A/N: Curse SpaceBattles for plot bunnies that will not go away. Will likely be a back-burner thing for a while.

The Giant and the Hunter

He's glaring at his companion, trying to communicate his vast displeasure, hurt and anger. In response, the other shrugs, his lips twist in a bittersweet smile, before he sips from his mug.

"You know we have to deal with that beast." A nod from the giant, accompanied by a growl, indicating his displeasure at stating the obvious. "The town also needs to be defended, and I do not think that bastard would fail to send its progeny against the people here."

A flash of fury in the ice-blue eyes, as the giant nods. His voice is deep, gravelly, carrying an inexorable momentum behind it.

"Why not reverse our roles, then? Why are you going to end that dragon, while I have to stay content with killing the rabble?"

The hunter takes another sip from his mug, smiles.

"You know it is said that every hero must confront and best his dragon to achieve his destiny."

The giant snorts.

"I believe, old friend, usually that dragon is nowhere near so literal. Now, the real reason. You know my patience is wearing thin."

"Honestly? We both know you could slay that dragon - but we also know that even with my abilities, I could not hold the town, not without having more hunters. I do not have your instincts for that, my friend. Maybe if we arrived earlier, maybe if we had managed to complete those marvelous walls you designed, or if the other hunters arrived..."

The giant nods slowly, reluctance radiating from his frame. The hunter takes another sip from the mug.

"Even if I agree, I do not have to like it. Anyway, when are you leaving?"

"Sundown."

The giant watches his friend vanish among the trees, heading towards the mountain, the dragon, their possibility for gaining time; time to prepare and likely turn the tide.

He checks the people gathered at the town square, selects his messengers, then goes to the opening in the wall, prepares for the inevitable onslaught.

The dark sky to the west erupts with viridian and orange-red lights, clashing again and again, thunder rolling towards the town. He nods to himself, and rallies his men, as the first black shapes burst from the trees.

These are just rabble, contemptible, easy kills. He smashes them apart with short, powerful swings, issuing orders to the defenders as the siege starts in earnest. His mind is constantly analyzing, finding patterns, almost with preternatural foresight, using his instincts to guide his people, reinforcing weak spots, encouraging them, keeping their morale high, preventing as much casualties as he can, directing the usage of Nature's Wrath where it is the most useful.

The night grinds on, the waves of Grimm unrelenting. If not for his example and leadership, the defenders would have fallen already. He keeps them alive and fighting, inspiring less by words and more by example. He sometimes wonders why his gruff, blunt, terse style is liked. Still, it does the job - and the still-flashing lights on the horizon help.

The Grimm are starting to get kills - small wonder, their Alphas came out to play in force. He smiles, darkly amused - behind the ferocity, behind the killing urge, he can sense their desperate need to overwhelm them before his friend finishes his task. He raises his voice, shouts orders, then strides forward, challenging the approaching colossus.

The beady eyes of the huge beast shine with malevolence as it tries to crush him with its charge. He sidesteps, his maul shattering first one front knee of the thing, then the other. The Goliath sways, falls forward, and a moment later, starts turning into black specks as his maul shatters its head. He roars triumphantly, the sound echoed by the defenders, who seem to have rejuvenated with the sight of his triumph.

He is furious when his friend is returned. The desire to smash something, anything is almost overpowering - he is aware that his knowledge is greater, or at least much different from those of the others. Still, he cannot seem to find a solution with the present technical level to make him walk again without assistance. Every time he sees him limp around on his crutches, his fury burns hotter and hotter.

He considers delving into his theories related to Aura and the otherworldly, terrible Eye watching from the sky. The possibility is there, he thinks - then frowns. He is unsure...about himself, about the quality of his will. If he is not strong enough to think clearly, suppressing his anger in such a serious situation, does he dare meddle with things beyond his certainties? No. Maybe at some point in the future, when his iron will is truly that.

A solution presents itself, from half-remembered schematics glimpsed during his time in the capsule. He works frantically, drawing and redrawing plans, calculating angles, considering loads, dimensions, construction materials, time.

He laughs, an honest, deep-belly laugh - the first time since far, far too long.

The giant and the hunter are standing side by side, the latter leaning on his cane for support, as they watch the tall tower take shape. It took years, but the mechanism is running, and their project is slowly, surely expanding. Soon, it will be so much more than a mere empty tower, conceived for a singular purpose - the hunter wants it to be a place of learning, where they can train the future generations of defenders. He doesn't particularly begrudge that his giant companion also ensured that he would be there for quite a number of those generations, and in good health, even. He did not ask for the gift, but accepted it in the spirit it was given.

The giant turns to his companion, noting the greying hair, and the hunter sips his mug.

"What will you name it, Ozpin?"

"Beacon would sound fine, Perturabo. Don't you think?"