It was practically expected that the peace talks between the twin cities and Branwen Tribe would fail. After a disastrous encounter, the Branwen Tribe acquires a "good luck charm" and Qrow Branwen curses his luck for getting stuck with prisoner caretaker duty.
A Fantasy AU.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own RWBY or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Until the End
Chapter Three (of Six):
The door once more shut with a resounding click, indicating that Clover was all alone in his strange prison cell. It wasn't Qrow this time, Clover noted to himself. His "visitor" was always Qrow if not some random bandit simply coming to collect their stored container of good fortune for the day. It was never anyone else with a name attached to them as far as Clover could tell, and only Qrow ever deigned to engage in anything remotely resembling conversation, awkward and stilted as it was. Clover borderline missed the older man on days like today, but the locked weight on his arm reminded him Qrow was just a guard to a prisoner and nothing more.
Clover feebly jerked his chained left arm upwards, the results being as unyielding and disappointing as they'd been the countless other times he'd attempted to do so. The long chain that kept him tethered in this room, allowing him only enough freedom to move around its walls so that he could stretch and relieve himself when need be, remained steadfastly secure.
At least he could still do some form of exercises despite the restraint, so that his body wouldn't lose all of its toned and muscular definition. It gave Clover something to do, testing his limits to see how far he could push his recovering body before his still healing wounds ached and nearly split open.
Qrow had not been amused the first time he'd entered the space to find the former Ace Op doing so, his light red eyes raking over Clover's sweat soaked body then, lingering on the bandages at Clover's side as if expecting red to once more bloom there at any possible moment. Normally the Ace Op would have had his typical confident guard up, but Clover had barely done anything and he was already feeling drained. It was pathetic, and definitely not something he wanted any of the bandits to see.
"Should you really be pushing yourself like that in your condition, Cloves?" Qrow asked gruffly, going for casual indifference in his tone but being unable to mask a sharper edge that Clover couldn't really identify.
The Atlas soldier had shrugged in response, "What else can I do, Qrow?" He finally countered, his teal eyes narrowing defiantly.
If Clover pushed himself past his limits, if he exhausted his body more and more, than his mind didn't dwell nearly as much on his current predicament. He didn't want to think of how several days had already passed with him sequestered away in this magicked room, wondering how the war efforts against his home kingdom or Vale were possibly moving along since Qrow refused to say anything on the subject.
He understood why he'd been abandoned and left behind back at Amity, given how intense and frantic the fighting had become. The Ace Ops were only useful until they weren't. They were meant to be expendable. Clover wasn't going to begrudge Atlas for following its bottom line. Still, that didn't mean Clover suddenly didn't want to know what was going on. The thought that his life was now being relegated to just this meager an existence was infuriating.
Qrow said nothing to that, but the look of disapproval in his red eyes spoke volumes. The older man didn't seem to relax any until Clover sat upon his bed again, giving up on his physical routine at the moment. His aching body seemed to practically thank the older man for this respite, and he resented that betrayal more than he could put into words.
Perhaps because Qrow sensed that Clover was marginally acquiescing to not pushing himself over the brink while in his presence, the dark-haired bandit seemed to spend longer periods of time in the room. He'd even started bringing in Clover's bland meals instead of the nameless bandits who used to do so.
...The meals went untouched, however. Qrow raised an eyebrow at this fact once, "Why do you feel the need to break your body but not sustain it?" He questioned incredulously, "It's nothing like what you probably got up in Atlas, but..."
Clover let the other trail off when he saw his unresponsive face, Qrow wisely taking that as his answer. Truthfully, the reason Clover didn't partake in their proffered food and drink was for the very same reason he was willing to push himself. The brown-haired man didn't want to be here, so he was stubbornly protesting them limiting what he could and couldn't do in his own way.
Qrow's eyes remained trained on the now cold, untouched food he'd brought with him close to two hours ago. He rolled his light red eyes and muttered something about, "Stubborn Atlesian brats." under his breath before collecting the tray and leaving for the day.
Clover had waited until the door was closed, then he promptly began his routine again as his body screamed at him to stop and his empty stomach rebelled, a wave of dizziness threatening to send him careening to the glyph-covered floor. Let them try and collect his semblance from him when he made sure he wouldn't have the strength needed to give it safely then, if they were so desperate for it.
