Chapter Seven
Learning how to activate his magic was, perhaps, a walk in the park compared to learning the main symbols and patterns of a reading. There were four - four! - books Ozpin gave him, each over five hundred pages, discussing the patterns of a sand table and all the possible permutations and meanings. There was math involved too, the angle of a curve and the weight of a line all giving a symbol a different meaning. Oscar was given patterns now, knowing he wouldn't accidentally activate his magic to truly read it, to identify major patterns or smaller patterns. Oscar had trouble seeing all the small details, and he felt woefully inadequate to explain why the pattern for good was the same for bad with only a fifteen degree difference.
Ozpin, for his part, took it all in good stride and a hearty chuckle.
"You should have heard the complaining of my students at university," he said lightly. "I cannot tell you how many papers and essays I graded trying to articulate that the detail was unnecessary. Then I would do a reading for them, and point directly to the sand to explain how it all worked. I daresay it was a great source of entertainment for me."
Oscar groaned at the thought as he realized his guardian had a streak of mischief in him.
When not going blind identifying patterns, there was the laundry list of herbs Ozpin had to instruct him on as well.
"You've heard that a sand table needs recharging, correct?"
"Yes, I'd wondered about that."
"Well," Ozpin said in the reader's room, Oscar in the client's seat and his teacher across from him. "Place your hands on the basin and sense how warm it is."
Oscar did so, wondering what he was supposed to feel. "I don't feel anything," he replied after several minutes of looking.
"That's because it needs to be recharged. I've stated before, but everything in this world has a touch of magic in it. The stone basin here, mostly it's black marble, but look where the sand is touching the basin. Do you know what that is?"
Oscar dug through the sand, seeing the fine sheen of green in the late afternoon light. The… inlay? The inside of the basin glowed green, hints of gold, and a sense of… something… soft. Soothing. "What is it?" he asked.
"That's green sapphire," Ozpin said, taking a flat of metal and smoothing out the sand again. "There are great deposits of it in Vacuo, all with different colors and magic in them, but green is the predominant color for soothsayers. Green sapphire releases mental tension and anxiety, increases focus of a mind, opens one's heart to the needs of another, improves concentration and boosts spiritual connection. That is the magic inherent in the green sapphire. The marble holds magic as well, mostly for regulation and cleansing, to keep the magic pure. As stones, the magic in the sand reader is a deep well to draw from when doing a reading.
"Before the sand tables migrated from Vacuo, soothsayers did many things to try and channel their magic, but Vale mostly used the magic of the forests around them. You may have heard of tea readings, that was how Valean soothsayers could give their readings, but the magic in leaves and barks are not as powerful as stones, just as stones are not as accurate as leaves and barks."
"I… don't understand all of that but I can feel… something," Oscar said. "Even if the stone isn't warm."
"That's the inherent magic of the basin," Ozpin said, "But it is not active, because the herbs that purify and channel that magic have been burned out after several readings. You've seen me make wreaths last winter, yes? I remember your curious looks."
Oscar nodded. "It was a plant I didn't recognize, but it was mixed with other herbs, too."
"That's yerba mate, native to southern Vale but magically it increases mental energy and connects a sayer to their reader. You can use an uncharged reader, but the magic that's pulled from you would leave you bedridden for hours or even days depending on the reading you are doing. Other plants do different things dependent on the sayer and the client. Lavender relaxes, vanilla is an enhancer, khat for stimulation, etcetera, etcetera. Once the wreath is made, it can be placed around the basin overnight to recharge the reader. The wreath cleans out any emotions brought up in a reading and reactivates the latent magic in the basin. The basin in turn absorbs the magic and can be used readily by a sayer of any talent."
Oscar started to lose track after that. He had no idea the sheer technicalities of soothsaying, it was such a mystical, magical profession he hadn't realized there was more than a little science to it as well.
"There is at least two thousand years of recorded soothsaying," Ozpin would say, a passionate professor to a very lost student. "In Vacuo artists would take their readings and put them on display. Vale soothsayers had detailed handwritten books describing the power of herbs and plants to enhance readings. Here in Mistral, there is a long oral tradition of incense, and that, too, was brought to the profession, taking things Vale already did and charging the very air around the sayer, increasing accuracy for less skilled sayers and better activating the latent magic in the client in order to read them. Atlas discovered palmistry, how the magic passed through the hand into everything else going on and how to channel that magic without draining the reader. In the last four hundred years soothsaying has grown as to be learned by almost anyone and-"
And here his voice always dropped off, and his excitement faded. "I wonder," he said, "If that was the problem: if anyone could be a soothsayer, then the magic of it, the rarity of it, faded; and that opened the door for the doubters and disbelievers."
As the weather cooled, Oscar was found less in the front room and more in the secondary, reading room: instead of copying down patterns (something Ozpin could do in mere minutes with wide, sweeping gestures that made Oscar so jealous) he was instead being quizzed on what patterns could be seen in the basin and what they symbolized and how much nuance was in each pattern.
Oscar could almost understand the herbs but he felt so lost with the pictures in the basin, all the curves and swirls bled together in their beauty, and he felt like he was making no headway at all.
"Oh, Oscar, never think that of yourself," Ozpin said, reaching across the table and touching his shoulder. "You forget that you have a deep well of magic in you - believe it or not, you have learned in the last month what most students take their entire university to learn. You are connected to the patterns as they never could."
"It doesn't really feel like it, though," Oscar said, leaning back and looking away from the reader. "I feel like I could study this for seven years - a full apprenticeship, and still not know anything."
Ozpin smiled, soft and warm, running a hand through his hair. "You sound just like I did," he said softly. "My master, he held me as an apprentice for the full seven years, but it was on graduation, when he gave me a personal reading, that he said I had learned everything he had to teach me in the first year."
"Wait… what?" Oscar said, incredulous. His teacher was a prodigy, too?
