Robert J. Marley was found dead the night before Christmas. He'd had a heart attack while in bed with another man's wife. His mistress had stabbed him in the back. He'd fallen down a flight of stairs. A jealous husband had shot him. He'd been poisoned. Smothered with a pillow. A toaster had been thrown into his bathtub. He'd committed suicide with a double barrel shotgun before hanging himself.
These were just some of the tales being spread around The Village of Carol. It was just kind of gossip every townswoman abhors the moment they hear it but spread the next.
Qrow didn't much care who had died or how, or even if Marley had actually been murdered or not. He was perfectly content drinking in a tavern far away from the gossipers who thought it too much a coincidence that a huntsman would arrive mere days after the mayor had been found decapitated by a snow shovel.
If Qrow had any guesses however, he might've suspected the entire town killed him, one right after the other. Marley, while an admirer of women, was no friend to them, nor was he particularly kind to children and animals. There wasn't a person alive that thought Marley even resembled a decent man, but he owned the land Carol sat on, and had kept it safe from Grimm and bandits for over half a century. Despite his many flaws, in the lawless territory of Anima, his work was to be commended.
Most of the gossipers seemed to think the village was finished without the oversized man who preferred women a quarter his age and weight. Despite all their talk of doom and gloom however, not a single Grimm had been attracted to the 'grieving' village, which for an experienced huntsman like Qrow Branwen, was more than a little odd.
It was just Qrow's luck that he'd arrive in time to be caught in the middle of a murder investigation. All he wanted was a place to rest and drink peacefully after a hard month of rangering. It did amuse him however imagining what the murderer might be thinking right now, afraid of their door being kicked in any moment and justice being swiftly executed by their sole judge, jury, and executioner.
In layman's terms, ranger justice meant a rope being tied around the criminal's neck followed by a short drop and sudden stop. Dust and ammunition were commodities in the territories, and rope could always be reused for later hangings. Qrow however wasn't particularly stingy with his bullets.
The sheriff, who also doubled as the town barber, had all but threatened Qrow not to get involved in the investigation of his great-uncle's murder, and suggested that he should leave town immediately. Ordinarily Qrow would've been happy to oblige, but he'd never been very good at taking orders from men with comb overs, and was secretly hoping the sheriff would give him an excuse to shoot him.
He was also reluctant to give up his bed as lumpy as it might be. It was bitterly cold in Anima this time of year, and he regretted not taking a job in southern Vale where all the smarter birds had since migrated.
The Sheriff deputy, Marley's great-grandson, had been sent to keep an eye on their unwanted visitor, and Qrow suspected he also doubled as the village idiot. Across the dimly lit bar he was cleaning his gun, and judging from the way other patrons kept their distance from him, Qrow thought it likely he'd had more than a few accidents over the years, and thus kept his aura shield up. Getting shot would be a mild inconvenience to be sure, but it'd give him the excuse he was looking for.
"I wouldn't worry about ol' Donny," said the bartender. "He's only been allowed to carry one bullet ever since he shot Mrs. Crump's favorite mule a few years back. Keeps it in his front pocket."
"Better be saving it for himself," Qrow grumbled into his glass.
"You're gonna drown if you keep drinking like that, sir."
"That's kinda the point, kid," he almost laughed. "You haven't met too many huntsmen before, have you?"
"You're the first huntsman to come around these parts in almost three years," he admitted, pulling up a chair as if owning the establishment gave him permission to sit with his patrons.
"Sorry to disappoint," Qrow said, flicking his cigarette in an ashtray.
The young man who looked too young to even drink shook his head. He had taken over the family tavern after his father passed the year before. There were no secrets in small villages, and if people weren't willing to tell you their life's story themselves, the gossipers would, and Qrow had gotten to know the bartender very well since his arrival, but entirely against his will.
"My pa always said huntsmen and huntresses like to drink whenever they get the chance."
"That's putting it mildly."
"I know all the usual reasons folk come around to drink. You don't come to be around company, but you also didn't buy drinks and take them back to the inn. You want to remember coming to bars with certain people, or where you met them. That's why you keep looking at that picture on the table."
