Salem strode to her Seer, ready to cast the quick incantation that would let her see her dear ex-husband stew impotently in his own, quiet fury. But first, of course, she needed to pour herself a glass of wine. Something to swirl while she posed, menacingly, but more importantly… this was a celebration, really. She needed to make sure Ozma knew that she was enjoying his misery in what she had forced him to do as much as she was enjoying how completely lost he was as to the extent of her plans.

She admired the dark red wine in her glass, enjoying the wine's color and aroma as she swirled it, took a sip, then cast the spell, bringing an image into focus.

Ah, it was just as she pictured. Ozma had always been such a composed man, but she knew how to peer past his facades and see the real emotions there. And this… what was his name? Ozpin? That sounded right… they always had the stupidest names, but whoever he was, he made a fine shell for this conversation. She could see the delicious pain lurking so thinly beneath the surface.

"Salem," he addressed her through gritted teeth.

"Ah, Ozma," she said with a smile, "Are all the preparations finished? I'm rather eager to meet the children. My children."

The glare, oh, the delicious, impotent glare he gave her! "I would tell you about the harm you've caused to so many innocents, but I'm sure that was your point," he responded, icily.

She just laughed. "So I get to skip the lecture? It seems cruelty works in my favor yet again..."

He had no rebuttal for that, no cunning dig or plaintive, mournful plea for her to be merciful, which Salem took as a sign of her victory… but it meant the verbal spar ended here, which was an unfortunate loss. She rather enjoyed their usual tête-à-tête, particularly when she was winning. But alas, the price of succeding so well in her plans was that she left Ozma rather useless in this moment.

Rather than let their conversation stretch into an awkward silence, Salem continued. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you this, but any attempt to interfere with my demands, any trick or attempt to deceive me… it will be met with the harshest retaliation."

"And if you don't hold up your end of the bargain," Ozma shot back, "then I will warn you: you have no idea what the wrath of all the Kingdoms of Remnant will look like."

She could have laughed at that. She knew the Kingdoms were already divided, and were likely about to get worse. Did Ozpin know that Vacuo had already moved to deceive her? Would it be better if he was, right now, being forced to aid in their deception, or would it be more enjoyable if he only discovered later, feeling the rage of knowing he'd been made a fool of? That they'd turned over an innocent child to her clutches?

Ah, she was already enjoying her plan. It was both wonderfully intricate as well as delightfully simple, because, much like with Vacuo's deception, it didn't matter which way the chips fell—Salem won no matter what her foes did, so each and every attempt to beat her would only end with Salem advancing towards her own victory. And it was a delightful feeling. So much better than overwhelming the Kingdoms through something as tedious as force.

"Is there anything else?" she asked as she took a long sip of wine, "Or should we try to just chat? Catch up, reminisce about old times?"

"There is one last thing, though," he replied, his eyes piercing in a way Salem had never liked when they were married and liked it less now. It meant he knew something… something Salem knew he wasn't wrong about. "How prepared are you for a return to motherhood? I seem to recall that you-"

"That's enough, Ozma," she cut him off, knowing that whatever he was about to say would surely ruin her good time, "I have to prepare for the hostages… I'm sorry, I need to prepare for the little angels, if that answers your question. I do look forward to when we next speak."

With that, she broke the connection, Ozpin's final words interrupted in a crackle of dark magic. What did he know about parenting? Yes, he was always the more domestic of the pair, but she was the one who bore their daughters for nine months each, birthed them, breastfed them, and…

No. No, that was in the past, and the past had no bearing on her plan now. She was here to achieve a long-denied victory, to finally conquer Remnant. And it was a 15-year plan that she was going to have to be focused now to see it pay off. No use thinking of the past when she had such a future to look forward to...

Salem had seen a lot of changes over the many, many years she'd been alive. To be honest, she always considered the crude attempts of humans to make up for the loss of magic to be more contemptible than impressive, but she had to admit… there was a certain majesty in aircraft that magic simply lacked.