"It's not like you think," Ozpin said, seeming to read his thoughts. "I say again, you and I have a deep, unheard of well of magic in us. Our affinity for soothsaying proportionally goes faster. Lady Fria, she finished her apprenticeship in four years, Vernal five, Amber four. We keep our apprentices the full seven years because no one could understand someone mastering a profession in such a short time. His Majesty had me doing readings - not training, actual readings - after the first year. He stayed there and offered critique, but for him it was all a show. He knew my readings would be better than any he could ever produce, but he had to play the part of the master so that I would be respected by the people."
"And you didn't know this?" Oscar asked, mostly understanding the reasoning but also… not.
Ozpin shook his head, his eyes drifting away. "He told me the day I got my license, the day he did a personal reading for me. The things I learned that day…"
Oscar waited, but his guardian didn't elaborate, his eyes sliding through memory and old pain crossing his features. "Three days later he was assassinated," Ozpin said, his voice low with ache. "I never got to ask him…" He stopped, his lips thinning. "Regardless, we can't change the past."
Two weeks after that Oscar - sort of - did his first reading. A client had left and Ozpin had an hour before his next, and he called Oscar in. "I want to test how well you connect to the reader," he said. "It will be yours someday, so I'm going to ask a question."
"I don't understand," Oscar said, sitting in the client's seat.
"Put your hand on the fulcrum, like a client," Ozpin said, his hand already moving to his side of the fulcrum. "A client will ask a question, and that's what you focus on during a reading. I'll ask a question of the past, something simple and easy, and I want you to focus on it and open your magic. We'll see what the reader has to say."
Oscar salivated at the idea of using the sand table, he eagerly put his hand on the fulcrum, excited for his first real reading.
"Wait," Ozpin said, "steady your mind, calm down. Your own eagerness will affect the reading. Remember: a clear mind, open to the needs of the person on the other side. Activate your magic. Much better. Breath in deeply, focus your mind. Good, now: which Midwinter Feast did I learn that Salem had the talent as well?"
The question was wildly out of context for Oscar: he had to remember that Ozpin had a sister, and he never knew that she - Salem - was a sayer, too. He frowned, unsure, but he shook his head. Which Midwinter Feast…? And then he felt the hum, the pressure, and instead of building up and up in his head it bled out through his hand, the table was activated. He heard the faintest swish of the plum string starting to move, and excitement bubbled up as he realized it was working.
"Focus, Oscar."
Right, right! Which Midwinter Feast? He listened to the sound of the sands moving, trying to picture the magic telling him a story, something Ozpin had said several times. Snow up to the knees, he saw, walking around an enormous courtyard with his sister as the world guarded against the longest night of the year, keeping everyone awake with fairy tales of old, clapping and tapping to the rhythm of the poetry far off in the distance. Ozpin, so young and so small, walked beside his sister as she told him of an insight she suddenly had…
"Stop there or you'll have an apprentice nosebleed," Ozpin said, and Oscar startled, his eyes snapping open. His hand tingled, slightly, and he looked down at the reader. It wasn't the intricate patterns of Ozpin's readings - much smaller, less detailed. He saw the symbol for time and the pattern for winter and for the first time the design made sense. "You were thirteen," he said softly. "It was the middle of the night, while everyone was guarding against the darkness. She said she had an insight, that… that…" he frowned. He hadn't heard it, and he didn't see the signs of it in the sand. He looked up to Ozpin.
"That's how we'll start," Ozpin said. "I will ask very small, narrow questions that can be easily answered with little detail or interpretation. You are used to opening your magic, you have a basic understanding of the patterns, and you can maintain a sand table. Now we need to get you accustomed to using the table."
Between every client was a question from Ozpin, always of the past, always highly specific. Sometimes they were about his own history, sometimes about some figure of the past, and sometimes at Oscar's own past.
"When did your aunt learn of your parents' death?" he asked.
Something spiked inside Oscar, stiffening and making him frown. "I thought it was forbidden for soothsayers to read themselves," he said cautiously.
"Not forbidden, but rather impossible," Ozpin said. "One cannot read their own choices before they appear to them. We are not doing a reading on you, however, but rather your aunt."
Oscar shifted his weight, uncomfortable, and Ozpin smiled softly in turn, gentle in all things. "That feeling," he said, "That sense of privacy, it affects all sayers. To answer a question we sometimes must see deep inside a client, personal details that no one else knows, and it feels taboo. We must remember that the client gives consent to these viewings when they agree to a reading, and we must remember not everything we see is part of the answer to their question. Now: when did your aunt learn of your parents' death?"
Oscar put his hand on the fulcrum, activating his magic and focusing. He did not feel calm as he looked, hearing the soft sounds of the sand being shifted. His eyes focused intensely on the pattern, and all at once he saw it: spring equinox, working on the field, helping the farmhands fix a broken fence, as the village soothsayer ran up to them, asking for Em. He saw the tears, running for the house and then down the lane, surprising the wetnurse; an old bat of a woman looking after Oscar himself while his parents had gone to town. He saw her lift him up and cry in relief, that her entire family had not been reft of her.
A tear landed on his free hand, and he let go of the magic, curling into himself. Ozpin was there, a hand on his shoulder.
"Your parents were on their way to the village to announce your birth," he said softly, "Your mother was so filled with happiness she wanted the entire world to know, and your father wanted to bring you with them for everyone's admiration."
"But the midwife, the wetnurse," Oscar said, his voice soaked with tears, "She knew I was too small to make the trip without getting sick. The spring rains were so heavy and…"
"The bridge gave out," Ozpin said, running a hand through his hair and rubbing his back. "The soothsayer was making his rounds, he saw it happen and ran to get help. Your aunt's first thought was of you, to see if you were safe. She loved you as your own parents did."
"She always said..." Oscar tried to say, but the emotion bubbled up, too strong to maintain his voice, and he grabbed at his guardian, burying his head in that warm chest and feeling those comforting arms around him. Ozpin hummed, rubbing at his back.
