i'll pray at your feet (as long as you let me)
Qrow's kiss sears itself into his scalp, engrained in his sensory memory; it is his trophy, one which he wears on his sleeve proudly without a name, one which he carries in his heart with more pride than he has ever felt in the world. After all, he- Clover Ebi, veteran soldier, clumsy farmer- has made a god feel at ease, has brought a deity peace.
He is but a mortal, and yet, his recovery and his fortitude are stronger than ever thanks to the companionship gifted to him by his protector in the forest.
…so why does he feel more tired than ever before?
The end of summer months come and go, the harvest flourishing far more than the year prior; he is able to actually build up a bit of wealth thanks to his sales and barters at the market, promising silently to invest in things the children can use for their stay with him. As the leaves begin to fall properly, he packs up his tiny stall at the corner of the baker's stand; the people of the village say their goodbyes and good lucks, secretly gifting him tools and supplies and clothes for the two extra bodies he shall need to keep warm once the route to the village closes amidst the snowstorms.
He has yet to formally tell them about his desires to make this place their home. Day by day, the desire to let those words spill from his lips grows ever-stronger; more than once, he awakens in the middle of the night from nightmares, seeing the children leaving and never returning to the farmhouse ever again. It breaks his heart each time, sending him into a dizzying frenzy that can only be cured by a visit to their room, the sight of their peaceful, contentedly-sleeping forms the only thing which can set his heart at ease.
With the harvest coming to a close and the winter months threatening to rear their heads once more, Clover gathers up his courage, sits the children down at the dining table, and finally, truly asks the question.
To his surprise, it is the quiet Ren that cries, clinging onto him silently with a face full of embarrassed, flustered snot. His wails echo throughout the house, the sobs ringing with such force that that night during dinner outside, Qrow refuses to move from Ren's lap, far too worried about the puffiness around the boy's eyes to leave him alone.
In contrast, whilst the normally-restrained Ren cries, Nora does not respond. Her smile simply remains as bright as ever as she nods, grinning with her usual fervor. That night, however, Clover awakens to a tiny, skinny body crawling into his bed, clutching onto him with a kind of desperation he has never seen before. He is content to hold Nora close; he wants her to understand that this is not charity, nor is it a lie. He will not let her go as long as she wants to stay with him.
The house is warmer with the three of them, after all. Each night, when he tucks them into their beds, the kisses they press onto his cheeks fills him with a kind of warmth that requires no firewood to kindle.
This is what it feels like to be a parent, he thinks in awe each time. He quite likes it. He had never intended to be a parent, but the thought of being able to call Nora and Ren his fills him with more pride than any medal from the Atlesian forces ever could.
Qrow, for one, is happy. "If you continue to have aches, the children can help keep your home warm," he murmurs one evening after Nora and Ren have been tucked in. "You do not have to worry about clearing the snow with them here."
"I'm more worried about learning how to bake solstice pies than about clearing the snow," Clover admits lightly. "Nora has been bugging me to make them, but I've never done it." In response to Qrow's confusion, he simply explains, "I was in the military. Mess hall food was always provided, so I'm still not the most incredible chef."
Qrow's laughter is as tender as always as he comprehends Clover's teasing tone, his comfortable demeanor. "I'm sure the townsfolk will help."
Brushing his fingertips tenderly across the top of Qrow's feathered head, Clover hums, "Indeed. I shall ask when we go down there the last time this season."
However, when Clover comes back to the village to tell the baker the good news of the children's acceptance, she is strangely less ecstatic than he would have expected. At first, he wonders whether this lethargy comes from the fact that she has given up the children at last- or perhaps it is the chill from the incoming winter nipping at their heels, sapping away their strength. He can feel it too as of late, causing his knee to ache more noticeably than it has in months.
Yet, as he leaves, he realizes that he too feels similarly to the fatigue she had projected earlier that day. There is a heaviness in his steps, one which he cannot attribute to the colder weather nor the sadness of saying goodbye for now. Even Nora and Ren begin to show signs of this lethargy as the weeks turn the skies more and more grey. He blames the lack of sunlight. In northern parts of Solitas, there are two months each year without sunlight; two months of pure darkness at the top of the world, two months of solitude and eternal night. Clover has experienced the same kind of fatigue when stationed up in those quadrants, so he brushes off the concerns, simply supplementing their diets with some vitamin D and moving on.
