So, the holidays are exhausting and I am terrible at parties. Who wants some old man Ragnar?
90. Priorities in Order
Atlas was one of the wonders of the world—people had traveled across Remnant just to see the view of it from above. A view like the one May was currently ignoring.
There was a man three rows back with a purple coat. And it wasn't him. It wasn't. The one who'd attacked her had yellow eyes, or had they been purple? But they weren't blue. She knew that, but she still felt sick with fear, and other things. She pressed a hand over her face, willing herself to keep it together. All she had to do was act normal for a few more hours, and then...
Well. It didn't really matter what happened after that.
"Miss?"
She jumped, cringing back against the window when the man in purple leaned out over the back of her neighbor's seat. Her neighbor's empty seat. Stupid, stupid, how could she have let him get so—"
"The ship's docked."
May blinked. Most of the airbus was empty. The sudden absence made her skin crawl, but the man only frowned and said, "Are you alright?"
"Fine." She wanted to get up, but he was in the way. He seemed to notice her discomfort, though, and winced.
"Right. Sorry." Then he turned away, and she felt a flash of guilt. He had a wolf's tail—not the same man at all.
"Wake up," she snarled, scrubbing viciously at her eyes with the back of her hand. Tugging her beanie further down over her face, she left the airbus.
The streets of Atlas were crowded, and even this early in the autumn the streets were filled with snow that had turned to slush under hundreds of passing feet. Her sneakers weren't waterproof. May shrugged it off, struggling through the press and trying not to flinch every time someone bumped into her. At least no one else bothered to stop and ask if she was okay.
Finally, she got free of the crowd and turned down what she thought was the right street—and stopped dead. There was a cordon across the road, and two Council soldiers with rifles. Her right index finger itched.
"Hey!" the one on the left called out. She put a hand on her gun. "No entrance, kid."
May almost retched. "Please! I have to go inside, I—" But she couldn't tell them. Couldn't tell anyone. That was the one thing they'd told her to keep secret. "My friend is in there, I just want to see him."
"No entrance." The guard on the right jerked his head towards the street behind her. "Shoo."
She had no choice except to leave. So she walked around the perimeter of the school, searching desperately for an entrance that was left unblocked... and found a sheer wall with one bored guard. He was looking the other way.
What if she screwed it up? If she failed they wouldn't send Flurry to a Broodery—if she did this right they still might not send him to a Broodery. She couldn't just...
But she didn't get choices anymore. So with desperate animal strength she launched herself at the wall, and she was halfway up before the guard had finished whirling around. "Stop!" he shouted, and went for his gun, but a strap caught and she was up on the wall and—
A crack. A thud. She landed on her side and curled in a miserable ball, her ears ringing, her hands pressed against her ears to convince herself that they weren't holding a rifle. Bruised from the fall, but otherwise unhurt.
May forced herself to her feet. He'd probably tell someone. The guards might try to come onto the grounds, and they wouldn't miss a second time. She couldn't fuck this up.
She walked slowly, stiffly, stumbling on her numb feet. Feeling eerily calm now she was here. Ironwood might lock her up, or worse—but she was so tired. She just wanted it over.
Something was wrong with Glacier.
Ragnar had to wait until he wasn't with Specter or Steele to bring it up—he wasn't sure if the older dragon would be comfortable talking in front of them, especially since he'd only just met Specter. Better to be sure.
Tempest caught on to what he was doing. She helped scout out the other two ice dragons, and came to him one afternoon when Steele and Winter were busy with James, and Specter and Weiss were with Pit and Blake. From there...
Well, blunt was usually best, with Glacier.
"Let's talk," Ragnar said. Glacier picked his head up from where he had coiled himself up in a forgotten corner of Atlas' campus. Whitley stared out from between his paws.
"Are we leaving?" he asked hopefully.
"I don't think so..." said Oscar.
Ragnar huffed. "Nno."
"Why... talk?" Glacier rumbled, staring dully at them with half-lidded eyes.
"Because you need to," Tempest said. She prodded him to his feet with her nose and then tossed her head towards the open fields. "We should stay on campus, but we can go somewhere no one will listen in. Okay?"
Glacier sighed and plodded after them.
Ragnar couldn't help purring in contentment at the chance to stretch his wings. It was a short flight, more of a hop and a glide really, but the long wait for his injuries to heal had made it new in a way it hadn't been since he'd first carried—
He flinched. Oscar rubbed his shoulder soothingly.