"She always said the Brother of Light had looked after you," Ozpin said, murmuring it into Oscar's hair. "She said you were a blessing of the Brothers, a sign that your parents lived on and loved you enough to keep you home."
Oscar had never known; his aunt never talked about his parents' death - it was obvious the memory was too painful for her. He never knew she had run to him, and had cried in relief. He never knew… He never knew…
"Why did you ask that?" he asked, much, much later. He rubbed at his burning eyes, sniffling. "Why did you make me see that?"
Ozpin drew back, standing and taking his seat on the other side of the reader. "It was a truth you needed to know," he said softly. "See here, this shape, it's rare in an actual reading but it comes up a lot in training; it means self reflection, a sign that the sayer needs a reading done on himself. You have to know and understand yourself if you are to know and understand the client well enough to give the answer they need to hear. How do you feel, knowing how deeply your aunt loved you?"
Oscar was still cleaning his eyes, but something in him shifted to hear the question, and he turned inward. "... relief," he said, finally. "That last night, when we said our goodbyes. She was so sick, I wasn't sure…" A fresh tear slid down his cheek, and he looked up to Ozpin and smiled. "She knew what she was saying," he said softly. "She wasn't just trying to make me feel better."
"She was a remarkable woman, from what I've seen," Ozpin said softly. "I'm remiss to have never met her, but I can tell how good she was by knowing you."
WAR ON MISTRAL SOIL
The news sheets were everywhere, even in school as Oscar packed up with the enormity of the announcement. After a string of wins on the Vale and Vacuo continent, the two countries had crossed the sea and struck Southpoint, the fifth biggest trading hub of Mistral, and managed to take the city. Everyone had something to say, a worry to express, a question to ask. Southpoint was fifteen hundred killes from Haven, that was months of travel in late autumn, there was no way the city was in danger, the mountain passes would snow in before progress could be made - but at the same time that was also so close, the war was now on the same continent, what did that mean, what was going to happen?
Pamphlets practically were thrown out of windows, the city collectively processing the enormity of the announcement. The war was approaching six years, nobody understood why it was taking so long, why it was going so badly.
Oscar, eight when the war started, didn't even understand what had led up to it.
"It started, I suppose, long before you were born," Ozpin said at the office after seeing their last client. "I got my license, going to university, I had my final reading from my master, and three days later he was assassinated."
"But that was so long ago," Oscar said, worrying his hands. "How does that start a war?"
"Because there was no heir," Ozpin said softly, adjusting his tinted spectacles. "Mistral has dynasties with their emperors and shoguns, Vacuo has their Shah, Atlas their Generals of the Round Table, and Vale had a kingship. The king and queen were to provide an heir to the throne, a successor for when they passed. The last king of Vale could not bear children, and the duty of an heir pressed on him deeply all throughout my training. He wanted to adopt to ease all minds, but the royal court all wanted their own children to be taken in, to solidify the power they thought they had. My master tried several times to go to orphanages, he came close twice to adopting, but the idea of common blood sitting on the throne appealed to no one at court."
Oscar frowned. "Did that include you?"
A heavy pause drew out, making Oscar turn to his guardian more directly, seeing him stare hard at the sand table, a thumb caressing the base.
"I'll never know," he said with a shaky breath, turning and limping out of the office. "The point is that without an heir the entire kingdom destabilized, breaking down to the clans and sachems and chieftains. Alliances came and went, squabbles turned to civil wars turned to revolutions. I was working at Beacon University then. As the apprentice of His Majesty and people were no longer forbidden from using me as a sayer, they all came to me to see if their current strategies would grant them the power they sought. It was a bad business."
He paused as they moved down the four flights of stairs, occasionally bracing himself against the benches at each landing. Oscar kept close, sensing the old pain that Ozpin seemed to carry.
"They did not want to hear the truth their readings told them, that they were only further destabilizing the region, their grabs for power were from places of selfishness instead of the call to service and governance. My students loved my readings, but people who were thought to be my peers accused me of not having the gift, that I was wasted on His Majesty. Then the university caught fire. Anarchists, the papers said, but I knew it was the old court, trying to force my hand. I was twenty-three, and I knew that Vale could no longer be my home."
The streets were full of people on the walk home, the late fall chill stopping no one as they moved from person to person, trying to understand war being on their soil, their home, and the danger they were in. Oscar watched, not quite detached, but unable to understand how this all had happened.
"I watched from here, in Haven," Ozpin said after the first block. "Vacuo was Vale's oldest friend and ally, they sent diplomats and dignitaries to try and help. Atlas offered to mediate, but by then it was too late, the infighting had turned to blood fighting, and that was when Atlas and Mistral saw an opportunity to expand their borders."
"Wait," Oscar said, surprised. "So we're the ones who started the war?"
"It depends on who you ask," Ozpin said, his mouth a thin line. "Vale went through several governments: regency, royal council, appointed republic, but nothing stayed long enough to stick and stabilize. Theo tore his hair out when he came from Vacuo, we just needed time to put our house in order. But Vale is not an island unto itself, our money had gone bad, we were in debt to every other country in Remnant, and as I understand it there was real fear that all our infighting would bleed out to other countries. Mistral didn't want ideas about the emperor being dethroned, the Shah wanted to give us time but shared a border with us. The Generals of the Round, well, who knew what they thought.
"But I was here in Mistral as they watched. Vale didn't want a king again, that much was clear, and that made the imperial royalty here nervous. I was at Haven Academy, up the mountain, at the time, and all the noble students wanted to be told that they were safe, that Vale's bloodthirsty infighting would not taint their perfect country and their perfect lineage. Then the Lost Summer came."
"Oh," Oscar said. "That I know, that's when the new disease, the back breaker, came."
