Dear reader:
The characters appearing in this story are not mine; they belong to Roosterteeth. I am merely borrowing them for a time and will return them promptly, unharmed, when I am done. This story is not intended for profit; it being only an expression of my imagination and an effort to entertain. Also, the chapters you are about to read imply that some of the characters are having adult relationships. While it isn't explicit, let me say that all of the characters have reached the age of consent. With the legalities out of the way, please enjoy...
Prologue: Fifteen years in the past.
If anyone was so foolish to think that war was glorious, they should be forced to do this job.
Hazel Rainart understood that violence was necessary, on occasion. He also understood the need to compensate and honor those who dedicated themselves to preparing themselves to unleash and withstand it. However, he also understood the danger that such honor could bring; how hunger for respect and accolades could warp an impressionable mind, make one forget the cost to oneself and others. For that reason, he took on this job at every opportunity and made sure that others accompanied him. A man's humility needed to be exercised as much as his body.
"I see no reason to bury what's left of this rabble," a snarling voice complained from beside him. "They defied our queen, threw her offer to make them a vassal back in her face. Let them rot where they lie, while their brats watch them and starve!"
"Their Graces have deemed otherwise," Hazel growled, as he carried another body to where others were laboring with shovels and picks, excavating a mass grave. "A barren wasteland doesn't do Salem and Ozma any good, so we bury the dead and prevent a pestilence."
"But why must we do this chore?" Tyrian demanded. "We crushed those who defied our illustrious deities, so why must we clean up this mess? Let the filthy peasants clean up their own dead!"
"Because the civilians who haven't already fled have work to do," Hazel grumbled his reply. "This territory has to be beneficial for our rulers. That means the peasants need to farm, the miners need to mine and the lumberjacks need to harvest trees. The enemy has been defeated, so we soldiers have the manpower to spare. If we treat the civilians well, they'll be loyal to our royalty within a generation. If we treat them harshly, they'll be rising in rebellion instead."
"Bah! They're all enemies! They should be punished for their defiance!"
"Their Graces have deemed otherwise," Hazel repeated. "Do you question their judgment?"
That shut the man up. Tyrian wasn't stable, but he had a few predictable qualities. First, he relished every opportunity to inflict pain on others and secondly, he allowed nobody, including himself, to question Salem's judgment.
Hazel didn't question his orders but he didn't relish the chance to go on an all-out killing spree, like Tyrian did. He understood that Salem and Ozma would benefit from a peasant tilling the land, not from a peasant's body rotting in the field. He understood that it took time and effort to train a soldier, so it was better to correct and punish a soldier for verbally doubting the king and queen, rather than killing him and having to start from scratch.
Tyrian continued to grumble, not complaining at the necessity of clearing away the dead, just that he was one who had to do it. Hazel set his burden down in the trench, while Tyrian simply dropped his from his shoulder. Hazel frowned, but that was as far as he was willing to go in showing his displeasure. While Salem had a certain tolerance for her soldiers brawling, she frowned at her chosen few, those who had caught her eye with their capabilities, fighting.
Salem's frowns were often fatal.
Still, she didn't have eyes everywhere...or it seemed that she didn't. While Hazel preferred to avoid violence, it was getting closer and closer to the time that he was going to catch Tyrian in some isolated location and determine which of the two were the most deadly. As much as the psychotic faunus was a strong ally, his habit of antagonizing everyone around him made pacifying recent conquests harder, longer and bloodier.
"We've finished policing up our section of this former rebel territory," the assassin whined. "Are we done here?"
"No," Hazel rumbled, then stalked off towards a devastated town. "We've gathered the dead. Now it's time to gather the living."
He chose to not listen to what his companion said. The maniac's cackling laughter was bad enough, so he knew what the man had in mind for any survivors found. While Ozma frowned upon cruelty to orphans and other refugees; and that frown was only slightly less severe than Salem's frown at her agents' brawling, Tyrian could be inventive when it came to pushing certain boundaries. Fortunately for any survivors that may be in the ruins, General Lionheart already had soldiers searching the shattered town. Tyrian was much less likely to commit atrocities when he was observed. Hazel was determined to not let him out of his sight.