The three of them stopped in a small stand of trees, near the edge of the Dragonry. Glacier sat on his haunches, fussing at Whitley until his hair stood up in every direction.
"Are you okay?" asked Tempest.
"Yes. Found small ones."
Ragnar glanced at Tempest, then sighed. "We know, and we're glad. It's just that you seem... upset."
"No." Glacier folded his ears back. "Have small ones. Small ones... make better." His tail curled in on itself as he spoke.
Ragnar butted his head against the ice dragon's side. "That isn't how it works, Glacier. I'm sorry."
Tempest hummed agreement. "They make it better. I think someday you'll be really happy. But it takes a long time to heal, and it never stops hurting."
Glacier hunched up his wings and sulked. "Different."
His foreleg squeezed Whitley against his chest. The boy squirmed and wriggled and said, "Will somebody tell me what we're even doing—"
A gunshot.
Ragnar swept Oscar under his belly, where he'd be safe, and twisted to look at Tempest. "Can you—?"
She bobbed her head. "I'll warn them."
He loped into the woods, careful to keep Oscar behind him, with Glacier following them. Tense. Ready for the Council soldiers to jump out of the shadows...
But they didn't. Instead the dragons burst out of the stand of trees to find a little human, unarmed, with a hat pulled down over one eye. She stared at them. Her whole body started to shake. Then, before Ragnar could even try to help steady her, she fell to her knees.
"You..." she whispered.
Ragnar came in close, sniffing for injuries. She seemed unhurt, though her feet were soaked and she was shivering all over. Tears welled up in the eye that wasn't hidden under her hat. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay!" Oscar came out from behind Ragnar and smiled. "You're safe here. We'll get you back to the Dragonry, and..."
But she wasn't listening. It was as if Oscar and Glacier and Whitley didn't even exist—only Ragnar.
"I did it." She fell forward, caught herself on her hands. "I killed him."
Oscar didn't even dare breathe as the girl on the ground wrapped her arms around her head. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I didn't want to, but she called me and she knew about Flurry and I just... I didn't know what else to do."
Ragnar was as still as if he'd been carved from stone. She slumped, like she'd just laid down an enormous weight, and didn't even flinch when he started to growl. Oscar had never heard the old earth dragon make a noise like that—he'd never heard anything make a noise like that.
Muscles coiled up in Ragnar's legs. Oscar tried to jump in front of him, but Whitley grabbed his arm and stopped him cold. The dragon pounced—and grabbed the girl in his foreclaws, unharmed. Then he took off and flew towards the CCT tower.
Oscar gaped. He might have stood there for a long time if Whitley hadn't shaken his arm and said, "Come on!"
He balked a bit at the idea of getting that close to Glacier. The ice dragon didn't seem fond of the idea either, and glared at him in narrow-eyed suspicion.
"Please?" Whitley said. "He's safe. You know him."
Grumbling a little under his breath, Glacier settled Whitley on his back. Then, gingerly, like he was picking up a spider, he dropped Oscar just behind him. He landed with a long, sharp spine jutting out a few inches to either side of his legs.
"Um..."
"You get used to it," Whitley said dismissively. "But you might want to hold on."
Oscar hesitated—which turned out to be a terrible idea. Glacier was off in a heartbeat, and the sudden shift in movement made him cut his arm on one of the spines. He hissed in a breath. Whitley grabbed his injured hand and placed it on his shoulder.
He'd sort of meant to leave it there, but it turned out that midair turbulence was a lot more nerve-wracking on a dragon covered in slippery scales and long spines, who seemed to forget he had riders every time he made a sharp turn. So he wrapped both arms around Whitley's shoulders and mostly focused on not falling off and not choking him.
When they landed on the lawn beside Ragnar, Ironwood was already running out to meet them. Whitley slid off Glacier's back easily, but when Oscar didn't immediately follow—why did there have to be spines on his sides, too?!—the ice dragon shook himself like a wet dog. He landed on his face in the grass, groaning.
The girl was on the ground, too, huddled in a ball. Her eyes were wide and still shining with tears.
"Gain," Ragnar demanded.
More people were coming out, now. Surrounding them. Oscar felt a pang of sympathy and stepped forward. "She, um..." Then he froze. It was hard to say it out loud, even though it had nothing to do with him. Even if he was just translating. "She says she killed Ozpin."
"Something about a flurry?" added Whitley. "It wasn't very clear."
