Hello! I'm back with more dragons!

10. So Be It

Classes were canceled.

Weiss sat with her team, JNPR, and SSSN, all of them crowded onto two couches in the student lounge. The television was on. Lisa Lavender was talking.

"...still no confirmation from Dragonmaster Lionheart, but eyewitnesses have reported that more than half the student body has gone rogue."

"Damn," Sun said quietly. Jaune rubbed his eyes, blinking blearily at the screen. It was six in the morning—the story had broken at five and woken them up.

"In light of the damage done to the school building, classes have been suspended until repairs are complete ... no information yet on what will happen to the remaining students. So far there have been no confirmed deaths, but Professor Neil Rivers has been admitted to the hospital with scratches and burns..."

"I... don't know how I feel about this," Yang admitted.

Ruby pulled her knees up onto the couch and wrapped her arms around them. "Me neither. I'm glad the council can't get to any of those dragons, but..."

The screen in front of them switched to footage of Haven academy. Statues had been smashed, there was a hole in the wall of one building, and a fire dragon had left a great charred streak across the front gate.

"It happens," Blake said quietly. "Sometimes you might agree with someone in theory... but not the way they put their ideas into practice."

"I mean..." Sun gestured at the television. "It's not like they killed anyone."

"I'm not saying they did, but starting like this isn't a great sign."

"They didn't start like this," Ruby said. "They started with the festival. That voice... I think it's the same as the woman who led the students away."

Weiss frowned at the screen. A reporter was interviewing one of the students who had stayed behind. "Do you know why the rioters targeted Professor Rivers? You seem shaken up... Were you caught up in the violence? Some students have said that the rioters attacked those who refused to participate, would you like to comment on..."

She pursed her lips. "Whoever she is, I doubt she's a complete angel... but there's definitely a slant to the news."

Jaune blinked in confusion. "But..."

"No, you're right." Blake pointed at the student. "They've spent almost twice as long on him, and he's obviously angry. That girl back there doesn't look bothered at all, and I don't think I've heard her talk yet."

Yang groaned. "This sucks. I wish I was there, at least that way I'd know for sure what happened."

"I mean—" Ruby started to say, but just then her scroll went off. She frowned, dug it out of her pocket, and held it to her ear. "Hello?"

There was a pause.

"Uh... yeah. Should I—oh. Okay!" Ruby held the scroll out to Weiss. She stared at it, one eyebrow raised. "It's for you."

What? Gingerly, she took the scroll.

"Weiss."

"Winter? How did you even get this number?!"

"That's not important right now. Listen, have you heard about—"

"Yes, I know. I'm watching it on the news right now."

"Not that." Winter sighed—she sounded tired. Alarm bells went off in Weiss' head.

"Winter? What's wrong?"

"Whitley is missing."

Weiss almost dropped Ruby's scroll. "What?! Since when?"

"Since yesterday morning."

She stood up, walking a few paces away from the couch and trying to ignore the concerned looks prickling at the back of her neck. "How did I not know about this?"

"Father has been trying to reach you."

Oh. Yesterday her scroll had started ringing ceaselessly. She'd frozen up until Ruby had gently poked her shoulder and asked if she was okay. The thought of answering after five missed calls had tied her stomach in knots, so she'd turned off her scroll and shoved it under her mattress.

Weiss took deep breaths, trying to keep the room from spinning. "Has there been any... any message from whoever...?"

"Not yet. Listen... Glacier is gone too."

"But how would they even—?"

"I don't know. Father is looking into it. He fired most of the stable hands."

"Most?"

"One vanished."

Her heart sank. "Who?"

"I don't remember the name. He was a faunus, and with the timing... it's likely he let the White Fang in. I can't think of anyone else who would have the motive to do something like this."

Standing up had been a mistake. "Do I put it over the scar, or make you nice and symmetrical?"

"Weiss?"

Winter and Blake had spoken at almost the same time.

"Call me again if anything happens," she said. "I'll get my scroll..."

"I will. Father will want to talk with you as well."

A jolt went through her. "Does he know?"

"Know what?"

"Nothing." He couldn't know. Ozpin had kept the whole incident quiet, so that the council wouldn't start asking questions about Pit.

"Weiss—"

"I have to go. I'll talk to Father, just..."

"I'll keep you informed."

"Thank you."