Qrow glanced at the photo of his team taken over twenty years ago when they still attended Beacon Academy. "You're not half bad at this, son."
"Thank you, sir. So, why are you in town? Like I said, we don't get too many huntsmen in these parts. It's not safe, but we're not in any real danger like other frontier settlements."
"You're not that good, and I didn't come here to talk. I came to drink and to rest. Mainly to drink."
"I could find you something more palatable if you'd like, sir. I keep the better liquor out of sight. Nobody but Mr. Marley could afford it anyway, and he only came around to celebrate reelection. Nobody else really celebrated with him though."
Qrow shook his head. As a huntsman, he could've afforded the best room in town and the top shelf drinks, but so long as it got him drunk and the bed was more comfortable than a bird's nest, he wasn't picky.
The bartender remained sitting, and Qrow couldn't decide whether it was because he was curious or just couldn't take a hint. Bartenders in his experience tended to be sharper than average, but growing up in backwoods villages tended to make for sheltered people. "I'm tracking the White Fang," he said finally. "Know where they're hiding?"
"No, sir. We don't get too many faunus around these parts, though I suspect that'll change now that Mr. Marley's dead. I didn't much like the man, nobody did, but it's terrible what happened. Drowning's a bad way to go so I'm told."
"Faunus aren't welcome in town?" Qrow asked, his own curiosity piqued. "What about your bar?"
"I've got no problem with anyone who wants to spend coin in my establishment, sir. My pa taught me that, and one thirsty customer come to forget their troubles is the same as the next, but faunus don't feel too welcome around these parts if you catch my meaning."
"A lot of faunus take up banditry around here?"
"Not in these parts, sir. The old timers just haven't forgotten the last major faunus uprising. It was only sixty years ago after all, and all these White Fang attacks got them extra touchy. A few months back they attacked a village not two hundred miles up the road."
"That close, huh?"
"Yes, sir. One of our closest trading partners. Anima may be the territory with the most faunus besides Menagerie, but if the White Fang aren't reared in soon, I'm afraid there'll be more faunus in Atlas than Anima."
"The White Fang are the least of anybody's worries," Qrow muttered, causing the bartender to raise a brow. "So what if I said I was a faunus?"
He shrugged. "Your coin would still be good here, sir. I just wouldn't go around advertising is all I'm saying. Nobody's gonna drive you out of town, especially on accounts of you being a huntsman, but folks might make your stay here a little less pleasant."
"What if I said I was a bird faunus?"
The bartender snorted, a ridiculous noise that reminded Qrow of a donkey with the hiccups. "Bird faunus!" he hawed. "That's a good one, sir! Everyone knows all faunus are mammalian in nature."
He couldn't quite pronounce the word 'mammalian' properly, and it sounded to Qrow as if he were trying to imitate someone much more eloquent. "Alright, what if I said I was an Animagus born in Menagerie and can turn into a bird?"
The laughter stopped, but almost immediately he leaned back in his chair with a fit of laughter that caused the gossipers across the bar to turn. Donny however was too busy picking his nose with a revolver to notice.
"You asked me why I drink," Qrow said before the bartender could fully compose himself. "What if I told you my twin sister and I were raised by Grimm worshippers, and when we were kids, our mother made a deal with Salem? After that we fled our home and became bandits here in Anima. We'd probably have raided this village by now if it hadn't been for one of Ozma's descendants inviting us to his combat school."
The young man's laughter continued, growing more and more mule-like by the second. "Salem! Ozma! Animagus! I'm sorry, sir, but I believe you've had too much to drink."
"The story gets even better," Qrow said with a rueful smile. "There I met the love of my life. The Transient Princess. She's real, or was, and so are all the prophecies about her. I even saw a few of them come to life before my very eyes."
Qrow's grin faded and his red eyes darkened, finding the man's laughter suddenly annoying. "I drink because I've been fighting a losing war for over twenty years. I have the lives of every man, woman, and child I failed to save on my conscience, and even a few of those I had to kill. I drink because I have only ever loved one woman, and she's been dead for nearly a decade." He finished his glass and moved on to the bottle.