It doesn't really help, though. He tries to ignore it. It is… surprisingly easy to brush it aside.
One clear week, when the weather is strangely rain-free and the airships offer a special service run to those who live farther out of the main hub, Clover leaps at the offer to go into town and restock. At first, he only hopes to buy some sweets and preserves for the children; their mood has been falling as of late, with little to do now that the garden and vegetable patch have been covered and prepped for the incoming snows.
Once he arrives there, however, he realizes the opportunity to pick up some bread from the baker, so he changes his course, planning out in his mind exactly what pastries might lighten the children's mood. Perhaps they will find their energy if they eat her turnovers-
He is not greeted with the smiles he would expect from seeing a good friend after weeks apart. The older woman leans stout elbows onto the counter, head in her hands as two other villagers stand somberly on the other side of it. The distinct feeling of defeat lingers in the air, nearly palpable, engrained into each weary wrinkle, each haggard sigh. He approaches them with caution after giving Nora and Ren a few lien with which they can use in town. "What's the matter, everyone?" he asks tentatively after exchanging greetings and quick, measured embraces.
The baker groans, gesturing him close so that their voices can be low, muted. "Soldiers are in town," she murmurs. "They've been arriving more and more as of late; I just don't get why!"
"They're taking over half of the inn at this rate," the innkeeper's husband mutters bitterly, running callused fingers through greying hair. "It's not like we have any need to worry about conflict here, but-"
The baker slaps the back of the man's hand lightly, scolding him without hesitation. "It doesn't matter if there's fighting or not here! We get supplies from the capital- what's going to happen if an actual war erupts?!"
The baker's eldest son steps out of the kitchen, his sweat-streaked cheeks dusted with flour, the sight a stark contrast to the grim set of his jaw. "What'll happen if the CCTS is hit, Momma?"
Clover immediately shakes his head, trying his best to put on a smile despite the wave of information crashing over him. "They won't attack the CCTS, son," he says. "They'll disrupt even their own communications. Worldwide. There's no one who would benefit from that." Turning to the baker, he drops his voice to a whisper. "It's Mistralian troops in the inn?"
Somber nods.
His voice grows thick and heavy in his throat, fingers gripping the edge of the counter that the backs of his sunspot-covered hands grow pale and taut under his freckles. "You… do you know who the instigator is?"
A flash of fear mingling with guilt spreads across everyone's faces as they look at Clover. "The rumours say it's Atlas, boy."
He shudders, quietly pointing at the loaves and pastries he would like to buy for Ren and Nora. "I'll… I'll see what I can learn," he promises through gritted teeth. "I'm going to try."
The baker steps around the counter, reaching up to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders gently, drawing her in as if he were a child. "We know you will, Clover," she whispers in his ear. "You're a good'un. Be careful, okay?"
Withdrawing slowly, he tries his best to smile at her despite how sickly, how unsteady, he feels suddenly on his feet.
The townsfolk do not begrudge his quietude for the rest of the day, and thankfully, Nora and Ren do not ask; they give him the space he needs to process what he has learned whilst they go to play with the baker's children, relishing in the companionship of others for the first time in weeks. Their delighted giggles fill the air, offsetting the edge of unease growing rapidly in Clover's heart. What in the world can he possibly do to keep them all safe?
He does not want to lose this fragile peace he has finally found. He can't lose it- not again.
Ask, he thinks to himself. I've no right to know, but… I can ask what's going on, at least.
So, he does. That evening, he tucks the exhausted, sleepy children into bed then calls his former subordinates for the first time in months, practically begging for an update. The sound of his fingers drumming against the kitchen table sears itself into his skull, echoing numbly in the otherwise-silent room; however, each person who picks up his calls responds with the same thing. "It's classified, sir," they all say. "We can't share information."
