she wasn't about to piss off Ruby any more than she already had, so she nodded.
The sight in the barn wasn't a pleasant one.
“Weiss, give it to her,” Qrow commanded, his fingers still on Valerius’ temples.
Weiss was on her knees beside Yang. She held a sap vial uncorked, the tiny philter shaking between her hands. She stared at it possessively.
Ruby opened her mouth, but Qrow shot her a silencing look— a ‘let me’ kind of look. “Weiss,” he said, firm but gentle, voice perfectly steady. “You can do this. You don't even have to give her the whole thing— hell, you shouldn't. Just one drop for your friend. You can give that much, can't you?”
Weiss’ face twisted. “B-but… it's…”
“It's still yours,” Qrow affirmed. “It's yours. You're just letting her have a little. Just a couple drops— that's all she'll need, she's strong enough to do the rest.”
The vial hanging above Yang's mouth began to shake. Ruby worried more that Weiss would drop it straight down her sister’s throat, but she didn't. Instead, she managed to tip the thin bottle just a few degrees. Her eyes devotedly tracked the viscous red as it climbed the glass, pooled over the lip, and trickled two drops into Yang’s open maw.
Weiss immediately snatched the bottle back and corked it, thrusting it so fast into her pouch that her arm was a blur. Ruby sighed and started her approach.
“Good job, Weiss,” Qrow grunted, his sallow face now sweat-sheened from splitting his focus. “I'm proud of you.”
Weiss looked at him like he'd saved her life or handed her a puppy, which made Ruby’s heart melt. She made the once-heiress jump when she came close and pulled her into a hug, but Weiss quickly relaxed into her arms. Ruby kissed her temple, watching Yang’s Aura tug at her flesh through the corner of her eye. The usual warm colors were hued with a barely-visible pink as they sparked faint lattices over the deepest craters, stoking the flesh of both arms to start filling what they could.
Qrow spoke up again. “So what now? We can try to do what Blake did, but I don't know if they have a hammer and chisel here,” he looked around at the old, rusted farm equipment. “Also, I don't know how much longer I can do this. I can feel him slipping deeper into sleep, and if I lose him, he's gone forever.”
Ruby straightened, taking Weiss to her feet with her. “We’re leaving. Weiss, go outside. Blake has something to discuss with you.”
Weiss looked up at her, but the promising look on Ruby’s face comforted the duelist’s worries.
“Go ahead,” Ruby urged. She kissed the shorter girl’s head, throwing a hidden, appreciative look to her uncle as she did. “And thank you for helping Yang, I knew you could do it.”
Qrow returned her look with worry, but remained quiet until Weiss closed the barn doors behind her. Now it was just the Rose-Branwen family, joined unwillingly by a sleeping Valerius. Ruby approached her uncle. He eyed her suspiciously.
“What're you doing?” he asked.
Ruby shook her head, eyes flickering to Valerius. “We can't help him.”
Qrow reeled. “What— what're you saying?”
She looked away. “I think you know what I'm saying.”
“No, Ruby.”
“Look, we can't—” Ruby rubbed her eyes, pulled her palms down her face, and sighed. “He wants to kill us, and I don't think that'll change after we cut him open without his permission. We’ve already got Pyrrha chasing us.”
Qrow cocked his head piteously. “Ruby, you don't want to do—”
“Of course I don't want to!” Ruby interrupted, raising her voice before it fell with defeat. “But… we have to. Blake said his master can track us if he's alive, and Blake knows his master. We can't just break his chains off, and I don't think you can keep that,” she motioned to the unsteady, flickering wisps of ash-colored magic around her uncle’s fingers, “going on for much longer.”
“Ruby.”
Ruby stomped her foot and glared at her uncle. “What! It's either kill him now, or kill him when he wakes up and comes after us.” She bitterly threw her head aside, spitting, “He's dying either way.”
Qrow scowled. “Well it doesn't have to be you.”
The smith took a breath, her head shaking slowly. She straightened, raising her chin high, her hand falling to hang on her longsword. “Yes, it does. I got us into this— all of this. I'm the leader, so it needs to be me.”
Qrow stared, his red eyes like gems that’d long since lost their gleam. “It doesn't, Ruby. I can do it. I can do it right now.”
Ruby shook her head, voice resolute. “Let me.”
The Huntsman looked down at the sleeping man, up at his niece, then closed his eyes and spoke under his breath. “You really are just like her.”
“Mom?”
Qrow nodded.
“I hope not too much,” Ruby bitterly mused.
Qrow snorted, then did a hard double-take at his niece. “You know?”
The smith half-shrugged. “Some things, not enough. She was in a war, she killed a lot of people, she was evil.”
That unambiguous ‘evil’ made the Huntsman wince. “She was… very troubled,” he said, venturing far and wide to pick something more digestible than ‘evil’. “She didn't want you to know all this.”
“Why?”
Qrow pursed his lips. “So you could remember her as a mother.”
Those words threatened to spark something mournful in Ruby’s mind, so she dropped bitterness upon them like a falling portcullis. “Well, she was also a liar.”
“Ruby…”
The smith glared knives at him. “Don't baby me, it's the truth. Was she even a Huntress? Or was that a lie, too?”
Qrow shook his head slowly, mournfully. “She was. Summer was the greatest Huntress I've ever seen; I think it was her weapon, it really did do something with those Grimm souls.”
Ruby didn't like just how relieved that made her. Thankfully, a spark of curiosity gave her a way to ignore that. “How'd she get into Beacon? Did they really accept fay? And why’d they accept her, of all fay?”
Her uncle laughed, and it was nice to hear him laugh. “They don't accept fay,” he confirmed. “But Summer was insane, she—”
“Cut her ears?” Ruby finished, making him deflate slightly. “Even then, wouldn't they recognize her? I thought she was infamous.”
Qrow nodded. “Oh she was, but… something happened to her. I don't know.” He motioned over his own face. “I couldn’t recognize her, even after she told me. She just… looked different.”
Ruby squinted, but let it pass. “What… happened to her?”
The Huntsman scowled deeply, threatening to double his frown-line wrinkles. “I… I don't really know. After she had you, she just started… falling apart. She panicked all the time, she left at strange hours without explanation, she stopped going on Hunts. She stopped talking with me and Tai, but she got close with my sister— of all people. They would disappear for days at a time.” Qrow looked down at Valerius, his voice quiet and heavy. “She never came back with Raven in tow, and she never came back happy.”
“What did she…” she wanted to ask what she did with Yang’s mother, but it was clear that Qrow had no clue. With her curiosity cut short, guilt wracked her. “So it was me? I made her leave?”
Qrow's head whipped to her, his face curled with horror. “No! No, no, Ruby, never think that!” It was painfully clear he wanted to hug her. “Summer's issues were her own. She was centuries old, Ruby, we could never hope to understand how many problems weighed that woman down.”
“And what if I was all she needed to be tipped off the edge?”
Qrow took too long to rebut, so Ruby drew Valerius’ longsword from her hip. It made a sound that rung familiarly in Ruby's mind, centering her, focusing her.
She turned her flat gaze to her uncle. “When I tell you, wake him up.”
Qrow watched her climb up onto the table, place her feet on either side of the slumbering fay, and level the point of her sword with Valerius’ windpipe. “Ruby, I—” Qrow started.
Ruby wasn’t listening.
She kept her eyes on Valerius’, waiting for the moment they’d open. They'd be red. They'd look at her and know. They'd see right through her. So red. Like blood. Like rubies.
Her hand started to shake and her mind reeled, painting the front of her thoughts with memory:
Her cleaver sliding through flesh, then bone, then flesh again, a noble hand flying. Her hammer smashing another hand to gory bits. The spur, the punches, all the teeth she no longer had, the branches, Pyrrha, her mother… the nails.
Of all things, it had to be the nails that were the worst. The deprivation of her being didn’t come from the Chasm, it wasn't some spell; it was simple human cruelty, devised by simple humans for a simple purpose: to hurt.
She remembered those spikes so well— even if all the other memories were like looking underwater, she could picture the nails as clear as day. How they were pitted cast iron. How long they were: from that terrible man's bony index knuckle to the white of his wretchedly unclipped fingernail. How they were as broad as his thumb. How dull they were, as if the gallery of bones they'd penetrated had left their tips blunt.
Whoever had made them was not a smith. They were uneven and kinked like thin carrots. She could've made them better. Thinner, shorter, evenly turning them on her anvil to— tang, tang— hammer their bodies into— tang, tang— perfect, even squares. She wouldn't even need to — creak, ssssss— pump her bellows and reheat, just— tink— set it on the anvil once, get to work, and it'd be done. She'd made so many nails that she could do it blind, directed solely by the sounds of her forge.
The longsword in her grip went still.
Tang-tang, tang-tang, creak, ssssss, tink…
Valerius had such a familiar face. She could almost see the way he smiled, how high his lips rose, how his cheeks creased, how his mouth was never even, always lopsided.
Tang-tang, tang-tang, creak, ssssss, tink…
Ruby inhaled. Burnt hair, burnt flesh, blood.
Tang-tang…
Orange coals, hot metal, sweat.
Creak…
Ruby exhaled through her teeth.
Ssssss…
“Wake him.”
“Ruby,” Qrow said, as if he’d been saying her name for hours. “I can’t.”
Notes:
This one was... a lot. With a lot of fun implications im excited to see yall run amok with!
Chapter 89: Hellfire
Chapter Text
Yang did not usually dream. She tried not to. When she felt a dream coming on— and she always knew— she wrenched herself from sleep, and would stay up until daylight.
But this time she did not, because she had burned herself to sleep, and her dreams were awoken by sap.
Yang always dreamt of hell.
Hell was a campfire, one which burned a bright, glimmering gold. The campfire wasn't particularly large, nor particularly hot. It was just there.
She did not look at it, she knew better. If her eyes met that craving heart, she would see her contract. It would burn in white letters behind her eyelids. The words would blind her, and she would not be able to keep her hands from sticking into the flames. She knew that instinctively.
She should not touch the flames. That was not her place. If the flames met Yang, it would be on their volition— for their hunger. Really, all she had to do was stay completely still, not touch the fire, and not look at the bodies.
“Yang.”
She also should not talk to the dragon.
“Yang.”
His voice entered her brain like letters peeled from a book and poured into her skull. She looked at him. It was okay to look— she should look— but not talk.
The dragon was of a size she could not fully comprehend. She could never see his wholeness at once, always some part of him stretching past her vision, always something that could not be completely beheld in her mind. He was like a serpent, in a way— if someone had only heard the description of a serpent from a child, and said child had been very afraid of it.
He was a six-legged thing; with one pair of legs at the end of his unfathomably extensive body, along with two pairs at the front for movement and manipulation. There were four toes to each foot, one spur at the heel and three at the front, each spur clawed and wicked. The nails themselves flexed along impossible articulations to seem like an eagle’s curved talon when lifted, or a flat and pointed sabaton when supporting a weight. His front claws liked to wriggle casually since he rarely placed them upon the dirt, but they also liked to writhe and molest whatever was in his palms.
His body was not something Yang could really understand. To be fair, most things about the dragon were not something Yang could understand, but that wasn't because she was ignorant– there were just things that weren't for her mind. He seemed both grounded and levitating, as if acknowledging the ground with his joints and limbs but never treading upon it. The length of his being stretched beyond sight, either always out of the corner of Yang's eyes or disappearing into distant fog. He moved like a whip, any sway at his neck moved down his body, traveling across the length before snapping up a tail-end Yang had never seen.
Upon that neck was a huge head, square in profile but truly serpentine when beheld at the face. Three pairs of long white whiskers— like a koi or catfish— wriggled from the rich white fluff around what Yang assumed to be nostrils. The thick strands twitched in the air with minds of their own, sometimes coiling around each other or batting their tips as if they were fighting.
Wicked, branching horns shot out from his crown like lightning, either perfectly symmetrical or totally different. The branches were beautifully festooned with golden chains, hanging flower-moss and ivy, furs from an unidentifiable animal, and occasionally a sheath of pristine human skin, the decorations changing whenever Yang blinked.
And his teeth… they were all the teeth. Sometimes when he spoke, he would close his mouth and sheathe them, then when he bared them again they were human. Sometimes he talked about fire, and they became sharp and triangular, setting themselves in rows. Sometimes he talked about souls and they disappeared, becoming serrated white rings that Yang would see running down his throat. Sometimes he talked about meat and grew fangs that curved outside his mouth. Sometimes he talked about murder and his teeth were like needles.
His eyes were the same color as his scales. Yang didn’t know what color that was.
His wings were the envy of the sky.
And in the center of his chest, perfectly between his front four legs, was a spear. It wasn't an interesting spear. The shape of its head was hidden in the dragon's chest, so all Yang had ever seen were the stubby wings at the head’s base. The shaft was just… wood. Black and charred wood, its origin tree unidentifiable, but it was still just wood.
Blood like liquid gold seeped from the wound, each droplet the size of Yang's whole body. They made craters wherever they fell, but the dragon was careful not to let Yang be endangered by them. She was his favorite, after all.
