Chapter Text
A Kingdom Divided
Pyrrha kept a slow pace, for her mother's sake.
Mother was half a step behind her, the tap-tapping of her stick echoing upon the palace corridors. Ahead, Swift Foot Thrax bounded on, her steps quick, forgetting the slower of the two guests she was supposed to be guiding.
Pyrrha could have walked faster, could have matched or even outstripped Swift Foot, despite her name, but that would have entailed leaving her mother behind, and she no longer had any wish to do that.
She turned back. "Do you require any assistance, Mother?"
Mother glared at her. Pyrrha wondered if part of her difficulty was that she was dressed heavily, in a fur-trimmed mantle over a layered gown; warm, no doubt, with many invisible layers beneath the skirt to keep out the cold, but perhaps a little more onerous than something lighter.
She herself was dressed as if for battle, though it was not a contest of swords or spears that awaited her; nonetheless, on this occasion, she had thought it best to dress as a huntress, as she had at Beacon, rather than in something prettier and more peaceable.
She wanted to convey a certain seriousness of purpose which a gown might not.
"I am infirm, perhaps, but not yet an invalid," Mother declared. "You should worry more about the state of your own legs than about aiding mine."
Pyrrha pursed her lips together. "I am quite recovered, Mother," she murmured. It was true that she had taken a wound at Amber's hands, and when she first emerged out of the Vault of the Fall Maiden, she had been unable to stand unaided. But aura was a marvellous thing, and it had been some time since she was troubled by so much as a twinge of pain from the injury. Certainly, it was not about to recur because she lent her mother a hand.
But Lady Nikos was a proud woman, and Pyrrha could admit that she had some cause to be concerned about injuries; she had exacerbated her own old wounds during the Battle of Vale, defending Lord Wong and his family from the White Fang, and aura had not helped her to recover so completely as Pyrrha had; the hurt had exacerbated her condition; she walked more slowly than before, leaned on the cane more than before.
Pyrrha affected not to hear her mother wince every four or five steps.
But she could not force her mother to accept aid, and she understood why, in this place in particular, she would not. She did not wish to arrive before the Warden of the White Tower being carried in her daughter's arms, or even being supported on her shoulder as Cinder had taken Pyrrha's own weight down in the vault. She feared to be diminished by the spectacle.
Unfortunately, she was probably right to think it would diminish her.
Pyrrha gave a slight nod of her head. "As you wish, Mother." She looked at Swift Foot, continuing on ahead, leaving them a little behind. "Lady Swift Foot? How much further, if you don't mind me asking?"
Swift Foot looked back at them, only at this point seeming to realise the distance that had opened up between her and those who followed her. "My apologies, Lady Pyrrha, Lady Nikos. It's not much further now."
She waited until Pyrrha and her mother had caught up to her before she started to walk again, and then she seemed to be making an effort to walk slowly and with short steps, just as Pyrrha did.
She was not entirely successful at this, but she was trying.
She looked at Pyrrha, looking up and over her shoulder, and there were times when Pyrrha thought that she might say something, but she did not.
She held her peace until — not long after, just as she had promised — she brought Pyrrha to the office of Lady Terri-Belle.
The Warden of the White Tower sat ensconced behind a stout desk of dark oak, her shoulders obscured beneath mounds of paperwork rising like the mountains around Mistral, with Lady Terri-Belle herself set in the valley between them. Her head was bowed, her braid falling across her shoulder; Pyrrha thought that she could see a plate, or part of one, just peeking out from behind a pile of papers, with a half-eaten sandwich of uncertain filling resting upon it.
The fact that Lady Terri-Belle was armoured as if to do battle with the bureaucracy that surrounded her rather vindicated Pyrrha's decision to dress as she had.
Swift Foot rapped lightly on the door.
Terri-Belle looked up, and as she did, Pyrrha could see that there were bags beneath her grey-green eyes. It did not look as though she had been sleeping well.
But then, it might have been more surprising if she had been sleeping well.
"Lady Pyrrha," Terri-Belle said. "Lady Nikos. What an unexpected… how unexpected."
Pyrrha took two steps into the room. "Good morning, Lady Terri-Belle. I apologise for disturbing you."
"Mmm," Terri-Belle murmured. "I am glad you are here, Lady Pyrrha; there is a matter regarding you that has been vexing my father, and, I believe, the Council. One or two matters, in point of fact."
"Indeed?" Pyrrha asked.
"Indeed," Terri-Belle repeated. She glanced at Swift Foot. "Thank you, Swift Foot."
A look of disappointment flashed across Swift Foot's face as she bowed and retreated out of the room.
She closed the door behind her with a soft thump and a click of the latch.
Terri-Belle let out a sight that was very nearly a yawn. She started to rise to her feet. "May I offer you any refreshment? I do not have a great deal on hand, but I could send for—"
"Thank you, no, Lady Terri-Belle," Pyrrha said. "I hope this won't take that long." She glanced at her mother, who shook her head.
Terri-Belle was silent for a moment, looking into Pyrrha's eyes. "Very well," she murmured. "Please, both of you, sit down." She gestured to the chairs in front of her desk. "Take the weight off your legs, Lady Nikos. I understand you exacerbated your injuries with great valour in Vale."
"You are very kind, Lady Terri-Belle, but others were far more valiant," Mother said as she accepted the offered seat, her legs creaking as she lowered herself down into a chair that was none too cushioned, but would at least suffice to take the strain. "I did what had to be done in the moment."
