Summary: Liz is a slave from the enemy kingdom of Pase, but is captured when a raid on Danafor goes horribly wrong. Now that she is a prisoner, she finds herself under the careful eye and protection of the very unusual Grand Master. Does he want to use her like everyone else in her life? Or is there something more going on?

A/N: I have a new fic! Yay! This story started out as a oneshot that was intended to be a companion piece to The Night Market. I had such a good experience writing about Liz and Meliodas in Danafor that I decided to expand the story. Of course this turned into much longer than a oneshot, although it won't be terribly long. I'll be updating this fic every few days, so please follow for updates!

I would like to give a shout out to EJR Horselady, whose Liz head canons got me interested in writing this character that I previously did not like at all. Then after the latest updates in the manga (there are no spoilers here, so don't worry), my interest in this character increased even more. She was also so kind to read this over and provide feedback, and has my sincerest thanks.

And as always, I welcome your thoughts, both good and bad. Please feel free to leave a review or send a PM! I always respond to readers, so please don't be shy. Thanks so much for reading, and enjoy!


Chapter One: The Grand Master of Danafor

The dungeon was dark, the air a bit stale, but thankfully it was dry. It was even clean, against dungeon standards. The floor was stone instead of dirt, the wooden bench was in one, sturdy piece, and the bars on the tiny window and door were mostly free of rust. There wasn't even any hay or straw in the corners, discouraging rats from taking up residence.

Liz sat on the bench, her back pressed into the corner of the cell, her knees drawn up to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs, frowning deeply. Angrily she huffed the stringy bangs out of her face, her fingers clenching into fists before forcing them to relax.

She wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to have happened. It was a guaranteed battle, an easy in and out. The intelligence had been clear, the weaknesses in the Danafor wall outlined. It was hard to accept just how bad her information had been. The moment the plan had gone into effect, she knew that they would fail. Her first mission as commander, and she had failed so very spectacularly.

Her men had been killed one by one as they refused to back down. That was the motto of the Pasilian army, what had been drilled into their brains from the first day. No retreat, no surrender, death first. So one by one the fools fell, idiots running straight for death that awaited them with open arms.

But not her. Liz was a survivor. She was nothing without knowing how to keep herself alive.

An hour went by, then another. She kept count of the minutes, using the thin strip of sunlight on the ground to help. The longer she sat, the angrier Liz became. It was bad enough she had lost to the Danafor army, but now she was being kept alive. She wasn't supposed to be here. She should be back in Pase, debriefing her commanding officer of the raid. Or dead. Not in a cell.

I shouldn't be here.

There were footsteps approaching her cell, which echoed in the emptiness. Liz did not look up when she heard the scrape of the keys in her door, even as her body tensed in anticipation. She would be damned if she was going down now. If they were going to kill her, she was going to make them. She hadn't fought all this time just to end up swinging on a rope. Her freedom had been so close, so damn close and her bitterness and fear bubbled up as boiling anger towards whoever was coming to fetch her to her fate.

The door creaked loudly as it opened and a pair of boots echoed as they stepped inside. Her eyes darted to the side, looking for a broken stone or glass that she could lunge towards and use for a weapon. But she had already checked, covering every inch of the cell when she was first deposited there. After she had been escorted in chains by some very unhappy Holy Knights on orders by their Grand Master.

That same Grand Master was now looking at her silently, his hands in his pockets. The wild blonde hair that was unmistakable caught her eye, and her focus shifted to the strange man who had saved her. The others had been calling for her blood, for her head, calling out the horrible things they wanted to do to her, calling her every name in the book. And she stood and took it, as Liz always had, as she had been trained to do even before becoming a soldier. She had been a soldier and a slave long enough to know what was coming. Resisting would just draw out the inevitable. The only choice was to shut off her emotions and erase her thoughts.

But the blonde looking at her now with raised eyebrows had silenced them all by proclaiming her off-limits. When the generals from the fight, still dirty and bloody from the battle that morning, started the protest calls, the Grand Master had told them that a strike against her would make them his enemy. That had been the end of that protest.

Exactly how powerful was this guy?

He didn't look like anything at all, just a kid really. She could not help but snort to herself as her eyes traced up and down. Her arms shook a bit with the tension, but managed to keep her voice even to hide the churning emotion. "I didn't know that Danafor made children into Holy Knights," she muttered.

"We don't," he answered simply. His gaze flickered over her face, and the sensation of those eyes examining her made her shiver. He was looking for something, but what?

"So, your name is Liz?" he asked. She simply stared ahead in answer, and he pressed his lips together. "My name is Meliodas."