“Yang.”
She was already looking at his awful, beautiful face, which he smoothly brought down to her level. He moved so perfectly that it was hard to look at, as if he slid across a glass sheet laid over the realm.
“Yang Xiao Long,” he drawled lovingly, like a father whose daughter had come home after a long trip. “You look radiant today.”
Yang looked down at her arms. Where the real flesh of her body would be pitted and cratered with burns, here those spots glittered with golden flames. They didn't hurt, nor did they emit any real light or heat. They were just there.
“How are things going?” the dragon asked politely, waiting but not expecting a response.
Yang said nothing.
“I am sorry if my contract hurts you,” he told her, even though he had no right to apologize for something he merely inherited.
Yang kept her expression neutral. It was easy to forget that the dragon was not a dragon, but technically a daemon— in the same way that one who eats too much pork becomes part pig. Even with the acknowledgment fresh, she felt that fact trying to wriggle itself out of her brain. He wanted not to be seen as a daemon.
“Have you died this time? Are you here to stay?”
He would love for her to stay.
“I'd love for you to stay.”
She knew that, but she hated hell— even if she had no particularly strong feelings regarding the dragon.
“I understand. You have a family, all that jazz.”
He said things she didn't understand, but he always said them like she did.
“You're a little… pinker, today.”
Yang looked down at herself. Indeed, the golden flames had a pinkish hue that was harder to immediately distinguish.
“I think you've been sapped. Are you okay with that?”
Yang could not stop the twitch of surprise. The moment she emoted, the dragon's whole face thrust itself before her, grinning wide with teeth upon teeth upon teeth, slavering gem-colored drool.
“Have you something to say?” he begged. “Oh, please, Yang Xiao Long. Enlighten me. Speak in multitudes, describe your world, mete unto me thy wisdom, please.”
Yang remained mute.
The dragon's grin fell. “You are so…” he huffed petulantly, “rote. Boring. Why oh why did I have to inherit this cursed lineage of stuffed shirts?”
His body quivered behind him, shaking the crest along his back and making a sound like a colossal rattlesnake.
He gave her a polite distance, closing his eyes as if in apology. “Sorry, child. Not you. You are none of those things,” he snorted. “Though you are silent like all the rest.”
As always, his posture left just enough room for her eyes to find the campfire.
“No, you are a fun one, and I love those twisted souls you grant me–” he raised a claw from one hand, some uncanny reflection of a human gesticulation. “Save for that last one! Like eating a whole menagerie of old, shriveled garbage!” He thrust out a human tongue and melodramatically scraped it with his hands. “Awful, Yang! Just awful!”
His eyes narrowed.
“If you feed me that again, I will…” his threatening look dragged unsurely before he hung his colossal head, sighing. “Not do anything. Because I'm stuck here.”
He met her gaze again, features drooping with untenable despair.
“It's dreadful, child! I tell you, I never would've deposed my soul if I knew it would be this droll!”
He looked around as if there was something to see, then sighed again. Without looking, he idly mussed through the campfire, knocking sticks and logs around through the flames.
“Oh well. Send me a palette cleanser, perhaps something umami.”
She had no clue what that meant.
He held one claw up to his eye and it split hundreds of times, opening like the pages of a book. He grinned once more. “And it looks like I'll be seeing you soon.”
Yang’s eyes widened and he was upon her again, desperate to pounce.
“Sooner than you think,” he hissed, making terrible clicks from his teeth by rubbing their serrations together. “Ta-ta!”
Yang opened her eyes. She could hear her sister’s panicked breathing— it was a sound for which she had developed an instinct— and craned her neck towards the girl, her spine feeling like the rusty hinges of an ancient door.
She got a perfect view of the smith standing above Valerius, longsword poised for his throat, her face a rigid mask. Qrow still sat at the fay’s head, fingers lifting away from his temples, staring up at Ruby with a drawn scowl as if he'd just told his niece that her dog had died.
Yang must have made some kind of noise, because Ruby sent her a look of panic. Her silver eyes widened. She turned back to Valerius. Her chest rose sharply, her shoulders hitching high as she started to shake her head. Ruby screwed her eyes shut. She grit her teeth and grimaced. Yang tried to speak.
“Ruby?”
Ruby stabbed Valerius in the neck.
He did not jolt. He did not gasp. He simply bled.
Ruby looked down at what she'd done in horror. She pulled out the sword. She stabbed him again, she stabbed him again— the blade flashing— the purple spraying up, splattering her jaw, clear tear-tracks diluting the color— she stabbed him. Again and again and again.
“Ruby!”
It wasn't Yang this time, it was Qrow. He stared up at her, red eyes chastising, as if she was his own daughter.
“Ruby, stop,” he commanded. “It's done.”
The girl stared down at her sword, swallowing air in huge gasping huffs. Her cheeks were stained with tears and blood.
Yang had seen her sister mangled. She had seen her pummeled beyond recognition. She had seen her face— Ruby’s face, her sister’s sweet, comforting face— turned into dripping splinters of gore and bone. And yet, Yang had never before seen her sister look so broken.
Chapter 90: The Corpse You Made for Me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
‘Ruby, look at him! We cut him open like a fish, of course he died!’
‘N-no I didn't— I didn't do it on purpose!’
‘Ruby, it's better this way, I swear— I know! ’
But why was she disappointed? Why was she angry? Why did she feel so robbed, like that life had been hers to take?
And why— gods, why— had she been so eager to do it in the first place?
‘Ruby?’
And now Yang was watching. Now Yang was seeing her stand above that fay who was now just a sleeping corpse. Her longsword poised for his throat, his open wounds jeering at her, taunting her. She felt his red eyes on her again, glaring all the way through his closed lids.
She was weak. Indecisive. Too slow. She had wasted time gathering herself while her one chance at avenging her mother slipped through her fingers. She was left with nothing. Bereft. Unsatisfied.
Her hand had moved on its own, seeking something, anything to reclaim that which she'd lost, but all she felt with each spray of purple was disgust.
‘Ruby, stop. ’
Why didn't she want to stop? Why did she want to hack away at this corpse until it was plum-colored pulp? Why did she want to scream until her throat bled, just like his?
‘It's done,’ was the last thing Qrow had told her.
Ruby pulled her sword from the fay with a wretched slicking noise. She stared down at the blade. It was covered in purple.
Ruby flicked the sword out as if it was a habit she'd had for years, throwing off rivulets of purple to the barn floor. The blood continued to stain the blade.
She thought nothing. Her head was a deafening void. Her heart felt empty, worn, faint, like it had beaten all its beats. Her body moved without thought, without grace. Ruby Rose was a golem of stone and iron.
“I miss my cloak,” she found her mouth saying as she hopped down from the table.
Qrow jolted. “What?”
“Something to clean this,” she commented, lamely lifting her sword. “It’ll rust.”
“What?” Qrow said again after a stunned pause.
“Wipe… with water,” Yang supplied, painfully rising up on her tattered elbows. “Then dry and oil.”
Ruby looked at her as if she'd forgotten she was there, as if she had forgotten that she herself was there. Qrow hadn't noticed her awakening, so he jumped.
Ruby stared at Valerius— through Valerius. The sword in her hand trembled.
The doors burst open.
Weiss entered with one syllable of a shout, but when her eyes landed on Ruby, that syllable choked to nothing. There was blood on her paramour's sword, blood all over Valerius’ pulpy neck. Weiss had never seen a purple that looked so red. Ruby looked at her.
She was falling into those silver eyes again, memories yet unmade pulsing under her skin, in her sight: her nightmare, her omen, her undoing.
The sword dripped. Ruby’s lips moved, saying something that Weiss didn't hear, her eyes crinkled with regret as apologies tumbled from her lips. Weiss heard none of it, nor smelled nor tasted nor felt nor saw any of it. Ruby knelt before her, her silver a dead and dutiful steel. Weiss bit her cheeks. Blood flooded her mouth, the iron taste spreading over her tongue, draining down her throat, dropping heavy into her gut.
Ruby reached out with her hands, her hands that were purple and red and dripping. Weiss scrambled away from her guilt, her chest overcome with breath, backing away until her back hit a wall. She stared at the girl who had saved her. Ruby stared back in concern and confusion, but Weiss could only see her worst nightmares actively coming to life. Her world was falling apart, the world she had worked so hard to build, it was all unraveling before her eyes. Everything she had been trying to avoid had been put into motion. Ruby had killed Valerius. She had done it for her.
The heiress’ fingers swam between clinking vials. She needed to wash the iron taste away.
Weiss was panicking, she realized, but her panic was elevated beyond actual feeling. She floated atop the situation, the reality before her a transparent layer beneath the terror in her mind. Someone might have been shaking her. Someone might have been yelling in her ear.
Neither sound nor feeling reached Weiss. Her chest was exploding with breaths that could never quite reach her lungs. Her skin felt like bugs and fire, quivering, begging to be anywhere but on the heiress’ bones. It was sick of her. Her own body hated her; flesh wanting to throttle her, bones bristling, ribcage a volatile conglomerate that wanted nothing more than to burst apart, to turn her chest into Valerius’ throat. Dread writhed within her.
The colors of the world all washed together, a sickening mush that made her stomach churn. Weiss tried to blink it away. Someone slapped her.
“Come on you danderous bint, figure yourself out!” Blake demanded, smacking her across the face again.
“Hey! Don't slap my—”
Blake yelled over her shoulder, “Ruby, get back in the barn!”
“I won't—”
“Not right now!” the fay insisted, annoyed. “Seriously! Clean yourself up, you're covered in blood!”
“I’m not— oh, gods, I'm soaked!”
“Get! In! Side!”
Weiss belatedly looked up to find her lost paramour, but only caught movement disappearing behind the barn doors. It was just her and the fay. The living one, that is.
Blake sighed. “Hey, you with me?”
Weiss nodded, though she wasn’ really sure what the question had been. Blake wedged her fingers into her tight palm.
“Dammit, Weiss, open your hand! There's glass everywhere.”
Weiss belatedly looked at her hand. She'd crushed a vial in her hand, glass slicing and sticking into her skin, viscous sap mixed with weeping blood. The sight made her tongue bristle. She brought the palm to her mouth—
“Quit it!” Blake shouted, arresting her wrist, her amber eyes deep and wet with concern. The fay’s grip was strong. The glass stung.
Once the feeling of pain actually lanced into Weiss’ brain, she started groaning through her teeth. Her whole body buckled against Blake as she crumpled to the ground. There were a couple seconds where Blake tried to hold herself standing against the duelist's weight, but her resolve cracked at the sound of Weiss’ pathetic sobs and she kneeled to the girl’s level.
“Weiss,” she said with as much gentleness as she could scrounge together. “Hold your hand out, let me get the glass before your Aura tries to heal around it. Trust me, that'll hurt a lot worse than this.”
“Y-y-you have experience?”
Blake reeled at Weiss’ voice. “Uh, yeah. I do.”
Weiss’ cold eyes met her own. They were very wide, very wet, and very red. That color tugged on the mental image of Weiss poised over her, sword driving down into her mouth, but the red wasn't the same— borne only from emotion, not sap. The duelist spoke through thin, cracked lips, her voice cracking like a dry leaf: “Could you tell me?”
Blake, feeling a sudden pressure, spoke cautiously and truthfully. “I, uh… took an arrow. It was during one of my early escape attempts. Went right—” she tapped the meat of her right shoulder. "In here, deep, but I still got a lot of distance; far enough for my Aura to try healing it.” She turned aside bitterly. “I would have escaped if it hadn't made me scream.”
Weiss nodded, expecting more, only to receive silence. When she realized Blake was done, she hung her head. “Blake?”
The fay in question bid her to open her palm, which Weiss did with a wince. She started picking glass out. “What?”
“In the… the sap,” the duelist's voice wavered, straining to push each word out. “I saw Ruby. I saw what I do to her—”
“Gross.”
Weiss shot her a glare, continuing, “I… I'm a curse on her Blake. She’s doing these things for me, killing for me… and I'm no better! I'm a killer, she's a killer, you're a killer, and I'm sure Qrow is too! Who's next?”
Blake moved to slap some sense into her again, but Weiss grabbed her arm.
“I saw what she's going to be,” Weiss claimed ominously. “I saw what she can have, what clean hands can give her; I tried to stay away!” Her other hand, the glassy one, wrenched out of Blake's grasp to take her arm in both hands, bleeding red over her marks of slavery. “But she found me, and now— now my nightmares are coming true! Have you seen her, Blake? Have you seen her fight? She's a daemon!”
“Don't say that—”
“It’s true!” Weiss laughed hysterically. “She is a daemon! A monster! And she’s so good, she's too good, and too loyal; she'll make herself into my attack dog! My vindication, writ with her bloody signature!”
Blake waved her free hand down at the heiress, as if she could push her prophecies back into her lungs. “Weiss, you need to calm down.”