As expected, the soldiers had already searched the upper-class homes by the time Hazel and Tyrian arrived. There was a legitimate reason for this; those upper-class homes would be turned into officers' living quarters. However, the soldiers had their own reasons for searching them first; the valuables to be found. While General Lionheart didn't condone looting, he couldn't be everywhere at once and he didn't shake down every soldier in his command. It didn't make the soldiers or the general evil, it just made them human.
Hazel set their course towards a less affluent, but still comfortable, neighborhood. While the first home that he searched showed signs of hasty departure, it hadn't been looted or vandalized. Such valuables that were to be found were the sort that couldn't be carried by someone traveling light, such as the kitchenware, extra clothing and good quality tools. As Salem's agents, he and Tyrian each had a horse and wagon, but neither took anything. His own tastes were simple; so the wage he was paid was more than enough for him. As for Tyrian; the maniac had no care for wealth, just the opportunity to spread terror and death.
Although he took the time to carefully search the grounds, Hazel was certain that he would find nobody. Clothing and bedding had been removed and while the grounds had a small stable, there was no draft animals or a wagon. Whomever lived here had already left, but there was always the chance that someone from another home had come here to grab something and tarried too long. Hazel didn't judge; was it theft if someone from the lower class saw an abandoned house and came in to grab blankets, clothes or tools, just enough to see them through some hard times?
There was nobody in the first home, nor the second, nor the third. Tyrian was starting to get more agitated, clearly more interested in pursuing and chastising those who had fled, even though both Salem and Ozma had chosen to let them flee. Psychopath that he was, he was no idiot. As soon as they walked to the fourth home, he knew it was different.
The house was neat and tidy, without the pile of discarded items, evidence of panicked folk lightening their travel loads, that the previous buildings had held. From outside, a horse whinnied in a stable, letting them know that whomever had been here had left on foot.
Or perhaps not at all.
"One of the fighting men," Tyrian suggested, as they passed through the home's front room. It seemed logical enough; there was a crest of arms on display, as well as awards given by a local lord. "One of those who resisted our sovereigns and paid the price," the maniac concluded.
"The house is damned big for one man," Hazel disagreed, leading the way up a flight of stairs. The first room they searched confirmed this.
"A child's room!" Tyrian crowed in delight, seeing two beds and a couple of wardrobes. "And more than one child. Now, where could those adorable kids be?"
Hazel gritted his teeth some more, but went about his business, making sure that nobody was hiding in the room before moving to the next.
"Another child's room!" Tyrian exclaimed, upon entering the next room. "And again, for more than one child!" He opened the wardrobes and poked through the contents. "All dresses and feminine attire, but larger than those in the previous room. Someone had a large number of daughters, large enough to sort them by age! Did the fighting man, the head of his household, stay to fight while his family fled? No, if they fled, they fled without their horse and they wouldn't do that. The children must be fairly close!"
Hazel clenched his fists. It would be so much easier dealing with his current comrade in arms if the man were an idiot, lazy, or not committed to his cause. Unfortunately, he was none of these things. He was clever beyond measure when it came time to patrol for bandits or enemy forces, he could spend days on end with no rest and he was as devoted to Salem as a mortal could be. The problem that Hazel had with him was that he used all of these traits to inflict more suffering than necessary on those who didn't deserve it.
Another room, the smallest yet, seemed to be for a single boy while the next room appeared to be the master bedroom.
"Ah, so the man who lived here had a wife," Tyrian chortled, after confirming that there was clothing for both a man and a woman, and recently used. "A wife who made sure the children tidied their rooms this morning! How shocking the news that their forces were defeated, and her dear husband killed, must have been! We must find and...console...this family!"
Hazel struggled to keep his temper in check as he led the way back downstairs. If he let Tyrian know how much the thought of even taunting the missing family angered him, there would be more and more of it.
