May Fortune Guide Us

The bag in the stranger's hand dropped to the floor with a thud as the man pressed the claymore closer to Clover's skin. On instinct, Clover raised his hands in peace, saying gently, "I'm not looking for a fight. May we talk?"

The man's nostrils flared in annoyance, his snarl staying firmly fixed in place. Menacing, grim hatred oozed out of every pore. "You weren't looking for a fight while armed head to toe, huh? You seem pretty prepared for someone rifling through my belongings."

"…fair point," the knight conceded, not breaking eye contact. Brothers, the man had spell-binding eyes- they were so starkly red that it was almost unsettling. "May I stand?"

"May I gut you? I've been looking for an excuse to get a new chest- covering the old one with blood is as good a reason as any." He glanced mournfully at the ground at Clover's feet. "It'll be awful getting the stains off the floor before the girls visit again, though."

Clover sighed, mind racing- and yet, he did not feel ill at ease. There was something strangely familiar, strangely comforting about the other man's presence. Perhaps the man was a healer, or some kind of cleric for his mere presence to be enough to calm Clover down despite his aggression-

Then, Clover froze. Wait. This is his home. This man is the shifter- he's the dragon, he has to be. What was he supposed to say? 'Excuse me sir, pardon the intrusion, I've come to slay you by order of the King-'

The blade dug a little closer. "One wrong move and I slice," the stranger hissed.

He didn't have much time; the man's proverbial hackles were raising, the air between them crackling with just as much electricity building up by the heartbeat. It would ignite in a flash if he was not careful, but Kingfisher could not be drawn in such a cornered space- what could he say?

Bluff, his brain told him feverishly. Bluff. That's why they sent you.

It was true. Clover had always been a lucky one. He could pull it off; he could survive. He just needed to be careful.

Clearing his throat carefully, he took in a deep breath, then announced, "I'm taking off my helm."

The stranger, thankfully, did not cut him when he pulled off his helmet, exposing his face. No amount of armour could protect him from this man's blade, so it was better to appeal to him for now- just long enough to find an opportunity to fight back. Clover plastered on the most sincere, sweet grin he could muster. "I'm sorry for entering your home. I did not know it belonged to a man- I was sent here on a mission."

For a moment, the stranger paused, studying Clover's face intently. Clover swallowed, throat thick, feeling those red eyes bore holes into him, picking out every imperfection upon his sweat-streaked brow. Finally, he said, "A mission to do what? Take the four coins in my chest? I don't exactly have treasures to steal for your lord."

He chuckled wryly. "No. I was told I need to… find… a shi- a dragon."

The man froze, blinking at him. In his confusion, he relaxed, lowering his claymore slightly. "A dragon? There ain't no dragons around here. You sure you have the right island," he paused, looking Clover over again from head to toe, "my good Atlesian knight?"

Despite his desire to remain calm, there was a spark of relief that exploded in his heart when he realized that the man's weapon was falling to his side. "You recognize my crest?" he asked, puffing his chest out slightly.

To his surprise, the stranger merely rolled his eyes and slung the claymore back into a long scabbard at his hip. "Of course I know that crest- old Jimmy's ostentatious as ever."

"Jimmy?" For a few moments, Clover could not process what he meant. When he did, however, he bristled instantly, standing up at last and resting his hand upon the hilt of Kingfisher. "I hope you do not mean-"

"His Majesty, King James Ironwood, fair and rightful ruler to the kingdom of Atlas and all of the ice and snow and stuffiness which lies within it, yeah yeah," the man brushed off airily. "We're old pals, okay? Used to work for the same guy." He knelt down to retrieve the bag by his feet, the contents of which had scattered out of the canvas upon impact. "Sorry if I offended you, good knight. I just can't be asked to care about his title. He's still a dumbass sometimes."

Clover spluttered, wrapping his fingers around the hilt, tensing to draw. "How dare you-"

"Enter my home? I know, the audacity of some people. I should be asking you that," the man hissed, and suddenly, Clover could not breathe with fingers- no, talons- around his throat, picking up all six-plus feet of him with such ease that terror coursed through his veins. This- this is actually the power of a shifter, Clover realized, utterly horrified. How powerful was this creature? If those talons were indeed his, then what form did the shifter truly occupy? Was it truly a bird?