It is only when he manages to get a hold of his former second-in-command that he is able to glean even a hairsbreadth more of information. "I cannot say, sir. You know that," Harriet Bree says crisply, her voice just as flat and professional as ever over the Scroll.
He is about to hang up in defeat when she suddenly adds, "It's a Code 62 Yellow. You know I'm not allowed to share details. Goodnight." And she hangs up.
He does not know whether to laugh or cry at this sudden piece of information, for she is correct- he does know what that code means. That code number is all it takes to paint the perfect picture for Clover, for he has been away from the Atlesian military for almost a year and a half, but it shall take far longer than that to forget exactly what those words mean.
There is an impending assault being planned. Something is going to happen.
And I can't even get more details, he thinks faintly, feeling almost dizzy after understanding just how severe the situation truly is. I've lost my badge and my ID number- I can't access records at all, I-
He cannot do anything. He is helpless. All he can do is hope with all his heart that the battle does not make its way down to him, just when he has finally felt settled into his new life.
Maybe I asked for too much, he thinks wearily as he crawls into bed, a wave of fatigued, bitter apathy washing over him. This is what I deserve… maybe.
It is only when the sun is high in the sky the next day that Clover realizes the grave sin he has committed. He allows the children to sleep in, stumbling outside as fast as he can on his own in the chilly air, hair unkempt and eyes puffy and red from sleeplessness. In one hand, he carries a hastily thrown-together basket of offerings, silently praying, Please let this be enough- I was so distracted yesterday that I forgot to bring them outside here- what have I done?
"I am so sorry," Clover rushes out, bowing his head in shame and placing his hand over his heart, begging for forgiveness. He places the offering upon the shrine and falls to his knees with far more force than what is ideal, his haste blinding him from his usual cautiousness. Pain shoots up his left leg, but he pays it no mind. "Qrow, I do not know what happened- I hope you're alright, that you'll forgive me."
It usually takes longer for the god's presence to become noticeable; however, in the wake of Clover's clear distress, he barely gets a moment to breathe before light floods into the clearing, the flapping of wings shifting to footsteps as light as a feather upon the clover and grasses. "You look distressed," Qrow murmurs. "What happened?"
"I- I don't know. I'm sorry for not coming last night," he says, shame filling him from head to toe. What kind of worshipper is he to have forgotten to come to see Qrow?
Qrow lets out a long, slow breath. Then, ruefully, painfully, he whispers, "I thought… you had left. Returned to your… original home."
The guilt burdening his heart is a heavy one. He knows what it feels like to be alone; he cannot even imagine the solitude suffered by the god before Clover had built the shrine. While Clover had indeed suffered after his injury, it must be even worse for Qrow, for he and the children are this deity's sole companions; Clover has always prided himself on never missing a day's visit out to the forest clearing. How could he ever have left Qrow alone again, even for one day?
"Are… are you alright, Clover?" Qrow breathes, his tender touch tracing Clover's cheek with the strength of the softest breezes. "You seem pale. Unwell."
His heart immediately softens. What great thing had he done in his previous life to have earned such clear care and devotion from a deity such as Qrow? "I'm fine, Qrow," he murmurs, bowing his head farther in thanks to the god before him. A part of him wonders momentarily whether he should bring up the upcoming war, this great battle looming ominously upon the horizon. Would it do any good to inform Qrow of a conflict which may never even arrive on their shores, let alone find them in the heart of rural southern Anima, far away from Atlesian forces?
No, he decides at last. I do not want to worry him.
He does not need to be able to see the god to sense the way the air shifts, the quirk of the illusion of lips, the relief palpable in Qrow's very presence. "That is good to hear," he murmurs, his touch lingering upon Clover's skin. "I am content."
And so, the day passes uneventfully. The children cry their apologies to Qrow for having forgotten to eat dinner outside the night before, and god forgives them with all the love in the world. That evening, they dine together and laugh as if nothing strange had even passed.
However, although it is entirely unintentional, and almost unnoticed… that strange, flat night becomes the first night of many when Clover does not go out to the shrine to pray.