There was nobody to be found in the kitchen or dining room, nobody in the pantry, although it seemed a little under stocked, as if non-perishable food had been taken. A small cellar had nobody in it. Outside, an orchard was deserted, as was a vegetable garden and the stables...if one didn't count the horse. Something about the tool shed struck Hazel as odd, however. It took him a few moments, but then his suspicions formed up into a coherent thought. He paced out the distance between the inner walls. Stepping back outside, he did the same.
There were three more paces on the outside than the inside.
"Clever," Tyrian announced, in a stage whisper. "I wonder what could be hidden behind the false wall? I will become angrier the longer it takes me to discover the way in."
Hazel had no intention of wasting more time. Instead of searching for the hidden door, he grabbed the corner of the building, sunk in his fingers and pulled. The sound of splintering wood contested with terrified shrieks. Through the falling ruin of what had once been a wall, he spotted sharp, metal points plunging at his chest. Training and reflexes allowed him to catch the weapon and pull it out of the way, before it struck home. He noted that it was a pitchfork and that it had been wielded by a middle-aged woman who had hung on too tightly, and who was now sent sprawling in the dust.
"NO!" He snapped at Tyrian, knocking his companion aside and preventing him from finishing her off.
"She dared attack one of Her Grace's agents!" The assassin retorted, his voice half amused and half complaining, yet he took no offense from being roughly handled. "Even His Grace will not find fault for showing scum such as this the cost of assaulting one of us!"
"But she didn't accomplish anything!" Hazel snapped at him. "She was only protecting her child..." Hazel went silent, bemused by the sight of a little boy, no more than five, struggling to pick up and threaten him with the dropped pitchfork."
"You see?" Tyrian struggled to speak through his laughter. "Her example is encouraging rebellion."
"Just go," Hazel rumbled at the assassin. "Leave this lot to me."
Tyrian considered it for a moment, but chose to walk off. Hazel had no doubt that he was going to search out other civilians and without anyone observing him, woe to anyone that Tyrian found. Still, Hazel now counted eight children and the stunned mother, so he was saving nine people at the risk of dooming one or two. That had to be better than having the mother slaughtered in front of her terrified children.
His convenient conscious didn't make him evil, just human.
"If you'll give me a moment to speak, perhaps we can avoid violence," he told the mother. For some reason, he decided to spare the little boy's pride.
"What do you want?" The woman demanded.
"That's the wrong question to ask," he told her. "Your kingdom lost this battle and with it, this town and the entire valley it sits inside. If I guess correctly, your man fought on the losing side."
She couldn't hide the expression of dismay on her face.
"You waited too long," he continued. "You tarried here instead of fleeing, hoping that your army would prove victorious and you would be reunited with your husband. When you realized that it wasn't the case, you decided to hide until nightfall, then flee." He pointed into the hidden room, where nine bundles were packed.
In reality, it wasn't a bad plan. At night and at a distance, even a faunus wouldn't know the difference between one of Their Grace's supply wagons and a wagon load of refugees. Their Grace's forces hadn't had the time to fully explore this valley they had just conquered, so a clever, knowledgeable local just might be able to pull it off. Of course, she had failed to consider something.
"There is one thing you didn't take into account," he informed her. "Let's say that your son here gets in a lucky shot and kills me. Let's say that you manage to hide until nightfall and you know enough trails to get you to the next fiefdom. Do you think they'll actually take you in?"
"I saw the awards in your house," he told her, forestalling any argument. "Your husband was a veteran, both respected and honored by his king. But your neighboring fiefdom has been overrun with refugees and they haven't had the chance to transport them deeper into the kingdom. Winter is coming on, food is scarce. Maybe you'll get preferential treatment, priority transport to a place that can support you, but maybe not. On the other hand, Their Graces have been planning this campaign for a long time. There are camps set up to support you and a transport system to take you back into my kingdom, where you can create a new life." He glanced at the comfortable home she had once lived in. "It won't be the lifestyle that you are accustomed to, but it's better than watching your children waste away in a squalid, hasty camp."
"What of my children?" The woman demanded. "I've heard how your king and queen treat those they capture. Can you honestly tell me it's better for them to be slaves in your kingdom than take their chances trying to flee?"