"He is still refusing to eat?" Raven's annoyed tone was apparent the second Qrow stepped into what had become the dining hall for the tribe with a still full tray of food that some random bandit had retrieved from Clover's room.
Conveniently, the dining hall had served as Haven Academy's cafeteria before so not much had needed to be altered, although the space definitely could have done without his twin standing off to the side of the dining hall's massive doorway with her arms crossed over her chest in her perpetual funk. She'd been observing other members of their tribe carrying on and eating, no doubt having been pondering more serious matters such as looming raids while she did so if her furrowed brow and pensive gaze was any indication.
Qrow rolled his eyes at her question, "You know as well as I do how stubborn Atlas soldiers are." He muttered, slamming the tray down on a nearby table with a clang. Its cold contents were quickly snatched up by wandering hands. "Waste not, want not" was the motto of the bandit tribe when it came to resources, after all.
Raven noncommittally hummed at that as if in staunch agreement to his remark, her dark red gaze never lingering on any one bandit for too long as they conversed.
"Not only that," Vernal's voice carried over as the short-haired women joined her leader by the door, "But he continues pushing himself past his limits whenever he is left alone for any length of time. He's managed to reopen his wounds at least twice."
Qrow glared at the second-in-command for ratting out his failure to keep Clover in check, especially when Raven threw a pointed glare his way, "Really, Qrow?" His sister questioned, "Aren't you supposed to be monitoring him?"
He bristled in response as Vernal returned his threatening stance in even measure, seemingly pleased with herself for its intended outcome, "I'm not some gods damned babysitter!" He countered.
No, just because he was assigned to monitor Clover in his free time didn't mean he had to try and curtail every facet of the prisoner's life. He imagined it was hard enough for the younger man to come to terms with his new lot in life as it was, and that his acts of defiance were simply just the last vestiges of him trying to combat it. Eventually, Clover would reach a point where he'd give in.
...Or he wouldn't, given how monumentally stubborn he was. Qrow's stomach lurched at the thought at what could happen in that case, but he tried telling himself that he had his own problems to deal with.
"No, but I did specifically order you to look over our newest acquisition." Raven reminded him tersely, her red eyes narrowing, "You've been lax in that regard, baby brother."
He sighed and ran a hand through his greying hair, "It's not like he's going anywhere." Qrow replied, "You've been able to acquire his good fortune all the same, haven't you?"
Vernal rolled her eyes at his seemingly indifferent attitude, "We won't be able to do so for much longer if he gets into too much of a weakened condition." She answered as if she was talking to an idiot.
Right, to have a steady supply of renewable good luck they needed Clover to have some strength left. Qrow felt sick at the notion that he was even assisting such a thing, understanding far too well the perhaps more self-destructive habits Clover had taken up. After all, wasn't he also dulling his own pathetic circumstances through his drinking, that he regrettably hadn't been able to do nearly enough of now that he was watching over Clover?
"Look, he's just being defiant right now because he hasn't come to terms with what's happened." Qrow growled out, "Give him a few weeks and he's sure to come around."
Once the former Ace Op realized how futile resisting was, how impossible escape or rescue truly would be, he'd probably break like so many others. Oddly enough, the thought of Clover Ebi outright giving up left a sour taste in Qrow's mouth though. The man's stubborn confidence was almost endearing in a way.
"And what if he doesn't?" Vernal demanded, "Besides, we need to shore up as many resources as we can get as quickly as possible."
Vernal wasn't wrong, and a part of Qrow hated her for it. It all boiled down to the tribe's immediate needs, especially when they were in the middle of launching full-scale offenses. He knew that. Didn't mean he had to like it.
Before Qrow could respond to Vernal's remarks, Tyrian Callows sauntered over as if he'd been lying in wait somewhere for their conversation to head in this direction. He clasped his hands in front of him, his posture eager and a manic glimmer in his golden eyes, "Pardon the intrusion, I just couldn't help but overhear that our new good luck charm is still putting up a bit of a fight, hmm?" He stated in a falsely pleasant tone, his scorpion tail moving swiftly behind him as if just waiting for an opportunity to last out, "That really just won't do at all! There are ways to ensure his quick cooperation."