She heard the engines roar and watched as the craft landed outside her Palace, the sleek metal contrasting with the dark, magically-hewn structure, as her newest acolyte, a young Atlesian who'd been disgraced for his ambition and intelligence, stepped from the cockpit, giving her a reverential bow before leading her to the door of the airship, opening it up and revealing the tools of her future victory.

Five children. Five hostages, one from each Kingdom. Four humans, one Faunus. Four girls, one boy. Each from a prestigious family, carefully selected to maximizing the damage their absence would create across Remnant. Each three years old, giving her plenty of time to indoctrinate them into her unwitting servants.

But looking at the children she had claimed for the Grimm, Salem realized there was something she had not accounted for when it came to this. Something she was utterly unprepared for until the moment she realized how powerful it was.

They were adorable.

Such a precious, helpless collection of little darlings, looking at her so fearfully and she just- she just couldn't let them be so scared!

All thoughts of world domination, all of her long schemes utterly collapsed as one of them, the one boy, with such adorably blond hair, stepped forward and nervously balled up his fists, trying to force himself to be brave as he blinked away tears. "We want..." he struggled to look at her and Salem was crushed by the shame that she was scaring these children, "We wanna go home!"

And then he started to cry and Salem's heart broke.

Remembering her daughters when they were this age, she immediately swooped down to the five crying children and pulled them into a hug.

"There, there, children, there, there," she soothed, "Don't cry. You don't have to cry… Arthur!" she quietly hissed, "Get them cookies, or- or brownies or something to eat."

"My Queen," her startled servant tried to respond, "We don't have any-"

"Now!" she hissed, the consequences of failure clear in her voice as she held the sniffling children to her breast, doing all she could do to soothe them.

As Arthur desperately raced off to search the castle for something that would help calm the children down, Salem was gently cooing, stroking hair, and anything else she remembered from her own days as a mother, over a millennium ago. She just needed to get them to stop crying, to stop breaking her heart and she could- she could regain control of the situation! But with every hug, every reassurance, Salem found her hold on the plan slipping further and further from her grasp as a single thought overtook her mind.

What have I gotten myself into?

Salem had to admit that things were not going according to plan.

This was, in fact, an abject disaster. Instead of establishing power and fear over the children, she had Arthur scurrying to find them appropriate materials for raising children. Unsurprisingly, the Castle of Darkness wasn't stocked for three year olds. But he was able to pull together enough from the pantry to make the children some brownies. Inadequate and chalky, but it was all she had at the moment to try to comfort the sobbing children. But even as their sniffles quieted, appeased with glasses of warm milk and baked treats, Salem realized how much more heartbreaking it was to see them sadly eat, the occasional sob still ringing out.

She whirled to her one assistant—why the hell did she have Hazel in the field when she needed as many hands on deck as she could get—and hissed, "Arthur! They need beds!"

"Beds?" he asked, "But you said-"

"I know what I said!" she snapped. She had prepared… piles of... dirty rags for them sleep on—why was she such a monster?—but that was- was- unthinkable! Just- unthinkable!

"They need beds, or-" Hell. Did- did three year olds sleep on beds? Or were they still in cribs? It had been a thousand years since her last experience with children, and so Salem was mostly running on guesswork, but they seemed big enough for beds. So she resorted to looking at Arthur in an obvious, wild panic. "Just do something!" she hissed.

"I- I will have some beds moved from the guest quarters to the children's residence," he said, "Fortunately, I'll have the assistance of my automated-"

"Do it now!" she shrieked before she had to return to the children to reassure them that everything was okay and they'd be just fine. Like it was just... just a little visit to their Auntie Salem's place out in the Grimmlands, not a terrifying banishment to the land of monsters.

But that was just buying time. And lying. Everything was just buying time and lying! But hell, she didn't have a better option, did she? So she was back to her desperate attempts to appease the children and mollify their fears. Names, she needed- she needed to learn their names! Why had she not prepared for this moment, but how could she have? No part of her plan thought that she might be telling a little Valean tot that he was so brave and he needed to look after his new sisters—and he was! He was so brave, being the one to stand up to her the worst monster to ever live!

