Author's Note
This story is based on a headcanon of my own invention about the origin of Beacon's cryptic Headmaster. It is based on a story, a fairytale, that I once heard as a small child myself.
Summary : Glynda Goodwitch has always known that Ozpin has quite the fondness for fairytales. One evening, she poses a question; and of course, in his typical fashion; his answer only stirs up even more questions. It does pose for an interesting story, Glynda has to admit– though, she has to wonder if it is just a story that Ozpin is telling, after all.
Characters : Ozpin, Glynda G.
Genre : Romance, Tragedy
Rating : Rated T for mentions of blood, violence and one very, very crypic man.
RWBY
The Man and the Moon
They had been working in silence for hours now, under the green light of his office, both attempting to catch up on what Ozpin liked to refer as the more boring part of their careers; paperwork. While hers were filled with more student and staff oriented work, however, his were more to do with the governments of the various Kingdoms, reports from their agents in the fields, and files upon files of information. She was also aware of his distain for this sort of work. He found it boring. They both did but alas, it had to be done, and thus, here they were.
When at last their pens finally stopped scratching letters and signatures on parchment, both Huntsman and Huntswoman stood up, stretching sore and stiff bodies. Glynda watched him take up his cane and empty coffee cup, and decided to break the silence herself, seeing as that he rarely did himself.
"Coffee?" His light, chocolate-brown eyes reached hers immediately, and small smile answered her, and she nodded, feeling amusement twitch her own lips upward. "To my office, then."
Glynda had long before taken the coffee pot out of his office, save for a few times where he had expected company. It was a long, convuluted, and very embarassing story that involved a missing cane, a broken nose, and a very sleep-deprived Headmaster– but in a rare display, Ozpin had conceeded defeat in the end. It merely meant that another duty was added to her seemingly endless tasks; keeping her employer supplied constantly with his favorite beverage.
If she was honest with herself, it was among her favorites, and she was a woman of her word, if nothing else. Never once did he ever go without.
"Thank you."
They had sat down in her office, sipping at their own drinks. She herself prefered sweet teas to bitter coffees. Ozpin had spoken for the first time that night– he sounded tired after a long nights' work. But she doubted either of them would sleep; after all, it was only an hour or two before the sun peeked out of the horizon, beckoning them to their students once more.
"Ozpin?" She was speaking before she knew it. A question that had been nagging at her had suddenly rushed to her tongue, and begged to be released. "May I ask you something?"
Ozpin looked up again. Curiously, he nodded without speaking, granting her permission.
"What is your favorite fairytale?"
Whatever he was expecting her to ask him, this certainly was not it. His head tilted in that way it always did when something interested or puzzled him; and with the way his expression morphed, she was sure in this case, it was the latter. But his response was quick and calm.
"The story of the man and the moon, of course."
It was Glynda's turn to be puzzled. She had, of course, heard many fairytales in her time. But the story of a man and the moon? Her own expression must have betrayed her, because a chuckle escaped Ozpin's lips. And when he opened his mouth again–
This was the story that he told.
Long before Remnant was what it is today, long before the formation of the Kingdoms; the moon as we know it was whole and healthy. The early people of this land were protected by early Huntsman and Huntswomen, using early weapons created of metal and raw Dust.
Of their number, of the best known warriors was a Huntsman named Oz. Creatures of Grimm fled before him, and those monsters whose pride swelled, were cut down by his mighty and talented blade. It was said that he handled Dust as though he were born from it; he controlled the elements with ease; it was as if a god had blessed him with the necessary powers to single-handedly save humankind.
A very handsome young man, too, Oz came upon many fine suitors, promising wealth, power, beauty, love. However, Oz turned each of them away, one by one. It seemed he was not interested in any who walked the human plane; and once he was matured to a ripe age, every night, to any and all who would listen, he told them that there was something else that had captured his heart, whose beauty had absolutely no comparison in his world.
You see, Oz had fallen in love with the moon.
Of course, no one understood his desire for the moon. No one understood why he applauded it; it was not normal, and although his powers and abilities as a Huntsman were never questioned, his sanity was and soon, he became an outcast. Without family or friends, Oz became disillusioned and yet more still in love with the moon. His heart became dark, until finally, something inside him snapped with so much force and power, that it could be felt all around the young land.
And when people looked up to the sky, their cries could be heard, too. For the moon, so high up in the sky, had suddenly begun to fall. It certainly meant their deaths and the destruction of their land. When defenders of the land rushed forth to find Oz, they found him, using his Aura to pull the moon forth.
Although the people fought against Oz, he was unstoppable. He slew those who used to be his comrades and other warriors besides, mad in his grief and desire and love for the moon.
However, in his harsh grip, his beloved moon too, like the monsters he had stricken down with his blade, stood no chance.
The moon shattered. Horrified at what he had done and the darkness that then clouded the land from the disappearance of its beacon of light that was the moon, Oz was stricken with grief. Using his power once more, he sent the moon outwards into the great beyond again...
But not before the moon itself blessed Oz with much more power than he had before; as a thank you for allowing his true heart to send it back to where it truly belonged. The moon said to him;
"It is you who have shattered me,
Oz, a human of the land below.
But your mistake,
You have learned;
And you have earned your just reward.
From herefore on,
You and your descendants,
Each more powerful than the last,
Will be my sword and my shield for your land;
You will protect humanity like the newborn babe.
But hear me well, Oz;
Should humanity fall into the dark,
Lose sight of my magnificent light;
It is then your duty to blow out their candle,
Their tiny candle that only luck saw them born,
Blow them out and see them gone,
An end seen as easily as the sun does rise and fall each night."
From that moment on, known as the First Oz, he and his family has protected humanity from their foes, just as their beloved deity the moon had sentenced them, so lvery ong ago. It is said that althought their names were fogotten though time, they still stand guard for humanity; waiting for the moment that they fall, as predicited by the grace of the moon.
What will they do then?
Only they know.
Or so it is only said, in the tale of the man and the moon.
"I have... Never heard such a tale before."
Glynda was surprised at how calm her voice, following the completion of the Headmaster's favored fairytale. Something had stirred her; whether it was the story she had heard, or the curious, quiet and mysterious voice that carried it out, she did not know.
"It has been passed down my family since the beginning of Remnant. I am among the oldest of bloodlines in this world of ours, Glynda," Ozpin explained, a slight smile upon his lips as he spoke. "This is the favored tale of my kin; the story of how the moon came to be; and how our powers were granted unto us by the light of the moon... But of course– "
"It is only a story," Glynda finished for him. "The story of the man and the moon... Is but a story."
"Or so it is said, my dear. Or so it is only said."
And with that spoken, with a bow of his head and the click of his cane upon marble floors, the Headmaster walked away, leaving his Headmistress to stare at his retreating back in that kitchen where, behind her, the bright moon shined as it slowly began to disappear into blue skies, heralding in yet another at Beacon Academy.