The way he was looking at her was putting her even more on edge. Why was he playing this game—whatever this game was? "I don't give a shit," she answered tightly.

The knight gave her a half smile then, which was more disarming than if he had laughed, or yelled. "Well, it's Meliodas all the same." He looked around the cell once more and then tilted his chin to the side. "Come on with me."

Liz's body went rigid. This was it. He had saved her from the gallows so he could put a spear or a sword through her himself? Probably even worse than that. Well, she wasn't about to make it easy.

He was still staring at her as a plan clicked over in her mind. "I can see you are thinking of trying something," he said slowly. "But really, it's unnecessary. You don't have anything to be afraid of, not with me." Liz's eyes darted towards him. Extending his hand, he took a step forward. "Now come on, this place is awful."

A tense moment exchanged between them, and then slowly Liz stood. She kept her eyes on his hand, watching for any sudden movements; but what she was really looking at was the knife on his belt. He wasn't wearing a sword, which she found odd, but she supposed he must not have seen her as a threat. This was a mistake he was going to regret once she made her move.

Liz was only a few paces from him when she swung. He stepped back with a huff, dodging her easily, but she had expected that. The soldier in her moved, and as he leaned back she twisted her shoulder, throwing out the other arm to grab a hold of the hilt of the knife. With another twist it was free, her fingers spinning it expertly until she held it in her firm grip.

But then he had recovered, and was moving as well, his own hand thrusting forward for the weapon. He moved fast, too fast, and for a split second she wondered what his ability was even as she called on her own. There was no time for a smirk as he lost his balance and missed her wrist by barely an inch. It was enough of an opening, however, to allow her to grab him by the collar and stick the end of the knife against his throat.

Panting to catch her breath from the quick movements, she glared down at the blonde now helpless in her grip. "One move and I cut your throat open," she said simply.

Her left hand gripped his shirt, the right one holding the blade steady. Slowly his eyes slid downwards, staring at the knife. But then when a small smile ghosted over his lips, she realized he wasn't looking at the knife at all; he was looking at her chest under the black undershirt she wore.

"Liz," he chuckled, "if you wanted to get close you could have said something."

The comment made her angrier than she expected, but when she felt his hands slip up her ribs and cup the undersides of her breasts, she yelped furiously. Loosening her grip on his she shoved him backwards, where he went toppling into a laughing mess on the floor. In an instant he was back up on his feet, brushing the dirt from his uniform and completely unworried about the weapon she still pointed at him.

"Come on, we can play some more later. I'm hungry, let's go." The knight turned and headed towards the open cell door, and Liz shouted, "I'm not going anywhere with you!"

He paused, standing perfectly still for a moment before looking over his shoulder. "Do you want to stay here then?"

"I want to go home," she replied coldly.

"Home?" He sounded genuinely curious, which irked her even more. "Where is that?" Before she could answer, he turned back around to face her. "You're not from Pase, so where are you from?"

She refused to be baited. She refused to let him see any weakness. "You don't know a thing about me," she said slowly, menacingly.

"You're right. Which is why I was hoping we'd have lunch first." Meliodas sighed. "I mean, I would let you go, but you have no food, no weapons, and—"

"Wait!" she cried. He looked startled at her outburst, but Liz was too busy catching her own breath. "You're letting me go?" He nodded and she narrowed her eyes. "Why? What do you want?"

He shrugged. "I just wanted lunch."


This was a mistake, she knew it was a mistake. A mistake or a trick or some kind of awful, awful prank that he was playing on her. But Liz was determined to find out his angle, and to find a way out of Danafor, so she had followed him. When they left the dungeon he gave her a thin cloak that helped cover the blood and stains on her ripped clothing, and then led her through the city.

To her surprise, he never asked for the knife back.

It was just about spring, and the sky was overcast. The cloak felt good when the breeze picked up, and she kept her head down as they walked down one street after another. People were out, shopping, talking, hurrying children along, strolling as they enjoyed conversation. It was a perfectly normal morning in a perfectly normal city in Britannia.

But Liz was on edge. Where was he taking her? Were the gallows somewhere other than the castle? She took in her surroundings, trying to pinpoint where they were, east or west, north or south, where the castle was, where the city gates were. The streets were busier than she expected, having always heard Danafor was a small and simple city. Pase was an incredibly rich country, thanks to its capital. The city of Dolan sat in the direct center of Britannia, and made its citizens and its king very wealthy from trade.

This must be a trick. Maybe this wasn't even Danafor at all. Could he have moved her? Put her under some kind of enchantment? He took a sharp left, and a moment later led her to a pretty little house just off a side road. Liz slowed her steps looking around for potential threats, as he hurried up to the door and turned the handle. "This way," he called over, the first time he had spoken since they had headed out.