"You saved Lord and Lady Wong, and their child," Terri-Belle said. "That is worthy of praise, especially… in your condition."
Pyrrha sat down, smoothing out her long sash with one hand.
There was a moment of silence; Pyrrha wondering whether Lady Terri-Belle would prefer for her to speak first and state her business, or whether she herself wanted to bring up these matters — Pyrrha had some suspicion what at least one of them was, but would await confirmation of the same — that seemingly so vexed the Council and the Steward.
While she wondered, no one said anything.
Terri-Belle broke the silence. "Lady Pyrrha, it seems that you have refused all invitations by the aedile to meet and discuss your triumph. Since you're here, may I ask why that is?"
Pyrrha had expected this, but expectation did not prevent her from finding the point to be ever so slightly absurd. Her triumph? Her triumph now, of all times? Her triumph for a tournament victory, under the present circumstances? "I… I am bemused, Lady Terri-Belle, I must confess," she said. "That I should be given a triumph, amidst all that is going on… is this really what preoccupies the Council? When grimm attacks are on the rise once more, are the counsels of our kingdom really dominated by the fact that I do not want to ride in a chariot and have crowds cheer me on the street?"
"Trust me, Lady Pyrrha, the counsels of Mistral discuss much more than this, but you are wrong to trivialise the matter," Terri-Belle said. "It is precisely because of the present state of affairs that your triumph is necessary: the CCT is down, we are cut off from Vale and Atlas, refugees from the west bring ill-tidings, and, as you say, the grimm rise, and bandits too. The people… are restive. They must be given something to inspire them and gird their spirits against the dark days that lie ahead. Your triumph will remind them not only of the great victory that was achieved, but also reassure them that the city is not without its valiant defenders."
"A great victory?" Pyrrha asked. "If we speak of victories, then surely we have a better victory more worthy of celebration than a laurel that became empty the moment after I won it? The triumph was once an award bestowed upon victorious generals, not tournament champions; as military victories became less common and arena glory became the only form of glory that could be earned, that changed, but there is, once again, a military success to be celebrated. We saved Vale, the huntsmen of Mistral and her soldiers, together with our allies from Atlas. Is that not more inspiring and more worthy of celebration than my battering Weiss Schnee into submission in the Amity Arena?"
Terri-Belle's eyebrows rose. "You're suggesting a military triumph? In the old style? To celebrate the Battle of Vale?"
"It seems that I am," Pyrrha said softly. After all, while the battle had not been an unmitigated triumph for her personally, the part of the battle that had not been a success was the part that no one knew about, the loss of the Relic of Choice. To the general population, the Battle of Vale had been a crowning triumph: the city saved, great grimm laid low, hordes broken. That being the case, why not celebrate it as such?
And there had been much valour shown in the course of the battle, worthy of celebration.
Terri-Belle was silent for a moment. "There is some merit… but who would lead such a triumph, Lady Pyrrha? The commanding general would have that honour, but Polemarch Yeoh is dead. If all the huntsmen and surviving soldiers of Mistral who fought at Vale marched in triumph through the streets, then who would lead them?" She leaned forwards, her eyes fixed on Pyrrha.
Pyrrha let out a sound that was almost a scoff. "I do not seek to aggrandise my own triumph, I assure you," she declared. "Anyone you wish may ride in the chariot. Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie were present when an Apex Alpha was slain; Arslan took the lead in organising the rearguard when I was… called away."
"And before you were called away, you took the lead, did you not?" Terri-Belle asked.
"If you are so worried about my fattening up my prestige, then why do you want me to have any sort of triumph?" asked Pyrrha.
"It is a contradiction," Terri-Belle admitted. "But one sort of triumph is, or has become, more traditional than the other. One involves a column of armed men and women following behind, and the other does not." She paused. "Would you accept the grander sort of triumph, if it were offered?"
"I would take part, certainly," Pyrrha said. "But I would not like to lead it. I have no claim on any especial share of glory from the battle, and less than some."
"Less than whom who is currently alive and in this city?" asked Terri-Belle.
"Ren or Nora, as I said," Pyrrha suggested.
"Out of the question," Terri-Belle replied.
"Why?" asked Pyrrha, for although she knew the answer, she rather wished to make Terri-Belle say it, if only to expose it for what it was.
"You know why, Lady Pyrrha; do not play the simpleton," Terri-Belle said, her voice sharpening.
Pyrrha said nothing for a moment, inhaling through her nostrils. She glanced down, at the cuisses on her upper legs and the red cloth that draped briefly across them before falling to the floor. She thought, then looked back up as a thought occurred to her. "Lady Medea Helios," she said. "Team Jasmine saved the Amity Colosseum from a monstrous grimm; that is worth recognition, if anything is."
"Lady Medea?" Terri-Belle asked. "Not Jason?"
Pyrrha shifted in her seat. "Without wishing to disparage anyone, I've gotten the impression that Lady Medea is the true driving force behind Team Jasmine. And she piloted the airship, as I understand."
"Hmm," Terri-Belle murmured. "That is… something to be considered, perhaps."
"If I might add, Lady Terri-Belle, a triumph of the sort that Pyrrha proposes, no matter who leads it, would no doubt please the many eminent families whose sons and daughters would take part in it, not only patricians but councillors too, and wealthy merchants would enjoy the honour done to their progeny and their deeds. Their gratitude would likewise be no doubt considerable."