"Yes, I can," Hazel told her. "You have probably heard rumors about life under Salem and Ozma that are just as much garbage as the stories I've heard about life under your former ruler. I am an orphan and a former refugee. When Their Graces' agents took me in, I was sent to an orphanage, where I was fed, housed and educated. I showed an aptitude for personal combat, so I was made a special operative. I'm doing quite well for myself."
He paused and looked at the children. He guessed the oldest to be around fourteen; and had probably recently started to notice boys and boys had probably recently started to notice her. Undoubtedly, another concern her mother had.
"Their Graces don't give girls to men," he told the mother. "Refugees are taken in, families are not broken up. The children will be educated and then assigned jobs based upon their aptitude. They may become laborers, tanners, carpenters, drovers...whatever they prove good at. They will marry, or not, as they see fit. After twenty years under Their Graces' rule, and with no incidents of rebellion, you will receive full citizenship."
"And until then?" The mother challenged.
"Like I said, you are thralls, not slaves," he answered. "You have to work and live where assigned, but you will receive compensation and a way to become citizens. You have rights, even if they aren't as great as a citizen's."
She didn't have a choice, but the illusion of choice; his saying the honest truth about how refugees were treated in his kingdom, seemed to sway her.
"Very well," she finally sighed. "We'll come with you."
"Take up your packs," he instructed them. "There's no need to start your new life with only the clothes on your backs." He paused a moment. "Keep your pitchfork," he told the lad. "Once we reach the town square, your mother and sisters will be under the protection of Their Graces' agents. Until then, we will need to guard them."
Hazel managed to hide his smile when the boy nodded his agreement and held the implement much like a soldier would hold a spear. Soon, they were making the trek to the town square; a trek all of the kids had undoubtedly made many times, but in much happier circumstances. The kids seemed to understand that this would be the last time they saw their home, the last time they made this trip to the square. Some tears were evident, despite their efforts to appear strong.
"This isn't my issue," Hazel reminded himself, although it was hard to remain detached. As they walked, the mother worked her way through her brood, giving each child a comforting hand on the shoulder and whispering words of encouragement. The boy held the pitchfork like a weapon, keeping a sharp eye out for danger, even though it was evident he wouldn't know danger when he saw it. Hazel was tempted to give words of encouragement, but he knew better. It would only make parting more difficult.
Being detached didn't make him evil, it made him human.
Fortunately, they were quickly at the town square. Salem's and Ozma's armies were efficient; the town green had been set up as a temporary camp for the refugees, with tents, latrines and kitchens. It was hard to read the family's expressions, they could have been resignation, slight optimism, or fear. Of course, such emotions weren't mutually exclusive.
"Ah, Hazel," a deep and cultured voice greeted him, as he escorted the family to the camp entrance.
"Mr. Watts," Hazel offered him a slight nod. "A mother and eight children. The father was one of those who stood against us."
"Fighting bravely, I'm sure." Watt's words could have been comforting, if his manner didn't show that he was being coldly efficient and really didn't care what happened to the civilians in front of him. "Very well, we can keep the lot of you together in three tents. You should be shipped out to more permanent abodes within the week. I'll in-process you at this time, but first..."
The man pulled a milky crystal from a pouch and approached the family. Starting with the mother and working his way from oldest to youngest, he held the gem near their hearts. When he got to the boy, the crystal glowed. Watts offered a congratulatory nod to Hazel, then made another note in his clipboard.
"What does that mean?" The mother demanded.
"It means that your son has a very high, potential aura," Watts told her. "Such people are most valuable. You should be happy, the boy will have a special place in Their Graces' Administration, to your benefit. You are now thralls within the Kingdom of Magier. However, due to the fact that the boy has such potential, your lot has just become a great deal easier."
Hazel chose not to speak. The boy's fate wasn't his business. The fact that he had personally led the group to the evacuation center didn't mean that he was responsible for what would happen. Besides, maybe the lad would wind up with a kindly master, like General Lionheart. Of course, Hazel would accept the bonus he was entitled to for bringing in a high aura thrall.