"I drink in salute to my sister, partner, and all the comrades I've lost over the years. I drink to the good health of my nieces and everyone still alive, and to anyone dumb enough to become a huntsman. I drink to numb the pain my body feels from nearly forty years of abusing it. I drink because I have red eyes that make me want to hurt people, especially the people I love. I drink because I never know which one will be my last..."
The bartender stopped laughing, and fidgeted awkwardly in his seat. Qrow set the now empty bottle on the table and gave a slight grin that wasn't meant for the young man across from him.
"I get the feeling some of what you said was the truth, sir," he said when courage permitted him. "A huntsman of your age, if you'll pardon me, experience, has probably seen things I can't even imagine, but only one woman?" He laughed nervously. "You're not the first huntsman to come into town, and I've heard more than a few stories, and huntresses aren't much better if you don't mind me saying."
Qrow shook his head. "The only way you could ever offend a huntsman is by disrespecting our dead, son." His eyes softened. The bartender's youthful appearance suddenly reminded him of the children he taught. "Everybody has their fair share of flaws and vices, but especially huntsmen. This job brings out the worst even in the best of people. We live like there's no tomorrow, especially the younger ones. My partner was no exception, and she was the best of us all. And yes, she was the only one I ever had eyes for."
"Then I'm sorry for your loss, sir. She must have been quite a woman."
"She was a hell of a huntress," he agreed. "More importantly she was a hell of a mother." Qrow was silent for a moment before pointing behind the bar where experience told him the expensive bottles were kept. "You asked me why I drink? Well, maybe more than anything I just like the taste..."
For the third night in a row Qrow stumbled drunkenly back to his room at the inn. Thankfully he had significant practice navigating the world in an intoxicated state, and had gotten quite good at cursing it whenever it spun or rippled beneath his feet.
The 'inn' was in actuality a house belonging to an elderly couple whose six children had grown and moved out, and thought to make a little extra coin from travelers passing through. A set of rickety stairs had been built on the back of the building leading to three of the rooms while the other three opened from below. It was the kind of engineering and craftsmanship that belied a truly disturbed mind, or a builder who'd been drunk. Qrow thought he could relate, but was also reminded of his youngest niece who had a touch of engineering madness as well.
He put his back against a brick wall and drew a deep breath of crisp air. Every huntsman had their vices and coping mechanisms, but most were able to control them while on the job. If not, well, they wouldn't have to worry about coping for very long. For some it was as simple as money burning holes in their pockets and wanting to live carefree while they could. Most students and inexperienced huntsmen fell into this trapping, but once the horrors of the job sunk in, eventually they'd begin looking for more harmful ways to cope.
Sex was a popular choice, but not for Qrow. Drugs were tricky since jobs normally required drug tests, and huntsmen couldn't afford even the slightest screwup. Perhaps the most popular choice however was drinking...
Qrow's first love had been alcohol, and it was a passionate love that bordered on loathing some days. Virtually every huntsman drank to some degree, but it wasn't necessarily everyone's vice. Qrow had rules about drinking that he had bidden by since he was a teenager, and only broke in the worst of scenarios. Any sane person would've gotten drunk in those situations too, or so he told himself.
He wasn't proud of his drinking, but it hadn't gotten him killed yet, and his temper hadn't killed anyone either. It was a delicate balance controlling the Branwen semblance, but he had mostly kept his promise to Summer that he wouldn't lose control. Qrow Branwen was many things, not many of them very wholesome, but he was a huntsman, and he would rather die than break a promise to his partner.
Like his sister and eldest niece, Qrow possessed a temper, especially in his younger years. It was part of the Branwen curse, brought on by a hereditary semblance, as well as mean streaks which also appeared to be hereditary. His sister had it the worst, and her daughter wasn't much better. All huntsmen were dangerous when provoked, but the Branwen temper was rivaled in ferocity only by the worst of Grimm.
Even Ozpin was cautious when Qrow's already red eyes lost their pupils, and he was smart enough to seek solitude at such times. Anyone not smart enough would receive a few curt words, a warning to stay away not unlike a wounded dog's growl. Yang was cautious as she understood all too well, but Ruby was oblivious, or pretended to be anyway, and all it took was a hug from her to bring the Branwen semblance completely under heel. Her mother had been the same way.
