May Fortune Guide Us

The formerly-cozy living room felt cold, deadened thanks to the hearth that had long since fizzled into mere embers; the duo seated at the table were too shaken to bother to add more wood to the flame, leaving a chill to sweep over them both. The cold was outweighed by the silence, however, the only sound audible to their ears being the distant echoing of heavy rainfall upon the forest outside the cave. It made the air dark, heavy, the Dust lanterns nowhere near enough to lighten the atmosphere.

The only saving grace of the entire situation was that this shapeshifter, Qrow, seemed just as uncomfortable with the entire situation as he was, if not more; the elder had quietly poured himself a glass of scotch, sipping it while staring soullessly at the embers in the hearth the moment the connection to Ozpin had been cut off. He was now upon his fourth or fifth glass- Clover could not be certain, for he had lost track of Qrow's movements long before. Clover could not blame him for the indulgence, his own mind still turning the facts over and over again, his eyes tracing each letter upon the dispelled missive until it was engrained into the back of his eyelids.

Ozpin's request had been simple. "I know that incident in Beacon was… not ideal," the man had stated gently, "but you know it was not due to your negligence. There was no way to have known what would happen."

Incident? Clover had waited for an explanation, but none ever came; Qrow had merely growled back, "You know that ain't true, Oz-"

"You've been isolating yourself on Patch again for the past few months, haven't you? I wanted to send someone who might lift your spirits. We miss you on our staff, you know. You're one of our best professors." He paused. "Maybe don't tell Peter that, though."

After that, small talk had ensued, asking questions about someone named Taiyang and of some people whom Clover could only assume were old students of Qrow's, leaving Clover to tune out the conversation in favour of sorting out his thoughts.

So King Ironwood was tricked by his old friend, the Royal Advisor for the Kingdom of Vale, Ozpin, into sending a- and he groaned, massaging his temples for the sheer stupidity of it all- 'pleasing' knight all the way to this isle in order to not slay the shapeshifter, but to… He raised his head, watching the handsome man before him whisper angrily into the scrying stone, to convince him to go back to work? How is this supposed to work?

Before he could voice any of his concerns, however, Ozpin finally addressed Clover once more. "Sir Knight," the wizard called, catching Clover's attention, "do remember, your duty is to uphold your oath."

Brothers, he wanted to snarl back; he wanted to protest and plead, to turn down this ridiculous request and storm out of the cave the moment he could. This was not what he was here to do. And yet, as his mouth fell open, ready to retaliate, he found that the words were nowhere to be found, his tongue empty; he had indeed promised to his king to uphold what was written upon the request. Had it been deceptive? Yes. Was Clover the right person for it? No.

However, the kingdoms of Atlas and Vale had been allies for far too long for him to throw a wrench in it now by refusing a request from Vale's Royal Advisor- certainly not one as gifted in magecraft as it seemed Opzin was, considering the strength of the scrying stone. There was no way he could ever put his kingdom in jeopardy due to his ego. He had become a knight to protect the weak and bring honour upon his king, and protect his king's honour is what he would do.

So, he simply sighed, more exhausted by this ludicrous turn of events than any battle upon the Winter Maiden over the past month.

Now that the conversation was over, Clover had only one thing to do: figure out how to help this strange shifter with whatever was the issue. He would not return to Solitas without completing his mission, whether he liked it or not.

As he opened his mouth to speak, however, Qrow stopped him, holding out one finger to silence him. Then, he tilted his head back and began to drink down the rest of the scotch in one go, silently downing it as if out of anger. Clover watched, eyes transfixed on the pale skin upon an Adam's apple bobbing with every swallow, contrasting strangely beautifully with the dark walls of the cavern.

Only when the glass had been emptied did Qrow slur, "Well, my good knight-"

"Sir Clover Ebi, Knight of Mantle," Clover supplied. When the other man raised an unimpressed brow, Clover felt himself having to fight the urge to shrink back, to hide from his judgement, as he added, "You should know my name, at least. You are Qrow, correct?"

"…Qrow Branwen," the man repeated. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Branwen- oh Brothers, he must think I'm such a fool- If Clover could bury himself in shame, he would have.

The other man set down his short glass with a thud, reaching his hand out across the table. If an hour ago, the man had tried to touch him, Clover would have hesitated, too focused on the potential of talons rending his flesh like the demon he had been led to believe lurked in this mountain; however, Clover shook it now amicably, his concerns dispelled now that he knew that there would be no physical violence between the two. His touch was cool, palm callused and strong, fitting well within Clover's grip.

The moment they released each other's hands, however, Qrow jabbed his thumb towards the door. "Well. Lovely introductions. Get out of my house."

Clover froze, his smile growing stilted in a heartbeat. "You… what?"

Qrow stood, stumbling a little; it was clear that consuming all of that scotch had not been the best plan, for his smile grew predatory, threatening, unfiltered. "I said you should leave. You're not here to kill me, right? Oz is just being a meddling old man. Let me live."

Clover gawped at him, slowly climbing to his feet. "I… I'm not leaving," he said firmly. "I took an oath to my liege to see this through-"

"And I'm sayin' you can report to your favourite lil' Jimmy-"

"I'd ask that you refrain from calling him that-"

"Oh what-ever," Qrow growled, nails beginning to extend into long, pointed, demonic black talons, "I've worked missions with your king when he was just a squire. Don't try and tell me what to call him."

