AUTHOR'S NOTES: A quiet chapter this time, all about Weiss. No combat in this one, unless you count all the yelling and manipulation...

Herrencheimsee (Schnee Manor)

Near Munich, Federal Republic of Germany

1 June 2001

Weiss Schnee stared out over the lake—the Cheimsee—that surrounded her family home. It was a beautiful summer late afternoon. Birds sang in the woods, boats drifted lazily on the lake; Jacques Schnee had wanted to ban sailing, but the locals merrily ignored him, and he'd finally given up.

It did not feel at all like a prison.

But, Weiss thought, for all intents and purposes, a prison was what it was. Oh, she could leave if she wanted—she could travel with her mother to Munich, or even to Baden-Baden for a spa treatment. And naturally she would represent Schnee GmbH if the Luftwaffe asked for help with DUST, the Defense Utility System Technology that was supposed to revolutionize fighting GRIMM. In each case, she would be carefully watched, her movements controlled. Weiss sighed. Not that there was anywhere to go. Even if she wanted to find Ruby Flight, there was no telling where they were, and to do so would be to go AWOL. Her career would be over; she'd never fly again. It was too high of a price.

So Weiss watched, waited, and hoped.

"Weiss?"

Weiss turned at the sound of Whitley Schnee's voice. "Whitley. What is it?"

Whitley smiled. It didn't look quite genuine. "Father wants to see you."

"Very well." She turned away from the lake and walked alongside her brother, watching him out of the corner of one eye. He'd been the baby, and the odd one out—the little brother. Even his name was different: where Weiss and Winter had German names, his was English. Even when he spoke German now, his accent was English, and his English had the high tones of a British public school. He was growing up, as well: already as tall as she was, looking more like Jacques every day; only his hair and eyes were Willow's, whereas Winter and Weiss had definitely taken after their mother. They'd barely exchanged ten words since Weiss had returned from Beacon and Whitley from Eton.

"I'm sorry," Weiss said suddenly.

"For what?"

"Not saying more to you."

Whitley shrugged. "I'm used to it. This family isn't exactly talkative."

That was true, Weiss thought. "How was Eton?" It was more because the silence seemed oppressive rather than a genuine desire to talk to her brother. Weiss didn't know why; she'd never hated Whitley. She'd just never really known what to do with him. The problem was, neither did anyone else in the Schnee family.

"Good. I think I'll move to Britain after I graduate." He smiled at her. "Now that you're the heiress again. I don't have to worry about running the stupid company."

Weiss had to chuckle at that. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. Maybe teach. I thought about designing video games, but that market's glutted." He paused. "I'm not going to serve in the military."

Weiss almost said he had little choice in the matter; Germany still had a draft. The Eastern Europe Dead Zones were still too close. But naturally their father would arrange a deferment. If Whitley didn't want to serve, he didn't have to. "Why not?" she wanted to know.

"Because it's done wonders for you and Winter, hasn't it? Both of you almost getting killed? And all that clicking heels and salutes and uniforms and regulations. Not for me. This family's done enough for the Fatherland."

"Has it?"

Whitley nodded. "You nearly got killed for it over in the States. Isn't that enough? Besides, I don't like being here any more than you do. If I do join a military, it'll be the British Army." She stared at him. "I don't like flying, remember?"

Weiss did. Whitley was terrified of flying. Whereas Winter and Weiss loved it, loved the freedom and the skill of flight, Whitley jumped at every creak and noise an aircraft made. Even when he went to Britain, he took the train. He'd told Weiss the only way he'd ever visit the United States was by Concorde, since he wouldn't have to be scared as long. Again, he was the odd man out; even Willow loved to fly.

She looked at the ground as they walked down the long, hedged path back to the palace. "I think this is the most we've spoken in awhile."

"Like I said, I'm used to it." They reached the stairs. "I'm going into town with Klein." To her surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Weiss, Father was shouting at someone in his study earlier."

"Mother?"

Whitley laughed. "If it was Mother, I wouldn't have even bothered mentioning it." Fights between their parents were so commonplace that Weiss had to admit Whitley was right. "No, it was a man. I didn't see who before Father yelled at me to find you." He thumbed towards the ridiculously ornate flower garden. "Mother's in the garden. Drinking."

"That didn't last long. She just got back from Baden-Baden three days ago."

"It never does." Whitley said it matter-of-factly, like discussing the weather. No matter how many times Willow Schnee took the cure and dried herself out, it never lasted long. "I just wanted to warn you."

Weiss snorted. "I can handle him."

"I know. You're strong, like Winter." And not like me, Weiss heard the unspoken words. Whereas Winter had always been defiant, an attitude Weiss eventually acquired, Whitley had always been compliant with Jacques. Weiss had thought him weak, but now wondered if it was simply a defense mechanism, letting Jacques' wrath roll over and past him, rather than counterattacking head on like his sisters. "Anyway…good luck with Father."