Unfortunately Summer was dead and they were both halfway across the world attending Beacon Academy, and it would've taken him several days of nonstop flying to reach them. That in truth was the biggest reason he drank.
Another reason was because Christmas had been Summer's favorite time of year. A part of her soul was eternally entwined with his, and at the moment she was nagging him about drinking too much, but another part was giddy and wanting him to make snow angels. It had never taken much to get the pintsized huntress intoxicated, but then again drinking had never been her vice.
Qrow lit another cigarette and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the snowy village and the shattered moon hanging overhead. He wasn't normally an introspective man, but occasionally while enjoying a drink or smoke he'd take the time to ponder on life or smell the roses.
He wasn't a role model, especially not to his nieces despite them practically idolizing him, but he did have rules. Summer may have been the most moral person Qrow ever knew, but he had more rules and self-discipline than even her. He had no other choice, but together they were like all good partners and helped balance each other out.
Qrow wasn't a role model, but he was very good at his job, maybe even the best. He hadn't met an Alpha he hadn't been able to kill, yet, and millions owed their lives to his efforts to keep the kingdoms intact. He had kept the powers of several Maidens from falling into the wrong hands, killed more bandits and rogue huntsmen than he cared to think about, and had hopefully stalled Salem for another century so that the next generation of unlucky huntsmen could repeat the process when he inevitably bit the dust.
Despite his countless successes however, it was his few failures that made his drinking seem justified. Qrow didn't know many men he had killed over the years, but he knew the names of every single Signal Academy student that had died in the past twenty years.
Many of his students didn't have fathers, and he had to be a father figure to them despite never having one himself. They were all his children, and he pushed his children to their breaking point on an almost daily basis, especially Ruby and Yang. Then and only then did their real training begin. Qrow didn't just teach children how to fight, but also how to control their bodies, minds, and emotions. More than anything though he taught them about respect and how to be men and women.
'You're getting old, Old Man,' Summer teased, her voice barely a whisper after all these years.
Snuffing out the cigarette he let out a soft chuckle. There was a murderer on the loose and a group of terrorists in the area, and here he was lost in thought, his only worry being that a murder attempt might have the terrible side effect of sobering him up.
"If anyone wants to kill me-" he said, loud enough for all would-be-assassins to hear- "they better hope the first try kills me, otherwise there won't be a second." He stumbled forward and leaned over a railing to keep from vomiting on his shoes. "Alright, maybe there'll be a second, or even a third, but eventually I'm gonna get annoyed. And if you're gonna try and kill me in my sleep, don't half-ass it. I don't wanna wake up with another bullet wound and a hangover in the morning. Urp, make that sometime in the afternoon."
The darkness responded with silence, and the silence responded with even more darkness. Summer on the other hand wouldn't shut up.
Satisfied that he'd live to drink another day, he rounded the corner where he thought the inn was and suddenly found himself surrounded by a dozen figures wearing Grimm masks. Qrow blinked in surprise, but he neither sobered up nor did he reach for his pistols or blade. "You know I was just kidding, right?"
A dozen firearms were pointed at him from every direction, along with several red dust infused blades. More than half of them shook slightly, and the experienced huntsman doubted it had anything to do with the cold.
The largest of the men stepped forward, but he was still several inches shorter than the stork-like huntsman. "I thought we were gonna have to burn the bar down to get you to come out," he jeered. "Finally decided to accept what's coming, eh? I guess they don't call it liquid courage for nothing."
Qrow cleaned something out of his ear and tried deciphering which of the hundreds of masked men was speaking. He recognized the mask as belonging to a White Fang lieutenant since they were the lowest ranking officers with decorative masks. His nonchalance seemed to affect the entire group however as their unsteady aims only worsened the longer Qrow took to gather his thoughts.
"If you really wanted me dead you would've already pulled the trigger," he said, speaking deliberately so as not to slur too much. "You know I wasn't bluffing about my aura shield. I can kill at least half of you before I have so much as a smear of red dust on my clothes. Also, just a word of warning. You might not respect the villagers of this town, but each and every one of them owns a rifle and knows how to use it. There's no love lost between them and the faunus in these parts, and both sides are equally guilty. Difference is there's more of them than there is of you."