Accepting the payment didn't make him evil, it just made him human.
Present day.
There hadn't been time to dig separate graves; duty didn't allow mourning time. Of course, she was sure that Oscar would have understood; farm boys understood the need to conserve effort where possible, so it could be focused where needed. Yet, Ruby couldn't help but feel bitter; in just a few more weeks, a couple of months at the most, they would have made it official. Of course, that might have made it worse, but she didn't know how. Instead of trying to reason it out, she planted the shovel in the loose dirt by the hole and returned to the house.
She passed through the shattered door and hoisted the older of the two, blanket-wrapped figures to her shoulder. Ruby was small, but strong. She had no problem carrying what had once been a larger woman across the yard and to the hole under the tree. She was even able to lower the body into its final resting place with appropriate gentleness. When she turned back to the house for the other body, her composure failed her.
Two years ago, she first came across this young man and his aunt in this very farmyard. She was new in the area, after her training as an irregular fighter and assignment to this fiefdom, where the Kingdom of Piax bordered the Kingdom of Magier, where Salem and Ozma held sway. There had been war between the kingdoms just over ten years previously, so she was intrigued by the brave souls who sought to work the land in the potentially dangerous place. Of course, she was also lonely, being younger than the other irregular fighters, not having had a chance to get to know anyone and very clumsy with new people. As luck would have it, the first civilian she greeted was Oscar.
While asking if he needed help on the farm was logical, matching her cover identity, she didn't know why she had been bold enough to open up to him. Maybe it was the fact that he was roughly the same age as her, or maybe it was the way he hummed as he worked. Maybe it was the fact that he was polite when he let her know that he had figured out that she wasn't really a wandering farmhand. The next thing that she knew, she had admitted her real occupation and the conversation had turned friendly. Although they worked while they talked, the conversation wasn't clumsy. She felt comfortable telling him about her life and listening to him talk about his. She had lost her mother at a young age, he had lost both parents and now worked the land with his aunt. This seemed to draw them closer and before long, she was invited to dinner.
She pushed her memories back and set to the task at hand. Forcing back the grief, she straightened her back and marched into the house. She hesitated a moment before touching the cold, stiffening body under the sheet. She was tempted, sorely tempted, to pull back the cloth for one last look at his face. Yet, she mastered herself. The last look would not give her comfort; her memories of that face, in all the settings she had looked at it, would have to do. What was in front of her wasn't Oscar anymore. Steeling herself, she hoisted the body to her shoulder and carried it to the grave. However, after she lowered it as gently as she could, so that Oscar was now resting next to his aunt, the memories came back full force.
The life of an irregular fighter was much different than the life of a soldier. It was more dangerous but more individualistic. Soldiers were armed with spear and shield...or maybe a matchlock; fought in tight formations and spent their days under the eyes of stern veterans. Irregular fighters carried individual weapons, often that could double as tools. They patrolled for grimm, infiltrated neighboring kingdoms, and gathered information, often without the very people they sought to protect knowing what they were. Irregular fighters faced the same violence and horrors that soldiers did, but often did so alone. For this reason, they had more time away from their duties. For every four days spent on assignment, they received one day of leave. Very quickly, she started spending those leave days on the Pine Farm.
Ruby grabbed the shovel and started to fill in the grave, struggling in vain to keep the tears from flowing. The shovel felt so familiar in her hands, she had used it so many times. She worked on the Pine Farm whenever she could. Somehow, the peaceful labor, working to create rather than kill, to build rather than destroy, helped her deal with the violence around her. Oscar's aunt paid her, just like she would have paid any other hand, but Ruby didn't need the money. The comradeship was worth more to her than any coins could ever be. The house was fairly large, having been built to accommodate an extended family, so she moved into a spare room when her duties allowed. With all the close association, maybe what happened next was inevitable.