"Yes," Ozpin said, hand rubbing at his bad leg as they walked. "The fever swept through the entire continent, thousands died, thousands recovered but were paralyzed and unable to work. Day laborers were lost by fifty percent, one of the professors said, and skilled workers were shutting down almost blocks at a time. Mistral no longer had enough labor to meet the supply, and I'm told it was even worse in Atlas. No one could harvest the crops, and that winter brought starvation, exposure, and a second wave of the back breaker. Mistral had to recoup the losses, find bodies to do the work that needed to be done. The minister of labor asked for a reading, desperate to know what he could do, and I could not give him a simple answer. Mistral crossed the sea into Vale to harvest refugees - that's what all the papers said - poor farmers and fishermen sick of the war. That's not what the patterns said."
"Oh…" Oscar said, looking down as they reached the brownstone. "That's how the war started?"
"Yes," Ozpin said. "The papers tell you they were looking for refugees when revolutionaries attacked, defiling the Treaty and effectively making an act of war. They declared war in retaliation, and the military and muskets were sent over."
"I hear more war talk," Nana Calavera said from her spot on the stoop. "No more long faces Oz, it makes you look terrible."
Ozpin laughed weakly. "Of course, abuela," he said, working his way up the five steps. "Go work on the garden, Oscar," he said, "Give yourself some time to think."
Oscar privately agreed, leaving Ozpin on the second floor and working his way up to the roof access. He always assumed war just sort of happened, he hadn't realized it was this year's long, slow build, or that other countries were involved. He knew that Vale and Vacuo were allies, and that Atlas was loaning military experts and generals to help fight the war, but the way his guardian described it… it sounded like a tragedy. The war was this distant, far off thing for most of Oscar's life, but he could see, now, why everyone was so afraid to see it on Mistral soil. If the start of the war was so messy, he dreaded to think how ending the war would look.
He shuddered, feeling and acknowledging the dark pool of anxiety in his stomach as he took a deep breath. There was nothing to be done, he reminded himself. All he could focus on was the garden, his training, things he could control. He smiled, slightly, realizing that was an Ozpin thought.
The greenhouse had a long way to go, but it had also come a long way. He knew the soil would be much higher quality next spring with the compost he was starting to make. He'd already harvested the peppers, but now he could focus on the squash and onions and radishes and berries. He didn't have enough berries to make preserves for the winter, let alone for the whole building, but by his figuring everyone would have at least one good stew every two weeks if they cooked carefully. He was also sectioning off a row of pots for some of the herbs that Ozpin and Penny wanted grown. If Nana Calavera was serious about him using some of the common area out back, he was hoping that would be the herb garden and the greenhouse would be the vegetable garden. He'd been collecting seeds for weeks and had managed to haggle some from the general store man.
He saw a shadow move around the perimeter of the greenhouse - Qrow, probably, to check on his birds. He grabbed a watering can to fill with the rainwater basin on the roof proper. Looking out he saw a lot of people on the roofs - to be expected with the harvest season.
Oscar paused, hearing Nana Calavera's voice down below. He moved closer to the aviary, looking over the lip of the roof, to see the old landlady waving her cane at someone. It didn't look like a tenant, and Oscar shrugged his shoulders, knowing her brass made her invincible.
Back in the greenhouse he began watering, picking at dead leaves when he found them and marking with chalk the pots that were ready for harvest. His thoughts were heavy, but the sensation of gloved hands on earth soothed him, and he finally started to settle down. He knew Ozpin would be quizzing him in patterns again so-
"Found it, sir!"
Oscar looked up, startled, to see a silhouette at the entrance of the greenhouse. It stepped further in, and Oscar saw the wool long coat, dark brown, with - was that a musket? He'd never seen one before! A second man, in the exact same uniform, stepped through, dark hair pulled back into a tight knot. "Good work," he said, before his eyes took in Oscar, standing and gaping. What were soldiers doing here?
"This greenhouse has been requisitioned by the authority of the Imperial Court," the man said like it was an order. "All foodstuffs are to be collected and donated without compensation to the war effort."
"... w-what?" Oscar said, too shocked and afraid of the actual firearm to really understand what was just said.
"The contents of this garden go to the Emperor," the soldier said again. "Step aside that we may collect-"
"No!" Oscar said, shaking his head. "No, you can't do that! This is going to feed the entire building through the winter! You can't-"
"Any resistance will be met with arrest and trial," the soldier said, and the one with the musket tightened his grip and this was so scary.
"Please," Oscar said, shaking. "Please, there's already so many shortages of grain and flour, we're barely going to survive the winter as it is, we have to-"
"We are under command of the Imperial Court, boy," the soldier said. "Don't make this hard on yourself. We have to feed the army."
"But-!"
"Pretty filthy army if it's gonna bully around a little apprentice," said a new voice, and to Oscar's shock Qrow was there, a bird on his shoulder, leaning against the doorframe of the greenhouse and looking absolutely hateful. "Clover'd be so disappointed with you two." He took a swig from his flask.
"This greenhouse has been requisitioned by the authority of-" the lead soldier started to say.
"Yeah, yeah," Qrow said, straightening and stepping further into the greenhouse. "The emperor wants to feed the army, I heard you the first time. Is it really in you to starve out a building for the glory of the empire? Is it in you to arrest a half trained kid 'cause he wants to keep his dad fed over winter?"
"That is not our concern."
Qrow tsked. "'Course not," he said, stepping forward and drinking from his flask again. "You'll sleep perfectly fine, scaring a kid like him filthless, after he spent the whole year making this dead space work anything."
"Don't talk to the sergeant like that!" the one with the musket said, and Oscar winced for fear of seeing that thing strapped to a shoulder like that. Qrow saw the flinch, his eyes darkening as he lowered his flask and shifted his stance.
"I can say what I want," Qrow said, voice an octave lower. "I ain't enlisted. Now get out of here before things get to be a bother."
The one in charge, the sergeant, held up a hand to the one with the musket. "We have orders," he said.
"They don't apply here," Qrow countered.
The sergeant sighed. "Then you're under arrest."