She snapped the scroll closed. It dangled from nerveless fingers until Ruby gingerly took it back.

"Weiss?" Yang this time. "Are you okay?"

"Not really," she admitted, groping for the couch and sitting down on one of its arms. "Someone kidnapped my brother." It sounded stupid out loud. Whitley, of all people, who lived in a virtual fortress and hated taking risks. She didn't even like him most of the time, but now she couldn't stop picturing the muzzle of a gun, feeling the unwanted grip on her shoulder...

People were talking. They sounded as confused as she felt—she heard Jaune blurt out, "You have a brother?" and almost laughed. Blake sat down next to her and put a hand on her back, which helped. Weiss came back to herself enough to realize that she should get her scroll and call Father.

"I don't know how it happened," she said, answering a question she was fairly sure someone had asked. "Yang, Ruby... I left my scroll under my bed. Would you mind—?"

Ruby was in the doorway in a flash. "Yeah! I'll be right back."

Slowly, Weiss explained the situation as she knew it. Then again when Ruby came back. She turned her scroll back on, winced when she saw that Father had left sixteen messages. She'd call him first... then maybe Ozpin? Unless he already knew. Surely he would have told her if he did...

"Hey." Blake grabbed her hand. "Remember to breathe, okay?"

Right. She selected Father's contact information, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Pointed horns, red hair, one eye blue and the other... but it wouldn't be him. He was dead.

The knot in the pit of her stomach remained unconvinced.

On the second morning of his kidnapping, Whitley woke feeling like his head and nose had been stuffed with cotton. He groaned, twitched, then rolled onto his side. His hands were tied together behind his back, and he couldn't feel his fingers. Maybe there was a problem with the knots. Maybe it was just the cold.

He sneezed. There was something vaguely humiliating about getting the sniffles in the middle of an abduction.

It was hard to say where he was now, exactly. They'd blindfolded him on the way, so all he had to go on was a very long time spent listening to an airship engine, then hushed voices and a flight of stairs. He guessed from the boiler in one corner and the stacks of boxes that this was a basement. Apart from that... he wasn't even sure which continent he was on.

Movement from upstairs. He tensed, curling his knees up to his chest. After a moment he realized he'd been holding his breath, and when he tried to let it out it hitched and turned into a coughing fit. That was how the fox faunus found him—the man he'd taken to calling Not-Rusty in his head.

"That better not be contagious." He circled around Whitley and untied his hands. "Go on. Eat."

Breakfast turned out to be some kind of oatmeal. Whitley could only choke down half of it—he was hungrier than he'd ever been in his life, but it tasted like soggy cardboard.

Not-Rusty glared at him. "Don't think I'm gonna cook for you if you turn your nose up, brat."

"I'm not feeling well," Whitley mumbled.

A smirk. "I'm not surprised." The man reached out and ruffled his hair, and Whitley shivered. Only Winter had ever done that before—and only once. She'd done a lot of strange things in the weeks before she left for the military. "You'll be fine. We just have a few things we're going to ask your old man. As long as he gives us what we want, you'll be back home and eating frog legs or whatever the hell you're used to. Until then..."

Whitley forced down another bite. Not-Rusty clapped him on the shoulder. He did that a lot—Whitley thought he would prefer a captor that shouted at him instead.

"What are you asking him, exactly?"

The faunus stared at him, all the false humor suddenly replaced with something much more calculating. He must have decided that knowing wouldn't help Whitley escape. "Nothing complicated. He's gonna stop the SDC from injecting dragon eggs, and give us the ice dragon formula."

Whitley's heart sank. Would Father agree to that? He wasn't the heir yet, even if Weiss seemed determined to fix that. Calculations started running in the back of his mind. If the SDC stopped injecting, someone else would start. That was just how business worked. And with the secret to the ice dragons spread around, the company would lose its competitive edge. It might not even survive the process, depending on how badly things went. Would Father—

"Eat," Not-Rusty snapped. "I have shit to do, you know."

Whitley scooped up another bite. He was already sniffling from the cold, but all of a sudden the hot feeling behind his eyelids welled up. He turned his head to hide it, but he was sure the faunus noticed.

Eventually he managed to finish the oatmeal, and Not-Rusty retied his hands and went back upstairs. Whitley sat for a while, sniffling in the too-bright light cast by a single naked lightbulb.