"Thank you." Weiss took his hand as he drew it away from her shoulder. Should I tell him? she asked herself. Should I tell him that Mother's been paying off the White Fang for years? That those bribes, the ones that kept him safe at Eton, went to pay for the White Fang's weapons, the ones that murdered some of my friends at Beacon, maybe even the aircraft that killed Jaune and crippled Yang? Whitley was looking at her strangely, and Weiss decided against it. It would do no good. Either it would burden her brother with more knowledge he couldn't do anything about, or he simply didn't care. The White Fang were someone else's problem, just like the GRIMM. "I love you," she blurted. It was true. She did love her brother.

He stared at her, then smiled. "What brought that on? See you later." He pulled his hand away, turned, and walked off.

Weiss walked to her father's office. She was halfway down the ornate hallway when she heard her father's voice. She suppressed a smile. As Ruby would say, Jacques Schnee was well and truly pissed. He was also shouting in English, which was surprising.

"It's not about my company!" Jacques was yelling. "It's about the European Union! It's about Germany!"

"Horseshit," another voice replied. It sounded familiar.

Weiss crept closer, her low shoes silent on the thick carpet, and glanced in. The sight of a US Air Force dress blue uniform, four stars glittering on both shoulders, took her aback, reminding her abruptly of Ruby and Yang. Four stars? The only American in Europe with four stars is SACEUR, Supreme Allied Commander Europe. And that's… Weiss took another quick glance, and caught the owner of the second voice in profile for just a moment. Graying hairs at the temple, the tough features. It was unmistakably James Ironwood. He was standing; her father was as well, behind his desk.

"I beg your pardon?" Jacques replied, shocked by the profanity.

"I'm sorry," Ironwood said with mock sincerity, "let me repeat that. Horse. Shit." Weiss heard her father make a growling noise, and the thump of him sitting down in his chair. "Jacques, listen," Ironwood said tiredly, "I didn't come here to yell and scream. I came here to talk to you about this embargo."

"Out of the question," Jacques answered. "What you're suggesting is absurd. Not after what happened at Beacon."

"Jacques, you're blowing that out of proportion—"

"Am I? Orbital weapons? Nuclear weapons?"

"It wasn't a nuclear weapon," Ironwood insisted. "It was kinetic energy—"

"I don't care!" Jacques snapped. "It was in violation of every treaty signed since the Third World War! And until the American Congress gets to the bottom of it and finds out why such weapons exist, the trade embargo stands! America must be punished for keeping this from the world so long!" There was silence for a moment. "James, you have always been a trusted friend of the Schnees. I appreciate what you have done for my daughters, especially Winter." Weiss rolled her eyes; that was a lie. "And this is costing me millions, James. Trust me, I hate this embargo as much as you. But I have no influence over Brussels!"

"The hell you don't," Ironwood snarled. "You buy and sell those bureaucrats. You snap your fingers and they drop the embargo. And you're not losing millions. In fact, since the EU can't buy American right now, they're buying European. European weapons, European aircraft. Which just so happen to be using Schnee Company electronics, and DUST. Which, I might add, we still haven't determined is safe from this so-called Black Queen virus." The general gave a snort of derision. "You're not losing millions, Jacques. You're making millions."

Another stretch of silence. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do, Jacques. It's a win-win for you. If the embargo stays, you sell to the Europeans. If it's dropped, you sell to the Americans. So why not drop it?"

"I've already told you—" Jacques stopped. Weiss had decided she'd eavesdropped long enough, and stepped through the door. Both men looked at her, but it was Ironwood who spoke first. He bowed his head to her politely. "Hauptmann Schnee."

Weiss realized she'd nearly forgotten the military proprieties, and snapped to attention. "General Ironwood, sir. Forgive my tardiness."

"Not at all. You're not reporting to me. In any case, I've clearly overstayed my welcome." He threw an angry look back at Jacques. "We will continue this at another time." It was nothing less than a promise.

"Naturally. Klein will show you the way out." Jacques leaned forward to pick up his phone.

"No need. I know the way." Ironwood leaned down, finished a glass of wine, and walked towards Weiss, who had gone to a sharp parade rest. "Want to talk to you outside," he whispered, in Arabic. It was a language Jacques did not speak, but Weiss did. She gave no indication she'd heard as he left, then, after the door closed, walked up to stand where Ironwood had been, across from her father.

"Overofficious, pompous windbag," Jacques hissed. "He gets a fourth star when he should've been court-martialed. He should've been stripped of rank and broken." He picked up his own wineglass, and sighed. "The Americans still trust him, more fools they."

"I still trust him," Weiss said.

Jacques whirled on her. "What for?"

"I was at Beacon, Father." You weren't, was what she wanted to add, but even Weiss' defiance only went so far.