The one with the musket moved to hoist it off his shoulder but Qrow had positioned himself perfectly, grabbing at the long coat and pulling the soldier into a headbutt; blood gushing out of the soldier's nose as he crumpled to the floor. The musket clattered to the ground and Oscar ducked behind a row of tables, hands over his head and terrified that somehow he was going to get shot, these were soldiers, what was going to happen? He heard the scuffle, heard several crows fly in and caw at whatever was happening, heard grunts and scrapes and blows. Everything made him shake, Oscar didn't know how to make himself any smaller and he was certain he was somehow going to die. He heard Qrow cry out, and then the table next to him slide violently to one side. Brothers, did Qrow just die? He was afraid to look, just kept his head down and covered as he listened to the heavy breathing.
"Oscar? Oscar!"
Qrow…?
A hand touched his shoulder and he flinched, an ugly noise of fear escaping him, but a second hand touched his other shoulder, and Qrow said something. "Kid! Look at me!"
He did. Qrow's face was intense, a lip was bleeding and one cheek was starting to swell. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
Oscar nodded, trying to creep out of his panic but still not able to fully function yet. His eyes absorbed that two of his tables had been overturned, all the squash were rolling around on the ground, and the two soldiers were lying on the floor. Qrow nearly shoved him down the row of tables, reaching down with a sweep of the arm and picking up - brothers, the musket! - bursting out of the greenhouse and tossing it over the edge of the roof. The crows were circling around, cawing and making more noise than Oscar knew how to process.
Qrow bundled him into the stairwell, Oscar barely able to handle the steep slope of the steps and not really understanding how he was still upright.
"Maria!" Qrow bellowed as they moved from the fourth floor to the third. "What the hell were you doing letting soldiers into the building!"
Calavera seemed to appear on the stairs, tracing her way up and limping. "You dusty old lush!" she countered. "You think I just let them in?"
Qrow cursed, still swooping down the stairs with Oscar in tow. He entered the hall of the second floor, powering down and then pounding on the door to number six. Ozpin opened up and gaped, Qrow shoving Oscar into the apartment.
"Don't come out for the next few hours," Qrow ordered. "Hide Oscar under the bed if anyone comes knocking."
"What? What on Remnant-"
"I'll see you in a few days, Oz, once the heat dies down." The door slammed in both of their faces. "Maria!" they heard from the other side of the door. "You know where I can lay low for a bit?"
Two hours later, after Oscar had explained what had happened on the roof, after Ozpin had held him through the wave of fear, there was a knock at the door. Oscar all but dove under the bed, shuffling in with the old suitcase he had come here with and pressed against the circular rug, covering his mouth to keep himself quiet.
Ozpin waited several breaths, and opened the door.
"You Ozpin Ozma?"
"Professor Ozma, yes," his guardian said, perfectly cordial.
"What do you know of the disturbance on the roof, two hours ago?"
"Utterly nothing," he replied with an easy smile, Oscar could hear it. "I've never been up to the roof in the years that I've lived here. My leg can't handle the stairs. I do know there was some shouting a few hours ago, but I'd just gotten home from a long day at work."
"I see. And what do you do?"
"I'm a soothsayer," he said brightly. "If you want a reading we would have to go to my office, of course, my sand table is very heavy and I can't carry it from here to there and back again. I'm not sure what the patterns would give you, of course, it depends on the question you ask and you would have to pay full price up front, no refunds, for being a walk-in. Moreover, my office is on the fourth floor of the building, it will take quite a while for me to get up there."
Oscar heard the long pause, and the disbelieving scoff. He was nearly choking on what his guardian had said, he wasn't sure if his body could absorb how blithely confident Ozpin sounded in the face of someone who was probably an armed soldier.
"The harvest of your greenhouse has been requisitioned by the Imperial Court," the other voice said. "You'll have to find another way to stockpile for the winter."
"Thank you for the advance notice," the professor said cheerily, only Oscar recognizing the undercurrent of the bright, lyrical tone. Then, "It's safe, Oscar, come out."
Oscar climbed out from under the bed, shaking again, and Ozpin held him through the rest of the night.
Every garden in the burrow had been gutted, and none of the general stores had a supply of vegetables. All anyone had for winter was anything they had previously stockpiled.
Midwinter Feast was, well, not a feast. Ozpin watched the Crow's Nest tavern downstairs fill up with patrons that were starving, he saw hearses being drawn down the street, the obituaries were so full of names no one had the space to write a Final Poem to honor the loss. Food was lean, flat bread and watered down stock and eggs once a week. The draft had also lowered, now Mistral was taking from people as young as twenty, fresh out of their apprenticeships, to ply their crafts on the field of war instead of in the safety of the city.
Ozpin and Oscar were flooded with clients, begging to know where food would come from, when the next requisition was so they could stockpile early, what were the chances of family members surviving the winter. By the time Midwinter came there was a dark cloud over the entire city.
But there was also, Ozpin saw, spurts of light as well.
When Qrow returned from his laying low, face bruised and forearm hastily wrapped in scraps of linen, Dr. Polendina had uttered a string of oaths before pulling the day laborer into his apartment to set, cast, and treat Qrow. His daughter Penny walked all the way up the mountain to the central city, sniffing around the stores and managing to bring down several crates of medicine for the people in the building, carefully managed by her father.
Ozpin, himself, had not lost the few herbs Oscar had started growing for him, meaning he could recharge his sand reader and make tea for his bad leg and ginger-peppermint tea for Qrow when the gloom of the lean winter brought him to the brink. The day laborer was not nearly as drunk as he used to be, and half sober he proved to be cynical but darkly witty. Fighting off the military had given him confidence, he shaved for the first time in months to reveal a strong, slightly narrow chin. As the snow shut down most projects for day laborers, he asked Calavera if she needed any help with the building.
Nana Calavera was unchanging, still greeting her tenants when they came home, sassing them into paying rent or keeping their chin up. She snatched Qrow's offer up with a fiery grin, and suddenly stoves were being cleaned, loose floorboards hammered back to place, and cracked plaster being repaired. It was obvious Qrow was not a skilled repairman, but the small improvements were still improvements, and Ozpin could not complain as a result.