Any other six-word combination could not have failed at its goal as spectacularly as that one. “Calm down? Calm down? I am calm! This is my calm! This is all the control I can muster when the woman I love is betraying herself for my benefit! She doesn't even know what she's doing, Blake! What she's condemning herself to! This life of vengeance, of murder and regret, it's supposed to be my burden to bear for her! She's supposed to live a normal life, and I'm supposed to protect her! She already saved me from my life! She was my knight! All I—” her voice cracked under a sob, then came back thick and wet. “All I wanted was to give her what she gave me,” she choked. “Freedom.”
Blake remained silent for a long time. “Was that really what you saw? In the sap?”
Weiss’ hands fell from the fay's arm, dropping to her sides limply. “Yes. I saw her smithy— her in the smithy, happy, and unburdened without me. I saw her slaying Grimm, all of the Grimm, for my contract. Then killing people. For me.”
“That’s it? That's everything?”
The duelist’s voice continued to tremble. “N-no. I talked to… myself, I think. I saw the man I killed— the Reiter, one of the horsemen. Then I opened my eyes and you were all Grimm; I cut Qrow, I thought he was noble, or all nobility… conceptually? I would've killed him if you hadn't stopped me.”
“And that was it? That was the entire vision? Everything?”
Weiss cocked her head at the fay, confused, but forced herself to think through that chromatic miasma of memories. “No?”
“That was how it opened?”
Weiss remembered. She went red. “N-no.”
Blake rolled her wrist, egging her on. Weiss’ pale skin flared even harder, scarlet splotches crawling down her cheeks all the way to her collar. “We were… in a bed. A house.”
The fay waggled her brows salaciously.
Weiss dropped her voice, barely letting the words out, “We had children.”
Blake snapped her fingers and rocked back like she'd struck an epiphany. “I knew it!”
“Don't judge—”
“I’m not! I’m not, I swear—” She raised her hands in defeat, her expression genuine, then looked over at the barn like she feared a stalker. Her voice was hushed. “Look, I got to see my parents again, even introduced them to Yang. That's how the sap takes you, especially when you over-imbibe, and especially when you sleep on it. You see what you want, and you're supposed to play along with it, but you probably panicked.”
Weiss stared widely, her bloody mouth loosely ajar. “What I… want?”
Blake, for the first time, looked at Weiss gently— which was not at all like Blake, and looked strange on her long, knifeish features. She softened her golden eyes towards the once-heiress and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it in a way that felt unnatural coming from Blake. “Yeah, Weiss. What you want. Then you panicked, and your fears took hold. It's easy to slip into that.”
Weiss was dazzled. Shocked, even. “I… so, I…”
“It's not your fault,” the fay smoothed over preemptively. “It happens to everyone. Trust me.”
“So… what I did see…”
Blake rolled her eyes. “Weiss, you didn't see anything special. It was all in your head, everything. There aren't any grim prophecies, there's no sage wisdom or knowledge—”
“But you said it’s prophetic!”
The fay winced. “Which I realize may have been… poor wording. It's not inaccurate— I mean, I guess it can be prophetic, but who believes in prophecies! They're stupid! They're just fancy ideas of the future made by people who definitely cannot see the future. Nobody ever really knows how things will play out.”
Weiss opened her mouth to speak, but swallowed a bursting lungful of air as Blake hugged her.
“All you can do is keep moving forward,” the fay said, her voice soft. “You'll find that house some day.”
Weiss stayed perfectly rigid within Blake’s long, boney arms. She did not breathe.
“Is the idea of hugging a fay really so repugnant?”
Weiss’ nose crinkled. “No, just you.”
Blake pushed her away with a snort. Weiss readied an apology, only for the fay to raise a hand in supplication. “No, Weiss, I am sorry. I said and did things that you didn't deserve, and I did it out of unjustifiable pettiness. As such, I am offering you the generous opportunity of a clean slate, from the beginning.” She extended a slender hand towards the heiress. “Blake Belladonna. Pit fighter, I suppose.”
“Is that really all you do?” Weiss asked with a cocked brow.
Blake shrugged. “I gamble, too.”
“How the mighty fay have fallen.”
Blake gave her one snort before snapping her fingers. “That's the only one you get,” she decided, waving her open hand indicatively. “And you are?”
Weiss rolled her eyes, but clasped the fay’s hand. The sound from her tiny hand hitting Blake's bony one was pitiful. “Weiss. Disgraced heiress, student of the rapier, shackled to the saber.”
Their interlocked hands shook once. “No surname?” Blake asked.
“I did say ‘disgraced,’” the once-heiress quipped, her eyes sliding back towards the barn. “But I'm working on the name.”
Blake stood, keeping their hands together so she could help the other girl to her feet. “Are you mad at her?”
Weiss sighed and looked at her feet. “I'm… unhappy, yes. Mainly because you two went behind my back.”
Their hands separated. “I’m sorry. I didn't really think she'd do it, I thought she'd at least have some second thoughts but then we walked in and—”
Weiss gave her a slightly disgusted expression. “Could we not talk about that?”
Blake cringed. “Right. Er, sorry. Again. I'm… I'm gonna go back inside.”
Weiss waved her off. “I'll be there in a moment. I just need a minute.”
Notes:
hey WOW sorry this delay happened but im here now. this chapter ended up being a bitch in editing, but i also did the white rose in bloom event on tumblr @swagmagussupreme if you wanna check those out. they were super fun.
Chapter 91: (Don't) Bury Your Fays
Chapter Text
“Weiss, wait,” Qrow insisted, holding her back by the shoulder. The once-heiress shot him a glare that could crumble stone.
“I'm not angry,” she claimed. “Well— I'm unhappy, but I'm not angry. I'm not going to start berating her for doing what she thought was right.”
Past Qrow, Ruby stood in a small clearing of the Aeternum Autumni, staring down at the hole she'd dug, shovel in hand. A Valerius-sized shape, bundled in the frayed scraps of old canvas sacks, lay beside her. Ruby wasn't visibly breathing.
Weiss pushed past the Huntsman, but the waist-high thicket between her and her paramour blocked the path, giving the duelist enough pause to watch Ruby drop the shovel. It fell to the side. The smith turned to the body.
She dragged it into the hole, roughly dropping the body-shaped bundle in with no remorse— with malice, actually, judging by the hard set of her shoulders and the flexing of her hands. She held her shaking arms tight to her sides, pressing her fingers into her palms, trying to hold herself still.
Ruby fought the revulsion, the urge to regurgitate— it wasn't a feeling in her stomach, it was in her soul, as if she needed to vomit out everything that made her Ruby. Something was wrong, she was doing something wrong— it was horrible, it was disgusting— but she didn't know what ‘it’ was. She stared down at Valerius. There were holes in the cloth around his face, where his eyes could pierce out and judge her for what she was and wasn't doing.
Except there were no holes. His face was covered. She was seeing things, things that weren’t real. But what was real was the scourge of Valerius’ judgment upon her. She could feel his eyes, and she was angry.
A pair of hands ripped her back to the present. Ruby immediately went for her longsword, but Weiss’ icy stare froze her. The smith went stiff, hand stuck halfway to her hilt.
“Ruby, what are you doing!” Weiss accused, gesturing with her saber towards the corpse-hole. “You're not burying him, are you?”
Ruby was so confused that it overrode everything else. “W-Weiss? What are you—”
“Do you know how rude that is?” Weiss held up Aulus, indicating the source of her knowledge. “You’re supposed to burn fay, unless you want his ghost to come back and haunt you!”
“He already is,” Ruby muttered, harrowed.
Weiss reeled. “N-no, I mean—”
Ruby reached out towards Weiss, threading her trembling fingers into the other girl’s smock. She shuffled closer, half-stumbling, her grip on Weiss gradually tightening as if she didn’t trust her legs. Nearly nose-to-nose now, Weiss could see how frayed her paramour looked. “I'm seeing things,” Ruby admitted, her voice thin and wavering. “I— I don't know what they are, or what they're from, but I'm seeing things. When Qrow told me Valerius died, I was so angry. I could hear him laughing at me, I could feel it, and—”
Weiss let Aulus fall, ignoring his ‘Ow, you dick!’ in favor of wrapping her arms around Ruby's neck and nestling the smith’s face into her shoulder.
“I didn't kill him,” Ruby whined, collapsing into her paramour. “And I'm so angry that it wasn't me! Why? What is wrong with me?”
“What…” Weiss’ question answered itself: butchering a man who was barely alive and half-suspended from death, that was what killed Valerius. Even Blake had died in that process. “So… you didn't kill him?”
“No,” Ruby seethed. “But I wanted to. I really wanted to.”
The relief that Weiss’ nightmares hadn’t truly been fulfilled didn't even get a chance to wash over her. She was worried. “How long have you been seeing things?”
“I… I don't know,” the smith mumbled into her smock. “The barn?”
Weiss started walking her away from the body, shooting a cantrip of flame at the sackcloth corpse as they shuffled, moving slow enough to keep Ruby in her arms. “What are you seeing?”
“I see his eyes. And I know things. Things I shouldn't know.” Ruby pressed her face further into Weiss, left hand falling to pull up her longsword slightly. “This isn't his sword— he had it, but it's not his. How can I know that?”
“Is that all?”
“He— he said I made star-charts,” Ruby recalled. “But… not me. Someone else. I just knew it in my heart— the words were made for me.” Her gaze slid away, troubled. “I don’t even know what a star-chart is.”
Ruby coiled tighter against her paramour, arms clutching at her smock as the smith continued: “Why do I hate him so much? I know he said he killed my mom, but this feels more personal somehow. What could possibly be more personal than killing my mom?”
Weiss had no answer, so she simply lowered them both to the ground. She held Ruby tight as she watched over her shoulder, observing the fay-fueled flames that licked up from Valerius’ impromptu grave. She rubbed circles over the smith’s back, Ruby started to cry.
They told the property's matriarch that Valerius didn't survive the operation, which was only a partial lie, but she was visibly irritated at their continued presence in her home. Perhaps in an effort to get rid of them faster, she provided supplies: tents, bedrolls, things Aulus recognized as military gear; it wasn’t their place to question if she was a deserter, or just an over-prepared retired officer. Weiss infused the family's crops on their way out, overexerting her Aura to the point that her nose began to bleed, but she made significant growth throughout all the plants. None of them started spontaneously fruiting, but they became visibly more lively. This seemed to ease Myrta somewhat. With nothing else to keep them, the group departed.
The road was long, and the days were cool. Blake led them, aside from being a fay in her own realm, she was also the only one with any idea where to go.
Blake and Qrow had a lengthy conversation along the way, filled with wild declarations and energized excitement, then followed by something supremely crushing. Nobody had been made privy to the contents of that talk, and nobody questioned it.
The fay capital, Rema, was where they'd stay. Apparently Blake's mother lived there, and besides needing to see her mother, they had good reason to go. Their supplies weren't particularly sustainable, they were severely under-armed, and they didn't have anyone else to turn to.
Unfortunately, they were doomed to walk. Rema was well-watched by a myriad of iron bastions: human strongholds of various Houses, which had means of tracking gates in and out of the city. Gating would be quick and easy, but was also a good way to get Pyrrha on their tail. Adam, too, if he found out they killed one of his men.
So they walked. And they camped. It was as peaceful as any of them could expect, given their record.
Chapter 92: Who am I in my Nightmares?
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Ruby felt it, and it felt her. It was cold. It was deep. Her fingers sank. Fingers sank into her. They squirmed through her skin, squeezing into her veins, wriggling up her body until they crammed into all the chambers of her heart.
Somebody was touching her. Somebody's hot hands were all over her waist, feeling blindly. They were tracing the lengths of her arms. They slipped into her hair and ran across her scalp, nails scratching, dragging down the back of her neck, following the path of her spinal column. Then they snaked back around her waist and clasped in the front. They belted her to a body. They shackled her. They held her down as the body sank into the dark— she tried to thrash, but she was immobile, her own muscles comatose as if to drown Ruby in her own flesh.
She tumbled and her fingers spasmed, the body still hotly linked upon her. Her arms moved on their own, deaf to her brain's screaming demands to Thrash, Break Free, Escape. Instead, her fingers— small and timid and twitching— slipped up against the body, calluses sliding over soft skin. They found a nest of skinny ridges, flesh taut over a cage of bone, and slotted themselves in between, her fingers relishing but brain reeling at the scaldingly familiar feel of a perfect fit.
She felt hot all the way down to her bones, as if some infernal entity had swallowed her heart and now burned her from the inside out. She squirmed. She writhed. She tried to, at least, but her body was locked in agonizing stasis. Breathing was the only thing she could feel. The up and down of her lungs was the one thing she could control, and that realization invited a fresh freedom to panic. The only thing she could feel now was a torturous staccato of in and out: a dull pain surging between her lungs, as if she'd body-slammed into somebody chestplate-to-chestplate.
Her eyes shot open. The red eyes of Valerius devoured her.
“Ruby?”
Her eyes shot open. The blue eyes of Weiss cradled her.
“Weiss?” she asked, her hushed voice raw from sleep and strained from panic. She propped herself up on her elbows and nodded across the campsite. “Your bedroll's over there.”
