Chapter 9: Respite

The last few pages of the book are covered in unintelligible scribble and numerous stains, with the exception of the final page. On that page, a single line is elegantly written.

"I once was blind, but by the grace of the Queen, I have been granted sight."

Journal of Cadfan Lloyd, The Good Hunter, Vol I

Circa 0 M.F.

(10000 Years prior to the Awakening)

-x-x-x-

A few minutes had passed since Taiyang had hustled Summer inside of their home, and now Cadfan had regenerated sufficiently to at least move. Taking up the Burial Blade's remnants with a baleful sigh, the Good Hunter followed after, poking his head in through the door.

Inside, Ser Ozpin sat beside Qrow, the Hunter who'd arrived moments before the battle. Across the table from them sat Taiyang and Summer, the latter leaning into the former's side. Ruby was sitting nearby, eyes gleaming with concern as she glanced between her mother and her sister.

Speaking of her sister...the foul mood hanging over Yang's head was practically palpable. Everything from the set of her shoulders, the tension in her jaw, and the white-knuckled clenching of her fists gave it away. Well, that and the way her hair was literally giving off flame, and her formerly lilac eyes glinted red like bloodstained rubies.

Qrow and Ser Ozpin were each nursing a drink, though the types and purposes of their respective beverages were quite different. Where Ozpin was drinking something steaming from a small mug (presumably tea, as coffee tended to have a stronger scent to it), Qrow's poison of choice was alcohol, and of highly potent grade at that. Cadfan could feel its pungent bouquet searing his nostrils from across the room.

'Speaking of drinks…' Cadfan cleared his throat. "Ser Ozpin?" When the man looked to him, one grey eyebrow raised, he continued, "I am no longer injured, but—"

The Headmaster raised a forestalling hand. "Miss Rose filled me in already. Feel free to go...feed." It was only for a moment, but a brief expression of discomfort crossed the Ser Ozpin's face as he spoke. "We will still be here when you return."

The Good Hunter nodded, then turned to leave. Abruptly, a thought occurred to him. "Ah, Ser Ozpin. Could you perhaps have somebody bring Isolde here? I'm sure she would like to meet Lady Rose."

"Of course," he replied. "I'll have Glynda bring her over momentarily."

Cadfan bowed his thanks, then excused himself, walking out into the night. Before he got too far, though, sounds of raised voices coming from the house caused him to pause in his tracks. After a minute or two, the noise died down, and he proceeded into the forest.

His time in the moonlit woods wasn't a long one; while the denizens of the forest had withdrawn to den and nest during the fight, now that it had passed they'd emerged once more. Thus it was so that the Good Hunter found suitable prey swiftly, his nose and soul inexorably drawn to (and impeccably cognizant of) quality blood.

What his senses had latched onto was a venerable stag, the Echoes surging within its veins a veritable hoard of energy and memory alike. On silent feet Cadfan ghosted through the brush, approaching the deer from behind. Before the animal had time to register his presence, the Good Hunter's hand snaked out to grip the neck of the deer in a firm but gentle grip.

Muttering his thanks both to his prey itself and to Ahura Mazda, the Brother of Creation, he crushed the deer's brain stem, killing it instantly. Adjusting his grip on the already cooling corpse to something closer to an embrace, Cadfan hunched over his meal.

In a clearing barely lit by a shattered moon, tendrils of aquamarine crystal glinted as they flowed from a Great One sheathed in mortal flesh and twisted around, enveloping the stag's body completely. A sound like a thousand mouths chewing quietly filled the clearing, and when Cadfan rose to his feet, there was no trace of his prey. Indeed, the only signs that anything unusual had happened were the aquamarine flecks that glinted with unearthly light in his otherwise ice-blue eyes. Even these were swift to fade as he turned on his heel and returned from whence he came.

-x-x-x-

"That guy did what?"

Qrow stared at Summer incredulously. After he'd recovered from the shock of finding out his old team leader was alive (and already back in the saddle of Supermom, judging by how fast she'd defused Yang's temper and gotten her and Ruby to go to sleep), he'd thought that he wouldn't have any more surprises this evening.

…

In hindsight, that was probably a naive hope rather than a realistic expectation, considering all the fuckery Oz always got up to.

Even so, this? This was beyond the pale, and if he was reading the looks on Oz's face right (and man Oz must have had A Day if he was actually showing his thoughts on his face), this whole Vampire—oh, sorry, Vileblood (like that sounded any better)—Princess dealie was just the tip of this iceberg of mindfuck.