"I'm not going in there," she snapped, holding the knife out in a defensive motion.

Meliodas sighed. "Are we gonna do this again? Every time I say something, you refuse, and then you eventually give in. Can we just skip to the give in part?" He raised his palms and looked at her pointedly. "Might I remind you that you're the one with the weapon. So just come inside and get some lunch."

With that he turned and disappeared into the house. Liz's mouth popped open, looking around. They were completely alone, the house hidden a bit behind some cleverly planted trees. She could run for it right now, and even took a step back towards the road before pausing.

This must be some kind of test. He wanted to see what she would do, and since he figured she would run, whatever he had planned would not end well for her. Slowly her eyes returned to the open front door. This could not be a real house, but what else was going on? Indecision churned inside of her stomach. She pushed her senses outward, expecting to feel the presence of others inside, perhaps a group of Danafor's soldiers who wanted to take their revenge on her in private.

But there was nothing. No soldiers, no enemies, just the energy from the Holy Knight who had led her here. Deciding to take her chance, Liz went against her fighting instincts and cautiously followed into the house.

It was a simple affair, with a fireplace and chairs on one side, a rug under a table with benches, a stove and water basin under a window. There were stairs on one side that led to a loft, and it was all very cozy and simple, just the sort of house she would have liked, had she ever had the opportunity for such a thing. The thought made her chest constrict a bit. She had been so close to having a simple life, a free life, but the failed raid had ruined that.

The knight had shed his cloak onto the back of a chair, and was washing his hands with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. "Do you like whitefish?" he asked.

"What is this?" she demanded, and Meliodas glanced over. "This is my house," he replied.

"No, not this place. What are you doing? What do you want?" She cringed to hear a bit of panic creep into the way her voice strained, but Liz was determined to remain firm. However, he just looked at her as if she had asked if they were going to walk on the moon later. The blank confusion on his face irritated her to no end. "Why did you bring me here?" she shouted.

He opened his mouth and she interrupted, "If you say lunch one more time—"

"Well, yeah, that," he laughed. His hands went to his waist. "But you need a place to stay, so I figured you could stay here. That way I can keep an eye on you, and no one would come looking for you here."

The idea of staying in this house with the Grand Master hit her like a blow. She wasn't supposed to be here. "I'm not staying here with you."

"There you go with the 'I'm not doing this' and 'I'm not doing that'," he muttered as he turned and unwrapped a package on the counter.

"I'm not letting you touch me!" Her voice rose in pitch, making him pause. "I'm not a slave!"

Their eyes met as he said quietly, "I never said you were."

Quickly Liz raised the knife and placed it against her neck. "You can't use me like this. I'll kill myself first. I am not your slave."

His eyes were steady on the edge, which she had pressed into her skin. "So noted," he said finally, his face unreadable before he turned back to the fish that lay unwrapped on the counter.

There was not another word from either of them, and slowly Liz lowered the weapon. It was hard to believe him… how could she believe him? He was another man in control, another leader giving orders, another person standing in the way of what she wanted. Minutes ticked by, and he did not answer her; instead, he hummed a bit to himself as he bustled around the little kitchen. Liz felt her shoulders begin to relax, her heart beat slowing to a normal pattern.

She watched as he put a pot on over the fire, filling it with water before haphazardly ripping up some greens and throwing them inside. Still incredibly nervous, she allowed herself to regroup as she watched the knight move around the room, grabbing more vegetables, throwing in carrots and an entire whole onion, uncleaned, unpeeled, and unchopped. "What are you doing?" she finally asked.

"Making lunch," he laughed. "What do you think?"

Her situation momentarily forgotten, she watched with wide eyes as he stirred the pot, dumping some mysterious white powder in next. "That's… our lunch?" she asked.

"Yup." Another stir, another taste, and then the knight went to the counter. He grabbed the fish and carried it to the pot, and just as she shouted, "No!" he dumped the entire thing inside.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she yelled, hurrying over to the pot. She looked inside, and the contents nearly made her sick. The uncleaned vegetables floated on the top of what looked like mud, and now the newest addition stared back up at her through an unseeing milky eye. "You didn't even clean the fish!" she exclaimed.

"Clean? The fish?" Meliodas used a finger to scratch his head. "Are you joking? Fish come from the sea, they are already clean."

Her precarious situation momentarily forgotten, she could only gape at him. "You're an idiot," she said.