Weiss wriggled. She was on her knees beside Ruby's roll, arms crossed against the ever-present fay chill. The sky was the same not-bright, not-dark as always.
“I… I know,” the pale girl said quietly, her teeth chattering. “I was just… really cold.”
Ruby cocked her head at her. It wasn't cold enough to pierce her own bedroll. Did Weiss need a new one?
“And I…” Weiss kept trailing off, her nails digging into the skin of her arms. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion, but wide and bloodshot. “I can't… sleep. I keep getting—” one hand snapped to her head to itch at something. “N-nightmares. Cravings.”
Ruby looked away so Weiss wouldn't assume her scowl was directed at her. “I am too,” she admitted, “I think.”
Weiss reeled, her face pulling apart in fright. “C— cra—”
Ruby had to bolt up to slap her hand over Weiss’ mouth, muffling her much-too-loud surprise. “No, no, just the nightmares,” she assuaged in a whisper. “Just nightmares.”
Weiss relaxed so hard that she seemed to wobble, and Ruby had to catch her. “Sorry,” the heiress apologized. “I'm… quite tired.”
Ruby nodded. “Yeah. I can see that.”
Weiss rolled her red-limned eyes. She started to say something, then looked away and seemingly decided to say something else. “I… saw you having a terror, too. I thought…”
Ruby let her go and scooted back, leftover fear gnawing at her chest. “Are you mad at me? For what happened at the barn?” she asked.
An odd smile— tired and crooked, lifting over her fangs on one side— met Ruby’s question. “Ruby, even if I were mad with you, it’s hard sleeping without the one you love.” Her eyes slid away and her pale cheeks warmed, her strange smile wavering as if she were about to say something embarrassing. “And your relatives are unbearable.”
As if on cue, Qrow and Yang erupted with a snore that made the birds fall silent.
A tentative grin started to pull Ruby's lips up. “Well, I love you too.”
Weiss rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. You had better.” She gave the smith a harmlessly petulant look, even as she wiggled herself closer into Ruby's embrace. “Now hold me.”
Ruby smiled gently, shuffling herself and Weiss into her sleeping roll as she internally thanked Myrta for her endless generosity. “Anything else?” she asked the duelist, feigning servility.
Weiss nuzzled her whole face into Ruby's chest, not unlike a dog who'd discovered an alluring scent on the ground. She made one silent request by taking Ruby's wrist in her seemingly ever-trembling grip, then placing the smith's hand on her head.
“Of course,” Ruby whispered, obligingly stroking her wispy, disorganized mess of unattended hair. “My princess.”
Weiss growled, but stiffly squirmed against her champion, pressing herself closer to Ruby as if trying to meld their two bodies into one. “Grbhnrte,” she said into Ruby’s bosom, her voice illegibly muffled.
“Goodnight, love,” Ruby offered in return, which only elicited a slight grumble from her chest. Weiss, who probably had not been able to get a proper wink of sleep since they arrived in the Shimmer, fell asleep the moment her paramour kissed her head.
Ruby watched Weiss’ shoulders rise and fall, feeling part of her tunic get stuffy as the duelist breathed wetly against it. She eased her embrace of the girl, who reflexively eased her own hold of Ruby’s waist to allow her face room for respiration. She watched the once-heiress for a long time, long enough that— with her own grasp on consciousness being tenuous at best— she found the lines between Weiss’ locks to be taking over, gradually shifting the girl's hair from white to black.
When this realization struck her, she jolted.
The thing against her chest— the child— looked up at her. Its face was soft and round, its long ears sharp and high-pointed, and it had a mop of hair so dark that its shimmering maroon tones could only be caught when reflecting light. It, the child, stared up at her with eyes that made her uneasy— red like the Aeternum Autumni, the color deep and writhing; black striking through like lightning from the void.
She hated the child— the way it stared at her like it knew something, like its awful eyes were trying to take her soul, like it wanted to consume everything she'd become. She should have smothered it in its cradle or chucked it into the Hollow Mire. She never should have let that weak little madman create it. She never should have named it.
Now she was stuck with it.
Ruby felt something pull at her eyes, something that caught that light— threads of liquid silver ensorcelling her eyeballs directly, yanking, threatening a forceful removal if Ruby didn't follow the direction of their tugs. Her body shifted with the pull, barging the child out of her way as she moved.
She tripped over her own feet and had to scramble back up before the lieutenant noticed. She failed. The lieutenant beat her. When she returned to her group's tent they also tried to beat her, but she didn't let them like she'd let the lieutenant.
That kind of thing happened regularly from then on. So when she found herself on a real battlefield, facing real fay instead of target-slaves, it did not bother her at all. In fact, it was odd how much she was not bothered. Her fellow first-rankers were terrified— some going so far as to wet themselves— but she kept an easy, unshaken hold of her shortspear. The bag of javelins at her hip felt lighter than ever.
When the wave of bodies crashed against her, it felt no better or worse than the time mother had tried to drown her in the Mire. All she had to do was hold herself still and keep her spear out. Then, when the first rank dissolved into madness, all she had to do was kill the people who were trying to stab her. Then, when someone did stab her— through both thighs— all she had to do was throw a rock in his eye and beat him to death. There wasn't any special feeling. There wasn't any celebration in the wet, blooming flower she’d made of his face. A tingling sense of reward flitted briefly in her brain, but that was it. Her first kill. After that, all she had to do was keep killing until the second rank came.
Then Ruby blinked, and the tugging returned, yanking her over in that thin moment where her lids were shut. When she opened them again, someone was under her.
Her heart was beating much harder than it had been for the murder, which was somewhat relieving. More relieving was the way the person under her scratched and pawed at her neck, and how she didn't even feel the instant need to end their life. It was quite nice, actually, and she returned the feeling by biting hard into their trapezius— hard enough to draw sweet and tingling blood onto her tongue. They cried out her name.
Aelia.
They did things Ruby couldn't comprehend. It was incredible. It was bliss. And when that person looked at her, their eyes were sparkling with care.
Then Ruby blinked again, felt herself tugged again, and that person was in her hands again.
A different place, this time. Outside. Surrounded by a jeering crowd. Standing before the grand Altare Stellarium.
Her hands were in a different place, too— on the same person's throat. Around it. Pressing. Clenching. Hard.
The person didn't scratch at her. They didn't claw or bite or groan. They just stared. Their eyes still looked at her the same way they did before. Their smile was small and mournful. Her hands tightened.
Their eyes purpled, bloodshot. Violet burst from both nostrils. She had to watch. Such was her duty.
Valerius was there. Beside her. Watching, as always, but never more than that. Never stopping her.
When Ruby blinked again, she was pulled— this time not in a direction, but into the waking world, where she found her wrist being lightly tugged by one slumbering Weiss. It was a powerless action from the realm of dreams, a bodily reaction meant to adjust the covers or swat a fly from one's nose. It didn't have enough strength to take Ruby's hands off her neck.
Ruby stared at her own encircling hands, terrified into complete and silent paralysis. Her arms were stiff, her fingers itching, and a faded voice in her mind still called for her to do her duty. She watched the digits flex and bend, ready to clamp on the windpipe beneath them. Weiss’ skin was hot under her fingertips.
The smith held her breath, knowing that any movement or thought would make all the panic set in at once. She would scream, waking everyone up, waking Weiss up— Weiss, whose neck she was almost on the verge of wringing.
Instead of exploding, she thought of what'd stilled her blade to Valerius’ throat in preparation for his post-mortem slaughter. She pictured her forge. The iron rods. The heat, the coals, her hammer, the nails. She pieced the sounds together in her head, focusing, feeling the hammer's ring in her palms. She closed her eyes and listened.
Tang-tang, tang-tang.
She slowly pried her fingers from the duelist’s neck.
Creak.
Ruby breathed.
Sssssss…
With all the stiffness of somebody who was about to run away and have a panic attack, Ruby rigidly climbed out of her bedroll, too anxious to be swayed by how the sleeping heiress whined and grasped after her. She scooped up her swords with blind muscle-memory, belting them both around her waist as she scampered barefoot from the campsite.
She ducked through the treeline of the Forever Fall, fumbling just past the dense separation of forest and clearing, her Aura ebbing as her legs scraped through shrubs and thorns. Breathing deep, she grabbed a fistful of nearby vines and prepared to bite down. She didn't want her scream to be unmuffled.
‘Hey! No!’
Ruby jumped. She looked down at her waist. Sure enough, Aulus was there, hanging beside her longsword in the way her falchion and shortsword used to rest together.
‘Don't you dare,’ he said warningly. ‘If you get sapped too I am gonna be pissed.’
Ruby immediately unhanded the vines and wiped her hands on her tunic. Aulus sighed.
‘Thank the fucking stars,’ he swore. ‘Now what the hell are you doing out here all alone?’
A better question: why didn't he say anything when she grabbed him?
‘Because you needed to get away from everyone else?’ he said obviously. ‘It wasn't hard to tell.’
“Oh.” Ruby whispered, her panic fading. “I… had another nightmare.”
Aulus made a curious noise as the smith recollected. ‘No you didn't.’
Ruby pulled him partly out of the frog so she could feel more like she was talking to something real. “Of course I did,” she challenged. “You weren't even in my head that time, what would you know!”
Aulus snorted. ‘Is that really a nightmare to you? Marriage, children, a nice house?’
Ruby blinked and reeled, her head shaking hard. “What?”
‘What?’
“What'd you say!”
Ruby picked up on the image of defensively raised hands in her mind. ‘Hey, that's what you showed me! Don't be mad at me!’
“That's…” Ruby replayed the images in her mind. The child, the care, the kill.
‘What? That's almost what my home life was like, just without the children.’
What about the murder?
‘Murder?’ Aulus questioned. ‘What murder? It's just you and Weiss in a little home with a bunch of kids.’
That wasn't her dream.
‘What?’
Ruby rubbed her eyes. They felt sore in the back, like someone had been pulling them.
Part Two
Fin
Notes:
doing a twofer since i missed so many updates. once I post this next chapter (a pyrrha chapter! whoo!) and the one for TC, i might take a break. idk. writing's been getting a little more difficult lately, and im still riding the high of finishing biotech which makes it harder to buckle down. in other news, i did commission some art for the white rose in bloom event which includes mostly-canon designs for the biotech, tc, and knights rubys, all done by the lovely fillmargarin and posted on my tumblr @swagmagussupreme
anyways, thanks for reading. this coming pyrrha chapter is bomb.
Chapter 93: Just a Golem
Chapter Text
Taiyang Xiao Long smelled death behind his door, and he knew at once that he was endangered.
He welled flames in one hand and a handful of floating, ethereal strings between each knuckle of his other hand. The strings were loose, connected to three separate Auras. Seven threads lie between his fore and middle-finger. Seven threads lie between his ring and pinky.
Between his middle and ring finger, though, was a loom's worth of string. They pulled back at his fingers, which never happened. This Aura was alive, violent, and knew it was being touched. Tai clutched the strings tight.
Three knocks rapped across his wooden door. If he opened it, he was pretty sure he'd die. If he didn't open it, he was certain he'd die, so he chose to open it.
The doorway parted, and the red-haired woman standing before him smiled abyssally. She was the one shedding with death, the one with an amalgam soul, and the one who knew he was touching it. He didn't bother hiding the sparks of flame in his free hand.
“What are you,” was the first thing he asked, less a question and more an accusation.
The Knight who wasn't a monster stepped between them— Pentacostelle, Penny for short, if Tai’s flimsy memory served him right. “A-apologies, ser, we're with the Knights Imperiale—” Tai thrust his glowing hand in her face, making her flinch as she squeaked, “We just have some questions!”
Tai's gaze drifted to the much bigger, much scarier Knight. “What is that thing,” he asked Penny from the side of his mouth. “Some kind of flesh golem? Necromancy is illegal, y'know.”
The creature smiled wide and aberrant, her teeth indecisively flickering between sharpness and humanity. “I'm hurt,” the creature drawled, leaning towards Tai, wafting her macabre menagerie of scents over him. “I have a name, you know.”
Tai reeled back, fingers twitching along the soul-threads. “You can talk?”
The creature gave him an exaggerated pout. “I'm a person, of course I can talk. Don't you know who I am?”
Tai grit his teeth. “Haven't the faintest.”
“Oh, that’s a first,” another too-many-toothed smile split the creature's face. She extended a clasping hand towards Tai. “Knight Captain Pyrrha Nikos.”
“K— Knight Captain?” Tai stumbled back, his eyes bugging almost out of his head. “Why are you— my daughter!”
Tai suddenly lunged forward, forgetting his magic so he could clutch the Knight Captain’s breastplate. “Where's my daughter,” he begged of Knight Captain Nikos. “Please! Ruby Rose— she's a blacksmith! Dark hair with red, and silver eyes— and she always wears a red cloak!”
Pyrrha smirked widely. It always felt good to be treated like someone's savior, it made the betrayal even sweeter. Penny backed up, letting the captain take the lead with a whisper of, “Don't scare him.”