…

And people wondered why he was a drunk.

Of course, the countless numbskulls that didn't know the sort of crap Oz always had him poke his nose into only saw a surly, slurring drunk twenty-four seven, but such was his crappy, craptacular life.

As Summer opened her mouth to repeat herself, Qrow raised a hand. "Nah, I heard ya the first time. But seriously, lopping off his own head? Who does that?"

"Vilebloods, apparently," Oz remarked, deadpan. Qrow snorted, then tossed back a gulp of his Vacuan Nightmare 180, one of the strongest drinks in the world. His throat felt like it caught fire and froze solid in the same breath, the paradoxical sensation caused by a careful blend of ground Fire and Ice Dust slowly infused into the drink over the several years it took to mature. Would it kill him eventually? Well, it could try, but it would have to wait in line.

As he screwed the cap of his flask back on, he winced at Summer's disappointed … eye sockets. Right, she knew him from back when he was sober. Well, a lot has changed since your funeral, Glorious Leader, so if you don't like it, pour yourself a glass and deal. Qrow ran a hand through his messy black hair and glanced over at his boss. "So what aren't you tellin' us, Oz?"

The Headmaster carefully set down his now-empty mug, his free hand reaching up to adjust his glasses. "My, my," he mused. "I really must be weary if I am slipping this badly. Perhaps...hmm." Oz waved a hand dismissively. "Regardless, I would prefer more time to consider...certain things before I disseminate this information to even my most trusted allies. Aside from myself, Cadfan, and his associates, only Glynda and Bartholomew know the secret, and while I will likely share the particulars with you three in time, I would prefer to make sure that I understand everything as best I can first."

Qrow hummed thoughtfully, then replied, "Fair."

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. "Speaking of Cadfan's associates," Ozpin remarked, "that should be Isolde now." Qrow nodded, then rose to get the door. When he opened it, his jaw dropped.

'Vampire queens and living dolls. I'm not drunk enough for this shit.'

-x-x-x-

Halfway across the world, deep in the forests of the eastern continent of Anima, the midday sun lit upon a particular clearing. Now, this clearing wouldn't ordinarily be of any note, were it not home to a ramshackle, hastily constructed camp filled to the brim with scoundrels, brigands, and all other manner of ne'er-do-well.

Most of the denizens of said hive of scum and villainy were scattered about in various states of inaction, whether enjoying the spoils of their latest raid, maintaining their gear, or reclining in various states of repose.

One particular bandit was perched on a stump, running a whetstone down the curved, moonlike blades of her weapons. Her Waning Fangs had gotten dull in their last raid, courtesy of a Huntsman that had decided to get uppity.

The woman who'd taken the name Vernal sighed and blew a lock of brown hair out of her azure eyes. It always pissed her off when Huntsmen and Huntresses tried to fight back when they were outnumbered and outgunned. She could understand it if they actually had enough numbers to fight back, or if the tribe went out of their way to hurt civilians (Raven had beaten that habit out of their members long ago, as it drew far too much attention. It was much more efficient to spare the villages that cooperated, and terrify the ones that didn't, letting the Grimm do the rest.).

But more often than not, those idiots just insisted on fighting back and getting in their way, even though resisting was a no-win scenario for them. The years of brainwashing that convinced them that they could "change the world" made them impossible to reason with, even though it would be better for everyone if "valiant champions of Remnant" died fighting Grimm instead of (nearly) harmless bandits. The sheer wastefulness and inefficiency of it all baffled and annoyed "Vernal" in equal measure.

The woman's thoughts were abruptly cut off as the distinct thrum of Raven Branwen's Semblance carving a gaping wound of bloody crimson into the fabric of reality acted as an abrupt funeral bell for all activity in the camp. Dozens of eyes fixed upon the corcuscating distortion, and then on the woman that strode from it.

Raven passed the members of the Branwen tribe without a word, making for her tent with quick, clipped steps. At the foot of her tent, a massive red amalgamation of cloth and wood, she paused. Her right hand rested on the hilt of her sheathed blade, while her left rose from her side fractionally.

It was a barely noticeable twitch of the wrist, and indeed, if Vernal hadn't been specifically looking out for it, she'd have missed it. Raven wanted her to join her in her tent.

Now, ordinarily this could mean any number of things, ranging from a brief update on the world's occurances to…"stress relief", but one didn't get made Raven Branwen's second-in-command (and occasional bedmate) without being canny as hell. Thus, Vernal immediately picked up on two things that told her this meeting would be a serious one.