Terri-Belle was silent for a moment. "You make a point of some sense, Lady Nikos," she said quietly, sounding slightly aggrieved to have to concede. "I will take the matter to my father, who will, I'm sure, present it to the Council for their consideration."
"In that case, perhaps the matter might rest there until they have had a chance to consider it," Pyrrha suggested.
"Very well, Lady Pyrrha, but let me ask you something else," Terri-Belle said. "Why have you not yet applied to transfer to Haven Academy?"
Pyrrha's hands balled up on her knees. "For the simple reason, Lady Terri-Belle, that I have not yet decided if I wish to attend, at least not this year."
Or ever, in point of fact. She did not want… she did not… it seemed…
I have responsibilities too great for Haven. Too great, at least, to sit in a classroom doing essays. It was strange; a year ago, she had wanted nothing more than four years of doing essays, free of care, free of responsibility. But responsibility had found her anyway. Destiny was not inexorable, but it had… ambushed her? No, that did not seem quite right — that implied a more fixed and immutable destiny than she was comfortable with — but the fact remained that destiny had found her in a way that had not been of her own choosing. It had been Sunset who had chosen to bestow the Maiden powers on her, Sunset and Cinder, neither of them having asked her first. And yet, it was hard to feel resentful towards either of them because, if they had asked, she would have taken it.
Just as she had been working herself up towards taking them when Professor Ozpin had asked in a much less traditional — and the manner of her receipt was, itself, not entirely traditional — manner before the start of the tournament.
Regardless, she was the Fall Maiden. She was also one of a small number of people who knew about the existence of Salem, of Relics, of the secret war that Professor Ozpin and his cohorts had waged behind the scenes against an immortal enemy.
She was one of the few people who knew that Mistral had a relic, just as Vale had had — that past tense unfortunately deliberate — and thus was just as likely a target of Salem's wrath as Vale had been.
If Salem chose to unleash it. Pyrrha had no certain knowledge of her plans, whether she meant to strike at Mistral or at Atlas or simply to rest upon her laurels for a while and enjoy the relic that she had.
All Pyrrha did know was that she was out there, and one step closer to the fulfilment of her plans, and that there were few others in Mistral who were aware of that.
She… had to be ready. She had to be prepared to do what she could. Professor Ozpin was dead, Professor Lionheart was a traitor, Qrow Branwen was… a subject they would return to in due course. The list of those who knew the truth was small, and the list of those to whom Pyrrha could entrust the safety of Mistral was smaller still.
It felt as if it were only her and Jaune.
It was only her and Jaune, at least for now, and perhaps for longer, too, if Pyrrha was unsuccessful here or if Qrow did not… recover swiftly.
Only her, Jaune, and darkness gathering.
That was something everyone in Mistral — or at least, everyone who paid attention — knew: grimm attacks were rising. The destruction of the Emerald Tower and the collapse of the CCT network had hit Mistral hard; as the largest kingdom, it was more than usually dependent upon the CCT — although, having thought as much, Pyrrha had little knowledge of how deeply the other kingdoms were or weren't reliant upon the same — to maintain communications between the metropolis and the many far-flung provinces. It was true that, in the days of the Emperors, contact had been maintained by messengers ahorse, but in the days of the Emperors, it had also been far from unusual for the Emperor to progress through some or all of their countryside, guesting with lords in their country seats, visiting other cities, seeking with their own eyes what messages might not convey.
The Steward and the Council had not yet given any indication that they would start to do likewise.
Of course, part of the reason for those Imperial progresses had been to convey to the people a sense of Imperial presence: here was the Emperor or Empress, here was Mistral, here is the power that protects you from danger. That protection had never been absolute, but the promise, under the best or even the average rulers of the House of Nikos, had been real enough. That was why Perseus the Rider had spent the majority of his reign progressing from one part of the land to the other, rebuilding Imperial authority in the wake of the Red Queen era, providing once more the protection that had collapsed during that chaotic time. That was why Emperors and Empresses had sent their household warriors to patrol the roads, joining the local lords to root out bandits and guard travellers from the grimm.
It was a different world now, and not simply because there were no Emperors or Empresses with their household warriors. It was a world that the CCT had, in some part, created. A world where there was no need for Imperial progress because you could speak to Argus from Mistral and be answered. A world where there were no household warriors patrolling the roads because if you needed a huntsman, you were expected to hire one. A world where many great and lesser noble houses had perished in the Great War, and the towns and villages that had been under their sway had little felt their absence.
A world of peace.
Mistral had already experienced a taste of the wavering of that world this very spring. When Pyrrha had returned home on spring break, bringing her teammates with her, she had found a Mistral that was being stretched by grimm activity. Lady Terri-Belle herself had been run ragged rushing from this place to that, fighting fires here and there, while a grimm appearing close to Mistral itself had required Team SAPR to deal with it since there were no huntsmen in the city to be found.