"Flurry," she whispered. "My dragon."
Ironwood put a hand to his forehead. "All of you, leave." Then, when people started to back away, "Not you. And you..."
He kept some of the teachers, and Pietro, and Winter. That meant that Weiss stayed too, and the other Beacon students with her. He didn't send them away, but instead knelt in front of the girl.
"What's your name?"
"May. May Zedong."
"Okay." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Start at the beginning."
Oscar got the gist of the story, but he didn't pay much attention to it—he was too busy hugging Ragnar around the neck, soothing him as best as he could. The great earth dragon nudged him with his nose. A shaky breath ruffled his hair.
"You're sure." Ironwood stood up, his hands clenched into fists. "This was Cinder, not the Council?"
"Yeah. I r-recognized her at Shade."
"And Flurry. Where is he now."
May curled her knees against her chest and shook her head. "G-gone."
"You're lying to me."
She looked up, then, suddenly fierce. "I'm not."
Ironwood sighed. "Winter? Can you put her in the stall next to Gigas and the Lieutenant? I don't think we're going to have much luck with this right now."
"Sir?"
He grimaced. "If Flurry isn't here, and he isn't dead, someone else has him. She's not going to talk to us."
May didn't struggle when Winter brought her into the stall. She just stood there, her head hanging, her eyes on the floor.
It was... difficult to watch.
"You'll be safe, here," Winter said stiffly. She didn't think Ragnar would hurt her—he'd understood enough of what she'd said to know there had been someone else forcing her hand—but... better to be careful.
May didn't seem to have heard her.
Winter left the stall—unlocked, for now, but Steele would keep guard outside until they could rig something. Then she made her way back to the lawn outside Atlas tower, where the General had gathered everyone. Pietro was at his right, holding the disemboweled scroll a rider had died to bring to them.
"We need to change targets," he said, his voice magnified by some device she couldn't see. "I've been looking at these blueprints, and it's... he's stripped them down. Gotten rid of what should be useful functions, even for such a twisted purpose. There wouldn't be any point, unless he needs to make a lot of them very quickly."
Specter shivered and curled a little tighter around Weiss. Winter came over to them, and surprised herself by patting his side.
General Ironwood nodded to Pietro, then turned to face the crowd. "I know we have a common enemy with Cinder Fall. But this?" He gestured towards the device in Pietro's hands. "Attacking our students? Murdering Ozpin? It's too far. And if she really is planning to mass-produce these things, I think our responsibility is clear. I won't force any of you to join this fight—but I'll be glad for anyone who chooses to help us make sure this technology is destroyed."
He faltered a little, then—this was another thing Ozpin had always done, the big speeches, that the General had never felt totally comfortable with. Winter gave him a firm nod, from the crowd, and he nodded back. "Yes. Well. I'll send your professors around, let one of them know if you want to take part."
With that, General Ironwood retreated back into the tower. Winter was about to follow him when Weiss grabbed her hand. "Um... can you stay for a moment? I might have an idea."
So she followed her sister off to the side, where the rest of the Beacon students, Glacier, and Ragnar were all gathered. "Here's the thing," she said, fiddling a little with the end of her ponytail. "We know Cinder's done terrible things—but we still don't have much proof."
"But what about—!" Ruby protested.
"I don't mean proof that we can't work with her anymore," Weiss said hurriedly. "I mean that she still has plenty of students on her side with dragons the Council would cull if they had the chance. They're not going to just take our word for it that she's done all of this, not if they think she's their only hope of protecting their partners. We need to find proof of what she did to this year's eggs."
Blake frowned. "Why do I have the feeling I'm really not going to like your idea?"
"Because it's awful and I hate it?"
Yang grinned at her. "C'mon, it can't be that bad."
Weiss glanced at Winter, and she felt a flash of foreboding. "Well... she must have gotten all that glycinamide from somewhere. And she'd have needed access to a lot of dragon eggs right after they'd been injected. And we do know someone who's involved with both of those things."
Winter's jaw dropped. Whitley blurted out, "You want to go home?!" and then Glacier finally got it and let out an anxious whine.
"Want isn't the word I'd use," Weiss grumbled, into the stunned silence that followed.
Blake recovered first. "I'm guessing this will be a Schnee only mission?" she asked, looking less than thrilled at the prospect.
Winter expected a resigned nod—but instead, her little sister laughed. "Oh, definitely not. We're bringing an army."