Pyrrha had no intention of listening to that failure of a Knight; she decided to throw it all out at once, to see how the man would react. “Your daughter has engaged in an illegal affair with the youngest lady, Weiss Schnee, who she has kidnapped as her consort. Young Ruby has been on the run for the past week or so.We have reason to believe she's escaped to the Shimmer with the help of a Binder.”
Tai's jaw hung wide. Small, nervous laughs stuttered out. “W-what? That— that's insane. This is a joke, right?”
“I'm afraid not,” Pyrrha said, slowly shaking her head. “I witnessed it myself after we fought; your daughter is quite the warrior, ser. Perhaps her life of debauchery could've been better devoted to Knighthood.”
Tai blanched, pulling himself from the Knight Captain. “So… why are you here?”
Pyrrha tilted her head left and right, then affixed the Huntsman with that same predatory grin. She pushed past and made herself welcome at his dining room table, motioning for him to sit across. Warily, Tai followed. Penny only passed the house's threshold, taking a dutiful stance by the door despite her worried face. She rested one hand upon her prized saber. The Binder stayed outside.
Pyrrha waited for the atmosphere to get close to settling, then took extreme pleasure when her hand smacked the table, making all the little meatlings jump. “Polendina!” she called, unnecessarily loud. “Get us something to drink.”
Penny fumbled, confused, then started looking around nervously.
Tai gave Pyrrha a chastising, fatherly look— which was very odd to receive— before he addressed Penny over his shoulder. “There should be some wine over…” he waved his hand towards a back room. “There. Somewhere.”
Penny returned shortly thereafter with a dark green bottle and two clay cups. She filled both receptacles. Tai immediately drank.
Pyrrha lifted the cup and sniffed the falernian within. She didn't drink.
“My daughter is innocent,” Tai insisted, setting his cup down firmly upon the table.
“Very funny,” Pyrrha replied. She did not move her cup from her face, instead keeping it just below her mouth, as if she'd drink at any moment. “But the discussion of innocence is forgone; her guilt is decreed. Now, tell me where she is or face the wrath of House Schnee.”
Tai stretched his hands beneath the table, feeling for their strings. The Knight Captain had too many to hold, but he'd be able to keep the other Knight at bay for long enough. “I don't know where she is,” Tai answered through gritted teeth. “She ran away.”
“A likely story.”
“A true one.”
Over the rim of her cup, Pyrrha stared him down. Tai stared her down. His shoulders were tense. His eyes flicked to Penny.
Pyrrha lunged forward, snatching him by the front of his tunic as he thrust both hands out. Orange strings erupted from one palm, whipping out towards Knight Polendina, catching and holding fast at different points from her neck to her knees. His other hand glowed a bright, otherworldly green, shooting out ethereal tendrils that wormed past Pyrrha's armor, straight to the flesh beneath. They burrowed into the arm, through muscle and bone, lapping at the structure, understanding each movement before tugging at ligaments, tendons, sinews. They disassembled the Knight Captain from the inside out, turning the limb that held Tai into a thick, meaty soup beneath her plate. Viscous red sloshed out between the gaps in her armor as Pyrrha stumbled forward, her other hand catching the table and vaulting her atop it. She looked down at Tai and grinned.
His hand built with green again, shooting out towards Pyrrha's face, only for her to push herself off the table, launching with both legs and her one intact arm. She dove after the Huntsman; her mouth snapped open, cheeks splitting, jaw breaking through her skin with a crack of bone as her teeth erupted all at once. She clamped down on Taiyang’s hand. Her torn cheeks pulsed that sickly verdant color.
Tai ripped his hand back with a screech, pulling out meaty ribbons of what was once fingers and palm. Pyrrha toppled backwards off the table, her entire lower face dissolving into a crimson slop. Blood coughed out of her exposed trachea. Her eyes still piercing his.
“You're dead,” Tai declared, panting, as if his words wrought truth against reality. “A golem is all you are,” he asserted. “Good enough to withstand two hits, but still a golem nonetheless.”
Pyrrha's eyes darted to her fellow Knight, her prone form heaving with each wet, frothy breath.
“No, look at me,” Tai demanded, stomping towards her with pain in his voice. He kept his hand out towards Penny, somehow maintaining the strings despite how Pyrrha had rent through his aura.
Unless, of course, he had let his hand be shredded. Now that would be impressive.
The meat of that hand flopped uselessly with each of his shaking steps. “You think you can come for my child,” he growled, “I don't care what she has or hasn't done.”
His hand— the intact one, with each finger wrapped in the strings of Knight Polendina's soul— flexed out towards Pyrrha. The strings winked away. Tai's hand alighted green as he aimed it at the knight captain once more.
“Return to nothing, golem.”
One verdant wisp darted between Pyrrha's eyes. Her head opened like a rose in bloom, red and white and more red sloughing from her crown, melting away until her shoulders carried little more than a stump of once-thinking meat. Pyrrha's mucuous head melted off her shoulders, slapping wetly against the floor. Penny stopped and stared.
The Knight Polendina allowed herself a second of bewilderment before diving after Tai, her sword whipping out of its sheath with a fluent hiss to arc out at the man. He took a long step back, unphased, then weaved right to dodge the subsequent upwards slash. Penny crooked her elbow into high guard, then flicked it out like a taut bowstring, her wrist mulling over into a slash that had Tai stumbling back again. She inched forward, stance low, using the momentum of her swing to go into the high guard again, locking Taiyang in an iron triangle— offense into defense into offense— pushing him back as he was helpless to parry without sword or shield, struggling with an Aura that must be low after that much magic.
Unfortunately, Penny didn’t do well enough to track where in the house Tai was backing towards, so she had to retreat as he started throwing iron pots and squat ceramic jars at her, courtesy of the kitchen he’d lured her into. She held her arm over her head, blocking a hefty cast-iron pan against her vambrace.
Needing to take the offensive, she noted the incoming pair of jars and decided to eat their impacts in favor of pushing forward. The Knight stopped dead in her tracks when they burst against her chestplate, throwing wide, blinding plumes of flour in front of her. She waved a hand over her face, trying to clear it away, which only succeeded in wafting the fluffy powder directly into her eyes. Hissing, she tried to blink it from her eyes, her body tightening as a crash heralded an assault. It was probably Tai again, bounding over the counter, but no forceful rebuke came for her.
There was more noise, labored grunting, then a ‘hurk!’
Penny dropped her saber and furiously rubbed her eyes, forcing the powder out. Her vision clarified.
Tai struggled on the ground, kicking, his throat squeezed tight between bloodied gauntlets. He punched wildly upwards, his one intact hand cracking through the jaw of—
Was that Ruby?
“K-Knight Captain!” Jaune cried from his boat, barely distinguishable from the dozens of bodies that'd forced their way up, menacing the boy-captain towards the bow with bottles and knives and table-leg cudgels. “Pyrrha! Help!”
Through the side of its mouth, the Knight Captain beseeched the pathetic Knight Polendina: “What is he doing?”
Penny adjusted the burly man over her shoulders with an admirable lack of strain. “I think he's being assaulted by dockworkers.”
“Captain! Help!”
“Should I help him?”
Penny turned to her slowly, her eyebrows knit with extreme and confused disapproval. “What? Why wouldn't you? He's our captain— what's more, it's our duty.”
The Knight Captain sighed. “Keep an eye on the Binder. If you lose it, I will eat you.”
Chapter 94: Who am I Awake?
Chapter Text
“Res Publi-ca! Res Publi-ca! Res Publi-ca!”
“Move your feet, idiot! Don't you hear the damn drums!”
Dum da-dum da-dum da-dum—
Her footprints were red, now. Her legs were leaden. But she could walk forever. Even if her body couldn't. It was just a thing of flesh. It would listen.
“Move it, girl! You're just meat now!”
Being whipped never was a big deal; it always felt like it was landing on some other body. Pain was always somewhere else. Everything was always somewhere else.
“Tell us who you fight for!”
“Res Publica!”
“Ruby?” A girl caught her, one arm shooting out to wrap around her waist. “What'd you say?”
The Ruby in question blinked, her head reverberating with the doldrum beat.
“N-nothing?” She didn't know what she'd said. She didn't really know anything; the world was fading in a tunnel, her whole body weighed down. Nevertheless, Ruby righted herself. “How much further?”
The concern in Weiss’ eyes didn't waver. “A few more days before the next stop. That's what Blake said, at least.”
Sleep was clawing at Ruby’s eyes, biting her brain, so there was no brain function to catch her before she said, “And you… trust her?”
Weiss’ hair was more ashen than white now, flopping heavily with unwashed oils and grime as she snapped her head to her paramour. She looked more scandalized than Ruby expected. “Of course I do! Why wouldn't I?”
Ruby blinked heavily, her lids begging to stay shut every time they met. “Because you two… fought?”
“That has no bearing on her superior navigational skills,” Weiss retorted confidently, arms folding over her chest. “Furthermore, we have come to an amicable coexistence.”
Even if Ruby wasn't an illiterate idiot, she didn’t have the wherewithal to know those words. “Wha?”
But Weiss didn't turn to her with judgement in her eyes. Even if Ruby still felt stupid, this always made it worthwhile— Weiss’ gentle face brightening in the way it did whenever she got to teach Ruby something. She looked that way so often now, with how many subjects she’d started vigorously teaching since their travels started: letters, with which she was slowly chipping away at Ruby’s ignorance; longsword, with which she was quickly making Ruby feel like a dashing knight; even magic, with which she was making Ruby feel at least like an enlightened spectator.
“Amicable means friendly,” Weiss informed her. “And co-existence means existing together.”
Ruby tried her best to tuck the former into her exhausted brain and rolled her eyes at the latter. “I know what coexistence means.”
Weiss bowed her head in contrition. “Sorry.”
Ruby patted her paramour's dirty hair. “It's okay, I forgive you.”
The once-heiress hummed under her hand, rather like a pleased cat— an image which tickled Ruby's sleepless soul. She certainly had the fangs for it; the fangs which Ruby had become increasingly interested in.
The new teeth were inherently interesting, even if they consistently embarrassed Weiss. One would think they'd make her better at eating the strange Fay game they hunted, but it was quite the opposite: fangs were for grabbing, for holding and killing, while the teeth they replaced were made for the actual breaking up of captured food. As such, the duelist had to routinely cut her meat into tiny chunks. Anything bigger took ages to chew.
Ruby found herself oddly endeared to them. They were something primal and dangerous, a stark contrast to Weiss’ gentle, regal features. They looked oddly at home in her newly-crooked smile, something Ruby saw often now from Weiss. The panic in her eyes was more distant, too, her craving for sap no longer obvious, her hands much less prone to shaking.
Yang and Blake, however, did not seem to be on speaking terms yet. They always insisted on taking watch themselves while the others slept, one after the other. Ruby had come to suspect it was a way for there to never be a time where they'd both be unoccupied and alone.
Qrow was nervous. Even watching him from the back of their column, his anxiety was palpable. His eyes always darted to the endless forest at their side, as if looking for something. As if something was looking for him.
Thankfully, Ruby didn't have to feel too bad about her and her paramour being okay, because Ruby definitely wasn't okay. Something had taken her peace. Something had planted itself in her mind: something with strings that could tie onto her eyes and tug them towards the forest.
She couldn't sleep. Not with Weiss in her bedroll every ‘night’. Not while her love looked so vulnerable in those moments of quiet, snoring peace. She had to stay awake. It was chipping away at her, and not at all slowly. The shadows were longer, darker than they used to be, despite the realm's light having remained unchanged. Shapes formed in the corners of her eyes, retreating when she looked. She heard things. Footsteps— more footsteps than their ten, a hundred footsteps, a veritable march.
And when her eyes made themselves close, when sleep forced itself upon her for split seconds at a time, she could hear it…
The march…
That heartbeat drum…
Dum da-dum da-dum da-dum…
“Res Publi-ca! Res Publi-ca! Res Publi-ca!”
“Ave— Rosea— Aeterna!”
“Im-pera-tor! Im-pera-tor!”
“Im-pera-tor…”
Stumbling again. Caught again. Weiss again.
“Ruby, what're you saying? Is that dryadalis? And— are you falling asleep on your feet?”
Ruby pulled away from her paramour. “N-no. It's not.”
Weiss very obviously didn't believe her.
“And I, er… didn't sleep well. Last night.”
“Do I need to stop sleep—”
“N-no!” Ruby splattered hastily, getting brief looks from the front of the column. She amended her volume. “No. I’m fine. It— it was just tonight. I swear.”
Slowly, Weiss offered the smith a nod of tenuous concession. “You… swear?”
Lying was a knife in Ruby's gut, but she'd been stabbed before. For Weiss’ sake, she'd do it again a thousand times. “Yes.”
Weiss eyed her. “You're sure?”
“Yes. I'm sure.”
She was sure that she had to do this. She'd gotten this far without sleep; she barely felt tired anymore. Exhaustion was more like a distant enemy, numbed from her body, an invading force she could fight off with stubborn resilience.