Oscar was a marvel - as he was since the day they had met. He applied to his studies ardently even when he was systematically lost. His skill with his magic increased almost daily, and he was getting better and better at the reader. Ozpin would look at his son's progress and feel nothing but pride. Life on the farm had made him particularly sensitive to the magic of plants and herbs, and he had a knack for braiding wreaths together to recharge the sand basin.
Yes, Midwinter was gloomy, but it was not dark, and as he watched the people of the building look at the coming holiday with grief and bitterness, he wondered what he could do.
Valean Midwinter Feast was a celebration: two days playing in the snow, the pages and squires aiming snowballs at the chieftains and guard captains in noble battle, racing horses through the woods with sleds to slide down from the steepest drop they could find, writing thank you cards to friends and family members for their company and support. On the solstice, the shortest day and the longest night, everyone stayed awake the entire night, fending off the darkness not with fire but with poetry and song and fairy tale, sharing their stories with the Brother of Darkness to honor him and thank him for the shadows he cast.
Mistral Midwinter Feast was a more somber affair: a day to remember the dead and mourn their loss - something that made this year particularly heavy. Time was spent not communally but with family, eating and drinking by a lit fire - sacrilege to the Brother of Darkness in Vale - collecting the ashes to scatter to the wind instead of keeping it for cleaning paste or lye or soap as their offering. The hunger made the melancholy worse, he could see Oscar ruminating over his aunt, and he had heard enough of Qrow's drunk ramblings to know the holiday would not end with him sober.
"I'm not sure if there's something I can do," he told Calavera, leaning against the wall as she sat waiting to greet her tenants as they came home. Light snow fell outside, and he had sent Oscar out on errands as his bad leg stiffened up.
"Oz," she said, shaking her head, "sometimes you're more blind than me." She paused, waiting for him to understand something, but he was lost. "Look," she said, leaning back in her small chair, "a lot of people in this building are going to be alone this year, and there isn't anything anyone can do about it. I know this time of year is bright for you, but you can't inject happiness to the rest of us."
"I understand that," Ozpin said, sighing. "But I feel that surely something can be done."
"Done? Of course there is!" Calavera sassed, shifting her weight to look up at him. "Invite him over so that dusty old lush won't get drunk!"
Ozpin blinked, turning to look at abuela more fully. "But our table doesn't have room for a fourth person," he said, a little surprised.
"Oh Oz, don't assume I'm coming over again this year," Calavera said. "Not with Dr. Polendina here and still learning his body all over again. His daughter Penny invited me over, and you don't need me anymore like you used to. So get that bird over for the night, just make sure he doesn't take advantage of you."
Ozpin floated the idea to Oscar when he got back home.
"I know how hard things are this winter," he said softly as they pulled their thin soup from the stove. "I understand that all of us are feeling the pull of the long, cold months, but misery cannot stand company. I do understand that it might make the day even more somber, however, and don't want to make this decision arbitrarily without your input."
Oscar mulled over the suggestion for a long time before he answered. "... he's not family," he admitted. "Family is the most important part of the holiday, and I'm not sure I want such sad company. But I don't want Qrow to be miserable, either. After what he did with the soldiers… he should be with family." He looked up. "What he did - does that make him family?"
Ozpin frowned, knowing that being Valean made some of the weight of Oscar's question hard to understand. Vale put community above all, a village or a city rose and fell as its people worked together. Here in Mistral, it was not community but family that was held above everything but the emperor. In his life Ozpin had likened it to a smaller community so he could understand the cultural differences, but this question had a weight to it he could not immediately translate. He did not consider Qrow family - he hardly knew the man, but he was a friend in a dark place and needed support, and as a Valean Ozpin couldn't let someone like that suffer. But was he crossing a Mistralan taboo? That was a question he didn't know the answer to.
"I don't know," he answered honestly, sharing his thoughts. "But perhaps, instead of an all-or-nothing, we instead make him temporarily family? His actions to save you have certainly made him closer than others, so instead let us only make him temporary family. Just for the Feast and the Day of Rest afterwards. Would that be satisfactory?"
Oscar thought about it for a long time before looking up and nodding.
Decision made, Ozpin took the thought one step further. After some careful questioning of Nana Calavera he left notes on the doors of full apartments with a missive that others in the building were alone this year, and might want some company to guard against the darkness of the holiday. The night before he wrote out his gratitude cards for every tenant in the building as well, writing slowly and using his best handwriting, and had Oscar slide them under each door as a happy discovery on the first day of the feast.
That morning he worked his way up to the fourth floor and knocked on number eight, Qrow's apartment.
His neighbor opened, but his eyes were already dark, his mouth in a bitter frown. "What, professor?" he asked in a low, warning voice.
Ozpin mentally flailed at the resentful greeting, slightly; this side of Qrow had been absent for several months now and he had forgotten how aggressive the man sometimes presented himself.
"I apologize for the intrusion," he said carefully. "Oscar and I were talking earlier, and the two of us agreed: we invite you to join us for Midwinter Feast tonight and for the midnight watch."
"You… what?" Qrow demanded, disbelieving and cynical.
"No one should be alone on a holiday like this," Ozpin said gently. "Vale honors the dead at Equinox, and we are in large gatherings to remind ourselves of the happy memories and the warm light of those we lost. You shouldn't mourn your losses alone today."
"Midwinter is for family, Oz," Qrow said, voice low. "I'm nobody's family."
"Well, for the next two days, you're Oscar's and mine," Ozpin said. "We'll keep the door unlocked if you feel like joining us."
Oscar was already sitting in the front of the apartment, twisting twine into delicate patterns to be hung for the (non)feast. Ozpin joined him, explaining the origin of some of the shapes that he knew, Oscar making a unique shape that he had learned from his aunt on the farm. They hung the decorations on the windows and the herb hooks on the ceiling, offering their prayers to the Brother of Darkness and the souls he would be guiding later that night. They folded old papers into different shapes and Oscar placed them by the doors of the apartments with children, another Vale tradition. Lunch was stale bread and broth.