"Hmpf. And you almost got killed there, too. What did he whisper to you, just now?"

"'God bless you,'" Weiss lied.

"How kind of him." Jacques drank some of his wine, made a face. "Well, enough of that." He set down the wineglass. "We're holding a charity ball later in the week, for the families of those killed at Beacon. I thought it would be a nice gesture."

Weiss was not fooled for a moment. Jacques Schnee did not care a whit for anyone killed at Beacon. It was to deflect blame from Schnee GmbH; rumors were already swirling about the vulnerability of the DUST system to hacking. The world had seen Penny Polendina die, and knew that the Paladin B-1 had been loaded with Schnee electronics. Jacques needed to assure his stockholders that Schnee was still viable.

She didn't say anything, so Jacques continued, uncomfortably. "We need to show our solidarity with the men and women of the world's nations, who died there. So I think it would be rather wonderful if…if you sang at the ball, Weiss."

That surprised her. Being invited didn't surprise her; being paraded around like a freak of nature wouldn't either. Look here, she could hear her father saying, a genuine survivor of the Fall of Beacon. Come one, come all, see my brave daughter! Step right up! Singing was a different story, though. "Father, I…I haven't sang in years."

"Weiss, that's a talent you'll never lose. A shame you decided to follow your sister into the Luftwaffe. You could've been such a concert singer. You have the voice of an angel." He stood, walked around his desk, and took her hands in his. "My daughter, the brave experten ace Weiss Schnee, the brave defender of Beacon. We must not let them forget your heroism, Weiss. And it will show that the Schnees are as strong as ever."

Weiss tried not to gag. "Are you asking me to sing, or ordering me to?"

"It would make a lot of people happy."

She let out her breath. She did enjoy singing, and it would do no harm. If she was going to be shown off like a prize cow, she might as well make the best of it. "All right."

"Excellent, Weiss." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "That's my girl. The studio is ready any time you want to start practicing."

"Will there be anything else, Father?"

Jacques stopped at the coldness in her voice. He held her shoulders for a moment, then dropped his arms. "No…I suppose not."

"I'll start immediately." She executed a parade-ground about face and marched from the room. Jacques watched her go, then sat down wearily in his chair. He reached out and turned a picture towards him. It was of Whitley. Then he reached into his desk and pulled out another one, this one of the entire family: Jacques was faintly smiling, Willow looked like she smelled something foul, Winter's look promised death to the photographer, Weiss looked on the verge of tears, and only Whitley remotely with an expression of happiness.

Jacques stared at the picture for a long time.

James Ironwood was waiting outside on the stairs. She walked out of the door, came to attention, and saluted. He returned the salute, then put out a hand. Weiss smiled and shook it. "Is your father's study always like a meat freezer?"

Weiss was used to it, and hadn't noticed. "Yes, sir."

"I guess it balances out all of his hot air." Weiss snorted and laughed, taken by surprise. Ironwood grinned. "How are you, Weiss?"

"I'm fine, sir."

"More horseshit. You're not fine. He's keeping you here." Ironwood shook his head. "Unfortunately, there isn't much I can do about that…yet. This damn embargo and the fallout from Beacon…it's driving me nuts. Much more of this, and…" He stopped himself. "Well, enough of that. I'll get you back on flying duties as soon as I can."

"General," Weiss asked, "what about Ruby? And Yang, and Blake?"

Ironwood glanced around, but they were alone. He dropped his voice all the same. "Ruby's on a mission, with Lie Ren, Nora Valkyrie, and Pyrrha Nikos. I can't say where—not yet. But as soon as I can, you'll be the first to know." He looked down. "Yang's recovering. It's slow. I haven't heard anything, but I know Port and Oobleck are supposed to visit her. I'll get word to you through Winter."

"And Blake?"

Weiss could read the play of emotions on Ironwood's face. He clearly didn't want to tell her, but relented. "She's on a carrier in the North Atlantic. Can't say which one, of course. But she's okay. They're headed up to the North Atlantic Barrier for a bit."

In her mind's eye, Weiss summoned a map of the North Atlantic, and made the connection. Blake is going home. She's going to Menagerie. Weiss mentally calculated the distance. If she could get her hands on an aircraft, she could make it to Menagerie in less than six hours. Then she realized Ironwood had been watching her. "Don't even think about it," Ironwood warned. "You leave here without orders, you're AWOL." He nodded at her. "Be patient, Weiss. Okay? You're not forgotten." He shook hands with her again, almost looked like he was going to hug her, then exchanged salutes and walked towards the courtyard. Weiss could hear the noise of a helicopter. She watched as one landed, picked Ironwood up, and flew off to the northwest.

Her hands tightened into fists. A very Yang-like thought came to her. "Fuck patience," she spat, and walked back inside the palace.