A/N: I own nothing but plot and characters of my own creation. I will do my best to adhere to Monty's Color Naming Rule but please forgive me if I am unable to. Enjoy.
RWBY: The Order of the Ouroboros
Prologue
"We are not enemies, but friends.
We must not be enemies.
Though passion may have strained it must not break our bonds of affection.
The mystic chords of memory will yet swell, when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature."
-Abraham Lincoln
She was silent, deadly, and beautiful to behold.
She passed through dim-lit halls like a shadow, unseen by guards, who even if they weren't focused on the night's festivities, would fail to notice anything peculiar. Down in the Grand Hall, a celebration was being held in honor of the newest appointment to the Council. It was the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the palace grounds and find the Scroll, but there was an ulterior motive.
She needed answers; she needed to know why.
Why was she pursued by this man?
What would he gain by bringing her here?
Those questions haunted her as she peered around a corner into a long hallway and waited. The hallway was deathly still, the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the thunderstorm outside. After a few moments, the lights went out, plunging the wing into darkness. She had to move quickly; the power outage would only last a few minutes.
She looked around the corridor for a moment, cautious of any onlookers or witnesses. After finding the area clear, she knelt before the door, pushing strands of raven hair out of her eyes and got to work. Deft fingers worked the tumblers easily, the darkness not hindering her in the slightest, and soon she heard the telltale click of the door being unlocked. She slowly opened the door, every creak of the hinges caused her to wince, fearing each one would lead the guards to discover her. She peered inside, cautious of any security device that could still be operational.
Releasing the breath she didn't realize she was holding, she entered the expansive room, locking the door behind her; and made her way to the large painting on the far side of the wall, just to the left of the ornate desk.
The painting itself was a depiction of a woman in a white gown with amber-colored hair tying a red sash around a mounted knight's arm as he departs through the portcullis of a castle.
A lady's favor.
She had read about the age-old custom many times; a lady would gift a knight she favors a token, often an article of clothing, that he carries on to the battlefield. The knight would have promised his lady that he will return the trinket when he returns.
It was not only a way of saying that he will return from battle alive and they will be reunited but also a way of saying 'I love you' without saying it.
She shook her head to free her mind from these thoughts, knowing that she had lingered for far too long.
She found the hidden switch on the lower right-hand corner of the frame, just as the knight had told her. The painting gave way and swung like a door, revealing a large wall-safe. She then began to place Burn Dust infused putty in the door gap. She had been warned that it would burn rather than explode, so she had to use just the right amount: too much, and it would burn through the safe destroying the Scroll and any other items that could be of use; not enough, and the safe obviously won't open.
Just as she was about to ignite putty, she heard the door being unlocked from the outside. Thinking quickly, she replaced the painting back into its original position, then ran to the other side of the room. Every footfall sounded so loud to her; she was certain that she had been caught. She almost wished that she had taken her friend's advice and gone barefoot. Just as the door was unlocked, she dove to the floor crawled underneath the antique sofa by the door. The carpet burned her exposed skin but she ignored it, trying to be as small and as quiet as possible.
The door slowly opened but it hid the new arrival from her view. She heard the sound of the light switch being tried a few times, then a sigh of exasperation when the room failed to illuminate. She heard his footfalls on the carpet as he walked through the room despite the darkness and finally, she had a glimpse of her pursuer. The one who hunted her was a man with slicked-back, gray hair.
An old man.
No.
The Old Man.
It didn't matter this man's age, he hunted her and she was going to find out why.
Yet there was something familiar about him.
She couldn't fathom why, but that dark-blue uniform and golden ouroboros on his left shoulder made her think back to her childhood.
He crossed the other side of the room, towards the desk. Her heart beat like a drum with each step the Old Man took. Had he seen something out of place? Did he know someone was in here?
She had to move fast; she needed answers.
The Old Man stopped at the side of the desk; opposite the painting and relief flowed through her. Cautiously, though, she stopped half-way from her target and held her breath, waiting to see what he would do next. He pressed against a panel on the wall and a hidden compartment opened up and she had to wonder how many secrets did this office hold? She watched as he reached into the compartment and withdraw a liquor bottle; it was a liquor cabinet.
The Old Man inspected the bottle, wondering if it was fitting for the occasion and considered a bottle of sherry when he felt cold steel against his back. "Hands up," a voice said behind him. Realizing that the steel was, in fact, a pistol, he did as he was told and raised his hands, the bottle still clenched in his right hand. "I have questions for you." Her voice sounded muffled as if she had a piece of fabric covering her mouth (a scarf, in fact, borrowed from a friend) but he was able to discern a few traits.
'Young,' he noted. 'Feminine.'
"Of course," he said. "But first I must congratulate you for making it this far."
'That voice!' she thought, eyes widening. 'It can't be...'
Suddenly her hand began to shake as she realized who this person was, "You're shaking," he said. She gripped her wrist with her free hand, trying to keep the tremors at bay.
"Is this the first time you've done this?"
'No,' she thought, it wasn't supposed to be like this.
This man was supposed to be her enemy.
Taking advantage of her distracted state, the Old Man turned and swung the bottle down like a club. Recovering just in time, she raised her arm to protect herself; the bottle shattered, dousing her in champagne but due to her Aura, remaining unharmed. That did not deter the Old Man, who came at her with the jagged remains of the bottle, using it as a shiv.
His onslaught was vicious, displaying agility that even young men would envy. His movements were far from wild or erratic, however, showing that this man had considerable skill in the ways of combat. In the end, all she could do was back peddle and wait for an opening. It came soon enough when a backhand slash just barely missed her and she was able to knock the bottle out of his hand with a roundhouse kick.
With this momentary lapse in combat, she pulled the scarf free. "Stop! It's me! B-" was all she had time to say before she was seized by the throat, lifted off her feet and slammed into a nearby wall, her weapon falling uselessly to the floor. Before she could even sink to the floor, he was upon her, lifting her off the floor, and pressing his thumbs against her windpipe.
She thrashed about against his grip and tried to tear his hands away from her throat but all was in vain as he proved to be too strong. As her vision began to fade, she could still make out the features of her unfortunate adversary: his teeth were bare beneath his long beard and his blue eyes held fire in them. She had a premonition of those same eyes welling up with tears when he discovers the truth and for that, she felt remorse. If only they had known, all of this could have been avoided.
As the world began to go black, her struggles became weaker and weaker. She began to silently make her goodbyes and hoped her family would not blame him for what had transpired when suddenly she was hit with a blinding light and then she was released from the Old Man's grip. As he had entered the room, the Old Man had neglected to return the light switch to the 'off' position, so when the power was restored, the lights came on and that is all that saves her. She fell to the floor in a heap, hand on her throat, coughing and trying to take in as much air as she could.
After a few deep breaths, her sight became clear again, and as she looked up at the Old Man, she saw the look of horror on his face that her vision paled in comparison to. He was completely aghast by what he had done; what he had nearly done, and yet he still couldn't quite believe what had just happened. He looked down at his shaking hands, then back at her; time seemed to come to a halt as the pair just stared at one another, neither one daring to make a sound. Finally, the Old Man found his voice…
"Blake?"
It was barely above a whisper but she heard it clear as day. She looked up at him with forgiving eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. She uttered a single word before all went dark…
"Grandpa."