Now, as far as she could tell, things were worse, that qualifier being necessary because with the CCT down and communications collapsed, it was hard to be sure of the extent of the problem. But the news, brought by frightened villagers — or worse, by the last survivors of villages that it was already too late to save — by the denizens of towns and cities whose walls were hard pressed, by caravans that had arrived battered and bruised with fewer than had set out, was grim enough that it scarce bore imagining what further horrors were not reaching Mistral at all. The reports spoke of grimm attacks, of farmers picked off in the fields, of caravans stalked and ambushed, of monsters charging out of the darkness to lay waste to whole settlements. To make matters worse, beyond the fact that, without the CCT, it was hard to get word of these attacks in time to do anything about them, Mistral was apparently suffering a shortage of huntsmen, something that had been true, it seemed, for about a year now at least — it certainly explained Terri-Belle's harassed state and constant motion during spring break — but which had now come to light thanks to dogged investigative reporting and an inside source amongst the Imperial Guard. Huntsmen and huntresses had been disappearing for a while, failing to return from their missions. The fates of individual huntsmen had been known, or guessed at, and the fact that Lady Terri-Belle had unilaterally taken down the job board and provoked a confrontation with the Huntsman Guild by taking mission assignments into her own hands was also well known, but it was not until recently that all the pieces had been put together to reveal the scale of Mistral's weakness.
Mistral, heart of valour, heart of chivalry, she who had given the world heroic combat, was bereft of heroes when she needed them.
And that was not even the end of their troubles, though they had troubles enough that jealous Amphitrite might have been moved to pity; the weakness of Mistral, the knowledge that huntsmen were few and far between, had encouraged Mistral's perennial problem of bandits to become bolder; the human monsters were becoming almost as great a problem as the inhuman beasts.
All of that being the case, small wonder then that Pyrrha had little thought for sitting in a classroom and studying history, for all that that might make her doomed to repeat it. Perhaps, if the situation stabilised, and it turned out that this was not some grand design of Salem but merely a natural response to the collective shock of the Mistralians, then she might consider a late enrolment, but right now? With so much happening and so much at stake? No, it was the last thing on her mind.
"Why not?" Terri-Belle asked. "Do you no longer wish to become a huntress?"
Pyrrha allowed herself a slight frown. "As I recall, Lady Terri-Belle, you were not always of a belief that I needed to complete my education. You once offered to make me a huntress yourself."
"And you refused," Terri-Belle pointed out. "You preferred to go back to Beacon."
"I did," Pyrrha acknowledged. "Things have changed."
"Yes," Terri-Belle agreed. "They have. That offer…" She trailed off, not saying what that offer was, or why it had expired now when the need was, if anything, even greater.
Pyrrha looked at the stack of papers on Terri-Belle's desk. "At the risk of being presumptuous, Lady Terri-Belle, it seems to me that you could use the assistance."
Terri-Belle made a face that was half a scowl. "Is that why you're here, Lady Pyrrha, to ask me to make you a huntress?"
"No," Pyrrha answered. "But since we're here and on the subject—"
"I cannot," Terri-Belle said at once.
Pyrrha's eyebrows climbed a little towards her golden circlet. "'Cannot'? Not 'will not'?"
"Cannot," Terri-Belle confirmed. "My father… there are certain decisions before the Council that…"
"Would these decisions have anything to do with the fact that Haven Academy has not yet reopened?" asked Lady Nikos. "A circumstance which, I must say, makes discussion of transfers rather superfluous."
Terri-Belle shifted in her chair. She held up one hand, clenching it and then unclenching it. "There are those…" she paused. "There are those who feel as Lady Pyrrha does; I do not know if you feel the same, Lady Nikos, but it would not surprise me. There are lords, guildmasters, men and women of note and standing who believe that our students, bloodied as they were upon the field of Vale, have no need of further tuition. They have been tested in the crucible and found to be of true mettle, that is worth more than any exam under controlled conditions."
"That doesn't surprise me," Pyrrha murmured. Mistral's relationship with Haven Academy had never been a perfect one; Mistral had given heroic warfare to the world, but the idea of a school to teach such skills and values was an alien imposition, foisted upon Mistral by the King of Vale after the Great War. Ares Claudandus, during his interregnum, had decided not to institute such a school — one of the bones of contention that had nearly led the Valish King to lead an army against Mistral. When Ares fell, the triumvirate of Lord Thrax, Lord Rutulus, and Crixus the Menagerite who had seized power had quickly established the required academy as one of many steps to stave off Valish intervention, but Mistral had never — or at least rarely — loved the place.
The fact that, for a kingdom so proud of its martial heritage, the performance of its academy could politely be described as 'mediocre' for large parts of its history did not really help.
But then, one might argue — and some had — that Haven would have gotten better results had Mistral embraced it more.
Given what Pyrrha now knew of Professor Lionheart, she found that argument a little less than perfect.
Now, the Battle of Vale, and the valour displayed by Mistral's sons and daughters there, gave a ready excuse to those who wanted to dispense with the Haven curriculum. If those people had their way, then Pyrrha wouldn't be surprised if Haven never reopened; after all, with the CCT down, who was there to look in from outside the kingdom and mandate Mistral's compliance with the system established after the Great War?
"But this is not a universal view?" she went on.
Terri-Belle shook her head. "There are also those who champion the academy as a means for those… who were not born into such families as ours to learn the warrior's arts, and they believe that Mistral's swords will only benefit from the extra years of sharpening."
"And what do you believe, Lady Terri-Belle?" asked Mother. "What does the Steward believe?"
"My lord father fears to give offence to any great party," Terri-Belle replied.
"So he does nothing," Mother said bluntly.
"The Lord Steward waits for a consensus to establish itself in the city and the council," Terri-Belle replied. "Until that time…Haven is in abeyance."
"In which case, there seems little point in my submitting a transfer request," Pyrrha pointed out. "Not to mention that, if I did, it could be taken as a political statement on my part."