The afternoon was intended to be cooking on the stove, preparing the feast and the midnight watch, but with so little food there was little to do. Oscar took a nap so he could stay up through the night, and Ozpin did some light reading, flipping through his parents' cookbooks and wishing he could do more.
The sun was setting as a knock came on the door. Oscar, just waking up, opened the door, and Qrow stood there awkwardly, looking even worse, but not yet red in the face with drink.
Ozpin stood immediately, surprised and pleased that the other man had taken him up on the invitation.
"I, uh, brought something," he said, lifting up a bottle of something. "Should keep us warm."
Oscar and Ozpin both shared a glance and silently agreed it wouldn't be used for the midnight watch. "Come in," Ozpin said with as much warmth as he could muster. "Sit by the stove, it's warmer there, you look like you need to wake up some." Everyone dragged chairs over as the sun disappeared and the longest night of the year started. Ozpin stored the whiskey on the highest shelf he had and put another log on the stove. Oscar cleaned out the ashes in an old blanket for dawn before sitting back down.
"I've been in Mistral for over twenty years now," Ozpin said, sitting down as the darkness began to descend. "But because I lived alone I never knew how the midnight watch went. Abuela would spend the night with me when I first moved here, but she's from Vacuo, and her traditions are different even from mine. Is there some particular ceremony to start?"
"Well, we recite the Story of Fire and Ash," Oscar offered, shifting in his seat.
"Oh, you recite it now?" Ozpin said, arching his eyebrows. "In Vale it's recited during the equinoxes. Very well, Oscar, as the resident expert, how does the retelling go?"
Oscar shot a look at Qrow, also a Mistralan, but he was slumped back with his arms crossed, staring off at nothing. "The oldest person in the room recites it," he said, "That was my aunt usually, unless granna and grandpa were there." He looked down. "They died when I was seven."
"I understand," Ozpin said gently, shifting his weight. "Well, I hope you don't mind listening to Valean then, I don't know how the rhymes would translate to Mistralan." He cleared his throat, drifting back to the castle and his memories there. Tonight he was guarding his son and his friend, he put as much in the retelling as he could. Oscar knew some Valean, he had no idea about Qrow, so he injected what little drama he had into the telling, acting out the twenty verses with his hands and his voice, hoping it would come alive in a different language. Oscar was in rapt attention - that he had expected, his son loved new experiences and had said more than once that his voice had lyrical quality to it. Qrow did not react immediately, but he started to come alive, too, with the recitation, the foreign words burrowing in and making him catch Ozpin's gaze.
He finished with a bow in his seat and Oscar surprised him with a round of applause. "It sounded so beautiful!" he said. "I've never heard the Fire and Ash sound like that."
Qrow nodded. "Born storyteller, Oz," he said with a grin. "Do you know it in Mistralan? With your voice it'd sound like something out of the Imperial Court."
Ozpin shook his head, standing. "In Vale it's recited as a poem, there are rhymes and rhythms one must know to recite it. Poetry in Mistral is more syllabic, even fluent as I am I don't have the gift to translate it. And, as I said, I celebrated alone for a long time."
"More's the pity," Qrow said, running a hand over the back of his head. "You remember it all, kid?"
"I know the first five verses," Oscar said, frowning in thought. "I think it starts like this…"
Ozpin moved to the cutlery as Oscar started reciting the tale. He was glad they were both participating now. Qrow interrupted to correct a word here or there, helping Oscar annunciate the syllables correctly. Moving around the stove he reached up and took a small tin from the shelf. His last reserve of hot chocolate after the war started. He weighed it in his hand, listening to his son, and pulled out his expensive teapot. Oscar eyed it as he recited the story, frowning at the new input, but kept going.
"Not bad, kid. You remember more than me."
"Tell me," Ozpin said as he began warming milk, "Is there much in the way of games you play through the night?"
"Shadow puppets mostly, on the farm," Oscar said, his hands already lifting and making shapes. "Auntie Em showed me how to make different farm animals and I'd make up stories about them. I know the Greens on the next farm over would dance with their shadows, but we don't have a lot of room here."
"Yeah, we do," Qrow said, getting up. "Just shove everything up against the wall. Hang on, let's move the ash blanket, I'll show you this Atlas jig Clover taught me…"
That was the first time Ozpin had heard Qrow mention that name without bitterness or pain, and he smiled to himself as he added the chocolate and began to stir in boiling water. Atlas dancing seemed to be done in a line, a lot of work with ankles and feet and lifting one's legs - beyond Ozpin but he enjoyed watching Qrow and Oscar jump up and down, not following any beat at all but both of them smiling. The motion built up heat in the apartment, and the mood started to lift.
"Here," he said once the hot chocolate was done. "Now that your blood is a little warmer."
"What's this?" Oscar said, sniffing the new drink.
"Hot chocolate," Ozpin said.
"Oh!" Oscar said, straightening. "We never had this on the farm, it was too expensive to import it. Ooh," he said after a sip. "Oh, wow."
"Hot damn," Qrow cursed, sipping as well. "I knew you made a mean cup of tea but this…"
"This," Ozpin said, "is my preferred drink. A guilty pleasure of mine; cocoa is a common plant in southern Vale and was a winter staple. It's more expensive here in Mistral, yes, and has become even more dear in recent years. I can only have it on special occasions now."
"It's so good," Oscar said. "It's so thick."
Ozpin smiled, leaning back in his leather chair. "My master once said it was the greatest gift given by the Brothers. He would laugh, catching me sneaking an extra cup of it back to my room, and told me such a gift should be used generously instead of selfishly."
"You had a good master, then, Oz," Qrow said, licking his lips. "Now mine, he was a right bastard, beat me every other week for any reason he could think of. Raven, she would always yell at me and say I was bad luck." His eyes drifted, the warm smile starting to fail. "She wasn't wrong…"
Ozpin threw a look at Oscar, and in the darkness he understood. "Ozpin is my master," he said quickly. "He's teaching me all about his work, and he's really good at it."