He napped fitfully, woke up with a pounding headache and the dazed, scattered feeling that came with being slightly feverish. Someone was galloping down the stairs. The door flew open, slammed against the opposite wall. This time it wasn't Not-Rusty, but the man with boar's tusks. He looked angry. Whitley cringed back against the wall. Tusks picked him up and slung him over one shoulder like a sack of flour.

His new position didn't do anything to help his headache. Bile welled up, and he struggled not to be sick—he doubted Tusks would take that well. At the top of the stairs was a woman with a shock of grey-brown feathers growing at her hairline. Dahlia—Tusks had accidentally let her real name slip.

"Stop."

Tusks swore under his breath. "Dah—I mean—look, we don't really have time to—"

"Do you want him to be able to describe this place?" She held up a scrap of cloth.

Whitley hated the blindfold. His nose was still running, which made the material chafe. He could hear voices, Not-Rusty's among them, as well as several others he didn't recognize. A door opened. There was fresh air on his face for an instant, and he squirmed in Tusks' grip. Someone grabbed his wrist and squeezed. He went still.

The click of a car door, a slam. It was cold inside. Whitley whimpered when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"Shut up," snapped Not-Rusty, and fastened a seatbelt across his chest.

Whitley pretended to nod off against the car door. For what felt like more than an hour, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing. Then, "Shit. That was too close."

"Brindle, stop it."

"I thought we weren't supposed to use names." Definitely Tusks.

"I thought we were supposed to have at least a day to get the hell out of dodge," Dalia said. "Instead we've got the entire Atlesian military breathing down our necks."

"Quiet!" Not-Rusty heaved a sigh. "There was more heat than I expected, yeah. They were supposed to be distracted. But we're done talking about it in front of the brat. Understand?"

They went quiet after that. A long while later, Whitley mustered the courage to peel back the blindfold—just long enough to get a peek at the rearview mirror. He discovered that they weren't in a car at all. It was a massive truck, the kind used for shipping. He couldn't see inside the back, but he thought that must be where they were keeping Glacier. The landscape wasn't helpful. A dirt road, with woods on either side. Could be any kingdom.

He dropped the blindfold, hiding the motion behind his body. After that there was nothing to do but think. The Atlesian military was tracking them—that was good, wasn't it? They would catch up within a few days and collect him, and he'd be safe at home again by this time next week.

Or Not-Rusty and his accomplices would panic and kill him.

Whitley felt his breathing coming in short gasps and fought to slow it. He had to think—had to come up with a plan to get out of this. What would Father do?

Father would never be caught like this in the first place. And even if he was, the animals would have killed him right away. That wasn't helpful, and he couldn't think of anything else...

Except, maybe... what would his sisters do?

Still useless. Both had dragons of their own to protect them, while Whitley had nothing and wasn't in much condition to fight. Maybe there was something he could do to free his hands? From there he could roll down the window, put his head outside, but there wasn't anyone else on the road...

Whitley slumped back against his seat. Tears came again, but this time they were hidden behind the blindfold. He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back at the manor, drinking a mug of tea to soothe his sore throat.

I'm not alone, he told himself. Glacier was in the back of the truck, probably still sedated. The Atlas military wasn't far behind, and Father was negotiating... or they thought he would negotiate.

Whitley swallowed another whimper. If they had asked for money, that would have been one thing. But asking him to hand over every advantage the SDC had on the market? Father definitely wouldn't risk killing the company to get back a dragon when he could just inject another egg... and Whitley wasn't sure he was any different.

Sky started the most important meeting of his life sweaty, smelly, and out of breath.

The camp Hazel had brought him to was hours of hard, uphill hiking away from Beacon. By the time he got there he didn't want to do much except melt into the ground—that was, until he saw the dragon.

It was a fire dragon, solid gold from nose to tail, lounging outside a gigantic tent. As he and Hazel approached, one blood-red eye opened, regarding them suspiciously for a moment before it decided they were no threat and went back to sleep.

"That's Phoenix," Hazel told him. Sky closed his mouth, which he realized had been gaping open. It hadn't hit him until just now that these were actual rogues. This was a dragon that had been living outside the council's reach for years. This was a dragon that would never be culled.