Liz stared down into her teacup, watching the sugar cubes dissolve in the hot liquid. It had been so long since she had had the sweet confection; the last time was probably at her former master's house, for some event or another when he brought out all his belongings to show off to his guests. The memory gave her a bit of a pang in her chest, and quickly she dragged her fingers through the bangs that hung over her right eye.

"Everything all right?"

She looked up quickly at the knight sitting across from her. His brows were raised questioningly as he sipped his own cup, placing it carefully on the table. "Don't they have tea in Pase? I thought they had everything there."

"Yes, I've had tea before," she answered irritably. Snatching up the teacup she took a large drink as if to prove it.

"Thanks for the lunch," he said. He leaned his elbow on the table and propped his chin in his hand. "You didn't have to do that though."

Liz could not help the snort that came from that. "There was no way I was eating… whatever you called that." She sighed and glanced over to the hearth, where the pot filled with the remains of the knight's cooking still sat. After a bit of arguing, Liz had taken it upon herself to find some bread, cheese, and tomatoes, grilling them together for a few minutes over the flame. The blonde had practically moaned at the first bite, proclaiming her the best cook he had ever met.

"Where did you learn to make food?" he asked.

"The army," she answered carefully.

"Where were you before the army?"

Her eyes slid down and to the side. Folding her hands in her lap, her back went a bit stiff, waiting for the questioning to begin. This must have been his plan all along; give her a meal to loosen her tongue, and have her spill her secrets before punishment. The knife was heavy in the waistband of her pants, where she had stashed it while they argued over the food. Without a conscious thought her hand began to slowly slide around her hip, ready to pull it free if needed.

But he did not interrogate her at all. Instead, he said, "I can see you aren't ready to talk to me, and that's fine. I am curious about the intentions of your raid, but we can get to that later." Still she did not look at him, but Liz could see him leaning closer out of the corner of her vision. "In the meantime, if you want to wash up, go ahead. I have some clothes for you too. I borrowed some things since you probably wouldn't fit mine. I can even heat some water up for a bath if you want—"

"A bath?" Liz gasped in spite of herself, looking up at the knight.

"Yeah," he laughed. "Don't they have those in Pase either?"

She frowned as she watched him chuckle at his joke. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"What's wrong?" he grinned. "Hasn't anyone ever been nice to you before?"

"No."

The word had slipped out before she could stop it. There was a flash of something over his face, concern maybe, or even pity? It brought an unfamiliar feeling to her, and heat blossomed under her skin and behind her eyes. "No one is kind without wanting something," she said, her tone accusatory, her look daring him to argue.

There was a moment that passed between them, and again Liz felt the unfamiliar burning in her chest. It had been years since she allowed herself to feel anything but coldness; weakness, sorrow, self-pity were a death sentence. Feeling pain brought more pain. Slaves were obedient and silent. Soldiers were stoic and unforgiving. There was no room for kindness. There was no place for hope.

His smile cut through the tense air, and instantly the room felt at ease. "I don't think that's true at all!" he exclaimed. With a shake of his head Meliodas was up, gathering up the things on the table. "I'll get this cleaned up while you get yourself cleaned up," he said, nodding towards the washroom.

When his back was turned, Liz pulled out the knife she had stolen from his waist—which he still hadn't asked for!—and hurried into the washroom. She closed the door firmly, pulling over a chest and barring the door. She opened it and found some linens and towels inside, but nothing particularly useful, so she began scouring the rest of the room.

There was a basin for washing, and some shelves with different items, and just as he had said there was a small tub. To her surprise there was a water pump in the room to bring fresh water; only the most wealthiest in Pase had had such a feature. Of course this was the Grand Master, so it made some sense. Although with how simple the rest of his home was, it still caught her by surprise.

There was a small window on the side, and Liz quickly pushed it open. It would be a tight squeeze, but after a few moments of reaching through it, she amended that to being an impossible squeeze. Cursing under her breath, she opened a cabinet to look for something to help her escape, but instead just found more clothing.

With a huff she turned around, stopping short when she saw the Danafor uniform hanging on the back of the door. It was obviously for her, the tunic and leggings much too large to be the knight's. There was even a pair of boots sitting neatly to the side, and a pair of socks folded crisply on top. He hadn't lied; he had gotten her clothes, had planned for her to come. But why?

Slowly she turned, choking back the burning in her throat, when she caught sight of herself in a small mirror hanging on the wall. Her mouth dropped open in shock to see herself. Her hair was dull and dirty, hanging in strings around her streaked face; her neck was covered in grime from the battle; her clothes were caked and torn. The only thing on her body that was clean were her hands, which she had washed before they ate. She had not noticed just how bad she looked, still being wary of the knight's intentions.