That was without mentioning the fact that, according to a strict reading of the rules, it was impossible for Pyrrha to submit a transfer request. The rules stated that transfer papers had to be submitted first to the headmaster of the school to which you wished to transfer — who would then decide whether to accept you or not — then to the headmaster of the school you were leaving. Professor Lionheart was missing at present, and Professor Ozpin was dead, and as far as Pyrrha knew, Professor Goodwitch had not yet been appointed to succeed him, so who would Pyrrha submit her papers to even if she could submit?
Pyrrha did not bring that up, partly because the system could be bent — Penny had submitted her transfer request to General Ironwood first, not Professor Ozpin — partly because she would not have submitted any papers to Professor Lionheart if she knew where he was, and partly because the only thing worse than pedantry was pointless pedantry, and she had no wish to frustrate Lady Terri-Belle.
A sigh escaped from between Terri-Belle's teeth. "Yes, Lady Pyrrha, I am sure it would."
Pyrrha suspected, given that Terri-Belle had asked, that she, or her father, would rather that all the students go back to Haven Academy for three more years, although it was not entirely clear to Pyrrha why it should be so.
What was clear was that Lord Thrax did not feel powerful enough to force the issue against the wishes of those who felt otherwise, even if those who felt otherwise were equally not powerful enough to sweep all before them.
"Lady Terri-Belle," Pyrrha said softly, "may I ask, now that we're on the subject, what is the status of the search for Professor Lionheart?"
"I must be honest, Lady Pyrrha, that is a rather low priority," Terri-Belle replied. "There is only the word of a seditionist that Professor Lionheart had any involvement in her activities."
"Cinder had no reason to lie," Pyrrha answered. "She did not ask for mercy, she did not seek a reduced sentence of any kind, she told the truth quite freely. What would it gain her to falsely accuse Professor Lionheart, and as much to the point, if Professor Lionheart is innocent, why has he fled?"
"Believe me, that's the only reason I'm willing to entertain this theory of yours; I would hate to believe it," Terri-Belle declared. "That Lionheart would… that he betrayed so many and sent them to their deaths, it is… and under my very nose."
"More noses than just yours," Mother told her. "We all share the blame in this. If we had spent less time turning our noses up at Leo for his incompetence or his race, we might have smelled sooner what he really was."
"You believe this story then, my lady?"
"I believe my daughter," Mother said. "Of course."
"Of course," Terri-Belle repeated, in a tone of some resignation. She paused a moment, rubbing her jaw with one hand. "Lady Pyrrha, let me be blunt and ask you what is it that you intend to do?"
That was a very large question, but fortunately, Pyrrha need not answer the whole of it right now, only enough that would satisfy Lady Terri-Belle. "I intend to do my part for the defence of Mistral," she said. "I don't see how I can do otherwise."
"I see," Terri-Belle answered, though what, precisely, she saw or thought she saw was somewhat unclear to Pyrrha.
"May I ask you the same question, Lady Terri-Belle?" Pyrrha responded. "What is it that you, or your lord father, or even the Council if you know, what do those entrusted with the rule of Mistral intend to do?"
Terri-Belle took a pause for a moment, silent and unanswering. She looked at her hands, before she looked back up at Pyrrha. "The experiment of an Atlesian-style army has been judged a failure by the Council. With the death of Polemarch Yeoh… the remaining soldiers will be kept under arms to act as a garrison for this city, and efforts will continue to be made to build a navy to protect our skies, but there will be no raising of more regiments, and probably not even replenishment of the existing units. It is too foreign a concept for us; it cannot be transplanted to our soil. The Imperial Guard…" She hesitated. "The Imperial Guard, its numbers increased by recent recruiting, will be employed to protect the city, the heart of Mistral. Other huntsmen, and private security firms, will be free to take on whatever jobs they wish; the Council has no desire to interfere with the ordinary business of commerce."
"But all huntsman assignments flow through your hands, Lady Terri-Belle," Pyrrha pointed out.
"At present," Terri-Belle allowed. "If Lionheart really was the traitor in our midst, then that may not be necessary."
Pyrrha nodded. "Lady Terri-Belle, I…" she bowed her head. "I humbly request to be allowed to aid you."
"In the Imperial Guard?"
"As a huntress," Pyrrha said. "Forgive me, but while I know Mistral must be defended, I would rather not stand on the wall while the kingdom burns beyond."
"Local lords must look to the defences of their own villages," Terri-Belle said softly. "That is the old way."
"The old way would have seen Imperial forces supplementing those local lords and patrolling the highways," Pyrrha pointed out. "Not to mention, there are places now that have no lord to draw the sword in their defence. If the Council has no help to offer them, then why should I be denied the opportunity to offer my assistance?"
"That… is not my decision to make," Terri-Belle said. "I'm sorry. I… I really am sorry, but until the Council reaches a decision on this matter that has explicitly become Council business, my hands are bound. You are not a huntress, the job board — my job desk, as you can see — is denied to you."
Pyrrha inhaled deeply. "I see," she murmured. "That… is disappointing. I hope you aren't too offended, Lady Terri-Belle, if I say that there seems to be a confusing mixture of attitudes at play here. You want me to ride in triumph to inspire the people with the strength of Mistral's defenders, but you won't allow me to defend the people."
"These are confusing times," Terri-Belle muttered. "Everything that seemed solid has proven… less so." She paused. "In any case, you had some business with me, Lady Pyrrha, no? You didn't come here to discuss your triumph, or even your future."