The image of a demonic, blood-soaked hawk with crimson eyes made him feel faint.

The man sucked air through his teeth, annoyed, before dropping Clover back to the floor just as the knight's head was growing foggy with lack of air. "You made me mess up the gifts," the man groaned, turning back to the bag upon the ground. "I swear, if anything's broken-"

"I'll get out of your way soon, but where do I find the dragon of Branwen?" Clover spat out hoarsely, massaging his throat as he staggered to his feet once again, glowering at the man. "I'm here on a mission. If you know His Majesty, then you know he does not send knights across the seas lightly; if you help me I shall be on my way."

Red eyes turned to look at him over a broad shoulder, but now, there was no animosity- only pure, unadulterated incredulity. "Did you just say 'dragon of Branwen'?"

"What does it matter to you, good sir?" Clover spat, biting back the word shifter with all its might. I need to get his guard down. I need to strike when he's vulnerable, he thought, pushing aside the creeping doubts in his heart the best he could. If he's powerful enough to pick me up without strain, then I cannot take his strength lightly.

And yet, his doubt continued to scream, to beg him to escape and regroup. Why would he know King Ironwood? his mind cried. Why would King Ironwood associate with a shifter? Why would King Ironwood send me here, knowing the target?

It took a few moments for the stranger to gather up the individually wrapped items and place them behind the human-sized bed in the opposite end of the room before he called out to Clover, grabbing his attention. "Come to the sitting area, Mr. Knight," the man growled, pointing at the door. "It's not ladylike to gossip in someone's bedroom." At Clover's baffled expression, he shrugged, a strangely-coy smile on his lips. "You haven't even attempted to court me. You can't snoop around in my bedroom like this, it's not proper etiquette. Does Jimmy not care about manners anymore?"

Heat rose to Clover's cheeks unbidden, but he reached down, grabbed his helm, and strode towards the door as instructed. The stranger followed him, his rough voice relaxing slightly in light laughter as he chuckled, "Oh calm down. Glad to see that Atlas is as uptight as ever."

Clover wanted to retort with all his heart, but what in the world was he to say to this… this creature?

And so, Clover found himself seated upon a chair at the man's dining table, a cup of herbal tea in front of him. The stranger had stoked the fire, bringing it up to a comfortable blaze within the hearth. "Take off your armour. No point in overheating; the fire should be good enough to keep you warm if you're worried. This isn't Atlas' and its snow." It was maddening- how could Clover respond to that?

Still, after some deadpan stares from the elder, Clover finally gave in despite all of his better judgement. His breast plate was cast off, his gauntlets removed, mail and greaves and all protective gear laid neatly in the foyer. While it certainly did feel nicer, his skin finally getting the chance to breathe after the excruciatingly-long hike of the day, every fiber of his being was absolutely horrified at the implications of being at the mercy of the shifter before him.

This is absolutely insane, his mind kept repeating as he unbuckled straps and shucked off his sweater, leaving him in his thinner tunic and breeches. You're leaving yourself open.

Before he could scold himself too deeply, the stranger finally took a seat opposite to Clover. "Okay. So. Tell me again what you're doing here, and what the hell this 'dragon of Branwen' business is about," he asked, wrapping long, elegant fingers around his own ceramic mug of tea.

Clover sighed, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. How do I explain this? After a long, quiet moment, he straightened his back and murmured, "Do you know of Ozpin?"

Crimson eyes narrowed at him suspiciously as the man leaned back in his chair, ignoring the protesting wood. "Of course I know Oz," he growled. "What the hell does he have anything to do with you climbing my mountain and breaking into my house?"

"It wasn't intentional-"

"Keep talking or I'll finish what I started earlier," the man said menacingly.