This churlish ingrate- He bit back his anger and maintain his pleasantries, taking a deep breath before replying, "Look. Lord Branwen-"

The man gagged.

"Alright, Qrow. May I ask you something?"

"If it's about my desires to 'befriend' you or about how I'm a scary 'dragon', then no."

Clover frowned, crossing his arms and perching against the ledge of the kitchen table. "Okay, no, actually, I would frankly quite like to know. I spoke to the innkeeper by the port- what is this of you 'destroying walls with your talons'? 'Smashing windows with your wings'? What is this about?"

The deathly, blood-red glare sent his way likely could have broken a lesser man. The shifter snarled, "You get drunk once at the pub, I swear-"

He just got drunk? What? "It wasn't only the innkeeper, though. What my liege informed me of your actions were… concerning."

"Whatever Oz told His Royal Highness Jimmy doesn't matter-"

"You've seduced and kidnapped women?"

To his surprise, Qrow balked at that, eyes growing wide- and a flush stained his skin, creeping up from his neck and onto his cheeks, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I'm an unwed man, what's your issue?" he spat. "What, may shifters not court anyone in the hallowed halls of Atlas?"

Clover felt himself blush in response, realizing just what had gotten skewed in Ozpin's request to James, embarrassment and courtly propriety assaulting any dignity he could have hoped to retain. "Oh- um- well-" he fumbled, desperately trying to remember what else he had heard from Winter's report, "-what of the reports of the shifter's pillaging of villages?"

Qrow sighed, tottering back to his seat so he could hold onto the back of the wooden chair with hands that had morphed halfway into claws, long nails black and feathered knuckles growing larger and then smaller, the constant transfiguration making Clover almost queasy. The scotch was clearly having a toll on him- perhaps Qrow had not eaten beforehand, or perhaps he was ill, but either way, Clover felt a rising need to back away with how feral he seemed to grow- but he still managed to reply acerbically, "What pillaging? I'm one of the only damned Huntsmen in Patch- all I have time to do is kill the Grimm which spawn here in the nights! There's nothing to pillage anyways but bumpkins and taverns! What do you think I do-"

"You don't steal from taverns?"

Qrow squatted down, his shifting hands covering his face in pure disbelief and exasperation. "I'm going to fly over and hunt down Oz for this," he muttered, voice muffled and horrified. "I cannot believe- the au- the adi- the audacity-"

Suddenly, Clover could no longer breathe, talons wrapping around his chest and dragging him backwards. For a moment, Clover felt the world disappear as his vision fell apart, consciousness crumbling within the sudden hold, the only sensation remaining a grey buzzing whilst his hair flew around his face; then suddenly, he was lucid once again, now standing within the giant cavern in which he had originally met Qrow.

Standing atop the giant bird's nest was a creature so tall its head extended into the shadows of the upper cavern. All Clover could see for a moment were two enormous claws, each talon perfect for piercing through armour- just one foot could easily wrap around his torso and crush him into nothing. At the base of each four-pronged foot was a mass of pitch-black feathers the length of Clover's forearm, each feather growing longer and shinier the higher Clover's gaze travelled up a towering, avian body, two wings spreading out from one end of the cavern to another, drowning out the light of the Dust crystals and surrounding Clover in inky darkness.

Suddenly, one claw shifted in the nest, allowing the head of the creature to come flying down towards Clover. His breath caught in his throat, horror filling out every pore as a red eye bigger than his own fist peered inches away from his face. Hot breath from the creature's nostrils, slits placed high upon a curved, flesh-rending beak, landed upon his face whilst the creature examined him from head to toe. His instincts were telling him to flee, for this was a fight he would never win, especially unarmed and without his armour. He could never conquer this beast that was so grand it put Nevermore Grimm to shame.

Once he found his voice again, Clover murmured, "You're not a dragon- you're a crow?"

In response, the monstrous bird reared its head back and let out a mighty, shrieking caw that tore through the air, reverberating through Clover's very bones. His hands flew to his ears, desperate to block it out; alas, his actions were to no avail, the soundwaves causing his teeth to chatter and the very stone beneath his feet to quake.

It wasn't just the cavern that shook, however. As the echoes from the unholy screech died out, a faint crashing sound echoed in the distance. Clover ignored it at first- it was hard to focus upon anything when a giant crow was standing two paces away- but the bird's reaction caught his attention. In the blink of an eye, the body of the crow seemed to glow with red light- and then, Qrow was in its place, clumsily stumbled to the door set at the back of the cavern. The shifter yanked it open, sticking his head out of the frame, his motions frantic and weary.

And then, he let out another cry. However, this was not of anger or rage; it was of a gut-shattering heartbreak, the sound one might make when angry at the whole world for simply existing. "My goddamned luck!" the shifter screamed.

Clover winced as the sound of another lightning strike, another thunderclap, another tree crashing into the forest eliciting yet more bitter wails. He didn't entirely understand what was going on, but he found that the main emotion welling up in his heart was, oddly enough, pity.

If luck was the issue, perhaps Clover had been the right person to send, after all.