She smiled through her tears, remembering that evening. The sun had gone down, the broken moon was full and bright. She and Oscar had finished working by the moon's light and were on the way into the house, where dinner was waiting them. As they often did, they talked but it had become obvious to her, for some time, that she wasn't feeling just friendship towards him any more. They were standing close to each other, neither one willing to go inside but neither with the courage to express their feelings when Ruby finally decided that if she could face rampaging grimm and ruthless bandits, she could deal with a boy she had fallen in love with. She kissed him and felt an enormous surge of joy and relief when he kissed her back. It didn't go much further than that, at least then. The next morning she returned to her duties and to her new commander, her Uncle Qrow.
The Piax military made it a point to separate family members who served. Ruby understood this; having heard about multiple siblings being lost in a single engagement. For this reason, her father was serving as a training officer while her sister was stationed on Piax's far border. However, the military didn't recognize honorary family bonds. As far as the administration was concerned, since Qrow wasn't technically her uncle, there was no problem with leaving her there when he was assigned as the commander of the irregular fighters in the area.
He wasn't easy on her; he had been an irregular fighter for many years and knew when to push and when to back off; when to be harsh and when to be understanding. He knew how to integrate the efforts of his irregulars with the regular forces, and did it so well that the overall commander, General Ironwood, had no need to dig too deeply into his personal affairs. This was good for Ruby, because when his duties allowed it, he could set aside the title of captain and be an uncle. This meant that she could open up with him about things that she couldn't bring herself to write to her father and sister.
Filling in the hole was mindless work, the type of work that allowed her to reminisce about the past, since the future was painful to think about. The weeks following the kiss had been awkward, nerve-wracking...and wonderful. There was a certain homeliness and comfort, even though her duties didn't let her spend as much time with him as she would have liked. The demands of farm work also didn't let him devote the time to her that he would have liked, but they made it work. There were occasional evenings in the local pub, where local musicians, with more enthusiasm than skill, played for folks who danced with more enthusiasm than skill. There were the rare afternoons when they found the time to fish in the local streams or swim in the nearby swimming hole. It wasn't a romance from a story book, but it was something that suited her.
Her uncle also seemed to approve. Other irregulars took their days off to binge drink or be lazy, she worked on a farm and came back both rested and in better shape, emotionally and physically, than she had left.
As Summer waned to Fall, activities changed. Fruit from the orchard and produce from the garden needed to be picked and preserved. She had come off of a twelve day patrol, and had just spent her second day on the Pine Farm. It had been a long day; they had worked until after nightfall but they were prepared; they had set a couple of buckets of water out in the sun, so they had warm water to wash with. She was now wearing a simple dress and he was wearing a set of loose breaches and a shirt when they made their way to the house. His aunt had spent the day canning, so she was asleep, the house was hot and there was a crock of stew waiting for the two of them. Instead of eating in the overheated house, they grabbed a blanket and the stew for a picnic outside.
It was a warm night; the slight breeze smelled of clover and wildflowers. The half moon provided all the light they needed to walk around the house, to where they knew the faint breeze would be refreshing. He spread out the blanket while she set down the food and the plates. They relaxed just a little bit before eating; dealing with the tired limbs that a long day's work can inflict on fit, young people. Of course, they weren't so tired that the didn't take the opportunity to kiss and cling to each other. Things got heated, more so than ever before and soon Ruby was feeling a hunger that the stew wasn't going to take care of. Even in the dim light, she could see by the look on his face that he was also hungry for something more than food.
It was a good thing that they were wearing simple clothes, as their hands had been made clumsy by eagerness. It was awkward but both of them were determined. The stew was cold by the time they were finished, but taking care of their other appetites had worked up healthy appetites for food. Once finished eating, the other hunger made itself known again. This time was a little less awkward but they hadn't thought things through. They were out of warm water and had to clean up using shockingly cold well water.
Still, it had been worth it.
She mounded the earth on the grave and leaned on the shovel. This wasn't the time for grief, wasn't the time for memories. Something was wrong about this situation, and it went well beyond the fact that the unassuming young man and his aunt were now dead. She had allowed emotions to overcome her, had failed to investigate the location. Instead, after finding the door broken in, after confirming that the two were dead and checking to make sure that the attackers weren't in the area, she had taken the time to bury the victims. Now, it was time to be an irregular again and learn what she could. She put down her shovel and took up her scythe.