The lieutenant gestured around him. "Right now you're the one who's outnumbered."
"A huntsman doesn't die with bullets still in his weapon, son, and I haven't even fired a single shot yet. You order these kids to shoot, and you'll be signing their death warrants along with your own."
"Spoken like a true huntsman," said someone hiding in the back.
Qrow looked around the lieutenant. His night vision had always been excellent, though not as sharp as the faunus surrounding him. He counted thirteen masks, give or take a few due to seeing double. Four of them were girls, and most were about the age of his students back home.
"Do you honestly think taking advantage of the weak makes you strong?" he asked, slowly sobering. "It takes more strength to protect the weak than it does to do them harm."
"If that's true, then why haven't the huntsmen or militaries been able to stop us?" the lieutenant asked, earning smiles from a few of the kids that were desperately clinging to their leader for strength.
"One bad apple spoils the bunch," Qrow muttered to himself. "It's called mercy, son. Why else do you think I'm here? You're all being used and manipulated, and when your leaders are through with you, they'll throw you out with the trash and find new recruits just as gullible and disposable as you. This is all new to all of you, but it's been the same song and dance since I was your age. Hell, it's been going on since the first faunus crusade centuries ago."
He looked around and saw the anger he'd been expecting, as well as doubt. For now they were just seeds, but all he needed to do was continue watering them. Manipulation wasn't necessarily Qrow's weapon of choice or expertise, but he'd learned from the very best.
"My job is to either stop you by any means necessary, or preferably convince you to turn yourselves in to the authorities. I reckon y'all realize by now I could kill you without breaking much of a sweat, but I doubt you want to go to prison either. My advice, take off your masks and enroll into a combat school. Graduate or get certified, and join a huntsman academy. You're all decently trained and already have your auras unlocked. You want to feel strong? Protect those that can't protect themselves."
"What do you think we've been doing!" their leader cried. "That's why the White Fang was founded! To protect the faunus from men like you! We're the ones protecting the weak!"
Qrow laughed but didn't find anything particularly funny. "That was nearly a century ago, and protecting faunus shouldn't include killing innocent people, faunus included. How many faunus has Sienna Khan killed or gotten killed by now? How many times have your leaders called them 'casualties of war'?" He paused for dramatic effect just like while teaching class. "I protect humans and faunus alike from men like you. At best all you're doing is digging up already half-buried grievances, at worst starting a war, and this ain't a war any of you can win. Even when the faunus were in the right, they still lost. You wanna make lives better for the faunus? Start by using your weapons and talents to protect them from themselves."
The group was silent as they all pondered the meaning of his words, but to Qrow's disappointment, the lieutenant still had more to say. "The world will be a better place when the kingdoms aren't run by humans." He spat on Qrow's boots. "We've got the lives and futures of millions of faunus on our shoulders, and we've come too far to quit now."
Qrow placed a hand on his sword. "Would you like me to lighten the load for you, son?"
The lieutenant leveled his pistol right between Qrow's eyes. "After we're done here tonight, I'm gonna pay your nieces a visit. They-"
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by his head suddenly rolling off his shoulders and his body collapsing onto the ground, spewing blood and staining the snow crimson.
"Don't-" Qrow said breathlessly, a massive blade in his hand as if it had just appeared out of thin air- "don't ever threaten my girls. If either of them so much as loses a hair on their precious heads, I will kill every last person wearing a Grimm mask and leave your corpses to the Beowolves. No more arrests. No more turning a blind eye to children being manipulated. You think you're scared of the Schnees? They only thin the herd every few centuries. I will cause a mass extinction, and Grimm will follow in my wake the kind of which you can't even imagine. Am I understood?"
The masked faces all watched with their mouths agape. They hadn't seen the huntsman draw his weapon, much less behead their leader. All they'd seen were a cloud of black feathers which now fell harmlessly onto the ground before dissipating.