"No," Pyrrha said. "No, I didn't." Now it was her turn to hesitate, for the matter that she had, in fact, come here to discuss with Lady Terri-Belle was of a rather delicate nature, the kind of matter she was not used to discussing.
"There…" she began, only to stop after the first word. "There is a man in the dungeons, I believe, by the name of Qrow Branwen. I… would like to have him released, if at all possible."
Terri-Belle's grey-green eyes widened, and her eyebrows climbed. "Qrow Branwen?" she repeated. "You want me to have him released?"
"You know him?" Pyrrha asked. She wasn't sure if she should be surprised, as Professor Ozpin's agent it was no doubt Qrow's job to know many people.
"I was there when they brought him in," Terri-Belle said sharply, disappointing Pyrrha's hopes rather. "Do you know… how do you… first question, what is this man to you, second question, how do you know he's in the cells, and third question, do you know what he did to get there?"
"I know him because he is the uncle of Ruby Rose, who was my teammate at Beacon," Pyrrha answered at once. "Considering… another niece of his, Yang Xiao-Long, died at Beacon. For that reason, and the fact that he has no other friends in Mistral that I know, I offered him lodging, and when he declined, I…" Pyrrha's cheeks coloured a little. "I hired a private detective to keep an eye on him, discreetly, of course." Nora had offered to do the job herself — or rather, she had volunteered Ren to do the job, but Pyrrha had been a little uncertain of Ren's ability to escape the older man's notice; she had preferred a more seasoned operator. Plus, a paid private investigator had the undeniable advantage that he wouldn't ask any questions: paid to follow Qrow around, he hadn't asked why. "He saw Qrow arrested and informed me."
"Then you know what he was arrested for," Terri-Belle responded. "Drunk and disorderly conduct, destruction of property, insulting an officer of the law, assaulting an officer of the law, wounding."
Pyrrha winced. "I wasn't aware of the full extent of the charges. I was told that he was arrested while drunkenly roaming the Haven campus bellowing threats against Professor Lionheart."
"He was demanding that Professor Lionheart come out and face him in a fair fight," Terri-Belle said. "While he was at it, he was attacking the school itself. When the police arrived, they offered him the chance to sleep it off in the drunk tank. He preferred to resist arrest, which he did quite effectively, necessitating the police to summon the guard. It took six of us — including me — to bring him down. He was a tough old skin of wine." She rolled her shoulder theatrically. "Xinping is having two fingers sewn back onto his hand, and Critolaus is waiting for his aura to put his leg back together."
"I wasn't aware," Pyrrha murmured. "We will, of course, pay any fine—"
"'Fine'?" Terri-Belle repeated. "'Fine'? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have this man chained up in the Square of Indignities for public pillory?"
"Because he is in grief," Pyrrha protested. "Both for his niece and for his friend and mentor, Professor Ozpin. He is not himself, not in his right mind."
"Everyone has an excuse for when they screw up; it doesn't mean we actually excuse them," Terri-Belle growled.
"I am not asking for an absolute pardon of all his actions," Pyrrha replied. "Only for a little clemency and understanding."
Terri-Belle was silent for a moment. "Understanding," she repeated. "Perhaps I might be able to demonstrate a little understanding, if you were to show some in turn."
Pyrrha blinked. "What do you mean, Lady Terri-Belle?"
"Let the aedile pay you a visit to start the preparations for your triumph," Terri-Belle said. "Your personal triumph — the general one will remain under discussion — and I could see my way to letting your man out for the payment of a… ten thousand lien fine, an additional ten thousand in damages, the surrender of his weapon while he's in the city, and your bond that he won't be causing any more trouble."
Pyrrha swallowed. Understanding, perhaps, but hardly clement. The fine was substantial, but nothing that the House of Nikos couldn't afford; the surrender of Qrow's weapon was… something else altogether, the sort of penalty that was very rarely levied. Mistral was not Atlas; there were few prohibitions on the carrying of arms within the city. For a specific person to be forbidden to bear a weapon was a statement of incredible distrust on the part of the authorities.
It couldn't help but strike Pyrrha as a little vindictive.
But then, Lady Terri-Belle did have a reputation as being protective of her people.
And her bond. In other words, if Qrow did anything else, then Pyrrha would pay the penalty for it alongside him.
Compared with that, the business with the triumph almost seems trivial.
"Very well, Lady Terri-Belle," Pyrrha said, because what else could she say? What other choice did she have, in the circumstances? She could hardly leave Qrow to rot in his cell; honour would not allow it, no matter his crime. "I agree to all your terms."
Terri-Belle nodded. "Thank you for being reasonable, Lady Pyrrha. I'll pass the word to the aedile, and once the fine and damages are received, I'll give the word to release your man. All things considered, you might want to be here to pick him up, I wouldn't want someone for whom I was bound free to roam the streets at will."
"I… will take your advice under careful consideration, Lady Terri-Belle," Pyrrha replied. "Thank you for seeing us."
Terri-Belle made a sound that was almost a scoff. "Rather harsh of you to drag your aged mother down here, Lady Pyrrha, just to impress me with the majesty of your house."
"I was curious as to what the kingdom was doing in response to this crisis, Lady Terri-Belle," Mother said, as she got to her feet. "From the outside, it looks to be doing nothing."
Terri-Belle did not reply.
Pyrrha got up. "Lady Terri-Belle," she said as her sash fell from her leg.