But she couldn't think about that—the little Atlesian girl was breaking Salem's heart all over again, crying about how much she missed her Mommy. She needed to be comforted, they all needed to be comforted, but Salem- she was only one woman! And all her magic was useless here, completely useless. She could... a small Ursa, perhaps? Something like a teddy bear to play with them, but- oh every damnation of the gods, she didn't have time to figure out how to make an Ursa without the fangs or claws, she'd never needed to know how to do that before!

A bone weary sigh came to her, but she had to suppress it—she couldn't let them know anything was wrong, or then the tears would really start coming. Bedtime. They needed—bedtime! Just put them to bed and then Salem could breathe.

Where was Arthur with the—why did she listen to all his prattle about mechanical laborers if he couldn't get a bedroom set up in the fifteen minutes when she desperately needed one!

A ding from the ridiculous device Arthur had given her (a "scroll," as though it had anything on the actual scrolls Salem had once written proclamations on) when he entered her service told her that there was perhaps something to those… whatever he called them, the metal men, since the bedroom was ready.

Oh, now she could show a sigh of relief. Forcing a bright, cheery smile on her face, she looked to the little children. "Would you like to see your new bedrooms?" she asked.

They were… apprehensive. But she could lead them to their new quarters and they could finally go to bed and she could figure something out! Leading her little herd of children through the needlessly spooky corridors of her castle, Salem cursed herself over and over and over again that she hadn't prepared for this—Arthur had better have done a fine job with this or she would feed him to whichever Grimm took the longest to make someone die! She'd invent a new one if she needed to!

But she'd reached the bedroom, a nervous Arthur standing outside, dabbing sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. Not that Salem had time for his problems! Hoping, desperately hoping that it might mollify her prisoners, Salem threw open the door, and-

"Arthur!" she hissed under her breath, "You didn't decorate?"

There were five, large canopy beds, yes… in a bare stone chamber. It looked like they were awaiting an execution, why did it have to look so frightening?

"With what!" he asked, "What do we have for children here in-"

But, fortunately, the kids hadn't noticed Arthur's Beowulf-invoking incompetence as one of them, the Vacuan, suddenly cried out, "I call the green one!"

In no time, all five were scampering forward to claim which one was theirs as they jumped on the mattresses. And Salem learned there were new ways her heart could be broken as she saw how happy her little angels were, scrabbling around, playing and jumping and momentarily forgetting the horrors of being in a wicked Queen's evil clutches. Just... happy to enjoy how extravagant a truly Queen-sized bed was—what, she was a Queen, and she made sure her Royal Castle was appropriately furnished. Arthur began an attempt to reign in the children's excitement, but Salem gave him a glare so withering his mustache hairs began to fall out.

Because finally, she could step out of the room and exhale. This was… this was going to be a task. The original plan was shot to hell, but she couldn't exactly focus on that. Far more important was her resolution that she would not call Ozma. She would not ask for his aid or admit for even a second that any part of her plan might not be going as well as she could imagine. She'd sooner die.

But, at least, she had been able to tucker the little ones out. They'd been through a lot in one day, and they were just so small… but she shook that thought away as she tucked them in and turned the light off. Finally, she was finished. Finally, she could-

That was when the crying began.

And it didn't end. Crying for their mothers, crying to go home, crying because their stuffed animals weren't there to comfort them. It was always something, a bad dream, a Beowulf's howl, something that woke a child up… and then began the tears. Salem rushed from to child to child, shushing and soothing them as best she could, fetching glasses of warm milk and making up stories she vaguely remembered from a life that had ended a millennia ago. It was a frantic blur of activity, calming them all down, stepping out of the room, waiting for the next burst of tears to come forth. It was the kind of situation that should have awoken her notorious temper, but when they were just so… sad, how could she not feel such pangs of sympathy.