Qrow looked up over his cup, halfway to his lips. "That soothsaying stuff Maria was talking about?"
"Nana Calavera," Oscar corrected. "And yes."
Both of them waited tensely for Qrow's reaction, Ozpin mentally preparing for the worst, but Qrow shrugged his shoulders. "Beats being a day laborer," he said. "Carrying masonwork from the quarry to the building of the day is boring as hell, your brain turns off after a while and you're just numb by the end."
"Wait, but you just said you were an apprentice," Oscar said.
"Yeah," Qrow admitted, finishing his chocolate. "Gonna be a crowmaster, man a post, be more than a street rat. Didn't work out. Then I was gonna be a fighter, followed Clover through the training, beat up the bad guys. That didn't work out either. I'm not cut out for real work, it just falls through every time."
"I find that hard to believe," Ozpin countered, sipping his chocolate, reveling in the thick liquid sliding down his throat. "We have an aviary on the roof, I'm told. Oscar can personally attest that you are good with the birds. Abuela can't run it, but you could."
Qrow snorted. "That means getting those birds registered and tagged. And it means I'd have to actually fill out forms and have money on me. Have you met me?"
"You had enough money to replace a tea kettle, as I recall," Ozpin said lightly.
They bantered through the night, sharing stories of apprenticeships, life on the farm, stories of the royal court in Vale, life at university, learning to be a soothsayer. Qrow spoke of the lost Clover in colorful detail, some stories just this side of lewd and leaving Ozpin bright red and glad the stove light was not strong enough to show it. Oscar opened up about his aunt, talking about harvest and spring planting and digging out insects and mice burrows. Ozpin shared life further up the mountain in the center of the city. It was dark with only the stove light for the holiday, but it was warm, and Ozpin felt true good being done.
Bells rung, greeting the dawn, and Oscar cleaned out the stove one last time, filling the ash blanket.
"We'll do it from the window," Ozpin said, standing. His ankle could barely move. "Everyone else will be on the roof, we can avoid the crowds."
Qrow worked open the window, a gust of freezing air whooshing into the apartment, and Oscar slowly lowered the blanket out over the sill.
"Brother of Darkness, receive our thanks with this gift of ash, the first gift you gave us, as we thank you for guarding us on this longest of nights as you guided souls to their place of rest." Ozpin nodded, and Oscar dumped the ash, watching it fall and float through the air, joining other offerings as the morning sun created streaks of gold light through the gift.
"Best holiday in years," Qrow muttered as he shut the window. "Can't thank you enough for this."
"Think nothing of it," Ozpin said gently. "You can sleep over, if you want."
Qrow blinked, eyes doubling in size. "I'm sorry, what?"
"We've all been up for twenty-four hours," Ozpin explained. "Today is a day of rest, we're all going to be catching up on our sleep regardless. You and Oscar can sleep, I'll go into the office and do some minor filework. At noon you can be on your way and I'll catch up on my sleep."
Qrow stared, blinking twice, his surprise so full and so open Ozpin wondered if he had said something wrong. "Fye and filth," his friend cursed. "That's not how this works, Oz. You don't just… just do all of this and then go off and do paperwork. Brothers, I see your eyes, you're twice as tired as me and I came here half drunk."
"You're on the fourth floor," Oscar said, frowning in disapproval. "I can see how stiff your bad leg is, it would take almost all morning to get up there, then light the stove. You'd get home and you won't be able to move it."
"Is that because it's so cold?" Qrow asked, and Ozpin had the distinct impression he was about to be ganged up on.
"Yes," Oscar said. "His knee won't move because of the back breaker, but his ankle will be stiff as iron by the time he gets back."
"So you need to get warm," Qrow said with a sly grin. "I can help with that."
Oscar choked right there on the spot, turning to hide his reaction. "... so forward…!" he muttered. Ozpin was truly lost now, and he pressed his lip into a thin line in preparation for… something.
"None of that, kid," Qrow was saying, cheeky grin on his face. "Not today, at any rate. No, the bed's big enough that all of us can fit, and after last night all of us are cold and tired. We just sleep together."
"No funny business?"
"No funny business."
"I'm sorry, funny business?" Ozpin asked. Both of them stared at him like he had missed something obvious, and he felt his cheeks coloring. "Is there a Mistral tradition for Midwinter that I don't know about?"
Oscar groaned and hid his face in his hands while Qrow cursed, "Brothers I thought you said you were a soothsayer!"
"... I am?"
"Then what in the Brothers' name…!" Qrow stopped himself and also put a hand to his head. "Never mind, that explains a lot. Kid, I swear, no funny business, just three guys catching up on their sleep after the holiday. Fye and filth I need a drink after that shock."
After some careful arranging, the three settled under the blankets to sleep. Ozpin had slept alone for the vast majority of his life - since his apprenticeship. That had changed with Oscar, of course, but this was the first time someone as tall as him shared his bed. There was a wall of warmth at his back - Qrow insisting he take the side by the drafty window - even breathing at his ear, and the soft scruff of a half made beard at his back.
The company felt nice, and he drifted off with a smile.
Author's Notes: Lore dump chapter.
First we get (yet more) details with soothsaying and then a massive lore dump on the start of the war that's (for now) at the edges of the fic. The chapter reads as a little dry as a result, but we tried to keep all the information interesting and organic to discovery. Oscar being a country bumpkin helps in that respect, as does Oz's diverse life experience. We get some drip feed on Oz's past but not enough to comment on.
It's the second half of the chapter that really shines, though. After seven chapters Qrow is well enough to be useful, saving Oscar from scar soldiers and earning several brownie points from both him and Oz. We get a small touch on the cultural differences between Vale and Mistral, and we get one of the two major holidays of the country.
We also start the unending goldmine of Oz not picking up on innuendo. Qrow and Oscar discover it, too, but more on that later.
Next chapter: The war knocks on Ozpin's door. Also many clients.