First, Raven's signature Nevermore mask was nowhere in sight. This had happened a few times in the past, but rarely enough that it was of some note (and of some concern, not that she or her mistress would admit to feeling such a weak thing for one another).

Second, and of far more immediate consideration, was the faint discoloration and swelling that was beginning to show on her right cheek. For Raven to get hit hard enough that she was injured through her Aura...that was something she'd seen happen precisely once before, and that was when her mistress had been fighting the traitor and another Huntsman simultaneously.

Of course, Raven had made the Huntsman pay for that bullet in the gut, in the form of losing most of the right side of his body, but that was irrelevant. Somebody had hurt her mistress. That was of extraordinary concern, especially if there was even the slightest chance that they could track her back here (a paranoid concern, perhaps, but in their line of business paranoia was a requirement).

Raven was far and away the strongest of the tribe, so anyone who could bruise her cheek could probably take off Vernal's head with the same amount of effort.

Even as her mind parsed all this information at a rapid rate, she rose from her perch and walked over to her mistress's side.

As she walked, she clicked a pair of buttons on the sides of her weapons, the twin crescents of the wind-and-fire blades retracting into the tops and bottoms of a pair of pistols, which she allowed to fall from her hands into a pair of holsters on each thigh.

As the duo entered the great tent, the woman who had taken the name Vernal set aside her worries for the moment. Now, her mistress had need of her. And if there was anything she could do to ease the burdens borne by the woman who raised up the weak, ignorant Talia Argent into the strong, canny Vernal?

She would.

-x-x-x-

It was to a quiet, slightly uncomfortable silence that Cadfan returned. The reason was unfortunate, albeit understandable; he had reacted much the same upon his first meeting with Isolde, all those millennia ago. The sight of a woman made of ceramic and wood, yet moving, breathing, and speaking as though flesh was an alarming one. Cadfan vaguely recalled Isolde reading him something about an "uncanny valley effect;" perhaps that was the cause.

Regardless of the reason for the Rose/Xiao-Long family's discomfort, the Good Hunter did not wish to see it continue unnecessarily. Thankfully, his arrival served as a suitable interruption, as all eyes in the room fixed on him at once.

"I have returned," Cadfan commented needlessly, then winced at the non-sequitur.

…

Why was dealing with people so difficult? Oh, right. It's because most of his human life had been spent in what amounted to a library, the rest of it had been spent killing his way through armies of monsters and madmen, his only companions a grumpy old man, an equally belligerent older woman, and a living doll who'd had equally poor social skills as he.

(The ten millennia he'd spent as a network of Arcane crystal beneath the surface of the planet hadn't helped matters either.)

Isolde gave a small, demure chuckle that snapped him from his reverie. "Welcome back, Good Hunter. I trust your meal was enjoyable?"

Cadfan gave a nod, pulling his mask down and tossing his hat onto the hat rack. "That it was, Isolde. I managed to find a stag of perhaps twenty years, and his blood held many Echoes from which I managed to draw sustenance."

"Speaking of," Summer interjected, tilting her head towards him, "what'd you do with the body? There's not many people on Patch, but finding a deer drained of its blood isn't exactly comforting, I'd imagine."

Cadfan waved a hand dismissively. "Worry not, Lady Rose. I left no evidence of my meal."

"What, did ya eat the whole thing?" Qrow interjected, a joking tone to his voice as he tossed back another gulp of that pungent brew.

"Of course. Waste not, want not, after all," Cadfan replied seriously. The choking noise that the black-haired Hunter proceeded to make elicited a slight twitch of the Good Hunter's lips, but no other tells as to his amusement made it onto his face.

Qrow shot him a dirty look, then chuckled dryly. "You think you're funny, don't ya?"

"I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Branwen," Cadfan shot back, one thin eyebrow arched.

The other man grimaced. "Please, for the love of the gods, jus' call me Qrow. I ain't gonna answer to 'Mr. Branwen' 'till I'm a grandpa, if I have my way."

"You even don't have kids, Qrow," Taiyang interjected, deadpan.

Qrow offered a wolfish grin and raised his flask as though offering a toast. "Exactly," he replied, before tossing back another swig.

Cadfan observed this byplay with mild amusement, before it was interrupted by Ser Ozpin clearing his throat. "As much as I hate to interrupt this reunion, there are a few things that remain to be discussed." To his credit, Ser Ozpin did seem legitimately regretful.