Clover's eye twitched, indignation at the sheer disrespect stifled by his keen awareness. He needed to remain calm. "He sent a missive to King Ironwood, stating that they needed help finding someone described as… as a shifter," he finished. "I was chosen to represent the kingdom of Atlas. When I arrived, the people described this figure as a dragon-"

"'Dragon' my ass." The man rolled his eyes and reached into his tunic, pulling out a small, flat stone. Clover's eyes honed in on the scrying stone, breath catching in his throat- how in the world would it work in a place spelled to drain away any magic?

And yet, the stone seemed to work fine as the stranger held the stone up against his lips, whispering activating words of power until the stone began to glow a menacing, blood-curdling red; one which matched the man's glowering eyes.

Then, the stone began to glow white. "Qrow, to what do I owe this pleasure?" a calm, soothing voice echoed from the stone, tinny thanks to the magic transmitting it across the world.

Clover's hands tightened around the mug of undrunk tea as the man before him- Qrow, it seemed- sighed, replying, "Oz, what the hell did you get Jimmy to do now?!"

Oz? Does he mean Opzin? Is he calling the king's advisor? But Vale was far too distant for a scrying stone's spells to reach; they barely worked from one end of King Ironwood's castle to the other, even with Winter's magical prowess. Who had spelled this stone?

And to be calling him so casually, who was this shifter?

"Ah!" A certain sense of glee entered Ozpin's voice. "Has James' knight reached you?"

Qrow cast a deadened look towards Clover. "Uh-huh. Why has he sent someone?" His words were so weary that Clover merely sipped the tea to avoid eye contact, mind still racing with so many questions that he had no idea where to even begin unravelling it all. "If you needed something, you could've just called."

Ozpin did not answer that question; instead, curiously enough, the other man asked with a tinge of amusement, "Is she beautiful?"

"It's a man."

"Oh, well then… is he handsome? I told James to send someone attractive. And nice, too. Is he nice?"

Immediately, Clover spit out his tea onto his own lap while an unholy squawk ripped through Qrow's throat, strangled and horrified. "Excuse me, but what?!"

Clover could only cough, thumping his chest with his hand as Ozpin laughed. "Oh, goodness. Is he there with you? I should've checked." Without missing a beat, the man continued, "To the good knight in the room, please don't actually go through with your mission to slay the shifter, alright? I apologize for the deception, but it needed to be done to convince James to send someone for what I was actually hoping to accomplish. I pray that you are up to the task, sir knight."

Before Clover's very eyes, a large hand morphed into a ball of long, extending talons, inky black feathers beginning to sprout from a pale wrist as Qrow growled, "So you were sent here to kill me? Alright, explain-"

Clearing his throat clumsily, Clover cried overtop of Qrow, "Then- then what am I here for?"

"Check your mission," Ozpin said airily.

Trading baffled looks with the shifter, Clover pulled out the original missive handed to him by the king, bearing Ozpin's seal and the crest of the kingdom of Vale. He had never opened the sealed package, for it was not his to see- up until that point, he had made do with the letter from the king, rather than the letter from Ozpin- but now, he no longer cared for formal procedure, tearing it open without hesitation.

The words on the page began as Clover's original mission; slay the shifter which had been ailing the island of Patch. However, the longer he stared at it, the more the words began to shift, almost mirage-like as letters began to morph, ink traveling through the fibers of the page itself to reform into new, far more horrifying letters. It was spelled to read differently, Clover realized dimly. The wards against foreign magic within this dwelling are causing the illusion to fade. As he read through the newly-revealed contents frantically, his mouth fell open, jaw slack, heart rising into his throat.

My mission is to stay upon Patch and 'lighten the woes of the shifter Qrow Branwen' until he is 'willing to return to Beacon Academy'?

"This cannot be real," he breathed, but no matter how many times he reread the original request, the words did not change again. This was the true message. How could he have endured so much for such a-

Ozpin hummed, portraying all the calm and tranquility which Qrow and Clover could not display in the slightest in the moment. "So Qrow, you never answered. Did James truly send a handsome knight? Glynda has been wondering, too." To Clover, he added, "I did include that in the original request, sir knight. Take it as a compliment that you were chosen!"

Clover didn't respond, merely allowing his forehead to fall forwards, landing with a thud upon the edge of the dining table. Brothers, Clover was so, so tired.