Qrow scoffed, rolling his eyes, "It's not like you kept around any other Atlesian prisoners to threaten him with." He noted bitterly, thinking of how he was tied to the tribe still thanks to Raven's knowledge of what lay in Patch.
Tyrian turned his regard to Qrow in mild amusement then, "Oh, we wouldn't need to go to anything that extreme really." He informed him as if talking to someone willfully ignorant, "There are many ways of coercion, after all."
"Such as?" Raven inquired, even as Qrow felt a building sense of dread at the Faunus' words.
"We simply need dear Captain Ebi to quietly comply to a few things, yes? Eating and drinking to maintain his strength, not overexerting himself to weaken the amount of good fortune we can acquire." Tyrian said with a maniacal smirk, "Perhaps it would be prudent if I took over in caretaking duties if our birdie here is going to be so laissez faire about it."
"You don't strike me as the caretaker type either." Qrow got out tersely, not at all liking the direction this conversation was going or the considering look in Raven's red eyes.
"A few whispered words of encouragement might be all that is needed for the kiddo to see the bigger picture." Tyrian told Qrow smugly, "And if that doesn't work, well, a broken leg or two would be more than enough to keep him off his feet while the rest of him recovers."
Qrow tensed, especially as it seemed as if his sister and Vernal were actually considering it.
"I'm sure it wouldn't come to that, however." The scorpion Faunus seemed to read the disquieted expression on Qrow's face then as he stepped forward into the other man's personal space, a drop of poison falling from the tip of his tail, "I can be very persuasive, after all."
The threat wasn't subtle in the slightest. Qrow swallowed dryly at the thought of anyone having to be "looked over" by Tyrian. He thought of Patch then, of his nieces who were blissfully unaware of the danger they were constantly under. What would he want for them if they were somehow in such a predicament?
"Wait." Qrow spoke up hoarsely then, before Raven could make a decision, "Give me another shot, Rae. I'll take it seriously this time. For the sake of the tribe."
Vernal raised an eyebrow doubtfully while Tyrian's gaze turned triumphant. But Qrow was solely focused on his twin's cold and considering expression. He was surprised at how relieved he felt when Raven nodded, "One more opportunity, Qrow." She said coldly, eyes wandering back to the dining hall as Qrow let out a shaky breath before he nodded as well, his hands clenched into fists determinedly at his sides.
The room started spinning and everything tilted. That would explain how Clover found himself sprawled out on the now sweat-soaked floor of his cell, gasping for breath as his vision started to become less blurry. Somehow, his exhausted mind oh-so-helpfully supplied, he'd managed to collapse onto his back and his watery teal eyes were staring up at a faintly glowing ceiling.
The pain lancing through both his back and right side was immense, and he could barely get breath into his lungs as he tried to recollect himself. He'd barely done a fraction of his usual training routine, and that realization left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't help the grimace that suffused his features as he raised a bare arm to shield his eyes, noting as he did so how his swirling tattoos flickered like a gasping flame along his skin. How long exactly could he keep going like this?
"You probably shouldn't lie on the ground, lucky charm."
Clover removed his arm from over his eyes to see Qrow Branwen peering down at him, that same guarded expression he always seemed to wear covering his stubbled features. For some reason, the thought of the other man constantly seeing him in such a weakened state caused heat to flare up on his face. He quickly averted his gaze to the other side of the room, his chest still heaving with the effort it took to breath.
Qrow observed him for a moment longer before he let out a tired sigh of his own, "How long do you think you can keep doing this to yourself, Clover?" He asked, although it sounded like he was already well aware of the answer.
Clover spun his head back to look up at Qrow so quickly the room spun around again, the anger and frustration welling up inside of him needing to be released, "What does it matter?" He demanded sharply, "You said it yourself, I'm not leaving here."
The dark-haired man said nothing at that, though he surprised Clover a moment later by holding out his hand to him expectantly. Teal eyes stared up at the offered appendage in open surprise. "Move it, shamrock. I don't want to stand here all day." The bandit informed him gruffly, a slight smirk crossing over his features as he added, "I won't bite."