Weiss’ eyes narrowed at her. She scowled, and reached out to put a hand on her paramour's chest. The others gave them a look. Weiss’ nod told them to make some distance.
The duelist locked eyes with the smith, cerulean eyes cutting harshly to a silver that couldn't muster any strength in itself. Her features softened with affection. “Ruby,” she said, her words like steel. “I know you're lying.”
The air became sharp. Crisp. Cold. “I'm— no, I'm—”
Weiss turned, revealing her right hand resting on the pommel of her saber. “It's okay,” she said, despite sounding like it was very much not okay. “Aulus told me you've been having trouble sleeping.”
“No. No, I'm—”
Weiss’ hands took Ruby by the shoulders, forcing the smith to face her. “Yes. You are. Ruby, you look like death.”
The girl who looked like death shriveled. “I— it was just—”
“But it wasn't just last night, was it? What's gotten into you? Lying to me, and so soon after—” she waved back the way she came, making the knife of guilt twist all the way up to Ruby’s throat. “Why? And why didn't you just tell me?”
“B-because, it's—” she restarted, “I can't just—” she tried again, “I— I—”
“I won't be hurt if you want me to leave your bed, you know.”
“No!” Ruby denied, because she desperately wanted Weiss to stay right there, right next to her; so peaceful and safe, her face reminding Ruby of why she forced her eyes to stay open. And if she slept, there wasn’t any promise Ruby’s dreams wouldn't take her right back to the girl, or to someone else. She reached up to hold Weiss’ wrists, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. Ruby closed her eyes and breathed, “No, I… I just… I'll try to sleep tonight, okay?”
Weiss huffed. “How do I know you're not lying again?”
She was lying again. She was lying right through her teeth. But, at the very least, it'd buy Weiss another night of safety. “Trust me, okay? Just trust me.”
Weiss stared at her. She stared for a long time, long enough that Ruby feared a rebuttal, but eventually she closed her eyes and huffed. “Fine. You're lucky I love you.”
Ruby made her lips curl up into a smile. She reached out to hug Weiss around the waist, which the duelist allowed. Their bodies pressed warmly against one another, and Ruby felt her paramour release a long sigh of relief. “I really am,” Ruby agreed, feeling the guilt needle out from her stomach and string up lead weights all along her insides. Worse, she had to force her voice to stay neutral, soft and somber, not to crack when she said, “I love you too.”
They only got looks when they rejoined the group with a little more life in their stride, their hands joined. Ruby tried her best to leech off her partner’s real joy. Could Yang and Blake tell? Could Qrow? He stared like he could. Regardless, they all left the situation unaddressed, assuming it resolved. Qrow went back to glancing around nervously as they marched. Yang went back to snapping flames between her fingers, reinforcing the skill of control that'd so painfully slipped before. Blake went back to sulking. They walked on. And on. And on.
Ruby kept her eyes wide open. She stopped only hearing the chants, the drumbeat, the march, when her lids were closed. Now the sound persisted.
The march. The legion footsteps, the weight of boot and shoe and sandal instep. A clamor of strength and State. A power of unity. A heart so much greater than her own, and an arm that deserved to wield her.
The drums. The thumping pressure like a second and third heartbeat in her ears. Their guiding tempo. Instruments of war, just like her.
The chants. The voices— as raucous as they were hushed. As rallying as they were grim. As rough as they were stately.
“Im-pera-tor! Im-pera-tor!”
The chill air of the marble court. The assembly of damnation— deserved damnation. The heart’s last beat beneath her fingers. Eyes shot purple.
“For this failure, you will take marks of shame.”
“Ave— Rosea— Aeterna!”
The word that echoed loud and quiet, the one that cut past the sounds, the one that called to her. The one that damned her. The one that pulled at her eyes.
“Legatus.” “Legatus.” “Legatus.” “Legatus.”
She could see the fay ahead of her, but did not know if she was supposed to recognize them. She did not know the old one in front, the girl in front, the girl at her own side— what happened to their ears? Why were their eyes so dull?
She felt the march under her own feet. The drum of her tired heart hammering blood through her veins. The chanting voices that held her up by her neck. The weight of the world— of two worlds— and enough death to fill a third. A stack of bodies tall enough to see past the cribrum, to glimpse the stars beyond.
When the officer commanded them to rest, the white-haired one laid with her. Better a warm bed than a cold one. Better a day of rest. Better a deep and accompanied sleep than a restless, lonesome one.
She had an arduous journey come the wakeful hour. A quarry. A target.
An heirloom.
Better to meet it with life.
Chapter 95: Unburial March
Chapter Text
“Raise your voice; hold your standard high!”
She marched for the forest, intent heavy in each step as she left her camp and troupe behind. She needn't explain herself, or excuse her untangling from the pale one's clingy, sweaty embrace. Her reasoning was not theirs to know, and if they wanted to track her so closely, they should not have elected some yellow-headed idiot to slumber through her watch.
But she was glad they did. This was hers to find.
“The Legate deems the state of your standard a travesty, and your cohort the same. Draw lots, then assemble for march with a clean banner.”
March. Draw lots, kill your comrades, clean your standard. March. Leave one in ten behind, unburned, festering, souls trapped in their stagnant corpses. March. Until you do not care. March. Until you can leave anyone behind. March. Until you can live with being a killer.
Deep in the forest, she left it. She left it behind. She needed to get it. Shame stung hot in her skin.
She needed to get it.
Some things could not stay buried.
Ruby remembered the words of her paramour— about burning fay, not burying them; ‘unless you want his ghost to come back and haunt you!’
Is that what this was? A haunting? Some kind of possession, robbing her body the moment she fell to sleep?
At least this time, she didn't wake up to her fingers curled around Weiss’ pale neck; instead she was surrounded by Forever Fall trees, standing before a rocky outcrop. The tall overhang of glittering black stone calling to her in whispers, shouts, and the heavy rhythm of a heartbeat drum. It demanded her. It needed her.
There was a solitary guard at the mouth of the cave: a pole, bronze judging by its bright patina of green, with a horizontal crossbar that glowed untarnished gold. On the left end of the crossbar, held by a ring of metal that could only be identified as rust, hung a square of fabric folded over itself, hiding its face. Ruby found her feet moving forward beneath her, hand reaching out, fingers taking a corner of the hanging fabric. Its threads were thin, threatening to split like spiderwebs at the slightest provocation, the ancient cloth demanding utmost consideration for its age. She found herself physically incapable of giving it any less, in awe at the sheer time in her hands; how many years this thing had held on to the last bits of its withering metal ring, how perfectly the forest kept any breeze from tearing through the ancient fibers, how the air itself seemed less wet here, and somehow more stable— stale, even. As if, in only this place, wherever she was, time did not pass; and what decay could not be stopped, was slowed, until she herself came to see it.
Because she would be here to see it— she was fated to. It was in her heart which, for the first time in ages, slowed with the relief of return. A return to what, she didn’t know, but her shoulders fell. She breathed easily. This was a burden, the thing she held, and a weight she never knew existed. Her eyes were meant for this— that's why her gaze traced down, hesitating as her hand unfolded the cloth to expose its face.
The cloth, with no daylight to scour its dye over the years, still shone bright a vibrant red— a striking contrast to the deep black crest emblazoned across its face. Beneath the crest, embroidered in blocky letters of golden thread:
ROSEA
And below that, smaller:
COHORTIS I
The cloth fell from her hand. Golden letters, black crest, red backing— she'd never forget it. It was branded across her mind, all she could think about, as her feet marched themselves autonomously past the banner and into the yawning dark, one step ahead of the next. The tug on her eyes was more like a full hand around each eyeball now, cradling it; she didn't need guidance, she was going the right way. This is how it has to go.
Voices whispered in the dark, some familiar, some not. Orders, barked in another language. Women, weeping softly. Children crying out. The hoarse shouts of men and fay interfused. Long, drawn out sounds— a female voice letting out something sonorous, between a groan of pain and a sigh of relief. Then panting— breath thinned, suddenly cut short, choking, sputtering, gasping—
“Aelia.”
It was all coming from that part of her mind— the one that remembered Valerius’ red eyes and the quirk of his grin. The part that overtook her in her sleep and wrapped her hands around Weiss’ neck. The part that dragged her to this cave. The part that saw a black rose, and felt a scorching flare of hate.
Ruby tripped. Her feet had caught on a rock, and she was falling hard and fast, blind in the pitch dark, slipping on wetness— on water— and for the first time she could not burst into petals and surge away. The freezing rapids sucked her under their current, robbed the air from her lungs and replaced it with cold, cold water. She flailed in the impassable dark, tossed by waters that were suddenly so much deeper than she thought possible and she couldn't find which way was up.
There was no light. There was no air. She was cold, and she was alone.
There was only black, black, and more black. Then, just as suddenly as she was pulled under, she was spat out onto flat, cool rock again. Cold water heaved out of her insides, gushing from her mouth and nose, tears stinging in her eyes as the world unblurred with each clench of her stomach.
There was light. Pale, twinkling lights hung from the ceiling of black stone all around her: tiny motes of light like ebbing blue embers. Her ragged breaths echoed in the great maw of the cavern, frigid water lapping at her feet. She cleared her lungs with rasping, but ultimately fading, coughs.
In the middle of her tiny, starry island: a mound of rocks— smooth rocks, likely picked laboriously from the bottom of the cavern lake— was stacked up in a squat, oblong shape that came up just halfway to Ruby’s shins. It was about as big as the hole she'd dug for Valerius.
She dropped gently to her knees. Her hands touched a rock, hesitating at the coldness, then redoubling and grabbing at them, chucking them blindly into the lake behind her, arms pumping in a frenzy to cast off the burden of burial from what interred fay lay beneath. It was rational: she didn't want to be haunted, and fay needed to be burned.
Except, that was a lie: an excuse her eyes and the front of her mind were making up as the back of her mind, the part that turned Valerius into slashed meat, churned up the cairn before her. One after another, in rapid succession, smooth rocks fell into the water.
Plunk.
Plunk.
Plunk.
Her arms still burned from her desperate flailing against the current, and now her muscles cried; but this was a fervor, taking her just as strongly as the current had. She knelt there, panting, coughing, and chucking rocks.
She did not look until all the stones were clear for fear that if she saw, she would stop. And this could not be stopped. She could not let herself falter here, at the last moment before the reckoning— the reckoning that was marching for her, drumming for her, raising its hands and its voice, calling for her— Im-pera-tor, Im-pera-tor— calling her name— Ave! Rosea! Aeterna!
It was not her mother's corpse.
But the scythe,
The one laid over the corpse.
That was Summer's.
Chapter 96: Ruby and Death
Chapter Text
The scythe was cursed, she could feel it in her soul. Even without magic, even if she'd never laid eyes nor hands upon a cursed weapon, she would know. It was impossible not to know— the moment her skin brushed against its snath, she felt its magic, and was instantly sure that it felt her in turn.
She'd barely touched it, but when she did, her hands unwillingly thrust forward and clamped onto the scythe like manacles. It clutched back.
Ruby felt her death not as an oncoming process, nor as some fading loss of being, but as an instant snap into the afterlife. There one moment, gone the next, and Ruby Rose was no more.
She was on a grassy cliff, feet brushing the sheer edge, the void below calling for her to jump. Beckoning. But she could not find it in her to step forward; she merely stared down.
There was a silence below— down at the bottom, wherever Ruby’s body would scatter— a complete silence, so vacant and uncaring that it would take all her troubles away. There was no thought too loud for the noiseless shadow to consume. There was no memory too harsh, no regret too poignant. They would all be washed away in the great quiet.
It would be so little effort to join that absence. She just had to tip forward, just take one little step, and everything would be silent— returned to the unknowing oblivion of unbirth.
Something shuffled behind Ruby. She turned, unfettering herself of that abyssal attraction like cobwebs being dashed away. There was a figure. A person. Probably.
The squatting human was shrouded in pale, humble finery; it wore a long white tunic, split at the sides, tightened around the waist by a belt of rope that carried various small bags of worn brown canvas. Below that was a pair of undyed linen breeches, wrapped tight with hempen cord around each ankle, and pale, bare feet.
Ruby watched long, thin fingers of bloodless skin reach into one of the bags, pull free a handful of seeds, and scatter them into the furrows before it. It took a moment to muss its hands through the dirt, then jumped as if startled.
It turned— Ruby, in some part of her being, knew that it was an it— and gave her a face of mild shock. Its white hair was tied back in a long imperfect braid, with a deep widow's peak that stabbed down from its hairline. Its features were simultaneously young and old, with fresh and clear skin that still bore crow's feet beside its empty, milk-white eyes. It stared at her for a long while, its surprise slowly softening into a gentle smile.
“Not many turn, you know,” it remarked, its voice soundless as the words drifted past its lips and slipped directly into Ruby's mind. “The call can be quite strong, even to those who decry their fates with rage and resistance.”