Although she had walked in and out of the house several times, there were numerous boot prints in the yard. She looked at the door and noted the circular impact marks, no more than two. As much as it pained her to think of the attack, she realized that the attackers had come prepared. They had a section of log ready to use as a battering ram, and only needed two strikes to break through the sturdy door. Oscar and his aunt hadn't had time to flee.
Inside the house, she checked each room. There was still food to be found, some of the produce that Oscar's aunt had canned, but the two hadn't sold. There was usually more in the house, the attackers had taken some food, but not all of it. The rooms still had bedding and clothing, the kitchen still had cookware. Out in the barn, the mule was gone but the wagon and tools were still there. The chickens were still in their pen and the milk cow was still in its pasture. Ruby didn't like the conclusions she was coming to.
It clearly wasn't grimm. Grimm wouldn't have bothered the mule and wouldn't have taken any food. Furthermore, grimm would have mauled the bodies and torn the house apart. Bandits always needed...everything. They would have taken all of the food, the cow, the chickens, the clothing, blankets, kitchenware...everything. Local thieves would have probably not taken the mule, which had the Pine Family brand, but would have taken the chickens, which didn't have a mark.
Ruby came to the conclusion that whomever had attacked the farm hadn't done so for personal gain. The attacker also wasn't local, for risk of being caught with the mule and besides, Oscar was well liked in the town. Someone outside of the area had done this to make a statement. Her mouth set in a harsh frown. Her lover was dead because someone wanted to send a message. Growling, she set her course towards town and took off at a jog, which she occasionally exchanged for sprinting. She ate up the miles, but the memories came back.
Nothing around them had changed when they became lovers. She still served as an irregular fighter and spent the time she had on leave on the Pine Farm. As Fall gave way to Winter, the two grew tired of trying to keep their relationship development hidden. They finally had enough and Ruby moved out of her room and into Oscar's. To their surprise, his aunt had figured out that they had turned that corner...and approved. After this, during one of the times that Qrow was playing the part of her uncle and not her commander, she told him about her relationship. To her surprise, he had figured it out and also seemed to approve.
"You're still an irregular," he reminded her. "As long as you don't let this mess with you, I don't have a problem with it. If it makes you better, I'll cut you some slack."
She didn't understand how having a lover could make her a better irregular, but she was determined to maintain her performance, if for no other reason than to avoid being confined to the barracks when she was off duty. Back in training, she thought that life was simple; you fight grimm and bandits, you receive your pay, the neighbors appreciated what you did...that's life. Then, she met the Pines and put a face to those she was protecting. After that, her life had become intertwined with them. She started to really see, for the first time, that the people she was protecting didn't exist merely to pay her stipend to protect them; they had their own hopes, dreams and lives.
Still, she was careful. Every time that she and Oscar made love, she made sure to activate her aura for a couple of hours afterwards. This had been drilled into her during her training, before her instructor awakened her aura; the only way for a woman with awakened aura to give birth was to keep her aura inactive during conception and pregnancy. She knew that she was too young to take that step...but that conviction began to waver.
It wasn't that life on the Pine Farm was perfect; she had the occasional argument with Oscar and his aunt. But they always reconciled and came out of it stronger than before. Knowing that they were able to deal with imperfection made her more confident about the future. Much like her life in the irregulars; challenges came up and were dealt with. General Ironwood, the commander of Piax's forces in the area and General Lionheart, the commander of Magier's forces across the border, preferred peace and coexistence to accolades, so there were only grimm and bandits to deal with. With life being stable and promising to get better, she started to look at the room she had once occupied with the thought that someday, they could find another way to put it to use.
She talked to Oscar about it first. Another perk about being a member of the irregulars was the leave of absence. After finishing a five year enlistment, an irregular could take a year off, then re-enlist at the same rank and be stationed at the same location. She could finish her enlistment, take the year leave of absence to start their family, then re-enlist and remain in the area. Oscar and his aunt would have to do a great deal of raising the child, but she would be in the area to help. It didn't take much convincing on her part, but he insisted that they become an official couple before becoming parents.