There was a rustle from inside the tent, and a woman stepped out. Sky's mouth went dry—he'd dealt with the White Fang, sort of, but he'd never seen anyone with a Grimm mask like that before—ornate, covering her whole face... and oddly disturbing. Her boots thudded heavily on the wooden platform her tent rested on. She descended slowly, and he couldn't tell where she was looking under the mask but it felt like she was staring at him. He realized with an uneasy shiver that he couldn't tell which of the two pairs of eyes she was seeing out of.

"Raven," Hazel said.

A hand came up, slipping the mask off her face. Sky was struck again, this time by a feeling of recognition. But that was impossible—surely he would have remembered seeing her before.

Sky cleared his throat and stuck out a hand. "I'm Sky Lark."

She raised an eyebrow at him, pausing just long enough to make him squirm. Then she took it, shook once. "I heard about your dragon," she said.

He flinched. Her tone wasn't like the other stable hands', the ones that seemed to understand... but it was nothing like his classmates' either. She didn't pity him—that much was obvious.

"I heard about Haven. Was that... was that you?"

"I'm affiliated with the same organization."

God. Damn. Epic. He didn't even try to hide the huge grin that spread across his face.

"This is the end of an era," Raven said. "You're here. You must want the council gone."

He swallowed hard. "Not gone. I want them to burn."

Phoenix picked up its head and looked at him—it felt like it was looking into him. Dragon and rider exchanged a glance. Then Raven gave him an appraising once-over, as though she was confirming what her partner had seen. "If you join us, we can give you a hatchling that will never fear state-sanctioned slaughter."

"Yes." Sky didn't even think about it until after the word had left his mouth. Once he had... "Yes! I want... I want to make them pay." He wasn't even sure anymore who 'they' were. The council, obviously... but they were just a bunch of old bastards who'd probably never even met a dragon. Powerless, if it weren't for the soldiers that followed them. The riders who betrayed their partners, working for people who would execute them at the first inconvenience. The worthless cowards like Ozpin who let it all happen.

"Before you accept, you need to know what you're agreeing to. You've heard of the purge, I assume?"

"Yeah."

"The council feared the hybrids they created. So they killed them. Some of our... associates are working to bring them back."

Sky nodded dumbly, his head spinning.

"Raising one of them will be difficult. It may be several months before an egg is ready, and there are very few people still alive who know how to care for them. There will be a certain amount of trial and error involved."

He remembered Tornado, how he'd been so scattered, so erratic and angry. The day Sky had accidentally dropped a spoon into a shaft of sunlight, watching his little hatchling go still, his eyes shining as he pounced...

"I'll do it."

Sky hadn't been worthy of Tornado. Maybe he wasn't as bad as Cardin, but he... he hadn't been good enough.

That was before. This time, he'd make damn sure he was worthy.

"Blake, go. I'll be fine."

"But I—"

Weiss put both hands on her hips, one eyebrow raised. "You promised Brand. I'll survive for the next few hours or so."

"I can just... explain..." Blake trailed off, knowing even as she said it that there was no chance Brand would listen. She sighed. "You're sure—"

"Yes." Weiss gestured at the door. "Now stop acting like I'm going to shrivel up and die if there's no one on hand to babysit me."

"That's not—! We're worried about you, after—"

"I know. And I appreciate it, but I'm... coping. Winter said she'd call in an hour or two, if that helps."

It didn't. What if Winter called with bad news and Blake wasn't there to—

"Blake." Weiss gingerly rested a hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for looking out for me, but I really will be okay for a few hours. Brand needs you too. Honestly, I'd go with you if I didn't think... he probably wouldn't appreciate me being there every time."

"...Okay." Blake massaged her forehead, trying to rub away the headache. "Okay. But if anything happens, please call me."

"I will."

"Okay." Blake paused again in the doorway, glancing over her shoulder. Weiss rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with one hand. It was... sort of encouraging to see her acting like her usual self, but at the same time...

Ugh.

She limped carefully down the hallway. It wasn't like she could force Weiss to talk about it—better to make sure she knew the option was always open. At least, that was what Yang had said. And Brand really did need her right now.

Still. She tried to hurry as she hobbled into the elevator—it was cramped and smelly, possibly to discourage students from using it when they didn't need to—and struck out across the lawn. Pit met her soon after, and she awkwardly hoisted herself onto his back.

"Let's move quickly. I don't want to leave her alone too long." If Pit wondered who she was talking about, he didn't ask. He just trotted into the forest, as fast as he could without jostling her leg.