Ruby watched it take a second glance at its humble flower garden. It was nothing compared to what she'd seen at the Palace Schnee— more of a disorganized collection of chrysanthemum, goldenrod, poppy, and carnation than the carefully manicured beauty of those grandiose arrangements— but there was pride in the thing's visage.
“Almost as if the soul itself knows when its time has come,” it claimed, the voiceless words somehow soft and caring before shifting somber and wistful. “But some do turn, and they are the ones even I dread.”
Ruby could not speak, her throat and chest were shackled tight, because she knew this entity was Death. There was no realization, nor hint to figure out; she simply knew it. Some things were undeniable.
It sighed, its breath long and mournful. “It is not because I am lazy or unwilling to do my duty.” It approached slowly, leaving no footsteps in the verdant cliffside grass. “It is because, contrary to what some believe, even I can be shaken.”
Sadness, rage, fear, regret; she knew at once what the word shaken carried, as if the subtext had been directly channeled into her being.
It came within a respectable distance of her before awkwardly shifting on its feet and looking around.
Without further introduction, it said: “I am… sorry, little one. You found something you could never understand, and the price was too steep for most anyone to pay.” It bowed before Ruby, deep and apologetic. “My sincerest condolences; truly, someone so young did not deserve this fate.” It straightened back up, but still could not meet her eyes. “And now you must be ferried by me, of all things. Again, I am sorry.”
Ruby did not know where the words came from, but they blurted past her lips unbidden. “I-it's… it's okay. You're just doing your job. I forgive you.”
Ruby blinked at her own words. Death flinched with genuine surprise before its expression became shadowed by regret and pity. “You can even speak here,” it noted. “Your will is incredible, little girl. You may even outlast the Chasm, given the chance.”
Ruby winced at that.
“S-sorry,” the being stuttered, eyes averting hers again, “I did not realize…” it sighed. “I am not very good at this; most simply pass on their own, and the rest do not have the soul to speak here, so I am…” it looked down at its bare feet, sheepishly scratching at the back of its neck, “missing some tact. Apologies.”
“It's okay,” Ruby ameliorated, smiling a little at the antics of a facet of reality that she hadn't known was manifest. “I am too.”
Death laughed, an odd noise to be silent and cold, but it still made Ruby's smile widen. “You are truly something, child. May I ask your name?”
Ruby was surprised at that; surely Death itself would know the name of a soul crossing its domain, so it was being polite. She inexplicably understood that this was something the being had not done in a long, long time.
“Ruby. I’m a blacksmith from Patch,” she extended her arm towards Death itself, fingers tight and elbow crooked for a clasp of greeting more friendly than a formal handshake, “and you?”
Death reeled, eyes wide, and she knew the myriad questions that blasted from its being before it settled on, “You already know me.”
Ruby nodded jovially, but shook her raised arm nonetheless, beckoning it. “Sure I do, but I'd like it if you told me yourself.”
It eyed her hand cautiously. “You do not want to touch me, Ruby Rose. My contact will bare your memories, life, and deeds. My true form will be shown.” It gestured to itself. “This is merely a facsimile of your own comprehension, what I am will taint your last moments with fear, and I do not want to scare something so gentle as you.”
Ruby shrugged. She didn't know what a ‘facsimile’ was, but she understood it in context. “I'm not worried. If you've shown me care, I won't be afraid, and if you've really never introduced yourself to anyone before, I want to leave you with something nice.”
It stared. It stared and it stared for millennia in seconds, pale gaze focused solely on her hand, before its lips split in a beaming smile. “You are a wonderful creature, Ruby Rose. I would be delighted to have you know me.” It approached her closely again, hand raising until it hovered just before hers. It said its name.
It was incomprehensible, carving into Ruby's bones and filling her veins with its sonorous tone, but she found her lips, throat, and teeth repeating it politely nonetheless, as if she'd known the sound of its bell-toll from birth. “You have a lovely name. It's nice to meet you.”
Death smiled, its eyes becoming glassy, and through the veil of unshed tears Ruby could see the truth of its being: wings and bones and fingers and flowers and mold, all wrapped around rings, horns curling into teeth that melted into halos, parhelion spheres of white and blood, heliotrope crystals, wheel-stones of opal, budding stems of blue poppy, curling vines and moldering patches that lined its columns and livened its rotunda.
When Death clasped her hand, the shape became true. The sight of it spilled the silver from her irises, laying it out in a pure ocean of her being.
But Ruby smiled nonetheless, because she was not terrified, even if she was. She had been given kindness that could not be known, and for it she would be judged.
The mercury-silver pool of Ruby’s deeds swallowed her feet, but she did not scream or thrash. She let herself sink, and welcomed the knowing liquid into her lungs.
Wrapped in her old skin, structured with her old bones, she acted through her life once more. Death came to learn her, just as she learned Death. It tallied her deeds on a great granite slate, counting virtues and vices with marks that burrowed into the stone's face. It was a long and short process, her progression marked in time like the scars on her skin, but it played through nonetheless. Ruby inevitably stood on that verdant cliffside once more, and greeted Death again.
“So this is Ruby Rose,” the wheel turned, drums and bells gonging its voice into the gapless aether of her mind. “As I said, you are a wonderful creature.”
Ruby smiled, rocking back and forth on her feet as she crossed her arms behind her back, perfectly at ease and unbothered by the light-dark contradiction of Death's form. “That's me!”
It laughed, the heavenly wing-beat resonance of its voice pouring rose petals and sweet mirth into her heart. “The gift of you is something I will never forget, Ruby Rose. Know that you have touched the stars of my heart. In all the eternities of my existence, I have never been as happy as I am now.”
“Thank you,” she said its name again, the sound shuddering across Death's geometry, and Ruby beamed when she felt it smile back at her. “Is there anything else?”
“Indeed there is,” Death chuckled again. “But…”
Expecting something to happen, Ruby waited, but so did Death. It stalled for an infinite eon, compressed into a mere moment.
“You know, I very much should not be doing this, but would you mind if I delayed your final judgment?” It twisted and shimmered, and she knew that was the equivalent of a human’s awkwardness. “I… I wish to share something with you, though I must also admit that I am doing so as a selfish act; just to cherish your presence for a while longer.”
Ruby nodded. “Sure, I don't mind. I mean, it's not like there's anything else I can do.”
Death laughed again, hollow in sound alone. “A true blessing you are, Ruby Rose! A true blessing. Allow me a moment— I shall return, this I promise to you.”
The form before Ruby turned inward, revealing to her eyes the charcoal-scratch lines and angles of its unseen interior before it vanished into a singularity. Ruby stood in the pooled silver of her own drained irises for a stone’s age, idly kicking her feet in the ankle-deep ocean as she waited.
When it returned, Ruby almost screamed.
Death stood before her once more, only this time it was sheathed in the mantle of her mother’s being— a perfect replication of Summer Rose. Her riding boots sloshed through Ruby’s silver, her snow-white cloak drifting along its surface as Death approached once more. It approached Ruby at a more amicable distance, no longer fearing the effects of its own touch, and gave her a shaky grin.
“Apologies if this is uncouth,” Death said with Summer's voice, once again shifting on its feet. “I felt it apropos for what I desire to impart.”
Ruby nodded, without a smile this time, still harrowed at the sight of her mother.
Summer’s eyes turned grateful, her lips moving with a real sound that actually crossed into Ruby’s ears. “Ruby Rose, do you know the color of your eyes?”
Surprised by the sudden, odd question, Ruby reeled. Given the situation, she couldn't put full confidence in her answer. “Silver?”
Death tilted its head left and right, giving her a noncommittal hum. “On the surface, I can see how you would think that, but no. The silver comes from me, my touch, this realm— if you left it now, as you are, you would find the silver returned. This is where it came from.” It motioned downwards, to the argent ocean about them. It continued, almost absently, “You actually have your father’s eyes, though they combine with your mother’s fay nature to turn their blue into something closer to… cracked celestine, by my own judgment.”
Ruby blinked, then looked down at the reflective mercury pool below. Sure enough, her eyes were a bright, almost clear turquoise, their irises marbled with streaks of black. “Woah,” was all she could muster at the revelation.
Death chuckled, looking down at its own reflection, though it was different from the Summer that Ruby knew. This one was less gentle, less kind, and looked back at itself with a sneer of rage. Its eyes were not the silver she had known, but a black-rifted crimson that glowed with unrestrained cruelty.
Summer's reflected face bore marks that Ruby had never seen. Bright scarlet lines of ink— matching the color of her irises— stabbed sharply from below her eyes, reaching halfway down her cheeks. More of the same color ridged her jawline, one thin spike rising from the center of her chin to touch her bottom lip, and a ring of similar spikes descended from her jaw, then disappeared beneath her gorget.
Ruby's mother wore sinister plate that shone like obsidian, colored such a dark black that it was almost purple at its many blade-like edges. It was dangerously angular in shape, and the bottom of her cuirass rose over her hips with a ridge of fang-like points. Carmine tassets of diamond-patterned scalemail fell in a skirt from her waist, mostly covering her dark cuisses, their vibrant color highlighting the upward spikes of her greaves. Her sabatons were spurred with long talons on each heel.
But, besides the bright red of Summer’s scale skirt, there were only two other articles as vibrant. One was the white cloth bundled up and draping from each shoulder, tied to a ring at her upper back— like a cape gathered up from the bottom. The other trace of white came from the pair of bleached belts that hung at her waist, one falling slightly lower than the other; each held a long, curved saber at her right side, matching Weiss’ fay sword down to the angular handguards, though Summer's blades were longer. They were secured to the belts by metal half-rings that clasped in the middle, making them easy to free with a solid outwards yank. Ruby could also see a trio of short sheaths on the upper belt, each revealing a squat guard with a grooved handle near identical to Blake's many daggers.
A ripple obscured the reflection. When the silver pool settled again, it was the mother she knew who was reflected, and the violent Summer who now stood in Death's place.
Death turned back to Ruby, its expression turning Summer's features somber. “This is the Summer that I knew,” it stated.
Ruby blinked. “Y-you knew her? But… but my mom didn't— she didn't die like that!”
Death shook its head, causing Summer's tight braid to loose a few black strands over her face. “No, this is not how she finally died. For the most part, this is how she lived.”
Ruby reeled at his words. She did not reject them; she had already known. That did not make it any more comfortable to behold.
Death nodded, turning Summer's face apologetic. “She was four hundred years old; this is how she spent three of those four centuries.”
As much as she wanted to deny the possibility, that specific number pulled hard at her memory, making her eyes widen. “Three hundred… but… but that's—”
Death interrupted her with a raised hand. “Ruby Rose, do you like stories?”
Ruby nodded, confused. “Of course, but my mom already told me all the best ones.”
“Would you mind indulging me, then? I have one to tell, one I am sure you have not heard.”
Ruby blinked. “Oh, uh… okay. Please do.”
Death nodded, breathing deep, then began:
“There was once a fay by the name of Eder. Eder Elizondo.
Eder lived as a fisherman for the first century of his life, his days were dedicated to his trade. In the fourteenth year of his second century, he met the daughter of a caravaneer who frequented his village, and he fell in love with her. He worked diligently, becoming a master of his craft with his efforts. Within a decade— barely a blink in the eyes of the fay— he had built a thriving business, become a leader of his community, and could finally afford the girl's dowry.
“But when he presented the coin to the girl's father, he resisted it. He said he had seen Eder's efforts, had seen his rapid growth and, knowing that it was all for his daughter's hand, would happily give Eder his blessing.
“But he said this with sadness, because he had great love for his child. He told Eder that his daughter was not an object to be purchased, that she was a free and beautiful spirit, and he had promised her the freedom to choose her own love.
“Eder was not disheartened; he took this as a challenge. He showered the daughter with gifts, but she spurned them, saying she was not so materialistic. He cooked grand meals for her, but she refused them, saying she was a traveler, and could taste dishes across the world. He built her a home, but she would not even step foot within, saying she preferred a rough bedroll and the roof of the shimmering sky above.
“Eder grew listless. In pursuit of the girl, he had neglected his business, which fell apart without his touch. In his grief, he could no longer taste the wonderful dishes he learned to make for her. Weak from the pain of his love’s dismissal, he could not maintain the house he had built for them, and it eventually crumbled.
“Eder had lost everything, and when the caravaneer next visited, his daughter had not come. He told Eder that illness had befallen her and his wife. It had killed his wife, and would surely kill his daughter too. He fell to his knees and apologized for refusing Eder's grand dowry, and lamented that, if he had married his daughter to Eder, she would not have taken his wife's illness.”
Ruby listened, rapt, but she did not dare ask this story’s relevance to her mother. She would not rush Death.
“But Eder did not share the man’s grief,” Death continued, “because life refilled him anew. He asked the caravaneer where she was, so he could see her one last time. He told Eder that it was too late, that his home was too far away, and his caravan would take weeks to reach her.
“Eder, however, did not care. He proclaimed that he would go there himself. Eder told him that he would run until his feet were ground to dust, and when that happens, he would crawl until his arms were reduced to splinters, and when that happens, he would drag himself by his teeth, and if he still did not make it, he would pull himself the rest of the way by his eyelashes.