With halting movements she crept forward, examining her face closely. There was a bruise on one temple, and she raised trembling fingers to brush on her skin. This was from a soldier who had grabbed her and threw her to the ground, and she had banged her head on the stone pavement. It would heal fine, she decided, turning her chin to take in the cut on her neck and the patch of blood under her ear. That injury was courtesy of the hilt of a sword, which cut into her as the owner swiped against the side of her head.

Her eyes traveled back up, and she took in her face again. They were puffy from lack of sleep—when was the last time she really slept?—her cheeks sunken in a bit, her lips chapped. For a moment she wondered what they all saw when they looked at her. What Meliodas saw when he looked at her.

With a sound of disgust she looked away. Who cares what he thought? He was using her, like anyone else. His kindness was false, it had to be. He said he wanted lunch, that she could stay with him, that he would like to let her go. Lies.

He wants a slave. The idea was like an icicle inside of her chest. Once more her eyes moved upwards, but this time they focused on the right side of her face… the side she kept hidden with long, pink bangs.

Pounding on the door jolted her out of her thoughts. "Hey! You okay in there?" The doorknob rattled as Liz jerked backwards, wiping the back of her hand over her eyes. "Did you block the door or something?"

"Get out!" she shouted. Angrily she pushed the chest back and yanked the door open a few inches. "You told me to clean up, what do you think I'm doing in here?"

"I was just checking," Meliodas laughed, then tried to peer around her. "Do you need any help? I can wash your back for ya—"

He lifted a hand to reach through the door, and yelped when she slammed it closed on him. With a smirk of satisfaction she pushed the chest back in place and began to undress, not even realizing it as her smile remained.


A half hour later, Liz was cleaned, dried, and dressed. She had tried to be as quick as possible, but the layers of grime and blood were worse than she had first thought, and the temptation to wash her hair proved too great to refuse. Luckily Meliodas did not try the door again, but she kept one eye on it all the same. The shaky trust that had been just a sliver between them was snatched away with his stunt at the door.

She had found a comb and brush and even managed to get her hair in order, carefully smoothing the sweep of bangs over the side of her face. The soap was a delicious sort of clean smell, so very different from the utilitarian bars that were sparsely dispensed by the commanding officers, and even more so from the spiced and flowery scents used by the slave masters. Liz found herself stopping to breathe in the scent as she dressed.

Once she was finished, she spent an entire minute staring at her reflection in the Danafor uniform, swallowing nervously at her appearance. Just wearing such a thing was treason, and a death sentence. But at that thought she had laughed bitterly. She was already under a death sentence, so what did it matter? If these Danafor soldiers didn't kill her for attacking, then the Pasilians would kill her for being captured. Forget the suspicion of defecting; she had worse sins to atone for first.

The final item was the knife, that now sat on the side of the basin. Liz picked it up and examined it, her mind clouded. The uniform pants actually had a place sewn in to hold the knife against her thigh; would she dare being so bold as to wear it and remind Meliodas she still had it? Deciding against that, she tucked it under the tunic, looping it through the waistband. It would come in handy when she made her escape.

Escape. The idea was tantalizing, and once more she looked at herself in the mirror. Escape was the prime task at hand. Get out of the house, out of Danafor, as far away from these horrible realms ruled by rich, fat men who used everyone else to wage war on one another. Liz wanted peace. She wanted security. She wanted to forget she was a slave, and a soldier, and how in many ways they had been the same thing.

Her fingers traced the hilt reassuringly before carefully replacing the tunic in a way to mask the small bulge. Meliodas had been kind to her, even if his motives were still suspect. For that, at least, she would not kill him. Not until he gave her a reason to, anyway, she decided.

She pushed the chest aside and began to open the door when she heard voices in the main room. Keeping the opening just an inch, she leaned in to listen to Meliodas say, "I told you, I will take full responsibility. I won't let her out of my sight, and she won't escape. There isn't anything to worry about."

"I'm not worried for you," a male voice replied. "It's what this looks like. An enemy invades Danafor, and you cook her lunch?!"

"Technically she cooked," he replied, which made Liz snort to herself; but the humor was short-lived when the other went on, "She needs to be executed. She was already sentenced. Just because—I don't know, you found her pleasing, that doesn't give you the right—"

"I am the Grand Master," Meliodas answered. "Any executions need to go through me. I revoked her sentence. She is under my protection. End of story."

Liz bit her lip, holding onto her breath. So he wasn't lying about that either… what did he want, then? "No one is going to let this go," the other growled. "She killed people, our people. She needs to be brought to justice."

"You don't understand her reasons," Meliodas said quietly.

"And you do?" came the shrill response.

There was a brief pause before he replied, "Yes. I do."