When they arrived, Blake slid carefully off his back and swung herself towards the entrance of the cave. It took a second to circle around the thicket that hid the entrance, and then—

A man, sitting cross-legged just inside the cave. Broad-shoulders, close-cropped hair, arms thick with muscle and a smattering of pale scars on his knuckles. Blake froze in her tracks. She'd thought it was safe to go alone—there had been no ambushes, no signs of ulterior motives besides Brand's well-being, but now—

His head turned. He blinked once, apparently just as startled as she was. Then he lifted both hands, palm-out, to show he was unarmed. Since Blake was maybe a quarter of his size and literally couldn't run to save her life, this was not entirely reassuring.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Behind her, Pit let out a low, rumbling growl.

If this bothered the man at all, he didn't show it. "I'm Hazel," he said, making no move to stand up. "I'm here for Brand."

"You... what?"

He shrugged. "I sit with him. Keep him company."

Blake stared at him. She couldn't see any sign of faunus traits, and he wasn't wearing one of Adam's masks. "Are you... are you with the Fang?"

"Not exactly. I'm... more of a middle man."

"A human."

The man—Hazel—nodded.

Blake groped for words. This... definitely didn't look like an ambush, and it would be an incredibly stupid ambush considering Hazel didn't have a dragon with him as far as she could tell. He seemed to notice the look on her face, and scooted himself over a few feet. "You can sit, if you like" he offered. "Think of it as neutral ground."

"...Neutral ground."

She inched forward, just far enough that she could see into the cave. Brand was sitting up, his head tilted to one side in wary curiosity. The moment he noticed her he tensed. His tail lashed back and forth, his head drew back—ready to bite. He'd been more relaxed with this stranger than with her. That stung, but... it wasn't really about her.

Blake tried to sit down, but moved too fast and leaned on her bad leg.

"Do you want some help with that?"

"No!" She winced. "No. Thank you." Pit stuck his head out and let her hold onto his neck while she lowered herself to the ground. Pit crouched at her side, keeping his eyes trained on Hazel.

"What's his name?" Hazel asked, after a long moment.

"Pit."

More silence. Brand relaxed slowly, curling up near the spot where his chain was fixed to the cave wall. He didn't shout at Blake to go away. He just stayed there, watching their group. Blake listened to their breathing for a while—Brand and Pit's deep and slow, Hazel's quieter. Eventually she checked her scroll and found that it had been about an hour since she'd left Beacon.

"I should go," she said. He nodded. She thought that would be the end of it, but he said his goodbyes to Brand at the same time as she did and followed her out of the cave. She paused, one hand on Pit's neck, the other supporting her weight on one of the crutches. Hazel gave her a parting nod.

"...Wait."

"Yes?"

"Are you the one who sent me that note?"

"Me and someone else. We tried to help Brand ourselves, but he wouldn't listen when we told him Adam was dead."

She tensed. "Did you—"

"No." He grimaced. "I didn't know about that. And I'm sorry it happened."

"I don't understand. You obviously care about dragons, or you wouldn't have done all this for Brand."

"I do." Hazel was quiet for a moment, as if considering how much he should say. "My sister and I were riders. The council decided her dragon wasn't fit to live, and we took issue with that. I survived. They didn't."

Blake swallowed hard. "Then... how are you okay with any of this? I've seen what the White Fang is doing. It's sick."

For the first time, a flicker of something passed across his face—anger, maybe, or grief. "It's changed. Gotten as bloodless as we can make it. Ugly... but necessary."

"You sound like the council." The words were out before she could stop them, and for a moment she thought there might be a fight after all—his hands balled into fists. Then, slowly, they relaxed.

"I don't mean necessary for our own gain. It's for them. The world needs hybrids. It's why the council killed them in the first place... they can see our cruelty for what it is, and punish us for it. The elementals love us too damn much to stand up for themselves."

"If they understand cruelty, eventually they'll come for you and your butchers."

His face was stony. "So be it."

Okay, so writing Hazel. It's fun, because he has that fascinating "gentle giant uncle who also happens to work for Satan" vibe. But at the same time, I want to make sure his reasoning for doing what he does makes some kind of sense, at least to him if not other characters. Here's hoping that worked out here—and I do think it's easier to reason out why he'd accept working for Cinder in the context of this story than Salem in canon, so. There's that.