“The caravaneer was dumbstruck. He embraced Eder and wept at his breast. He begged him not to do it, because Eder was a man of noble heart and great wealth, and his daughter would not live long even if he did reach her. But Eder refused, saying his fruitless pursuit of her hand had cost him everything. He had nothing left to lose.
“The caravaneer wiped his eyes. With a sigh he gave Eder his blessing once more, granted Eder his own riding-beast, and supplied him with food and water for his travels. Then, as Eder was about to leave, the man granted him one last gift: a device of strange and unfamiliar construction which he told Eder his daughter had made herself, one that she claimed could see the beauty lying deep in their shimmering sky. He said that he had taken the thing to have as a keepsake of her memory, but he did not have the heart to ask his dying child to teach him in its use.
“Eder took the device, gave the caravaneer his promise that he would learn its use, and then departed.”
The story was clearly a long one, so Ruby took to sitting in the silver pool as she listened with a smile, even though Death’s tale had an underlying sadness that she couldn't decipher. She guessed it would end with the daughter’s death, or that Eder wouldn't survive the trip to her, or he would make it and find her already dead. Regardless, she remained silent.
Death sat as well, crossing Summer’s armored legs as it continued. “Eder traveled sleeplessly, stopping only to eat and drink, but the trip was long and his riding-beast grew weary. Before long, he had exhausted the creature completely, and it collapsed under him, dead.
“But Eder refused to give up. He ate the beast’s gristly flesh and drank its blood for sustenance, taking its bones with him so he could sup their marrow as he walked. This kept him alive longer, but his travels still continued, and he grew increasingly weary.
“One day, he fell to the ground in exhaustion, and his pack fell with him. The daughter’s device spilled out, and he did not have the energy to save it, so it collapsed into pieces.”
Ruby gasped, making Death jump at her sudden noise. It blushed purple through Summer’s skin, embarrassed at how engrossed it'd become in its own oration, but continued without missing a beat.
“Eder wept, knowing he had broken the caravaneer’s promise, but he picked up the pieces nonetheless. He tried to carry them in his arms, abandoning the dead weight of his pack, but he could only continue for another day before falling to the ground once more, cherishing the pieces tight to his chest as he rolled feebly onto his back.
“Exhausted, he stared at the sky and lamented his failure. But as his eyes slowly closed, and I made steps towards his dying form, he found something in the heavens above.
“There was a swish in that scaled firmament— the movement shocked life back into his heart. He gaped as the sky itself shifted, lost its shimmer and blackened; he could see a hundred, a thousand, a million scattered candlelights floating beyond. Looking down at the pieces of his love’s creations, he acted with renewed haste.
“Eder recklessly smacked incompatible pieces together, hours on end spent trying to comprehend its construction, but when he accidentally made two parts fit together, his mind was flooded with clarity. Taking care, he slowly found each matching component and slotted them in place, and the device’s shape gradually took hold once more. With each section he completed, he found himself understanding its purpose, and by the time he had finished, he knew how it could be used.
“Eder placed the contraption to his eye, and he gazed into the now-black sky above. He saw beauty past the shimmering heavens, colors he had never before comprehended, misty shapes like wild strokes of paint, and a hundred million more beautiful lights than he could hope to see with his eyes alone.
“He spent a whole day gazing at the gods’ greatest painting, so enraptured that he forgot his hunger and his thirst, until at once those shimmering scales returned, and the darkness he'd found beauty in was again replaced by an iridescent, undulating mass.”
Ruby blinked. She had seen the scaled sky of the Shimmer, but to know there was something beyond it… that fact made her sad. For the first time since she’d arrived, she lamented her death, because it meant that she would miss what Eder had once seen.
Death didn't seem to notice the fall in her expression though, and moved its story on.
“Eder, inspired by what he had seen, found the strength to push himself back to his feet. He forced each step forward, filling his muscles with his desire for answers. He repulsed thoughts of hunger and exhaustion with the questions he would ask the caravaneer’s daughter. No longer was he spurred forward only by love, now he moved with curiosity that could not be left unsated.
“The gods must have been smiling at him, because he did not have to drag himself to the caravaneer’s daughter by his eyelashes; he had only been a day away when he discovered the beauty of the heavens.
“Within the cabin lay the caravaneer’s daughter, sickly pale and clearly at my doorstep. Eder approached her, holding out her wondrous device, and the words of love and promise he had planned never came. Instead he babbled about what he had seen past the fishscale firmament, gushed about the beauty of the dark sky, rattled the girl with a thousand questions, and begged her to answer his curiosity.
“The girl, for the first time in Eder’s eyes, smiled. She asked why he had come, and told him that if he was going to beg for her hand again, she would kiss him just to grant Eder her lethal sickness.
“Eder told her the truth. He told her that he had left to pronounce his love again. He told her that he had eaten his riding-beast to survive. He told her that he had broken her device in his exhaustion.
“The girl nearly jumped out of bed to attack him, but he showed her the fixed contraption, and she calmed. He told her that the sky had shifted black, that he had fixed the device himself, and that he had used it to behold the beauty beyond the heavens. He told her that he did love her, but if she did not love him in return, he would not be sad. He told her that he regretted his attempts to woo her, that she had first told him she cared not for things, yet still he had tried to lure her into a cage full of riches and wealth.
“Eder lamented that he had not instead joined her father’s caravan, that he could not have been present when she devised the wondrous contraption, and that he had not been at her side to discover the world beyond. Eder wept, regretting his choices, regretting that now the world would lose her, regretting that the brilliant mind that had invented the device would never be able to replicate it, and eventually the only one would fade into dust.
“She watched him weep, and felt her heart turn. Here Eder was, the only one who had seen the heavens like she had, and she smiled again. She told him she was no longer the only one who could craft the device, which she called a telescope, and she called him an idiot for thinking that. She told Eder the Idiot that he had broken and rebuilt it, and now the knowledge was within him, too.”
Ruby sniffled. She hated bittersweet endings.
But Death continued nonetheless. “Eder the Idiot, realizing his foolishness, laughed. The daughter laughed, too, and together their joy replaced what death still lingered in the air. Eder stayed in the house. He made meals that tasted like salt and sand, since he had long forgotten how to make good food, but she no longer spurned them. No longer was he rich, but he made ugly flower crowns that he gave to her as gifts, and she happily adorned them. And though his journey had hollowed his muscles and left him forever-haggard, their love built a home that would never crumble.”
Ruby was openly weeping, her face turning red and ugly as she wiped mucus on her arm. Death watched her cry for a long moment before producing a handkerchief from thin air and granting it to her. Ruby wiped her tears with it, blew her nose into it, then wiped her face with it again. Death recoiled.
“Is—” Ruby sniffled, her voice shaky and hitching as she tried to speak through her tears. “Is that it?”
Death’s rapt interest in her emotions fell, and darkness clouded Summer’s face. “No. The caravaneer’s daughter, with her newfound love, found the strength to recover from her illness, and she lived happily with Eder. They had many children, built many telescopes, and invented a great number of things together.”
Ruby tilted her head. “Th-that’s a happy ending,” she remarked, “why are you saying it like that?”
Summer’s face fell even further, and Death’s voice passed from her lips like a ghost. “Because I wanted to give you a nice story before I told you about your mother.”
Ruby blinked, her tears fading at once behind sheer confusion. “Wh-what? But… but my mom is… she's Eder’s daughter, right?”
Summer’s head shook, and her sharp eyebrows turned down. Death turned her face grave and wretched, as if it was disgusted with the body it was in. “It is not so simple. Fifty years into Eder’s second century, the consulate of a powerful fay republic elected to invade a neighboring nation. In doing so, their forces crossed through Eder's village. Though they were only moving through on the way to their intended target, the army's commander saw their devices and decided he would be a boon to her state, so she captured him and enslaved his family.”
Ruby gaped. “Why? Why would someone do that!”
“Because that woman was a monster.”
Ruby scowled. She took a long time to ask, “Was that my mother?”
Death shook its head. “No.”
“Who was she?”
“I… do not want to tell you. Her name is too vile to curse your mind.”
Ruby frowned. “I want to know.”
Death sighed, but eventually it relented. “Her name was Vela, Vela Rosea Luciana, though most would have called her Rosea.”
Rosea. Like Roseus but… not quite the same. Ruby said nothing to that.
“By their conventions, your middle name— nomen— would inherit hers. If you care to, it would not be wrong to call yourself ‘Ruby Rosea Rose’, though it would be redundant.”
“Then who is my mother?” Ruby probed.
Summer's armor clacked as Death squirmed with discomfort. “Rosea took Eder as…” intense shame crossed Summer's features, “a consort, of sorts.”
“What's that?”
“It is… somebody you use to have children.”
Ruby jerked back with pure confusion. “How does that work?”
Summer's gauntlet smacked into her forehead, and Death groaned. “I earned that,” it lamented. “Ruby Rose, I would rather not go over the, er, specifics of that process with you.”
Ruby scoffed. “Then who else is gonna tell me!”
That cut Death deeply, and Summer's face flushed with bright purple shame. “N-no! No, it is… Ruby Rose, it is… it would be improper of me to share that knowledge with someone so gentle as yourself.”
Ruby reeled with genuine offense. “Are you really going to let me die without telling me that? I thought you wanted to spend more time together!”
Death was beyond conflicted, and it hadn't the social aptitude to hide that fact from its face.
Ruby said its name, imploringly dragging out the last syllable.
Death lost its composure and threw Summer's hands up. “Fine! Fine, I'll— I will tell you, just…” Death sighed a long sigh, long enough to carry them both to the end of things and back, before it began its explanation.
Ruby listened to the talk, gradually becoming more like her namesake with each word. Even though Death gave its lesson with dry precision, the contents of it were beyond anything Ruby had ever comprehended— easily eclipsing the revelation of Death's true form— and by the time its explanation was over, Ruby had become a brighter scarlet than any rose. Regardless, she leaned towards Summer's form with fascination.
“And… and that's something people do?” Ruby asked, eyes wide.
Summer's face had become pure violet in tandem with Ruby's blush. “Yes, Ruby Rose,” Death groaned, shuddering. “It is so wrong for me to be telling you this, especially in this form.”
Ruby ignored that; she had questions. “That's something I could do?”
“Yes, it was.”
Ruby didn't even care about the depressing past-tense, she was simply too boggled. “That's something I could do with Weiss?”
Summer's face tightened into a cringe as Death hissed, but it had opened this jar of worms and now it would have to eat them. “N-no… not quite, per se, but you certainly could've… well…”
“Well?” Ruby pestered. “Well what?”
Death heaved another long sigh, decided there was no point in avoiding it, and gave Ruby another talk. Somehow, the smith's blush grew even brighter, bordering on inventing a new color.
“Crook and cane,” Ruby breathed, “I… we… we could've done that?”
Slowly, painfully, Summer's head nodded. Death remained silent.
“Wow. And we could have children from that?”
Death wished Summer had more hands to smack itself with, but it used the two that it could to their fullest degree. “No, Ruby Rose,” it groaned through its plated palms, “not… like that.”
Ruby huffed. “But… Yang said magic can do weird things.”
Death gave her a third talk, which it did with the enthusiasm of a person who had already been through two back-alley stabbings and just wanted to get the third one over with. By the time it was done, Ruby was on the verge of dying anew.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered, her silver pool embracing her back as she lay supine with shock and enlightenment, “that's… oh my gods.”
Death hummed affirmatively. By the third talk, it'd given up on being embarrassed, and Summer's face had returned to its pale olive tone. “Indeed.”
Ruby shot back up and pointed a finger at Death. “You mean I could—”
“Yes, Ruby Rose.”
“And she could—”
“Yes, Ruby Rose.”
“And we could—”
“Yes, Ruby Rose.”
Ruby flopped back into the silver. Death, surprising itself, smiled a little.
“That's…” Ruby sighed. “Sweet Shepherd, is that what fuck means?”
Summer's eyes rolled, but the smile remained. “Indeed, that is what fuck means.”
Ruby let out a sigh, but it slowly turned into a chuckle, and before long she was rolling in her mercury ocean, thrashing with laughter. Death smiled wide, but managed to rein its mirth to a gleeful chuckle.
Ruby calmed eventually, then sat back up. The long silence between them stretched forever, but Ruby's face grew more forlorn with each moment, as every second gave her another realization of what she was missing.
“Oh,” was all she said about it.
Summer's smile fell piteously, and Death nodded. “I am sorry, Ruby Rose.”
Ruby turned away, shook her head, and sighed. “It's…”
“I could tell you your mother's story,” Death proposed. “It would not make you feel better, but it would be…” it searched for an appropriate word.
“Something else?” Ruby supplied, her lips forced into a grin that only seemed more forlorn than the grimace she was hiding.
Death only nodded.
Ruby sighed again. “Okay,” she said, “sure,” as she settled back on her hands, watching the being before her. “Tell me.”
Once more Death nodded, and began its second tale.