"Firstly, Mr. Lloyd," Ser Ozpin began, setting down his mug. "Though I'm sure you were unaware of this, that Grimm you slew, Jenny Redteeth? That was a Storied Grimm, as evidenced by it having a specific name of its own."

"Yeah," Summer chimed in. "That old hag's been harassing Vale and Patch for decades! Compared to some of the other Stories, she wasn't that tough, but she was slippery. Quicker than a Sprite and better at hiding than a Doppelgänger. And then you come along and poof." Summer spread her hands in tandem with the noise. "She's dust in the wind."

Cadfan canted his head to one side, considering the information he'd been given. Even as he did, Ser Ozpin spoke up again. "That brings me to my next point. Storied Grimm invariably have bounties, though usually some manner of evidence is required, such as a photograph. That said," at this he gave a wry smile, "no one will dispute you claiming the bounty if I back you as a witness."

Cadfan blinked. "A bounty you say? Well, I certainly will not turn down a source of income; I doubt greatly that the currencies of ten millennia ago are of much worth, other than from a historic perspective."

Ser Ozpin chuckled. "Bartholomew would say that historic value is the most important value, but I take your point. I'll see to it that you can claim the bounty tomorrow, and set up a banking account while I'm at it. For now, though, I think it'd be best if we leave everything else for daytime. There should be a few spare beds back at Beacon...assuming you actually require sleep?"

Cadfan tilted a hand from side to side. "Not strictly, but it would help me get back in top form more quickly."

Ozpin nodded. "That settles it, then. I'm sure Glynda won't mind too terribly coming back by to pick us—"

"Absolutely not," Summer cut in with a frown made all the more intimidating by her lack of eyes. "Like you said, it's late. We've got enough space for everyone to sleep in the guest room." She turned her face towards Isolde. "It feels kinda rude to ask, but do you sleep?"

Isolde smiled kindly at the other woman. "I do, actually. I do not know why I do, but I suppose it is simply part of the metaphysics of being born of dreams, wishes and the blood of a dead god."

Two pairs of eyes and a pair of sunken sockets fixed on her as Summer, Taiyang, and Qrow all stared.

After a moment, Qrow set down his drink and said, "You're right, Oz. I'm waaaaay too tired to deal with anymore of this shit right n-oof!" His words were cut off by a faintly shimmering vine cuffing him upside his head.

Though Summer looked as though the action had strained her, her stern face remained as fierce as ever. "What have I said about swearing in my household?" asked the white-cloaked woman in a sickly-sweet tone.

Looking like nothing so much as a scolded puppy, Qrow muttered, "Not to."

When Taiyang let out a chuckle, Summer rounded on him, causing said chuckle to die brutally in his throat. "As for you, mister," Summer said sternly, "I wonder just what gave him the idea that swearing in my home was okay? And Yang, for that matter? Hmmm?"

"Ahahahaha…" Taiyang let out the 'I'm sleeping in the doghouse chuckle' (trademarked by husbands everywhere) as he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

Ser Ozpin let out a pointed cough. "Miss Rose, if it's not too much trouble, could you save disciplining your husband until after we've been bedded down?"

Summer snorted. "Qrow. Show 'em to the guest rooms while Tai and I … talk."

Qrow let out a dry chuckle before doing as he was instructed, leading Cadfan, Ozpin, and Isolde down a side hall. There was a door on each side of the hall, and one at the end. "Two beds to a room, bathroom's at the end of the hall. Oz an' me will take one, you two lovebirds can take the other."

Isolde let out a tinkling laugh even as Cadfan snorted. "Hardly, Qrow. Isolde and I are closer to siblings than anything else."

"That said," Isolde added, "is there something you'd like to share about your relationship with Ser Ozpin?"

-x-x-x-

The look of utter revulsion that had consumed Qrow's face was absolutely priceless, Cadfan mused as he laid down in a bed for the first time in millennia. A real bed to maintain homeostatic thermal equilibrium during the decreased endothermic activity of slumber. Truly, the cosmic wonders of the universe were nothing compared to the creature comforts of humanity. A sigh of bliss escaped his lips as he shut his eyes, surrendering himself to dreamless (and Dreamless) sleep.

As he drifted off, he felt a small spark of giddiness. What would the morrow hold? He could scarcely wait to find out…

AN: So, here's this thing. It's a bit later than intended, as a tropical storm decided to dump on my general area and kill the power for most of the county. Anywhoozle, many thanks as always to Slavok and Teninshigen for their beta work. I hope y'all enjoy!