She turned away and headed for the door. She could hear her mother's stick tapping on the floor behind her.
She reached for the door handle.
"Lady Pyrrha!"
Pyrrha turned at the imperative voice. She caught sight of something flying towards her and caught it in one hand.
It turned out to be a rolled up ball of paper.
"There's a fellow come from… I can't remember the name of the place, but the essence of it is that his village is being menaced by a grimm," Terri-Belle said.
"One grimm?" Pyrrha asked.
"That's what he said, one grimm, but a big one. He couldn't give me a good description. Apparently, it hasn't attacked the village directly yet, but they hear it prowling around the forests, and people who go into the forest don't come back. Considering how many of the villagers make their living trading lumber, it's making life hard for them, not to mention the risk that it might start to do more than just prowl. He wanted to hire a huntsman to take care of it, although frankly, I doubt many huntsmen would be interested for the money he offered. I'd suggest you go and talk with him, but considering the address he gave — it's on that paper — sounds like a seedy motel on the lower slopes, I'd say maybe invite him to yours instead. It's not like you need the money."
Pyrrha looked down at the ball of paper in her hand. "I… I thought the job board was denied to me, Lady Terri-Belle?"
"That's not on the job board, is it?" Terri-Belle replied. "It's not even on the job desk. I must have lost it somewhere. Careless of me, but these things happen." She shrugged. "What are you going to do?"
"So they're just doing nothing?" Jaune demanded.
"I wouldn't say 'nothing,'" Pyrrha replied, pricked somewhat to defend the honour of her home. "Just…" — she squirmed on the settee — "not very much. Not as much as might be hoped for."
Jaune looked at her.
"In fairness," Pyrrha went on, "I suppose some of the Council's decisions are… understandable. Retaining the Imperial Guard to defend the city itself. Mistral is… it must be protected."
Jaune nodded. "I know that, I'm not saying it doesn't, but aren't they recruiting for the guard? They're actively trying to get huntsmen to sign up to defend Mistral at the same time as other places need huntsmen really badly, and then they have people who want to become huntsmen who can't because the Council can't make up its minds about whether to let them or make them go back to school? This is… it's a little messed up."
Pyrrha sighed. "Say what you will about the Valish Council," she murmured, "but at least their system has the advantage that all of the Councillors are on the same side."
"In theory," Jaune remarked.
"We elect our councillors individually here, so the Council is frequently divided," Pyrrha explained. "Everyone has their own interests, and while I hope that they're all acting in the best interests of Mistral as they see it—"
"They don't agree on what that is or how to get there," Jaune finished for her.
"Quite," Pyrrha agreed.
They were sitting together on a red velvet settee in one of the drawing rooms on the ground floor, with a window in front of them opening up into a view of the gardens. Autumn light bathed the gardens in a golden glow, matching the gold of the leaves falling from the maple trees, making the statues gleam effulgent like the echoes of their glory resounding through the ages. In the vases that lined the room, white gladioli nestled in patches amidst red chrysanthemums and yellow autumn daffodils, while blue fortunes let the room itself a rather delightful peppermint smell. The walls were a rich cream colour, with a band of gold running through the centre of the room, while delicate wooden tables sat around each of the cushioned, padded chairs.
The room was empty apart from the two of them, Pyrrha had excused the maids so that they could talk in private, just in case their discussion touched on something best kept to themselves.
"So," Jaune said. "The Imperial Guard will defend Mistral, the local lords are supposed to defend their own villages—"
"If the village yet has a local lord," Pyrrha remarked.
Jaune nodded. "Will they?"
"I think so, yes," Pyrrha replied. "I should like to think… no, no, I know, I have seen it, for I have been to these places myself, to fight at weddings and birthdays—"
"Don't you find it a little weird that people want to celebrate weddings and birthdays with fights?" Jaune asked.
Pyrrha looked at him without blinking. "No," she said simply.
Jaune paused a moment. "No, I guess you wouldn't," he said. A smile flickered across his face. "I guess it's better to have a fight in an arena with rules than a punch up in front of the buffet over who stole Aunt Ethel's gravy boat when she died."
Pyrrha raised one eyebrow.
"Not my family," Jaune explained. "One of our neighbours."
Pyrrha let out a little chuckle. "I see. I thought there might have been one of your relatives I hadn't met yet."
Jaune shook his head. "So, to get back to it, you think that if there is a lord or a lady, a noble family, then they'll defend the area?"
"They will try," Pyrrha said. "Colchis, Kisthene, Calydon, such places should find swords ready to be drawn for them."
"Will it be enough?"
Pyrrha shrugged helplessly. "Who can say?" she asked. "I cannot. I don't know how strong the grimm are in each region, or exactly how many—"
"Fair enough," Jaune said. "It's too broad of a question, but it needs too many specifics, I get it." He fell silent for a moment. "And if there is no lord…"
"Then they must try and hire a huntsman," Pyrrha said. "Or else a private company like Rutulian Security or the Iron Grenadiers."
"But there are no… the fees aren't regulated here, are they?" Jaune asked.
"No," Pyrrha replied. "No, they aren't."
"So the rich will be okay because they can put up the high prices that will attract huntsmen, while the poor villages will be out of luck," Jaune said.
"That's… not unfair," Pyrrha admitted. "But also not quite true. I hear that the Rutulians have been taking on a surprising amount of pro bono work."
"Really? Good for them, I guess," Jaune said. "Maybe we should see if they're hiring."