"I was born a bastard," Qrow continued, wiping his boots on the corpse's pantleg. "and the only way to talk to a bastard is with another. I know how to speak to men like him because I used to be him. I speak the same language, except I don't mince words or stutter anymore. You think wearing a Grimm mask makes you intimidating? I wear a mask too, and if I take mine off for even a moment, every Grimm within a hundred miles will shudder and come running."
Qrow casually deactivated his weapon and hooked it back to his belt. "There's a million differences between me and him, the least of all being me not having dog ears. I feel remorse for the people I kill, some more than others, and in my own way, but every single one of their deaths have made the world a safer place for my nieces. Including him. To become a lieutenant in the White Fang, you have to have killed someone on their most wanted list. Usually a Schnee. I'm not saying some of the people on that list don't deserve to die, but it's not for any of you to decide."
One of the girls removed her mask, revealing a freckled face with whiskers and a button nose. She couldn't have been much older than Ruby, and she was followed by six others roughly the same age.
Qrow sighed with relief and nodded. "Consider what I said tonight about attending a combat school." He turned to those that hadn't removed their masks. "Tell everyone at your camp that they have until tomorrow night to come to their senses. I know where you're hiding, and I know how to find you again. I even know your leader plans on raiding a supply train later this week, and if you do, I will not hesitate to kill anyone and everyone wearing a Grimm mask. Take my advice and don't do anything that'll get you killed."
He motioned for those with masks to drop their weapons and they reluctantly did so, but Qrow allowed those without masks to keep theirs. Good people needed their weapons, and the world needed all the good people it had to offer.
"Sir," mumbled the girl Qrow had nicknamed Freckles. "I thought you should know that w-we killed Mr. Marley Christmas morning. I was born in this village, but my mother and I were forced to leave once my whiskers started growing. He was a horrible man. He-"
"Relax, kid. You didn't kill Marley."
"But we-"
"Marley died on Christmas Eve. Not Christmas morning. Sorry, but you were too late."
"Then who?"
Qrow shrugged. "Half the town if I had to guess. Carol will be more accepting of faunus in the future, but without Marley's money and protection, I can't say how long it'll stick around. Killing people like Marley isn't a solution. It's only a trade off. One monster for another." He gestured toward the Grimm masks lying on the ground.
"I-I think I understand..."
"Good." Qrow yawned and staggered toward the inn, giving the headless body a wide berth. "I wasn't expecting to teach life lessons tonight. I can almost feel myself sobering up."
The girl with freckles followed him. "Sir, c-can I stay with you tonight? I don't have anywhere else to go." A few of the others nodded.
Qrow shrugged. "Fine, just don't try to kill me in my sleep. I hate it when that happens. There's five empty rooms at the inn. You're paying your way and my bar tab in the morning. After that, I'll make a couple of calls and get you on your way. Congratulations, in a few years, you're gonna be my replacements. Lucky you..."
(A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed. "Lessons in the Dark" is more of a character study of Qrow than an actual story, but I enjoyed writing it and it's something I thought some of you might enjoy as well. My interpretation of Qrow even prior to his introduction in Volume 3 has always been a combination of Augustus McCrae and Woodrow Call from "Lonesome Dove", with just a little bit of Robert E. Howard's "Solomon Kane" mixed in. I view him as having an "old school" mindset and being a throwback to a bygone era in huntsmen history. Someone who was born after their time. Qrow having been inspired by Maria in canon gives this headcanon a bit of weight in my opinion, but overall I like to think Qrow admires the huntsmen that came before him and tries to emulate them. Ozpin being his mentor also probably had a big influence on him. I also just like the idea of Qrow getting drunk and watching old westerns lol, specifically anything starring Clint Eastwood.
Qrow being a teacher at Signal Academy is rarely if ever referenced in canon, and I thought it'd be interesting to explore his teaching skills in this one-shot, as well as his skills communicating with troubled teenagers. He can relate to them, and he speaks their language so to speak. He's not a role model, but if Ruby and Yang are any indication, I do think he makes for a good father figure despite his many flaws.
RWBY and the cover image of this story are both owned by Rooster Teeth.
All credit goes to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who has blessed me with this story and wonderful readers such as yourself. God bless)