She wasn't sure she got any sleep that night. Not that she needed it, thanks to the Pool, but Salem felt more exhausted in that day than she had felt in any previous experience in her endless life. Motherhood… was it this hard the first time around? Had Ozma taken- no, she would not let this be an excuse to feel longing for her idiot ex!

But the next day wasn't much better. Nor any of the days who came after it.

Hazel had arrived with emergency supplies. So the children had food, at least, but that only revealed how inadequate Salem's preparations were for how much children needed. And Salem had discovered that she just couldn't say no to the little tykes.

Each and every one of them had some incredible, unique way of just melting her heart and making her feel like the wickedest woman to put these sweet little dears through such strife. Even Pyrrha, the most stoic of the children, her childish body language a loud and declarative and false proclamation that she wasn't afraid, just made Salem wish she could just give her a glass of warm milk and some fresh baked cookies until she felt better. And then there was Blake, the quiet, dark haired Faunus girl, who was the reason Salem had to put a seal on their bedroom door, because she kept leaving to explore! Emerald, the one who was always giving her siblings little hugs and other reassurances, such a sweet girl. Or Weiss, her little crybaby, the one who wouldn't give up the stained dress she'd arrived in because her Mommy gave it to her.

Salem couldn't let herself cry in front of the children. But this was an impossible task. It was with Blake, pulling a splinter from her finger (she had caught her trying to climb an ancient bookshelf filled with arcane tomes because she wanted someone to read her a story) that Salem was struck by an overwhelming sense that it was so unbearable to see the little ones in pain… only to remember who the source of all their pain was.

She couldn't- couldn't bear it, she fled from the room, flinging Hazel out of her way as she rushed out, the tears already running down her cheeks as she just tried to get away from the consequences of her actions. Of the pain inflicted by her crimes. Of the monstrosity she had, in her greed and pride and cruelty, turned herself into. Until she couldn't flee any further, and could only lean against the wall and sob.

But as she heaved with sobs, she realized... that she hadn't locked the door behind her in her haste to leave them. And that Hazel, likely concussed from being slammed into the wall, wasn't keeping an eye on things, because a pair of little arms wrapped around her legs. A glance downward showed the last of her newly acquired children, a tuft of sunny blond hair and two sympathetic blue eyes giving her a hug as though she hadn't snatched him from his peaceful childhood like- like- like some kind of fairy-tale witch!

"Why..." she asked, her voice a whisper so thin and quiet, she almost didn't believe it was even spoken. "Why?"

But the boy, innocent and kind in a way that made Salem struggle to remember that people could be, heard her "Cause you're sad," he said in simple, honest reply.

And Salem just bawled.

What kind of- what kind of monster would take these sweet babies from their homes for- for some evil scheme to conquer Remnant? No, no, she- she couldn't continue, couldn't possibly go forward with her plan, not when these darling children had shown her the truth. No, there was only one option, one way to make this better.

She just had to be the best mother these children could ever ask for. She would raise them as her own, they would want for nothing, and they would be the true heirs of the Grimm, her prince and princesses. She would teach them all her arts, as though they were her own. Magic, combat, etiquette, politics… they would learn all the things befitting a child of the Queen. And the little one, the kind, dearest little one, who cared for Salem in her struggles… she would teach him to rule.

Yes, she knew what she would do. She knew what she had to do. Kneeling down, she gave the little boy a hug, and whispered, "Thank you," to him, as she accepted his hug, his unspeakable grace, as the both of them cried together.

So, a bit self-indulgent to write fanfic of my own fanfic, but I started writing this idea to be a reprieve from the heavier stuff from Children of Remnant, and now that I'm getting to posting those, I thought it'd be worth sharing this idea with my readers. A lot of the ideas from this became the root of what grew into Aunt Salem, but I don't think people would mind a little redundancy. So if you wanted to see Salem as a doting mother of five rambunctious Grimm children, or just a more OP Prince Jaune, I hope you enjoy this story!