"That might make things a little difficult," Pyrrha replied. "To keep certain secrets, I mean."
"Yeah, I didn't really mean it," Jaune said. "And I guess the same goes for joining any other company like that." He paused. "So, to get to the most insane part of this: we can't become huntsmen because we haven't graduated, but we couldn't go back to school — go to school, I mean, not back, because we didn't go to Haven in the first place — because they can't decide whether they want to reopen it or just make us huntsmen?"
Pyrrha sighed. "That's correct, yes. We are frozen in the middle of a political deadlock."
"And while the Council argues people are in danger," Jaune muttered. "Can't they just give us, like, provisional huntsman licenses or something?"
"That would be too much like a decision in favour of just graduating us all," Pyrrha murmured.
"Yeah, I guess," Jaune acknowledged. "So… what are we going to do?"
"Meet with this man, first of all," Pyrrha said. "I think Lady Terri-Belle must be sympathetic towards our aims and our plight; she cannot openly go against the wishes of her father and the Council, but she doesn't want to see us sitting idly by, doing nothing."
Jaune nodded. "So, we meet this person, we go to their village, we kill this grimm. Then what?"
Pyrrha paused for a moment. "We… cannot always rely on Terri-Belle tossing pieces of paper from her lists. Apart from anything else, continued visits will arouse suspicion. Perhaps there is some more discreet way we could communicate, but…"
"We need to find some way of not only letting people come up to us and let us know that they need help, but also of attracting attention so that they know to come to us, or that they can come to us, in the first place," Jaune said. "Otherwise, people are just going to walk right past this house on up to the palace and place a notice on the job board."
"Job table," Pyrrha murmured. "But that is an excellent point."
"If that's what we want to do," Jaune pointed out.
"What should we do otherwise, with Mistral under attack and so many places in danger?"
"I'm not recommending this," Jaune said. "But… Oz stuff? Lionheart, the Spring Maiden, all the things that… that nobody else can do."
"I'm not sure that we can do those things either," Pyrrha said. "We don't know where Professor Lionheart is, we have no investigative training that would help us to find him, and at least we know what Professor Lionheart looks like. The Spring Maiden is a stranger to us. We could offer rewards for information, although in the case of the Spring Maiden, it might arouse some suspicion if I were willing to pay for reports of… magic. I think, at present, the best thing that we can do is fight for the people."
"I agree," Jaune said. "I just wanted to make sure you had all the options."
There was a knock on one of the cream-coloured doors. It opened a moment later, and Iris half-stepped inside.
"Lady Pyrrha," she said, "your visitor has arrived."
"Thank you, Iris," Pyrrha said. "Show him in."
Iris nodded and ushered in a middle-aged goat faunus, horns emerging from his forehead, with dark brown hair and a close-trimmed beard to match, wearing a red jacket and white trousers, with heavy boots on his feet. He was a muscular fellow, ripped and corded from a life of physical labour. His golden eyes swept across the room, taking everything.
He shuffled towards the settee, stopping a discreet distance and bowing. "Lady Pyrrha. Thank you for inviting me into your home."
"It is my pleasure," Pyrrha said, rising to her feet. "Please, sit down. Can I offer you anything to drink? Or eat, perhaps?" She glanced at Iris. "I believe we have some fruit tarts, is that right?"
"Thank you, but I'll be fine," the man said. "I don't want to take up more of your time than necessary."
"Very well, but please take a seat, regardless," Pyrrha urged, as she herself sat down. "Brevity is no need for discomfort. And this is my partner, Jaune Arc."
"A pleasure," the man said. "My name is Zhang Tie, and I'm the blacksmith of the village of Buruberu."
Pyrrha nodded. "And your village is threatened by a grimm, yes?"
Tie nodded. "That's right. I couldn't tell you what kind, but we hear it at night. It must be big because it crashes around, knocking down trees, stomping, making a lot of noise."
"How do you know it's one grimm?" asked Jaune.
"I suppose I don't, but nobody describes more than one."
"You mean other people have seen it," Jaune said. "What is it? Did they say what it looked like?"
"They said it looked like a walking rock, if that's worth anything to you," Tie replied. "It doesn't sound like any grimm I've ever heard of. But they were pretty out of their minds with fright at the time, so make of it what you will."
Pyrrha frowned. "It could be a geist. They are solitary grimm."
"And they look like rocks?" Jaune asked.
"They possess, for want of a better word, inanimate objects," Pyrrha replied.
"Such as rocks, got it," Jaune said.
"Even before the CCT went down, we sometimes struggled to get a signal to Mistral on account of the terrain," Tie said. "Since the network crashed, we've had no chance whatsoever. So the mayor charged me with making it to Mistral and bringing back help before this geist, or whatever it is, decides to destroy our whole village."
"How did you manage to get here all by yourself?" Jaune asked. "It must have been hard."
"I wasn't by myself, thank the gods," Tie said. "A caravan came through the village, and while their huntsman escort wasn't willing to fight the geist, the caravan did let me ride with them all the way here. It got kinda scary a couple of times — we could hear things out in the darkness — but we made it through. Most of us."
"I'm sorry," Pyrrha said.
"Thank you," he murmured. "I'm afraid I can't offer you very much; we rely on selling our lumber to make lien, and we can't cut down trees because of this grimm, so—"
"That's quite alright," Pyrrha assured him. "We are at your service free of charge. If you'll give us time to arrange an airship, we should be on our way to your village at first light."