The next person to talk to was his aunt. Surprisingly, she approved, as well. Back when Salem's kingdom first took the neighboring fiefdom, both sides launched cross-border raids. Her own sister and brother-in-law had been casualties of one such raid, so she understood that life could be terribly short. She looked forward to another generation of Pines showing up.
After that, she had to tell her Uncle Qrow; both as her commander and as her uncle.
She chose to tell him as her uncle, first. The man took a long draw from his flask before speaking.
"I want to say that you're too damned young for this," he told her. "But time goes by a lot faster than I realize. Your father and Yang's mother were about your age when they made her...and that wasn't planned ahead of time. You're too young, but an irregular has to do everything too young. I'm just going to say this; don't lock yourself in to it. Now that you've made your plans, keep your eyes open and if things aren't working between you and Oscar, don't be too proud to walk away from something that won't be right."
With that, he took another draw from his flask and sat up straighter. "Now I'm your commander," he told her. "This is a call for you to make, but I think you're doing it in the right way. I have to take this to General Ironwood, but I'm sure he'll approve. He wants to foster stronger contacts between the military and the locals, and this is about as strong of a contact as you can get. Just don't let your performance suffer because of this."
Everyone approved, everyone was looking forward to this. She and Oscar had even started to prepare the room for the new arrival...an arrival that would never happen. Out on the road with nobody to see her, she allowed the tears to flow. She cried for Oscar and his aunt; good and unassuming people who had never harmed anybody. She cried for herself, for the life that was now denied her, the very life that she put herself in danger to give others the chance to live. She had learned long ago that the world wasn't fair, but she allowed herself the time to rail at the injustice.
When she reached the base, she was surprised to see the entire garrison on alert, with several patrols marching out. She was further surprised to be ushered directly to General Ironwood's office, bypassing Captain Branwen. She regained her composure as best she could and reported what she found on the Pine Farm. The General asked her a few questions about what she found at the farm and on her trip back to base. He had her remain in his office while he called in an aide and arranged for another patrol to head out and check on other homesteads around the Pine Farm. After that, he asked her to be seated.
"Specialist Rose," he addressed her. "It is my unpleasant duty to inform you that your commander...and your uncle...is currently in the infirmary. It would appear that the Kingdom of Magier has decided to adopt a more aggressive policy towards us. A very elite fighter led the raid into our territory. Captain Branwen went up against her and was wounded, badly."
Ruby struggled to not show surprise or dismay.
"I am about to release you to visit him," Ironwood assured her. "However, as of now, you are restricted to the post. I want you back here at 0600 tomorrow morning. The attack on the Pine Farm, your captain being wounded...it's connected. We have to respond to this and you are going to be key. Dismissed."
Ruby saluted before turning and leaving the General's office. Once she was outside the door, she sprinted for the infirmary. She paused only long enough for the head orderly to tell her which room Qrow was in before sprinting to the room. She mastered herself enough to stop at the door and regain her composure and centering herself in the opening before knocking three times on the frame.
"You're not welcome," her uncle's voice was very weak. "I'm not up to taking a report from one of my irregulars, but I'd welcome a visit from my niece."
Ruby didn't need further prompting. However, the moment she was inside and looked at him, she froze.
"She was a tough one," Qrow told her, his voice slurred by what she assumed were the pain medicines he had been given. "I tagged her three or for times and it didn't dent her aura. Nobody should have an aura that strong."
"What happened?" She asked.
"The other side staged a raid," he answered. "We managed to track them and I guessed where they were going. We had a good ambush going before little miss indestructible handed me my ass." He took a few breaths. "We took out most of the rest of them, but after she dropped me, she managed to cover their retreat. General Lionheart seemed to like peace and quiet, but this bitch has other ideas."
"Things have changed."
A/N: Thanks to Joe Stoppinghem, for his beta reading assistance.