Hesitantly, Clover reached up with his own hand and grasped Qrow's, taken aback momentarily by how weak his grip on the other was then. If not for Qrow tightening his hold and pulling the slightly taller man up onto his feet once more, Clover was certain he wouldn't have had the strength to get up off the ground.
As it was, he stumbled shakily on his feet the moment he was standing once more, his fatigued body having to lean fully against Qrow for support. He still felt incredibly light-headed, and all the sudden movement had his stomach lurching. To his complete shock, Qrow didn't immediately shove him away. Instead, the older man's grip on his hand tightened a fraction, "You can barely hold yourself up." He stated matter-of-factly.
"Th—that's—!" Clover began, but found himself cut off when Qrow pulled on his hand just slightly. The motion caused him to tumble forward until he was bare chest to chest with Qrow, the other's breath warm against his neck then.
"If you were in a better condition, you could easily pull away." The bandit noted as if describing the weather outside.
Clover snarled, trying futilely to break away and only flailing uselessly, "And whose fault is that?" He asked angrily.
"If you were recovering properly instead of stupidly pushing yourself, if you actually ate something, you'd be better off already."
He froze at Qrow's remark, taking aback by the gruffly spoken words. It almost sounded like the older man was offering him advice? As Clover's mind tried processing this, the lanky bandit pushed him back onto the bed until the back of his knees hit the mattress and he was sitting down with his back against the headrest. The wood hit the arrow wound and he winced, causing Qrow to shoot him an apologetic glance.
The bandit's keen light red gaze quickly landed on the tray he'd brought in and put by the bedside, however. Clover registered that this time it only contained what appeared to be a rather soupy bowl of oatmeal and a mug of water.
Qrow leaned over and picked up the bowl, resting it in his lap for a considering moment. "You really should eat something, Clover." He told him succinctly, "I can see if I can scrounge up something more appealing, but..."
The brown-haired soldier shook his head resolutely, the thought of putting anything in his stomach at the moment causing his insides to rebel. Qrow's eyes narrowed at his refusal, "It'll be even more of a hassle if you don't, you know." He informed him, "Your own body doesn't agree and Rae's considering torture."
Defiance sweltered in Clover's chest, "Then let—!"
It happened in a sudden flash of movement: Qrow lunged forward with the bowl before Clover even finished his outcry, his free hand gripping the back of Clover's head and pulling him back sharply. Clover gasped at the sudden pain lighting up his skull, and then the rim of the bowl was forced between his lips, the gruel-like oatmeal sliding down his throat before he could fully process what was happening.
He was choking and coughing, tears welling up in his eyes when the contents of the bowl were gone, most of it having slid down his throat. Qrow put the empty container down and promptly removed his hand from Clover's hair, his expression impassive as he watched a shocked and sputtering Clover struggling before him. "Next time eat on your own." He advised, reaching over to grab the water mug.
Clover's face was positively burning in both embarrassment and shame over what had just happened, and he barely registered when the mug was brought up to his mouth. Qrow used a finger to gently tilt his head back this time in order to get him to drink. His eyes stung with tears at the indignity of it all, at how this proved just how utterly powerless he was.
As if he was reading Clover's mind, Qrow murmured, "Hate me all you want, lucky charm. This beats the alternative."
The mug was soon empty too, and Qrow lowered it to the bedside again. Through his building tears of frustration, Clover tried glaring at him. Qrow tentatively reached his hand out, gingerly wiping away the trail of messy water that had slid down Clover's face after the forced feeding and drinking. The action caused Clover to freeze up, however. The touch was surprisingly gentle considering who was doing it.
"Focus on surviving from here on out if you really want to get through this, Cloves." Qrow told him, "Even if it means doing things you'd rather not."
Clover furrowed his brow in confusion at the unexpected advice, "What...?"
"Show us that you're stronger than we've given you credit for." Qrow said as he stood up, removing the tray as he did so and giving the younger man a measured look, "That's how you're going to survive here."
And then Qrow was gone, a thoroughly confused and bewildered Clover hugging his knees to his chest as he mulled over the bandit's words long into the night.
Author's Notes: And we have the tentative start of them possibly becoming something akin to "friends" here, though that will be explored more in the next chapter. :) Thank you for reading! :D